Yesterday we had two guest speakers in my seminar, a husband and wife. One is a psychiatric nurse, the other a psychiatrist. The husband told us a certain story that really resonated with me.
A few years back, he worked at some kind of mental care facility in Northampton. One particular patient at the facility passed Jay almost daily; he would always say hello, but only get a blank stare in return. Unsure if the patient even understood him, he continued to say hello each day anyway.
After several months of this (or longer, I don't remember), Jay was saying his daily "hello" one day to another blank stare. But after a few minutes, he felt something behind him (literally).
The woman had walked up and slapped his butt.
I bet you weren't expecting that. But aside from being mildly hilarious, there is a larger point here.
The woman was saying "I am here." I am a person. I can joke. I am a woman. She was saying these things in the only way she knew how at that particular moment.
This story had me thinking. How many times have we tried to express an emotion or need without explicitly saying it? Maybe we're in denial, and don't want to admit that we're hurting. Or maybe we don't want to "burden" others by expressing our feelings. We act in these ways even though the signs of pain are present anyway, recognizable to those closest to us.
Along the same lines, sometimes we knowingly or unknowingly leave a trail for others to follow, hoping that they will somehow find out our truths. This is an extreme example, but I remember the story of one of my friends whose other friend had attempted suicide a few days before my friend had gone over to her house (unknown to my friend at the time). Her friend was in the shower, and had told my friend to "hang out in her room" while she was waiting for her to finish in the bathroom. On her bed in her room was her journal, opened up to the page the detailed her actions just days prior. I imagine that suicidal thoughts are extremely painful to discuss, and maybe this was her friend's way of crying for help. Or maybe the journal was just left there accidently. The point is, her friend received the help she needed.
Is someone acting out of the ordinary? Do we sense that there is more underneath than meets the eye? Maybe we should be more aware of those silent screams, those ropes being tossed in our direction, in whatever form they come.
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