I just finished a phone conversation with my mom, during which she asked if I was talking to someone else in the room as well as her. I was alone.
I had just been telling her about a message I received while I was meditating this morning, suggesting that some of the odd symptoms I have been having were my body’s way of informing me I was not supposed to be medicated any longer. She laughed quietly in all the right places that could not possibly cause offense. I had given her those opportunities, I suppose. Opportunities not to take what I was saying very seriously. This is an old habit of mine—wanting folks to take me seriously but making it very very hard for them to do so. I think that would be classified as borderline.
You see, I was making my breakfast and having an imaginary conversation with my doctor about how the real problem with psychiatric medicine lay in the fact that it is secular and does not allow much room for spiritual inquiry. I don’t think anyone can accurately explore mental wellness and illness without maintaining for themselves some spiritual connection that guides them in their studies or frames their perspective. Of course, this should also allow room for the patient to explore his or her own connection to spirit/universe/god, and for that exploration to be considered valid and not a sign of madness. What spiritual practice folks choose is of no consequence—only the fact that they have one. Anyway, the imaginary argument was much more involved, and ultimately led me to feel that I have an important contribution to make to Western psychiatry, that my own connection to the universe is a valid way of receiving information about the human condition.
And then, I finished my breakfast and called my mom back, and apparently held multiple conversations at once with who knows how many entities.
Well, that’s one perspective anyway. Mine is that we had a bad connection (I do believe my phone has been hacked), and she was distracted—listening while doing something else (as she often does) and so not following the (I’ll admit) rather erratic line of argumentation. She laughed politely and, instead of suggesting that I needed medication (and possibly more than I am currently taking), claimed instead that I was having a simultaneous conversation with some unseen party. No doubt she hoped I would get the hint. I got it.
There are two people in my life who feel very strongly that I should be on medication: one to whom I was born and the other whom I chose as my life partner. (Yes, I chose someone like my mother as my life partner, as it turns out. And, yes, I know there are no accidents in the universe.) They are both atheist pragmatists, who have a clearly defined sense of what is normal. I am oversimplifying, of course, since just knowing me for all these years has undoubtedly shaken some of their assumptions.
My point is, they are both excellent individuals on which to try my latest theories. Or rather, to test the strength of my conviction about my latest theories. And perhaps if it weren’t for that damn borderline personality disorder knocking around in my system, I might not back down so often. But with the situation as it is, if I experience a metaphorical gasp when I present the fruits of my recent meditations, I generally laugh and blame hypomania or lithium’s imperfect correction of my faults.
In case my partner is reading this from abroad, please know that the fire of this idea and the self importance it presupposes has most certainly died out now. Forty minutes of my mother’s tonic of secular reason has flattened the message to the extent that I can no longer recognize what key it was in or even hear it very well. So, don’t worry. All are safe.
After over a decade of stumbling about in the dark—perhaps in part because of my reactions to resistance—my partner and I have finally found a way to head off any uncomfortable discourse before it begins. And by that I don’t mean that we should avoid. I mean simply that the way that we speak to one another requires guidelines. So, I created the following to avoid my partner triggering a borderline response from me and so that we could both be heard with the respect we deserve.
I would say this arrived to me in a message if I thought that would make it catch on faster. But in fact, it’s just a step-by-step breakdown of a mindful handling of a relationship challenge. Anyway, I present it here as a gift, universal wisdom rendered practical. (I suppose this is an advantage of having folks like my mother and partner in my life—they require me to bring my thinking down to Earth.)