The Captain's Blog

… Is all we can ask for.

Music has played an important roll in my life.  Music was always part of our family.  Mom played the organ at church.  There was always Gospel and Country music playing in the car or around the house.  In Fifth Grade, I took up the trumpet.  My instrument of choice would change throughout my school years, ranging from trumpet to tuba/sousaphone and on to percussion as braces interfered with my playing of brass instruments.  I would delve deeper into many other types of music as I took on lighting and sound jobs as I got older.  It doesn’t surprise me that at different times of my life certain songs kind of stuck.

They became my anthem if you will.  In my mid 30’s, “Something Good is Bound to Happen” by Bruce Carroll took its place.  Grandma’s Cancer, then demensia caused me great anguish as I watched this women, who played such a role in my life, dwindle.  Her body remained fairly strong, but her mind wandered back to her younger years.  I fought with depression then, never even thinking how hard I would be hit later.  Mom’s Cancer diagnosis was tough.  Throughout Mom’s treatments, there were ups and downs.  I found myself listening to this song over and over.  The chorus states “Something good is bound to happen or the Devil’d not be working overtime.”  Surely, somewhere there would be something good out of all this darkness.

Mom passed and I fell into a deep hole.  Time after time, I would claw myself back out.  I tried to mask my pain on the outside.  Sometimes it is easier to wear a mask and hide than face the feelings.  The problem I found with wearing the mask and hiding things is that an overwhelming darkness would begin to build down deep inside.  Instead of getting sucked down a deep hole, the hole began to tear away at your from the inside out.  I would often cry myself to sleep while listening to music.

“Something Good…” no longer brought me solice.  It brought me pain.  I had quit going to church because “The Church” had more or less abandoned me.  The support that I thought would come from my church family wasn’t there.  Yes… There were a few close family friends that were there but the rest of the congregation seemed to be too busy with themselves to care about Mom and my family.  Mom and Dad would eventually leave the only church I had really known because of the changes happening.

I still had faith in a higher being but my faith in a “Church” was shattered.  To this day I have not gone to church for the sake of a church service.  I find it difficult to go to weddings or other functions held in a church.  There is only one church related event that I allow myself to attend without reservation.  The musical/dinner theater that the Presbyterian Church asks me to help with.  I feel welcome there.  Noone is there to preach at  you.

I continue to battle this darkness that occassionally tears at my soul.  I started reading again to help find some ground that I could stand on.  I’ve read a lot of travelling stories.  I think I’ve wrote before about reading Neil Peart’s books and his trials.  Neil is the drummer for the band RUSH… one of my favorites.  There is a song on the RUSH album ‘Vapor Trails’ that reached out and connected with me during my reading.  After reading Neil’s journey in dealing with the loss of his daughter and wife within a years time, I realized the meaning behind the words he had written and how they applied to me.

This was me to the ‘T’. While I am told I have a decent level of intelligence, I was brought up kind of ‘in the dark’. Relationships, drinking, smoking and addictions of that nature were not evident in my life as a kid. I knew about them but I figured as long as I didn’t do them, then they didn’t really exist. My innocence made me naive. I was willing to deal with being perceived this way because I was ‘the good kid’.

Imaginaton… OH BOY!… I got the market cornered on that one. To this day, my dreams are almost like sci-fiction movies. My brain comes up with some of the strangest stuff at times. I have always enjoyed things that allowed me to engage that imagination and make up my own stories… to ‘make-believe’ I was somewhere else.

This became more evident to me as I dealt with depression.  I wanted to remain innocent and be naive of the pain that was tearing at my insides.  If I didn’t acknowledge that it existed, it must not be real… right?  That didn’t work.  The pain kept growing.  I would ‘make-believe’ everything was ok.  I would imagine that people had it alot worse than me and that I could beat this without help.  At first, this worked really well.  The pain kept growing until at some point it teore through the mask and became real to my physical being.  It made me truly sick.

Somewhere along the line, you give up… you ‘surrender’.  “If I can’t beat this stupid thing… I’ll let it take me” started running through my head.  It was satisfying to just give up.  I was at the edge of my sanity.  To me, it was better to lose it all than fight anymore.  Anger had taken over my life.  I was snapping at people more and more frequently.  My tolerance for anything good or bad was gone.  I would have given it all up just to know that I wouldn’t act that way to anyone or anything.

Some time passed before I had what I would call a ‘good’ day.  It was a really good day too.  I didn’t think I could have good days anymore.  The darkness had been so deep that light just couldn’t break through or could it.  I’ll explain it this way.  Have you ever been in a really dark room?  Maybe a cave or a power outage?  I’m talking the kind of dark that you can’t see your hand in front of your face dark.  I have been.

We went on a tour of one of the caverns when we were on vacation.  The guide had them turn the lights out and everyone close their eyes.  He lit a lighter or a match.  That one flame lit the cavern enough that you could see the faces of those around you.  Your eyes had to be closed because the initial flash of that one flame could cause blindness in this complete darkness.  If you spend much time in a place like that, you get adjusted to it.  When that one spec of light comes through, you can feel the warmth.  It gives you hope and strength.  Something to shoot for.

That glimmer of light was when I realized how this whole song applied to me.  The chorus and final verse reached in and cut through the angry darkness in my gut.  I shouldn’t go out and try to defeat the darkness.  All I had to do is light that one little flame… that ‘one little victory’ that would carry me through the next battle.  Here is the rest of my current musical support… my crutch to lean on when things seem amiss.

Celebrate the moment
As it turns into one more
Another chance at victory
Another chance to score

The measure of the moment
In a difference of degree
Just one little victory
A spirit breaking free
One little victory
The greatest act can be
One little victory

A certain measure of righteousness
A certain amount of force
A certain degree of determination
Daring on a different course

A certain amount of resistance
To the forces of the light and love
A certain measure of tolerance
A willingness to rise above

 ~RUSH “Vapor Trails” Album~

So today I count my little victories of the past week… They aren’t much but they are all I need to make it to the next battle.

• I got my new mattress.  Its a queen size.  It is extremely comfortable and has been a ‘God-send’ to my back.  I think being able to sleep most of the night has helped my attitude or at least helped me keep it in check during the day.
• A couple weeks ago, Tink started coming to me when I brought her food to her.
• These past few days Tink hasn’t been eating all her food at once .  She eats some and then runs off to hide.  She comes back later to finish it.
• Tink isn’t hiding in deep cover anymore.  She stays out at the edge where cover can be achieved if she needs it but she doesn’t feel the need to be completely hidden.
• She is sleeping on the register in the living room again.  No protection there.
• She let me hold her today without her curling into a little ball and growling at me.  I stopped trying to hold her a couple months ago because she got so worked up.
• She came back to the same spot to eat tonight.  Not her spot she used to eat, but she was clearly waiting for me to come there to bring her food.  She was sitting right in the middle of the space.  She looked up to see if I had the bowl and went straight for it as I put it down (even though I hadn’t opened the can of food yet).
• I get a big stretch when I bring her food.
• She doesn’t race past me like she’s scared to death of me.  She saunters by in her old “I’m going over here” prance.
• Dad went with me to see the Elk last Sunday.  He hasn’t been there since before Mom died.  We had a really good day together.
• I was able to hop on the motorcycle and take a short, rather chilly, ride today.  It was delightful.

I know a lot of these are focused on Tink.  She was my rock after Mom died.  I had many long tearful conversations with that little ball of fur.  When I thought I was going to lose her back in April, I was ready to go right along with her.  I fought to keep her around.  The fight isn’t over by any means.  I take what I can get whether its with Tink’s health or with my daily existance.

I hadn’t realize how much riding the motorcycle really help my mental state until I lost my mental grasp last week.  A few of you might remember that dark night.  I felt like I had no escape.  I was trapped.  I went to sleep listening to the album this song is from.  I woke up the next morning with my mind in a different gear.

Thanks to all of you who tried to lift me up that night.  It was appreciated even though I’m sure it didn’t seem like I appreciated it at the time.

These are my “Little Victories”.  I hope you all can find yours as well.

~Cappy