More from the Funny Farm

So even though everyone here had their own problems to deal with, it seems that we were all brought together by our shared desires.  The desire to heal, to understand, to find a way back to some form of normalcy.  Each person, strangers one and all, became brothers and sisters of a sort.  Their lives touched my heart, their suffering touched my soul.

The man who tried to function in a world too complicated for his simple mind, he wanted to be a part of a world that left him overwhelmed and unable to even go to work many days.  He was recently engaged and talked of the gifts he and his fiancé were to exchange.

Or the woman who had a professional career in hospital administration, but had suffered from nine different cancers.  She had outlived her diagnosis by twelve years.  She also suffered from manias from her bipolar.  She said exactly what was on her mind, but cared very much about those around her.

A soldier joined us who spent four years in Afghanistan and was on disability for his back injuries.  His PTSD destroyed his marriage and the alcohol his liver.  He struggled to find a way to keep his wife from leaving.  And the doctors told him of his cirrhosis as he was detoxing.

There was the young man who did push-ups all day, hundreds of them.  He ate healthy as well, trying to take care of his body.  Except for the drugs he took to escape from a misunderstood life.  Poisoning the temple he worshipped to find a way to fit in.

Then was the beautiful woman who wanted so badly to help others, full of sage advice.  But in the middle of a manic experience that was just starting to fade.  Hurricane Harvey had pushed her over the edge.  Water forcing its way into her apartment had taken her too far and she found herself throwing her possessions and medication into the dumpster.

Next was the gentleman who had lost his partner and was dealing with his grief.  His attitude was loud and brash and he clashed with the nurses and techs over and over.  But as I talked with him and helped rein in his bravado, I discovered that he had a huge heart and cared so much.

The three young girls that lit up my days were next.  One young girl in high school whose parents were divorced and two college seniors.  All of them overwhelmed by their lives way too soon.  I had felt that same weight decades earlier, so my compassion was heartfelt.  To see them find their voices again and blossom once more was so miraculous.

And finally was the young man that touched me so.  He struggled with his life, I wanted to support him and tried very hard to, but fear I failed him.  He suffered greatly from an abusive father.  His stories were full of bravado, tall tales, and outright lies.  He was not ready to accept what had happened to him and his anger drove him hard.  I feel I knew his pains, they were scattered through his stories, the worst he put on others shoulders.  But I feel all of his stories were his own and that I fell short, seeing this and not finding a way to help him.

There were many others that each touched me in their own way.  Ultimately part of my healing was in a sharing of everyone else's healing.  We were there for each other, each vulnerable, each wanting more than we could get alone, each part of a process that brought us a little closer to the person we knew was inside us.  I send out a heartfelt thanks to all of these people who helped bring me through this experience.