eBook
Available on Compatible NOOK devices, the free NOOK App and in My Digital Library.
Related collections and offers
Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781452586038 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Balboa Press |
| Publication date: | 01/03/2014 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 486 |
| File size: | 667 KB |
Read an Excerpt
HIGH, LOW. CRY, KNOW
By NEAL J. YOHAS
Balboa Press
Copyright © 2014 Neal J. YohasAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-8604-5
CHAPTER 1
DOWN IN A HOLE
I entered the reception area and tapped on the transparent window, letting the busy-looking receptionist know I was there. I didn't want to be there, but I needed to be there.
I exchanged pleasantries, paid the fee, and slumped down into the comfortable leather chair. I gazed down at the gathering of medical magazines with no interest in any of them but picked one up anyway. Thumbing through the pages, I might as well have been looking into a ditch. It wasn't that I didn't understand the info – far from it – but I was totally preoccupied with more pressing concerns, like what we were going to talk about today. What the hell was I going to say this time?
It had been like this since my very first visit. To say I was unsure of myself would be putting it lightly. I flung the magazine back down on the table and ran my hands through my gelled hair. This was no act of vanity but one of unease.
Upon noticing the person who was the reason for my visit walking down the hall smiling at me, I immediately sat up in the chair. I didn't know what I was going to come out with today, for I was truly an exhausted soul. I feigned a smile back and wondered what the fuck I was doing here and how it had all come to this.
"Hi, Jack. How are you?" she said. "Come on in."
"Hey, Deirdre. How's yourself?"
I stood up with feelings of both embarrassment and trepidation swelling in my stomach.
Deirdre stood at the green door to her private study, and I walked by her. A nervous smile was on my face, for despite numerous visits here already, this talking lark didn't come easily to me, especially talking about feelings, emotions, and all the confusion that had pounded at my brain constantly for what seemed the longest time. I am an Irishman you see, and generations before me had long proved this point.
I went over and sat down in the now all-too-familiar chair. She shut the door behind her, and I knew that for the next sixty minutes, things would be weird.
"So how's things?" she asked matter-of-factly. "How are you?"
"Ah, I'm all right, I guess." I thought, If only she knew.
"You still using coke?" she enquired, always smiling.
Deirdre was a good and kind soul. I genuinely liked her a lot. She was friendly and warm, and I really needed this time and space after everything that had happened. After witnessing the plummet into despair and hopelessness that my life had become, there was no choice now but to deal with the mess I had become. That's why I was there.
"No," I lied, "I'm not." I couldn't tell her the truth. I didn't want to disappoint her. Didn't want to get into that today. I still needed my crutch, for it was all I seemed to possess in the world in those days. Close friends had long since deserted me, on top of losing her – the one good thing, the only thing of real worth it seemed I had in life.
"Good," she replied.
I didn't know whether she believed me or not. Perhaps she didn't, but she never let it show.
"Are you getting exercise?" she enquired further.
"Yeah, I'm running like a demon. Six days last week, an hour each day."
"Excellent," she said. "So what's new? What's been happening since we last spoke?"
"Ah, not a whole lot, to be honest. The usual."
Deirdre knew well the familiar pattern I had engaged in from week to week.
"You been sleeping?" she asked.
"Some."
"Writing?"
"Nah, nothing."
"OK." She never stopped smiling. In fairness, her friendly smile always brought me great comfort. It helped me dissolve the discomfort I felt on being there in the first place. I knew I needed to be there, but I didn't want to be. Yet I knew I couldn't continue on the self-destructive path I'd been on for so long. I'd grown tired of what I'd become. I wondered where I'd end up if I didn't regain some semblance of control over my life.
"So talk to me. What's on your mind?"
"You know, every time I come here, from the moment I get up in the morning, I wonder what I will say to you," I said. "I get into the car and drive to work and think about it. When I depart the office, I think with better concentration, my thoughts rarely changing to anything else. The drive to the hospital, the walk from the car park to reception, the wait in the leather chair outside ... While I sit in that chair and wait, I wonder what I want to talk about. I always wonder that. It's not that I want to make shit up, but I feel as if I'm trapped in an absurd life that has fuck all meaning to me ... or anyone, for that matter. There are days I kind of hate myself, can't stand the image staring back at me in the mirror. I want to pick my eyes out and end all this misery. Then I smoke a joint and forget everything."
"Ah. I thought you weren't doing drugs, Jack."
"I'm not. Not hard ones, anyway. But I do enjoy a joint. I mean, it's all the company I seem to have these days, Deirdre."
This was another lie. Two weeks before today, I had allowed fear and my demons to take control again and gotten completely off my face on cocaine. And I'm talking off my face, beautifully numbed to life and the never-ending cycle of pain I self-inflicted.
I was adept at sabotaging my happiness. However, I didn't mention this to her, couldn't get into all that right now. I didn't want to let her down. I know it's probably not right, but I did it, and that's that.
I had never spoken to anyone about my innermost thoughts and worries, and I needed this time with her. But I also knew that it would take some time for me to open up and trust her completely, for I wasn't a person easily given to trusting others. My past had destroyed any ability in me to trust. I tried to hide the lies on my face, and I'm not sure if I succeeded, but as always, Deirdre continued on smiling sympathetically.
I'm sure she understood how hard all this was for me, and we both knew, although it was never spoken, that simply being there in the first place meant progress. Substantial progress. Yes, there was a ways to go, and I knew it. I think we both did. But by finally talking to a professional after all those years of trying to cope with my diseased mind on my own, I was finally admitting I needed outside help. This was massive for me.
"OK," she responded, scribbling in her journal.
"I can't stop thinking about her. It's driving me fucking crazy. Every goddamned day."
"Yeah, but she doesn't want to know, and can you blame her, really?" Deirdre said. "You need to start accepting that, Jack."
She was right, of course. I knew this. Didn't want or need to be told, but still I couldn't help myself, riddled with guilt for what I had done and the careless way I had treated her.
I wondered about my abuser and if he'd still do what he did to me all those years back if he'd known the destruction he helped cause in my life. I suspect that thoughts of all the carnage he wrought in my life never troubled him. As a matter of fact, I'd put my house on it.
As always during this period, I was filled with rage, self-pity, and disgust, for it was the default position long adopted by me and anyone else who's experienced this kind of thing. How else does one feel after being robbed of one's innocence and childhood?
I didn't know any other way of feeling about it. It wasn't that it was any worse than it was for others who've suffered a similar experience. I thought I had gotten away with it lightly compared to some unfortunates, at least until the psychological scars appeared again and again whenever intimacy arose in my life. This destroyed every single meaningful relationship I'd ever had. Every single one. The psychological scars I accrued from this unfortunate episode caused the most damage.
It was damage from which I sometimes truly wondered if I'd ever escape. It was damage that made me consider if I'd ever have myself a proper, meaningful relationship. It was damage that made me consider seriously if I'd ever experience love.
Was I even capable of such a thing? Intimacy had always been a difficult thing for me, for I never trusted in it. It's difficult to explain to those who haven't had their innocence stolen from them. It's a state of mind, I suppose, a feeling of being imprisoned inside your own head.
The anger, while perfectly understandable, in no way helped either. I felt such a blinding rage, such incredible fury, and no little amount of self-disgust while trying to rationalize things. Why me? always surfaced in my head. And I always felt great sorrow for those women – some incredible women – who came upon this train wreck. But I felt for none more so than for my last girlfriend.
Not only did she in no way deserve it, but she, more than any of them, more than any other person on the planet, tried her very best with me. She sacrificed a lot for me. She gave up her life in America for me, and this was how I'd repaid her love and kindness toward me.
She was and still is an angel and will always be in my eyes, and I pushed her away when things got serious between us. I freaked out big time. Stupid thought after stupid thought rose up, one building on top of the other, completely crushing me and my spirit down, turning me into an imposter inside my own body. In reality, it was for this reason, her and her alone, that I was sitting in this chair. The supreme guilt I felt encapsulated my entire being. I couldn't escape it – only through much drug- and alcohol-induced stupor was any sort of relief to be found. However temporary. And only temporary it ever was.
'Yeah I know she doesn't want to know anymore,' I replied, looking down at the carpeted floor and hating myself further. 'I just feel so bad for her, you know? I want to explain to her and to tell her I'm so sorry.'
'I know you do. But you've tried a few times now, and she doesn't want to know. From what you've been telling me, she's been getting on with her life, and you can't blame her for that, can you?'
'No, I don't. Of course not. I genuinely hope she's happy now, Deirdre.'
'I know you do, Jack – I really do – but you have to forget her and get on with things now.'
'Yeah,' I answered, still in total disbelief at what had occurred since she moved from New York to live with me in Ireland. 'Fuck,' I said, not for the first time, 'I've really gone and done it this time, haven't I?' It was a rhetorical question, and we both knew it. Sometimes silence can deafen you with its roar. This was one of those times.
A sympathetic smile in acknowledgement formed across Deirdre's face. I held back my urge to cry, for I didn't know what else to do, so utterly helpless and alone I felt, and waited for Deirdre's response. I was more than aware of the pathetic state I'd become. Though it didn't really matter what she would say, as words aren't any consolation when you once had the caring arms of a beautiful woman to hold you and protect you from the world.
'She's dating someone else now, isn't she?' Deirdre enquired further, already knowing the answer, as we had well covered this topic several times in previous visits.
'Yeah, she is,' I answered flatly.
'You have to let her go,' she added.
'I know. It's hard, though, really hard.'
'I know it's not easy, but right now you have little choice in the matter, you know?'
'I know,' I responded, not wanting to believe it. 'If she truly loved me, though ...'
'Jack,' Deirdre interrupted, cutting me off before I had a chance to continue 'you've got to let this thing go. As hard as it may be for you to do, you simply must.'
In hindsight, she was right, as always. I knew I was being completely irrational. Rational thought had left me some time ago. I didn't know if we would be ever reacquainted, such was the hole I now found myself in. I knew this was entirely my fault, not hers. But I think also that this was the very humble beginnings of my learning to let go of everything that didn't serve me. It wouldn't be an overnight thing either. Years of incorrect thinking and bad programming would see to that. I didn't see these visits with Deirdre at the time as the leveling out of my uncontrolled descent into oblivion. How could I? The wound from her was still raw, and I was pouring vinegar onto it a lot back then, which in no way helped matters.
In some crazy way of thinking, I believed that holding on to the pain would help me keep her with me, as completely bonkers as it sounds. It's utterly stupid, but in my head, it was all I had to hold on to at the time. That and the relief to be found in escapism through drugs. It was the reality of what was going down in my life at that time. I let her down, I let myself down, I let my family down, and I let my friends down. None of this brought me anything but further pain and misery. Pain and misery were my closest friends, and they had been for what seemed the longest time ever. It would take much effort on my part to sever this tie. I fast-forwarded in my head to a time when all this would be behind me, but it certainly wasn't now, and there were times when I wondered if it ever would.
Deirdre stood up and went to a filing cabinet. She opened a drawer and began looking for something. 'I have something that I want you to read and study well,' she said. 'It's about thought and thinking and the power it possesses. Negative thoughts can be quite destructive.'
'OK,' I said.
She found what she was looking for and sat down in the chair opposite me. She handed me a sheet of paper containing various facts on thoughts – the power they possess and the destruction they can cause if not properly monitored. There was also some info on self-esteem – in particular, the low variety from which I was a chronic sufferer. Low self-esteem was something I'd always battled in my life; lately, though, it'd been rock bottom.
I didn't realize until I'd read the literature that Deirdre gave me just how ill and destructive my mind had become. It scared the shit out of me. It really did. It was way scarier than the fear I'd held of the dark as a kid, which was quite terrifying and real for me back then. It would be a long time before I'd regain control of my mind, but in retrospect, this was a start, although at the time, it felt as if my head were stuck in a black cloud. Ask anyone who's been through therapy. It can be quite a tough slog at times. There were days when I truly felt lost. At the time, I genuinely feared for my well-being – I had no handle on this thing, none whatsoever, and I knew it. Minor breakthroughs were always surrounded by higher mountains to be climbed. A thick fog had long enveloped me, caging me in with no sign of escape whatsoever. I saw no sign of the light, and nobody could help me now but myself.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from HIGH, LOW. CRY, KNOW by NEAL J. YOHAS. Copyright © 2014 Neal J. Yohas. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Dedication, ix,Acknowledgements, xi,
Introduction, xvii,
1 Down In a hole, 1,
2 An Attempt to Explain, 13,
3 Bad habit, 21,
4 Loss, 32,
5 My so-called friend, 39,
6 A Positive Influence, 41,
7 Graveyard Visit, 49,
8 Another Attempt to Explain, 53,
9 The way it was, 61,
10 Fresh start, 73,
11 Shit happens, 75,
12 Turning to God, 77,
13 The last straw, 80,
14 Engaged, 86,
15 Reaching out to an angel for help, 88,
16 Pete, 94,
17 Bad programming, 118,
18 Transformation, 127,
19 A madness shared, 145,
20 James, 152,
21 Growth, 155,
22 An Organic return to Authenticity, 182,
23 State of the state, 199,
24 Letter to a patriot, 203,
25 The Irish, history's bullshit, and the media whore, 204,
26 Society, 213,
27 Pig Night, 227,
28 An ugly side of me, 235,
29 Let's Face Facts, 240,
30 If everyone knew God, 247,
31 The bottom line, 251,
32 I miss you, 255,
33 The lads, 259,
34 Learning, 266,
35 Know thyself, 277,
36 My purgatory, 283,
37 Caught red-handed, 292,
38 Observations, 296,
39 Trusting the Universe, 300,
40 Everything is energy, 305,
41 The Difficulty and Distress, 316,
42 Fucked up 24/7, 326,
43 My Great Demon, 335,
44 Understanding, 343,
45 Yoga Therapy, 347,
46 Help From Above, 353,
47 Archangel Metatron, 370,
48 Metatron Answers, 372,
49 Seeking Reassurance, 374,
50 Reassurance Given, 376,
51 I wonder sometimes, 378,
52 Nothing else I can do ..., 382,
53 And if it wasn't love, 385,
54 Non-attachment, non-judgment, non-resistance, 387,
55 That God-awful day, 396,
56 Progress, 405,
57 God/Source/Creator, 409,
58 Pete's effortless perfection, 420,
59 Spirituality trumps religion every time, 424,
60 Yet another letter, 427,
61 Glimmers of hope, 434,
62 Stardust, 436,
63 Yoga Love, 445,
Author Biography, 463,