Roots

I remember standing in the church for my daughter's wedding rehearsal, waiting for it to begin. Everyone was smiling. The pastor was smiling. The bridesmaids were smiling. My father was smiling.The rest of the guests were smiling. My daughter, of course, was smiling. But my ex-wife was not smiling. She wasn't smiling because she knew that something was horribly wrong with me.

I remember pacing. I couldn't sit or stand still. The entire world that I viewed through perturbed eyes looked somehow canted at an angle that I still have trouble describing: as if everything was off plum by 45 degrees. I felt dizzy. Nauseous. I desperately needed a cigarette. I walked outside, delaying the start of the rehearsal, keeping the rest of the guests and the poor pastor waiting.

Outside, I smoked and paced beneath blue Portuguese skies. I remember muttering to myself about the lack of proper preparation for the wedding. I was angry. I was afraid. I was becoming paranoid. I was convinced that everyone was staring at me. I remember a roaring, like a dam breaking, that echoed through my brain. But the only thing that was breaking was me. But I didn't know it. Not yet. Not for months. My hands shook. I sweated in the sun, sweat trickled down my face. Perspiration dotted my neck. It was hot, but not that hot. I finished my cigarette and went back into the church.

An hour later, or less, I experienced the breakdown. And so did everyone who happened to be within range of my emotional nuclear explosion. And in doing so I ruined my daughter's wedding and almost - but not quite - destroyed my life.

If I've learned nothing else, I've learned this: nervous breakdowns don't just happen. Rather, they are a time bomb that rests within many of us; a time bomb planted by past history; shaped perhaps by our genetic makeup; given substance by more recent stressors such as work, relationships, family, friends, and finances; gradually and secretly gaining size as life moves along, at last building toward a critical mass from which there is no reversal.

Add one more event to this ugly internal mixture, one more stressor, one more of life's many complexities- and it can be anything at all, no matter how small - and the bomb goes off. Like it did for me. The explosion that follows is profound. It not only takes out the person carrying the bomb but causes widespread collateral damage which affects those that we care most about. But it doesn't end there. Not by a long shot. Instead, the actual breakdown event is only the start of a crucifixion, and an ugly aftermath, that in my case goes on and on and on.

Many times I wish that I had had a heart attack rather than a nervous breakdown. It would have been much more simple, much easier to diagnose and treat, much less confusing, and would have hurt far fewer. But I did, and it did, and there's nothing I can do about that now.

Toward an Understanding of Personal Background

Over the years since the 'Event', I've done a bit of research. A number of articles that I read cite genetic and past environmental and biological factors as contributors to 'nervous breakdowns'. In other words, and like heart disease, your body and past learned behaviour can set you up for a fall. As it did for me. 

I should explain at this point that having suffered through this event, and because I am still in the middle of the aftermath, discovering more about myself, and what caused this, were critically important for me. I figured that if I could learn more about the causes: a) I could have a fair shot at fully recovering from this and at the same time make amends to those many people I had hurt and b) I would be better able to make sure that I never experienced anything like this again. It took me awhile to start this process. Some of the early professionals that I talked to strongly suggested that understanding why was unimportant. I begged to differ. 

So like an onion, I started to analyze myself, often with the help of a trained counselor  who agreed with me that developing personal insight would only help. And as I peeled myself back like an onion, I discovered much that horrified me but a great deal that gave me comfort too. Or at least an understanding. What I discovered made me realize that the bomb's construction had started very early on.

First, I realized that my genetic makeup strongly predisposed me toward a breakdown. My mother had suffered from a breakdown, though back then it had been diagnosed as something else. My father recently told me that his father - my paternal grandfather -  had suffered a breakdown. Genetically, it seemed that from my conception, the very fabric of my being might be conspiring against me.

Second, and perhaps more importantly, I was brought up in an environment that conflicted between the very secure and the very insecure.  My mother, God bless her, was an alcoholic. In hindsight, I'm now convinced that she self-medicated to get through her own mental issues. But those issues became my issues at a very young age. I became a caregiver. I learned to cope and survive by making sure that she was okay. As my counselor said to me only recently, "You learned that you could only be happy if those that you loved were happy first. If they were okay, you were okay." In other words, I put others first and became unaware of my own needs.  Certainly, I know that I put my needs second to those that I loved. I'm no saint. But even today I worry about other people before myself. It's not because I'm better. It's simply how I learned to cope. 

Third, as a kid I moved quite a bit due to my father's line of work. Between the ages of 9 and 15, I lived in 8 houses and attended 8 different schools, the various new homes located hundreds of miles from each other. Each move required me to find new friends and in many ways a new life. To cope, I became a people pleaser. I smiled a lot. I acted somewhat like a clown to make people laugh. I worked hard in school, knowing that if I pleased the teacher I had a better chance of being accepted. Little did anyone know - including my parents - that I was scared to death. And I was scared of almost everything: people, places, things. But I smiled and tucked my fear away. Of course I said nothing because I had learned to place others first. 

But this is what I learned to do to survive, and in many ways it worked. I'm still here. And I'm not complaining. Despite the sometimes crazy life, I had what I consider to be a wonderful childhood and adolescence. I made good friends. I excelled in many areas. I was able to matriculate to a great college then a great university for more graduate work. I was blessed with parents and a sibling that loved me to death. On the outside, and often even inside, I felt confident, lucky, and somehow special. 

But now, as I look back and remember, I also remember a profound sadness that would never quite go away. And an anxiety that was persistent. And a secret self-doubt in my own capabilities that somehow robbed many achievements and relationships of their joy.

I had not realized then that the bomb leading to a nervous breakdown had already been planted and had grown deep roots. It was only a matter of time.