Perhaps the best therapy for any illness, whether mental or any kind of phyiscal suffering, is what I call the OUT experience, the "Oh U Too" story exhcnage with another person or with the God of your understanding and inspriation. Story-exchange and prayer remind me that I'm not alone in the recovery and discovery journey of life. Here's a true story that actually happened to me.
"How'd I ever get here, in a mental hospital?" I asked myself as I sat in a white plastic chair just outside the front door of the hospital overlooking a little pond and some meandering ducks. As I sat there in my hospital attire I mocked myself repeatedly, "You're nuts, crazy, loony, bonkers, worthless, and you'll never work again."
While my self-condemnation continued, another patient came through the hospital doors, limped toward the empty chair next to me and sat down.
"Miss Arrrgnus is what they call me," the beautifully black woman said, as she leaned on the white plastic chair.
I presumed her name was actually Agnes but enjoyed the rolling sound of the extra "r's." Miss Arrrgnus slowly began to tell me her story.
"So what you in for Honey?" she finally asked.
"Depression," I answered
"I come here every now and then to get away from my family," she said.
I shocked myself with a little laugh, the first time I'd laughed in weeks.
"First time in a streeeeeeesssss unit?" Miss Arrrgnus then asked.
" Yes," I answered.
"What kind of work you do, Honey," she asked.
"I'm a Catholic priest," I said hesitantly.
"Never met one of you before," Miss Arrrgnus said. "I'll ask the people in my fellowship church to pray for you."
After a long uncomfortable pause Miss Arrrgnus spoke up again. "Come on, Honey, stop your brain strain. Help me out of this chair and let's go to the meeting the druggies are having in the conference room. The company will be good for you. Some of the nicest people you'll ever meet are recovering addicts. No nonsense there, Honey."
As we walked through the door, Miss Arrrgnus leaned heavily on my arm as though I were a crutch. I recalled at that moment an old saying: "I'd rather limp through life on the right road than run down the wrong."
To walk, Miss Arrrgnus and I had to lean forward and risk losing our balance and falling with each step. We had to let go of our previous stability, trusting that with each step there would be a new foundation, a new stability. It was good to walk with such an honorable and honest woman. This, thankfully, would not be the last time Miss Arrrgnus gracefully interrupted my isolation. Every day during our hospital stay Miss Arrrgnus and I sat with each other for lunch and would offer a prayer, not only for the food we were about to eat, but in thanksgiving for what God was giving us - the promise of Hope that if we continued the great practice of story-exchange with friends, family, companions in recovery, therapists, psychiatrists and God, we would discover a new way of living.
"How'd I ever get here, in a mental hospital?" I asked myself as I sat in a white plastic chair just outside the front door of the hospital overlooking a little pond and some meandering ducks. As I sat there in my hospital attire I mocked myself repeatedly, "You're nuts, crazy, loony, bonkers, worthless, and you'll never work again."
While my self-condemnation continued, another patient came through the hospital doors, limped toward the empty chair next to me and sat down.
"Miss Arrrgnus is what they call me," the beautifully black woman said, as she leaned on the white plastic chair.
I presumed her name was actually Agnes but enjoyed the rolling sound of the extra "r's." Miss Arrrgnus slowly began to tell me her story.
"So what you in for Honey?" she finally asked.
"Depression," I answered
"I come here every now and then to get away from my family," she said.
I shocked myself with a little laugh, the first time I'd laughed in weeks.
"First time in a streeeeeeesssss unit?" Miss Arrrgnus then asked.
" Yes," I answered.
"What kind of work you do, Honey," she asked.
"I'm a Catholic priest," I said hesitantly.
"Never met one of you before," Miss Arrrgnus said. "I'll ask the people in my fellowship church to pray for you."
After a long uncomfortable pause Miss Arrrgnus spoke up again. "Come on, Honey, stop your brain strain. Help me out of this chair and let's go to the meeting the druggies are having in the conference room. The company will be good for you. Some of the nicest people you'll ever meet are recovering addicts. No nonsense there, Honey."
As we walked through the door, Miss Arrrgnus leaned heavily on my arm as though I were a crutch. I recalled at that moment an old saying: "I'd rather limp through life on the right road than run down the wrong."
To walk, Miss Arrrgnus and I had to lean forward and risk losing our balance and falling with each step. We had to let go of our previous stability, trusting that with each step there would be a new foundation, a new stability. It was good to walk with such an honorable and honest woman. This, thankfully, would not be the last time Miss Arrrgnus gracefully interrupted my isolation. Every day during our hospital stay Miss Arrrgnus and I sat with each other for lunch and would offer a prayer, not only for the food we were about to eat, but in thanksgiving for what God was giving us - the promise of Hope that if we continued the great practice of story-exchange with friends, family, companions in recovery, therapists, psychiatrists and God, we would discover a new way of living.
