Being Nice

For many years, I was subject to depression and debilitating allergies that so enervated me, getting out of bed in the morning was about all I could handle. Then there were the years my life mate/soul mate was dying, where I hunkered down in my emotional foxhole, trying to protect myself from the pain with which life was bombarding us. During these times, whenever I’d go out among people, all I ever seemed to see were happy, healthy, and energetic folks, which made me feel as if I were alone in my misery.

It wasn’t until I signed up for Facebook and started making contact with all sorts of people that I discovered the truth rainbowin their status updates. Everyone is struggling with something — illness, disability, debility, depression, grief. Even if people aren’t struggling with such a difficulty themselves, they are taking care of someone with a problem. The strong, healthy people I saw were probably normally traumatized people on their good days.

I’m learning to be nice to everyone, even people with a bad attitude. Anger, rudeness, pettiness, are all signs of unhappiness and discontent, and chances are, the misery stems from actual problems, not just a desire to be mean. In a strange sort of way, how people treat me is not my problem. Their inconsideration is a reflection of them, not me. My only responsibility is in my own reaction, and — in an ideal world — I would always choose to be nice. Life of course, is not always ideal, and I sometimes I let my own problems dictate my behavior, especially when those problems entail a lack of sleep, such as the episodes with my afflicted brother.

One of my favorite scenes in a film is in the 1989 movie Roadhouse where Patrick Swayze is discussing his policy with the bouncers. “Be nice,” he says. He goes on to tell them that no matter what anyone does, be nice. And he ends, “I want you to be nice until it’s time to not be nice.” It’s a good policy for anyone, being nice.

Sure, we have problems, but everyone else does too. So let’s pretend this is an ideal world, and let us all be nice.

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Wishing You Life and Love

Mahatma Ghandi said, “Where there is love, there is life.” On this day set aside for celebrating love, I wish you a life filled with love.

I love you

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Lies, Damned Lies, and Statistics

“There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics.”

This quote is usually attributed to Mark Twain, and in fact, he did use it in his biography, but he himself quoted it. Twain’s actual words were: ‘The remark attributed to Disraeli would often apply with justice and force: “There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics”.’ But Disraeli’s biographer claims that the renowned statesman never used that particular phrase.

Some people postulate that Twain heard the phrase from Leonard Henry Courtney, a British economist and politician who said, in an August 1895 speech in New York, ‘After all, facts are facts, and although we may quote one to another with a chuckle the words of the Wise Statesman, “Lies – damn lies – and statistics,” still there are some easy figures the simplest must understand, and the astutest cannot wriggle out of.’ Courtney didn’t attribute the saying to Disraeli, and in fact, “wise statesman” might not even refer to a specific person, but a way of attributing the phrase to . . . whoever.

The earliest instance of the phrase found in print is from a letter that seems to indicate the saying was in common usage before Courtney’s speech, and was so old no one knew anymore who said it.  The letter dated June 8, 1891 and published June 13, 1891 states: “Sir,–It has been wittily remarked that there are three kinds of falsehood: the first is a ‘fib,’ the second is a downright lie, and the third and most aggravated is statistics. It is on statistics and on the absence of statistics that the advocate of national pensions relies…..”

I don’t suppose it matters who said “There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics.” I don’t suppose it matters if there are, in fact, three kinds of lies, though I do know statistics can’t truly be a kind of lie. They are simply bits of data that have been compiled from a large sampling. People, of course, use these bits of data to bolster whatever truth or falsehood they happen to be peddling, and they are able to do this because of the very nature of statistics. For example, although everyone in the United States knows how abnormal this winter is, statistics show that on average, this is simply a normal winter — the warmth and dryness of the west balances the cold and snow of the east, giving us the lie of a normal winter.

Lucky for me, I happen to be on the warm, dry end of the “lie.” For all of you who are living on the opposite side of the land, be safe and try to stay warm.

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Sundowners Syndrome and Other Night Time Horrors

For many people, night is a time of relaxation and rest, especially when it comes time to sleep, but for others, night is . . . well, it’s a nightmare.

For example, Sundowners Syndrome frequently affects people with Alzheimer’s and dementia, and sometimes elderly hospital patients. These people react to the sun going down with confusion, anxiety, aggressiveness, agitation, restlessness, anger, even disorientation and hallucinations. My father had such problems when he was hospitalized for an operation a few years ago, and the inordinate anxiety lasted for months afterwards. It’s one of the reasons I am here to look after him. Although at 97 years of age, he can still mostly take care of himself, he does need someone to do the things he can’t do for himself such as grocery shopping, some cookiSunrise/Sunsetng, cleaning, etc. More than that, though, he needs someone here at night because he is prone to panic attacks when he is alone after dark.

Those who suffer from bipolar disorder or narcissistic personality disorder seem to be afflicted with something similar to Sundowners syndrome, especially when it comes to night rages. These people can often control themselves during the light of day, but as the night progresses, their rage escalates, which makes even the generally well-balanced members of their families miserable, angry, and depressed.

Such night rages are often accompanied by insomnia and sleep deprivation, though I don’t know whether the lack of sleep is the result of the rage or a contributing factor. Although no one knows for sure what causes such night rages, there are various surmises. The rages could be a result of the build-up of stress during the day. They could be a result of fragmented circadian rhythms. Or they could have a biological basis, perhaps due to a disruption in the cholinergic system. (The cholinergic system is the network of nerve cells that uses acetylcholine in transmitting nerve impulses.)

I’m very aware of this nightmarish cycle since so often my dysfunctional brother inflicts his rage on me. He doesn’t physically inflict his rage on me, just verbally, though the fury he focuses on me sometimes feels like a physical assault — his anger is that powerful. Sometimes his anger isn’t directed at me specifically. He has a whole list of people who have “ruined his life” and he nourishes his anger against them as if his fury were a venomous hothouse plant. He seems to have such a stake in this anger that he cannot let it go, but what that stake is, I don’t know. Perhaps his rage makes him feel alive. Perhaps he is afraid of owning up to his own culpability in how he has ended up. Perhaps some sort of inner demon has him in thrall.

This conjecture, of course, is futile. He seems to have at least two cyclical patterns of disorder (bipolar swings and narcissistic rage, though he could have Sundowners Syndrome or something I have yet to identify — perhaps even alcohol-induced dementia), but since he has never been diagnosed, I have no idea that the truth is. All I know is that his night rages are impossible to predict, control, or deal with.

Because of him, my nights have become rather stressful, though occasionally, when his all his cycles wind down, so does he, and peace reigns. I have learned, however, never to take the quiet nights as a sign of things getting better, but simply to be grateful for them.

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Look What I Caught!

Three days ago, I turned off the computer and went fishing for life. It was a lovely day, sunny and warm with just a hint of coolness in the air. I accompanied a group of hikers on a trek along the fabled Pacific Crest Trail. Since the PCT (as it is affectionately called) stretches from Mexico to Canada, it’s impossible to traverse the whole of the trail in just a few hours, but we hiked a three-mile portion of it. (Three miles out and three miles back for a total of six miles.) The trail is narrow, but well maintained, which makes hiking it easy. Well, the level areas are easy. I hear that parts of the trail rise steeply for miles. Whew! That would be a hike indeed.

We started at this lake (a dam, actually)

And headed up into the hills.

I’m glad I didn’t spent this gorgeous day inside and online.

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Another Blessing For You

Concerned about my struggles with my rage-ful brother, yesterday a friend sent me a blessing by John O’Donohue, an Irish poet, author, priest, and philosopher.  Today she sent another one that really speaks to my longing for freedom. May you, too, find harmony between your soul and your life.

Blessing by John O’Donohue

May you listen to your longing to be free.
May the frames of your belonging be generous enough for your dreams.
May you arise each day with a voice of blessing whispering in your heart.
May you find harmony between your soul and your life.
May the sanctuary of your soul never become haunted.
May you know the eternal longing that lives at the heart of time.
May there be kindness in your gaze when you look within.
May you never place walls between the light and yourself.
May you allow the wild beauty of the invisible world to gather you, mind you and embrace you in belonging.

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

A Blessing for You

Concerned about my struggles with my rage-ful brother, a friend sent me the following blessing by John O’Donohue, an Irish poet, author, priest, and philosopher.  And now I am passing it on to you in the hopes that it will make your day a bit brighter.

moonOn the day when the weight deadens on your shoulders and you stumble, may the clay dance to balance you.
 
And when your eyes freeze behind the grey window and the ghost of loss gets into you, may a flock of colors, indigo, red, green, and azure blue come to awaken in you a meadow of delight.
 
When the canvas frays in the currach of thought and a stain of ocean blackens beneath you, may there come across the waters a path of yellow moonlight to bring you safely home.
 
May the nourishment of the earth be yours.
May the clarity of light be yours.
May the fluency of the ocean be yours.
May the protection of the ancestors be yours.
 
And so may a slow wind work these words of love around you, an invisible cloak to mind your life.
_

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Gone Fishing

I’m going to turn off my computer for the next twenty-four hours and take myself on a fishing trip. Not to fish for fish, of course — such a hobby is only peaceful for the one fishing; the poor fish are scared, hurt, and fighting for their life — but to fish for life. See what happens when I am disconnected from my usual online pursuits. Just take off for a day. See what I can see. Feel what I can feel.

If you want to contact me, leave a comment and I’ll get back to you tomorrow. Or whenever.

fishes

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Living Inside a Disordered Mind

People keep asking me why I have anything to do with my verbally abusive, demanding, and dysfunctional brother. To be honest, I don’t know what else to do. I realize he is not my responsibility, but neither is he the responsibility of the state, the penal system or whatever social services might be available. (He does have a court date coming up for being intoxicated in public, so it might be taken out of my hands, but even if he shows up, which I doubt, I don’t think he’ll get a severe sentence.)

Partly, I put up with his abuse because I feel sorry for him. He seems to have gotten himself in way over his head, augmenting poor genes and a hard childhood with bad decisions, bad luck, and self-medication for emotional disorders. Partly I put up with him because I sense that inside of a tornado of unfocused energy that manifests itself as rage, the real person is scurrying around, looking for a way out. And partly I put up with him because . . . well, contrary to what he believes, I am a kind and compassionate person.

Yes, I know I have to take care of myself first, and I do. In fact, I’m going on a hike tomorrow, will be gone for most of the day, but that only gives me a respite. When I return, it will be to his demands, his anger, his hatred. Though he exhausts me, I can only believe he exhausts himself even more. Because of his various disorders, he seems to project himself onto me, and if it is true that what he says to me, he is really saying to himself, he hates himself beyond belief. To be honest, I don’t much like him, either, and would just as soon not have to deal with him at all.

Still, he is so broken, not just physically, with many badly healed bones and various painful maladies, not just emotionally, but also mentally. It must be hard living inside a mind that harbors, protects, and polishes to a high sheen every hurt no matter how great and every slight no matter how small with equal fervor. It must be hard not to be able to differentiate between important thoughts and trivial thoughts since all thoughts are given equal weight and voice. It must be hard to be so needy, and yet be unable to meet those needs or to ask for help. It must be hard to be closed off to anything good, to be so caught up in one’s misery, hatred, and fury, that nothing can breach the walls.

I guess in the end I put up with him because I am so very glad I am not him, and I feel a bit guilty about that.

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Reward Deficiency Syndrome

Dopamine and three other neurotransmitters— serotonin, the enkephalins, and gamma-Aminobutyric acid — are a major part of the reward pathway in the brain. In the majority of people, the reward system begins with one of these chemicals spreading out to “network” and involve the other neurotransmitters in what resembles a cascade. As a result, people feel secure, calm, comfortable and satisfied. In some people, this reward system is deficient, and they have a hard time feeling satisfied.

This deficiency can contribute to alcoholism, drug abuse, obesity, and various other problems because there is no “off button” of satiety.

I seldom feel these rewards. When I eat, I don’t feel a cessation of hunger, don’t feel any sustained pleasure from foods (though I do enjoy various tastes, of course). When I ran when I was younger, I never felt a runner’s high or any mindother sort of satisfaction except that of having completed the course. After a lifetime of wondering what the big deal is — what this natural “high” is that gives people such great satisfaction — I no longer particularly care if I am deficient or not. I’ve adjusted. I find my satisfactions in other things — a job done, a skill learned, a blog written.

This reward deficiency syndrome is often present in people with mental challenges such as bipolar disorder and narcissistic personality disorder. Rage is a characteristic of both of these mental disorders — perhaps because rage is a way of releasing adrenaline which leads to a small cascade of reward neurotransmitters. Alcoholism is also often present with both these disorders — those suffering from these problems often self-medicate with alcohol to relieve feelings of dullness and depression.

Although reward deficiency syndrome is related to neurotransmitters, I have a hunch it also relates to behavioral issues. For most of us, if we do something “bad” and are punished, we see the cause/effect of bad/punishment. If we do something positive, such as work hard and take home a nice paycheck, we see the cause/effect of good/reward. But those with behavioral reward deficiency don’t seem to be able to see cause and effect, hence they feel no accountability.

I’ve seen this in my dysfunctional homeless brother. I am trying to be as kind to him as possible, even though he is never grateful and takes all such kindness as his due. In fact, his sense of entitlement is so great, he doesn’t even seem to be able to see that I’ve been kind to him; instead, he harangues me for being selfish. (This projection of his own qualities onto me is part of the narcissist personality disorder.) Conversely, if I ignore his demands, he doesn’t seem to be able to figure out that being courteous would get him courtesy in exchange. Instead, he escalates his demands. I used to be afraid that if I paid attention to him after his demands became insanely insistent that it would teach him to continue his assault (that’s what his demands feel like — an assault), but it has no effect on him since he doesn’t seem to be able to see that I am “rewarding” his assault. To him, it’s all the same. In fact, often when he knocks on my window for attention and I ask what he wants, he gets angry because I am demanding and inconsiderate, as if it were I who wanted his attention. It doesn’t compute that he was the one who wanted to say something to me.

He got a jaywalking ticket a couple of months ago and was so angry about it that I said I’d pay it, not just to shut him up but because I didn’t want to drive him across town to the courthouse and hang around all day while he tried to fight it. He never said that he wanted me to pay it, but he kept reminding me I had offered to pay. A couple of days ago, my father offered to pay the ticket, too. When I asked my brother for the bill so my father could write a check, my brother got mad. “You lied to me,” he said. “You said you were going to pay the ticket.” We went round and round for a while, me trying to explain that I had intended to pay it and he calling me a liar. Today, after I paid the ticket, all he said was, “I never asked you to pay it.” (Incidentally, “lying” is a big thing for him. Any miscommunication is an opportunity for calling me a liar, among other things.)

Ah, the joys of living with a dysfunctional brother.

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.