On The Woman-Who-Rhymes-With-Witch and Learning How To Move On

Shit happens in threes.  Everyone knows this.  Our run with bad luck started back in December.  We received a call.  The police arrested one of the two who robbed our home two years ago.  If we were still pressing charges we would need to fly home for the trial and testify.  Or, we could drop the charges and she would go free.  We called and said, "We need time," and "We'll get back to you."  They said, "Fine."  Fine.  We would deal with this later.

Then David flew home to a house with burst pipes and water damage.  Floorboards warped, walls and ceilings damaged, the place was a mess.  Because two is a stupid number there was more.  We received another letter from the government agency that starts with an I and ends in a S.  Shit happens in threes.  Indeed.

This was a bit much.  Where do we start?  How do we move through these events?  Why was this happening to us?  We're good people.  We don't deserve this string of back-to-back life-glitches.  What did we do to deserve this?

Frantic transpacific calls ensued.  We split the work.  I would handle the robbery case.  David would handle the water damage.  We told our accountant to fix the other problem.  In the mean time we complained about these undeserving injustices and railed against the conspiring entities who tried to bring us down.  This served to raise our blood pressure and little else.  Wallowing felt good but only briefly.  We soon found this negativity got in our way of moving forward and making plans.  That said, I found denying my anger at this woman-who-rhymes-with-witch did me little good.  David found living without water utterly horrid.  Neither of us were happy.

Happiness.  This was the answer to a question posed to me by my brother years ago.
"What do you want out of life, sis?"
"Happiness," I said.
He paused.  "That is so Princess Diana."
I took this to mean my answer was not one I would be wise to repeat elsewhere.
Years later I reminded him of this conversation which, of course, he did not remember.
"Sorry about that," he said.  "Yeah.  We all want to be happy.  There's nothing wrong with that."

How do we define happiness?  What makes us happy?  The simple answer is, "The opposite of what makes us sad."  The past month aside, for the past 30+ months I have been surrounded by people who experienced a deep and profound sadness.  Whoever said "time heals all wounds" should have added "and for collective pain, this doesn't apply."  Three years is evidently not long enough for pain to disappear.

How we process pain differs for us all.  I need laughter.  With very little in my professional life, I rely on those around me:  my husband, our son, my sister, my boarding school buddies.  I watch the New Zealand All Blacks do the Haka because while it's not funny, it makes me smile.

Learning to move on is a skill few of us learn and develop thus making our difficult times seem longer, deeper, and more intense.  I am in no position to tell those who have experienced loss to move on.  I do encourage the grieving to laugh.  Often is good.  Once a day is a must.  For your dose for today, read these answers given by a child whom I would be proud to call my own.

As I lash out in my imaginary conversations with the thief who is the woman-who-rhymes-with-witch, I feel my heart pound as I say things to her privately I will never have the chance to say out loud.  I feel very little relief. 

Shit happens in threes so we are clear for the rest of 2014.  We're certain we are correct in our assumption.  This is most excellent news.  It's not three weeks into the year and we're good to go.  This makes us happy.  We will get through this string of bad luck.

In the mean time, we will laugh and will encourage others to do the same.  Pain is not funny.  Deep pain takes longer to move through.  That said, there's plenty of humor in life and some of it is simply too good not to share.

In the spirit of locating our own personal funny bones I share Jonathan's art and poem.  Good boy.

Kiki's Meltdown

The call I received from Yuta several months ago warning me about Kiki not only resulted in me going off on him, it cooled off our relationship for several weeks.  The "Kiki's wild," and "Kiki doesn't take care of her kids properly, going out with her friends at night instead" irked me and I told Yuta as much.  Pitting woman against woman is never a good idea.  He knows that now.  Never mind she was only doing what men in Japan do without being questioned--out late drinking, partying, letting off steam--when women do this, they're stigmatized as being irresponsible.  I lashed out at Yuta for having double standards and for not backing Kiki up.  Our chat ended badly.

Kiki and I hadn't seen each other in several months.  Both busy (such a terrible word), we'd wave at each other as we passed in our cars.  Facebook was our mode of communication, with a lot of "How are you" and "I haven't seen you in such a long time" messages flying back and forth.

Which is why when she called and said, "I have to see you" I dropped everything and made the time.  Something was up. 

I never thought I'd be celebrating the acknowledgement of a borderline breakdown.  On this particular Friday night, however, I find myself doing just that.  This woman sitting across from me is recounting her days, openly telling me of her emotional collapse.  I try not to show how happy I am for her while looking for the words to help her realize this was in the making.

Kiki starts out by telling me how difficult the second memorial of the tsunami was for her this year.  "Last year was tough, yeah.  This year, though....I cried for days.  I didn't know what was happening to me."  Through sips of beer she continues.  "Here," and she points to her face, "I was all smiles.  But, here," pointing to her heart, "I was screaming.  I couldn't take it any more.  All this pressure to be 'up' and 'perky' and 'positive.'  It was eating away at me.  I couldn't fake it.  It all came out around the memorial."

I choose to let her do the talking tonight.  There will likely come a point where I can inject my opinion, but for now, I know this is therapeutic for her.  I've been trying for years to get people to talk out their post-tsunami pain with little success.  Especially true for women, that Kiki, a local leader of young women and one many here look up to, that she broke now allows for others to follow suit.  I wonder if she knows this.

"Then in April, I finally collapsed.  I couldn't get out of bed.  I didn't want to.  I didn't care any more.  I stayed in my futon, bawling, crying, hyperventilating.  I didn't want to see my husband or kids.  I felt like everything around me was broken.  I felt broken.  I just wanted to be alone."

Kiki goes on to tell me she spent the whole week in bed, getting out for the occasional bath and for bathroom breaks.  Her husband brought her food and kept the kids away.  She ignored the calls, e-mails, and Facebook messages asking if she was alright.

"Clearly I needed it," she laughs uncomfortably.  There's nothing funny about fighting to keep a mental breakdown at bay.  "I knew I was in bad shape.  I mean, I really didn't care anymore.  I really couldn't get out of bed."

I listen and say very little, asking only a question here and there.  "I knew I needed help when I saw a poster somewhere about a suicide hotline and thought to myself, 'I actually know how they feel.  It would be really easy to die right now.'"  Here, I decide to speak.  "Did you call the hotline?"
"No.  I decided I wasn't suicidal.  I didn't actually want to die.  I just realized I knew how these people felt."  I nod.

"But, realizing I understood that feeling was a wake-up call.  It was several days after that I didn't and couldn't get out of bed.  Scary."
I agree with her that it's scary.  An hour or so has passed since she's been talking, Kiki recounting her various emotions, her analysis of how and why she let herself get this "out of whack."

Understanding the position she holds among young women in this community, I ask what is to me, the obvious question.  "Have other women followed your example?"
"Yes!"  Suddenly Kiki is really excited.
"How did you know?"

For the first time tonight I add my opinion in full.  "Your breakdown, if I can call it that, gave other women permission to follow your example.  You're a leader.  If you can break, if it's okay for you to break, then other women know it's okay for them to break as well.  You're lucky you're solid enough to work through it on your own.  Now you can help other women who might not have that network--a supportive husband like you have--so they can come out safely on the other side."
"Yes!  I've had so many women say that to me.  That they also stayed in bed for days after they heard about my little breakdown.  I didn't realize I was keeping everyone from releasing all this pain."
"Think of it as giving permission, and not that you were keeping people bottled up.  The important part is that you let it out."

While Kiki is indeed lucky, to have had the skills necessary to work her way through her grief, there's now a buzz through town about how "all these women are dropping like flies."  The men in town don't know what's going on.  There are suggestions the women are faking it, asking for attention.  Some recognize it's the women who have had to remain strong for the past two years with no outlet.  Alcohol helps the men by giving them a space where they can spout off, let out their complaints, cry, and in general cut loose.  The women in Tohoku don't have that option.  The kids look to mama to see if today is a good day.  Grandpa and grandma rely on the daughter-in-law for stability in the household.  With no source by which they can let out their pain, grief, stress, and trauma, it's no wonder Kiki and her friends started collapsing.  This breaking point has been long overdue.

The good news is with Kiki's self-imposed hibernation and reemergence comes permission for other women to say, "Me, too."  Kiki and I agree we must take care of ourselves first, cliche or not, because no one else will do that for us.  We talk about how to safely allow for these "breakdowns" as each woman's case is unique.  We acknowledge we aren't experts and that some women may require hospitalization.  We talk about the consequences and stigma of what it means to break.

Ultimately, this is good news--if a nervous breakdown can be considered good.  I will participate when asked in helping with the long walk back to being whole, and I will also watch from the sidelines, cheering my friends on if that's what they prefer.  A night out with Kiki left me with a mixture of hope, relief, sadness, and happiness.  Do I dare hope for more breakdowns to come along?  Do I dare ask for such a thing?

Forced Globalization, Boston Marathon, and Disaster Etiquette

It's been a rough 36 hours.  I woke up yesterday, stumbled towards my laptop, and started going through my e-mails.  Still bleary-eyed, I first saw my mother's.  "We're very upset about what happened in Boston."

What?  What happened in Boston?

I go to Boston.com and sit in shock.

Quickly returning to my inbox, I see a note from my husband.  "I'm fine."  I read it again in case my unfocused morning eyes are playing tricks on me.  He's safe.  I exhale.

The next e-mail is from Alpha Male, my favorite Japanese man in Japan.  "You probably already know this, but....."  This is his way of showing concern.  I'm touched.

I type e-mails to my friends as fast as I can.  I call.  I'm on the other side of the world and feel completely helpless.  The two emotions that I felt yesterday morning, shock and impotence, were only the beginning.

Then came profound disappointment and rage.

When by noon no one up north where I've spent the past two years said peep about Boston, my husband, my friends, and those who have offered assistance to these disaster-stricken communities,  well, I simply lost it.  I really lost it.

Growing up my mother told me I would show the worst side of myself to those I loved most.  This was probably code for "don't mouth back" and "stop being sassy" but it was excellent advice.  She's right.  Yesterday, to my adopted family here in Tohoku I grew horns.

The message was simple.  "That you all haven't asked about Boston is not okay."  I ended with, "This is low.  You all suck."  I was angry, hurt, and did not feel like being kind.  I chose to let all my pain out in these words.

In the past 24 hours I've been told the following:  "we were busy" and "we didn't know" and "we don't watch/read/listen to the news."  None of these are acceptable answers.  Here's why.

To the first one I yelled at (I really yelled) I said, "Because you are disaster victims, because you've received so much aid, because you of all people collectively know what it's like to go through something horrible, you need to reciprocate.  You don't get to not know.  You can't get away with 'not watching the news.'  You owe it to the people who have supported you all these years to care.  In order to care, you need to know.  In order to know, you have to pay attention to what's going on around you.  You're a part of the global community now whether you like it or not.  You can't get away with not caring about those who have supported you.  And, don't give me this 'I'm busy' crap."

I've said the same thing to others.  Some get it, others don't.  I have no answer to whether it's "don't" or "can't."  What's been explained to me when tempers have calmed and our voices can no longer be heard in the apartment below is this:  "You would have told us if we needed to know," and "We're used to giant disasters.  Sorry, but it didn't look that bad."

Is it my job to teach disaster etiquette?  I wasn't prepared for this.  I'm completely conflicted.

We show our truest selves to those we love the most--the good and the ugly.  I love these people here, and they've hurt me deeply.  I can't force upon them disaster etiquette and a more global mentality when they don't have, want, or see the need for it.  This is a hard lesson to learn and one I accept only because my attempts don't seem to show results.

So, the past 36 hours have left me spent.  I'm heading to Boston next week, and honestly, this can't come soon enough.