"To those whom much has been given, much will be asked."

This was the most beautiful part of the write-up that Ktmdude posted in the thread "The Nepali people work very hard", and a truly inspirational one. Very few people realize this, although perhaps everyone knows this in the back of their minds.

I am often faced with this question, both from others and from myself at times -- What is the best way to challenge yourself to do better? Some say that you should look at those whose success has surpassed yours and strive to be their equal. If you are content with your situation and don't aim for higher things, you will remain a specimen of mediocrity, I've heard many people say. Others claim that the true challenge is to realize that there are many more who are worse off than you, to be thankful for what you have, and give in return to uplift the others from their present state of misfortune. Which one of these is a wiser way to self improvement and success? I haven't been able to answer that question yet.

I spent my undergraduate summer vacations working with mentally ill patients in psychiatric hospitals in New York-- patients with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, major depression, borderline personality disorder. Often, when I came home after the day's work, people would ask me -- So, how does it feel to work with these lunatics? For those who hadn't seen, never met, never known these living and breathing people, they were creatures of another world, the world of abnormality, the world of lunatics. But for me, they were human, very much like myself, with families, jobs, hopes, desires, dreams, feelings, and a future that was on hold for years past and years to come. Then there were patients whose families were unlike our own, families that we take for granted -- there were fathers and mothers who raped their own children, there were fears and threats imposed on them daily, there was jeering and cacophonous laughter at their failings that had demolished their sense of integrity and self-esteem. Each case had a horrendous history. Each page painted a reality that these people had actually lived through but which we can only imagine. At best, perhaps we could see images of their mutilated lives through flimsy portrayals in high gloss movies with glamorous stars.

So, when asked how it feels to work with these lunatics, my answer would invariably be, "it feels so real."

I won't deny that it made me feel so much more fortunate, and for the first time, truly thankful for what I had -- family, friends, relatives (even those who gossip behind your back), and a future brimming with hopes. Working with them, particularly with adolescents, was both a joy and a challenge. A funny sort of challenge was that being of small stature, it was often difficult for me to maintain the air of authority required of my position, especially when all the patients were giants in front of me. But that was what brought me closer to them -- they found this lack of physical intimidation welcoming and I was allowed glimpses into their lives that were rarely open for public display. It was truly amazing. They let me travel into their world, the world called Abnormal and Insane.

to be continued ...

"A funny sort of challenge was that being of small stature, it was often difficult for me to maintain the air of authority required of my position, especially when all the patients were giants in front of me. But that was what brought me closer to them -- they found this lack of physical intimidation welcoming and I was allowed glimpses into their lives that were rarely open for public display."

So true, good to see the inifinite mind prevailing over matter :)

Very interesting ... look forward to more.

Hope all is well.

simply awesome writing.
although i am not related to your field of concentration but due to some unavoidable circumstances that happens (by bhagwan ko ikchha le) i could relate to what u r saying.

=====================================================
as always.
what do i know (O:

i think the mantra to success is to look upon people who are better off, when you are succeding and look at others who are even worse at stature than you (not to demean ni pheri), when you are down. it's easier said than done but that's what i personally strive for although my success rate in doing that is low, very low....

good one! keep it coming!

LooTe

yes . nice read!

Very thoughtful!

Very interestingly written..eagerly waiting for the continuation..

Chris (name altered for confidentiality) was a 17 year old young man recently admitted to the borderline personality disorder unit. He was a big guy at 6 feet 4 inches, with curly hair and a boyish face with signs of burgeoning good looks. When he wasn't violent, his smile was the most exquisite smile anyone ever saw, with cute dimples on both cheeks. But I didn't see this perfect smile until a fews after his admittance into the hospital. He came into the unit as an unruly teenager with venom and violence in his voice. The psychiatrists had warned everyone not to go near him. He was often led by 2-3 strong men to the isolation room, strapped down on a stretcher with a thick piece of cloth stuffed into his mouth to keep him from screaming. A week after his arrival, I was allowed to accompany his treatment team on its daily rounds. Chris was often ill disposed, in bed under covers, and rude to the staff. He refused to come out of his room and socialize. Two weeks passed by with Chris alone in his room, sleeping (or pretending to sleep).

One afternoon, I was making my clinical rounds, alone. Chris' door was ajar and I knocked on his door before entering. He lowered the bedsheet that covered his face, and I saw his beautiful blue eyes looking at me, first with anger then with recognition.

"What do you want?" he said.
"I need to check on you, Chris. How are you doing today?" I ruffled through his file, my pen poised to jot down my observations.
"Check on me? For what?"
"It's the rule here."
"F*ck the rules. I'm sick of it. I wanna go to sleep. Get outta of my room." He covered his face.

I stood there scribbling my notes. He removed the sheets again.

"Hey, aren't you the little lady who wears flower patterned dresses?" he said without any inflections in his tone.
"Yes, I do wear dresses with flower patterns. It's summer, you know." I kept writing. He sniggered at me.
"Yeah, I noticed you when you come with Dr. X in the mornings. You like flowers or what?" His face seemed to soften.
"Yeah, flowers are nice. There are lots of them in the garden. Have you looked out your window?"
"Nah, I don wanna get up. I wish to sleep forever."
"Why is that?" I asked.
"What d'ya mean why do I wanna sleep all the time? Cuz that's what I want. Now just leave me alone."
"Well, why don't you tell me why you wanna sleep all the time? Don't you wanna come out and hang out with the other people in the living room?"
"Nah, I just wanna sleep," he said, resting his head on his arms and staring at the ceiling.
I was quiet for a moment, busy writing my notes.
"You know, when I sleep, I can dream of all the good things. I can do what I want. If I go outside, then I have to do what those f*ckers say. I ain't my own boss. And I hate that."
"So you always dream of good things when you sleep?"
"Yeah." He then looked at me, fumbling a bit. "Well, not always. Sometimes I have bad dreams, like nightmares you know. Then I can't sleep."
I looked at him and smiled. "Well, then perhaps you should come outside and hang out with the others."
He looked at me blankly.

The next morning, when I entered the unit, I found Chris sitting on the sofa in the living room, sour faced and somber. The resident nurse called me to her office and said, "Chris has been asking for the little lady with flower patterned dress. I think he meant you." She smiled and continued, "I think he'll open up with you soon enough. Keep a report on his progress for the team."

To be cont'd ....

Very intersting..keep coming...

It was the first time I saw that bewitching smile on Chris' face -- happy with a tint of embarrassment, but full of his boyish charm.

"Hey, little lady with the flower dress! Come here." I was happy to see Chris finally out of his black hole of a room. And so was the team. I watched a bit of Forrest Gump with him and the others. I could see how much Chris was enjoying his human company of people who had suffered, differently yet not unlike himself in more ways than one.

There was Louis (name altered again) who had ADD (Attention deficit disorder) and was HIV+ due to mother-to-child transmission. He loved basketball, though he was a dwarfish character with loads of hyperactive genes. And Melvina (changed name) whose mother had "raped" her by sodomizing her with bottles and broomsticks. She was also HIV+ in the same way that Louis was. Except that she loved to cut herself and leave her blood on cotton balls so that others could get the virus from her. Melvina had become a threat o others and was constantly trying to hurt herself. She was also bipolar -- suffered depressive lows and manic highs in her moods that often left her completely incapacitated, just like a village ravaged by a tornado.

She called me into her room one day. "Hey Shorty, come to my room. I need to talk to ya," she said. At 13 she was 5 feet 8 inches and considerably taller than I was and of a much bigger build. She loved to hug me, often stifling me with her hug and refusing to let me go. She said I was very "snuggly" just the way my little sister in Nepal says that about me. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, I wasn't afraid of her violent hugs.

"Yes, Melvina? What did you want to speak to me about?"
"Close the door, will ya?"
"You know that's not allowed. You can't close the door when someone else is in your room, Melvina."
"Why? Cuz they think I'm gonna rape you or something?"
"I don't know."
"You think that's how you get raped? If you wanna know about rape ask my mother. That b*tch. She gave me this ugly disease. No one wants to be my friend cuz they say I got AIDS. No one wants to touch me." There were heavy tears in her eyes.

She was in the throes of her depressive mood, I could see that.

"Well, I been thinkin'. I been askin' God what I did wrong to get this rotten life. I am glad I got AIDS. It means I ain gonna live long."
"I think you're very sweet," I tried to smile.
"Ya, right. I don't want no lies no more. If I was sweet, I would've been ....luckier." She came toward me for a hug. It smothered me and hurt me, but I knew how important that hug was for her.

Touch is the alpha and the omega of love, I had once heard. And both in my undergrad and graduate study in psychology, I've come across several studies confirming how touch can have a healing effect on an ailing mind and body. But reading about something is far from living it. Melvina wasn't asking much, just a hug, and her long suffering body and mind at the tender age of 13, found some respite.

Months later, when she left the unit for a foster home, she was put on a stretcher, with her arms strapped down because she had recently tried to slit her wrists. "Shorty," she called out to me.
"I just wanted to tell you before leaving that I had a crush on you," she smiled. I returned her smile and said, "Thank you."

cool.. Simplegal, u probably come accross these kinda situation every so often. I have thouroughly enjoyed reading them.. keep us posted..

VB

Thread such as this one make me return to Sajha very often.

SimpleGal, thanks for sharing your experiences. Keem them coming.

How do I challenge myself? hmm..by focussing on something. I think I might have ADD.

Rita (name changed) was a 40 something, short and stout Black woman. The muscular calves of her legs and her thick ankles always scared me. I can't explain why. She wore an African turban to hide the ugly pubic hair that grew on her head instead of her pubis. That was her rationalization for the bright orange head gear with great parrots she had on every moment of the 1 month she spent on the schizophrenia unit. She was a chronic case of paranoid schizophrenia, having had the disorder for almost all her life.

But Rita was funny, unlike the others in the unit who were melancholy, violent, and unkempt. With her quirky sense of fashion, she was always wearing something outlandish and amusing. Robes of garish colors, tunics that would turn heads everywhere, and sandals with sharp heels. It was because of her penchant for fashionable things that she decided to ask me to get her earrings just like mine. And in my ignorance, I agreed.

The next day, Rita wanted those earrings. I had entirely forgotten about them and tried to explain why I came without them that morning. Rita was violent, for the first time. She hurled hideous expletives at me accusing me of being a "bloody racist" and "nigger-hater." In her mind, I had chosen to forget the earrings because I hated her black skin. And I agreed to get them to taunt and ridicule her. Rita was promptly handled with physical restraints and led to the isolation room. She was left alone for 2 days.

That day, I felt that I had deprived her of her freedom, of company and of comfort. I also realized the root her paranoia -- irrational fear of being humiliated on the grounds of racial discrimination. I tried to conceptualize, to calibrate the immensity of her experiences where such a meagre act of mine could elicit such a hysterical and impassioned reaction from someone who was twice my age. It was truly a monumental challenge for a young college student. Though I've studied schizophrenia more closely in the years since, that incident has remained etched in my mind as the most stark glimpse into human frenzy and despair.

To be continued....

Very good narration, expecting some more from you...

very interesting read.
having spent my entire life so far studying technology, i tend to look for proofs (mathematical or analytical) behind a process. there is either 0 or 1 in it, nothing inbetween. human psychology always fascinated me. IMHO, if you can understand the rationale behind one's action in accord to his ways of thinking (psychology), you can justify almost every action that a human does. it's strage to see that psychology can rationalize almost every action that mathematics perhaps cannot!

good job narrating. keep coming!

LooTe

sorry, pls read "great parrots" as "green parrots" ....

When I was able to help Chris emerge from his self imposed dungeon and socialize, or give a hug to Melvina or encourage little Louis in his basketball game, I can't tell you how pleased I was with myself. I felt that I was, on some level, making a difference in their lives, touching their lives in the fleeting moments of our acquaintance.

It's very easy to challenge yourself to compete and perhaps even to excel others if we pour our efforts to that end. Through evolutionary history of human beings, we've seen mankind being competitive. It's in our genes to strive to be better than the rest -- after all, it's the fittest who survive, isn't it? But the most difficult part of being human is to enter the lives of the scores of nameless, faceless people waiting patiently for that word of encouragement, that touch of love, that promise of acceptance. Now that is, in my experience, the real challenge -- to step outside of your own needs and to step inside someone else's needs. Why? You might ask. Because we are constantly devising ways to separate ourselves from the others -- the self versus other divide has always existed and is growing with time. When we compete with someone, we are trying to outdo that person to make ourselves feel better and accept ourselves as competent.

Yes, I am aware that when we are down ourselves, we think of the down-trodden, the down-on-their luck. It breathes strength into us to rise up when we fall. But when we are back on the saddle of success, we are quick to forget the down-trodden because our sight is on that rider ahead of us and we are speeding frantically to outrace him. And the down-on-their-luck are still down, serving merely as inspirations for those who were fit enough to survive, to move ahead. Chris is probably still struggling to smile his stunning dimpled smile, Melvina is aching somewhere for that hug, asking God why she was born, and Rita still lost in the delusions of her racial fears.

I realize that I haven't really answered the question I posed as the header for this thread. But then, I already stated that I have not been able to answer it -- yet. But it is a question that resurrects itself, sometimes in myself, sometimes in others ....

No more continuation. :-)

Simplegal -

I agree with all the comments commending you on your style and narrative - great job there. I enjoyed reading your experiences.

If you will allow me, your writings raise a couple of points in my mind that I thought I should share. These points are not intented to be related to one another or even to the contents of your post - they are merely thoughts that were stimulated after reading your posts.

(1) How much does the physical apperance of a person influence how they are treated by others? Does a cute guy or gal end up getting favorable treatment over a less attractive one even amongst the most educated and thinking people in society whom you would expect would see past such superficial features? I think I know the answers but wanted to point out how shallow we all , and am I not saying you specifically in any way, can be with matters like these inspite of our best efforts not to be so.

(2) If you are gifted, either by training, vocation or other means with the ability to analyse human behavour and thinking, how do those analytical abilities affect the other aspects of your life? For example your social or even romantic life? Are the social lives of psychiatrists, psycologists and other observers of the human mind affected in any way - and if so how - by the vast amount of knowledge they posses about the workings of the mind? Just a random thought there.

Thanks for your invigorating comments and keep them coming.

Good night :)

I hadn't read your last post when I put in my comments - but good to read your concluding remarks there.

As for the header of the thread, hey, we all find ways to challenge and stretch ourselves - it only human nature. I do it everyday as I am sure countless others do it too. The key to being constantly challenged, in my opinion, is to realize the infinite thinking power of the mind and not be hesitant to push new boundaries in thoughts and action.

Great thread - would love to hear more thoughts on the subject if you ever feel like penning more of them down.

:)

Howdy to all the other folks on the thread!

i m bipolar and have some other shit disorder.tara k garnu kam pani garnu parcha,padhnu ni paryo.yehi ho american jivan.

.

On the first read, I didn’t quite get the gist for your write-up. After getting it all compiled into a word document, I went through it again. My impressions to your write-up went to its peak when you stated you are/were a student of psychology. I am not at all related to psychology. I mean, I have philosophies, but I don’t even dare share them unless that necessary. [Or am I doing that right now] .

I relate myself to the traumatic ppl on the write-up. Chris, Melvina or Rita .. They had traumatic experiences in their life, which are making them weak and ‘depleting’ them this time and further. I believe, every one of us have this ability to get insane, traumatic. At one point in a time, you feel you are so neglected/ deprived of something, and most of the times it’s the case when you are on a pursuit of happiness. We go on searching for happiness, when Happiness itself is the answer. NOT the search! Happiness – as the name is , comes in many forms and that’s just the other part of the discussion.

Realization! When do you realize this?

As of me, I had strictly defined myself into having this attitude problem, where I believed humanity is just so f(cking. Not the reason of me actually being a misanthropist: but because I was acting cool, you know. A little more adds up to it for my inclination to heavy metal. My friends know me as one person who admires almost anything that comes to my way! My appearance looked as though, I was the idiot not living life the “gentle” way. Every of my actions would turn into being “abnormal.” But I knew deep down, I am again acting cool. Now, I have come strong into my philosophies as such that, I can talk to a PRIEST about my GOD. He finds it hard to convince me with leading me to believe in his GOD. Now, I act normal, but I don’t get awkward on expressing that I get traumatic now n then. And when I do, I say clear: see.. I have this disorder. And, you needn’t worry.. I realize this! I don’t suffer from insanity, rather I enjoy it.

As from your definition of traumas and abnormality.. I take back myself being insane and abnormal. I am perfectly OKAY. Truly speaking, I have never had acquaintance with ppl who are really traumatic and insane and moreover the way you presented it aids up in believing that there really are people who should be taken extreme care of, and there are facades like me, who know how to take care of himself. ;)

On a little side note, I being insane was just that I had priorities set up in my life which I found out, would be acknowledged after a little wait. A little bit of patience and endurance is all I need! : )

Your write-up has so much substance in it! Thanks for bringing it out!!!