.
On Mental Illness
If I could . . .
by Pete Feigal
There are angels everywhere.
I was sitting in a circle
with about twenty other people at the Day Treatment Center at Abbott-Northwestern
Hospital, when Jane, our always-centered, always-compassionate
group leader challenged us to throw caution to the wind, and try
a new exercise in giving. Jane asked us to talk for five minutes
with the people on either side of us, sharing with them some of
ourselves. As much or as little, as intimate or as guarded as we
felt comfortable with, but Jane, optimistic psychic explorer as
she was, always hoped and believed in trying to take two steps
forward.
The guy on my left was
David, a “tin bender” or sheet
metal worker to the uninitiated. He was, like me, a motor head loving
bikes and cars, who was in love with the jet black Harley I rode
to treatment every morning. I think in his mind, having a Harley
like that would cure all ills; it was or should be that simple. I
told him a thousand times that life with a custom Harley is still
just life. He was also dealing with a failing marriage due to his
chronic depression and substance abuse, both of which he still refused
to acknowledge.
We talked Harley’s and Hemi’s
and when I asked about how his family meeting with his wife went,
he told me that the therapist and his wife were ganging up on him,
and making him sick. I told Dave that I had stopped eating about
a week before, and that it seemed I had no appetite for anything
anymore, my Harley included. He unselfishly offered to take it
off my hands.
The woman on my right was June. Very quiet, very shy, 40 something,
faded sweaters. Before this exercise I’d only heard her quiet
voice once or twice. We spoke for a few moments and she never made
eye contact with me. I tried to be open and vulnerable for the
both of us, “open and vulnerable” from a guy’s
vocabulary, telling her that Oh, yeah my life was messed up,
and I knew exactly why that was. She asked why and I told her that
my life was screwed up because THIS person had done THIS to me
and THAT person had done THAT to me, and then THIS had happened
and then THAT had happened, and I told her that Hell, I never had
a chance, that I had been stopped before I had even got going.
I asked her what was wrong with her, and she said, ‘I hurt.” I
asked her to elaborate of what, why or who had hurt her and she
said that she just “hurt.”
Jane got control of
the group again and chose one of the members and said: “OK, now turn to the person on your left and using
a little of what you learned from them and from yourself, I want
you to “give” them an imaginary present, something special
that you think they would like or need. Something to help them on
their journey.”
At the start it was kind of embarrassing and slow to get going
so most of the “gifts” were silly things, “Here’s
the number to your secret Swiss bank account!” “I give
you the power to shake out exactly TWO aspirins out of the bottle
each time!” And people would laugh and joke. But the mood
started to change and the “gifts” became more appropriate,
intimate, more thought out. For a depressed woman there was a magic
Pegasus who would fly her far, far away to a place where she’d
be happy. A refrigerator that would never be empty for the gal
that was on assistance with four kids. A time machine for the man
who had lost his wife in a traffic accident so he could go back
and tell her how much he loved her, could tell her goodbye.
The circle came around to June, and I didn’t know what to
expect. I don’t think I understood then the difference between
still and calm and just plain quiet, so I expected maybe three
words from her. She looked me in the eyes and held me spellbound
as she gave me her gift:
“If I could I’d
give you a key that could open every lock in the world, every shut
place, every closed heart.”
“If I could I’d give you a book that had every answer
to every question, big and small, a book that could give all knowledge,
and explain all things.”
“If I could I’d give you a map that could find every
hidden place, and would make it so you’d never be lost even
in the darkest places, a map that could take you to all the places
you’d ever dreamed about going. A map that could help turn
your wanderings into a journey.”
“If I could, I’d
give you a shield that was impregnable, a protection that would
hold all attackers at bay, a power that would allow you to remain
unharmed while whole armies attacked you.”
“If I could I’d give you a beautiful little woodland
cottage next to a stream. A place for solitude when you need time
and space for thought and creativity, wonderful rooms filled with
art and magical treasures from your adventures, places for a child’s
crayon drawing in a place of honor next to a Van Gogh. A place where
your garden flourished, your kittens frolicked and your many, many
friends and family would gather around the perfect fireplace feeling
this was their home as well. A place where you and they would never,
ever be lonely again.”
You could have heard
a pin drop in the room. Then she said with her voice breaking: “I
can’t give you those things, Pete,
because you already have them. They’re in your heart, right
where they’ve always been and always will be.” And she
softly put the palm of her hand against my chest and I could feel
in that moment that she was right. ![]()
