Posted on by CP · 4 Comments

Triggers and Such

I Have a Few

What is a trigger in mental health?

In mental health terms, a trigger refers to something that affects your emotional state, often significantly, by causing extreme overwhelm or distress. A trigger affects your ability to remain present in the moment (healthline.com).

I was in the middle of writing this and I happened to see Hugh Grant being interviewed on a talk show. He was asked if there is anything these days that pisses him off (paraphrasing). He said, “There are so many things.” Having watched this actor go through some very difficult times, It felt good to know I am not alone. I suspect a few of you reading this will agree.

I’m going to start by stating some of the things that trigger me:

  • when people do not listen when others are speaking directly to them
  • when someone jumps ahead in line
  • lying, cheating, and deception
  • when I share how I feel or what I think and the person I’m talking to immediately gets defensive (I have to be careful because I sometimes get defensive)
  • when someone gets away with a violation of the law, when others have been severely punished for the same crime
  • when people do not pick up their dog poop
  • the revving of motorcycle engines (noise pollution; usually teenagers and usually when I’m reading)
  • when someone cuts me off while I’m driving
  • when someone pushes me
  • when someone yells at me
  • when google maps sends me in circles or to the wrong address
  • people who try to enter a train or elevator before those who are exiting
  • when I’m sitting at an outdoor café on a beautiful day and someone at the table next to me is doing something to ruin the experience (could be any number of things)
  • when government agencies deliberately use red tape to deter you from pursuing a benefit
  • when people talk during a film
  • when parents do nothing to quiet their screaming babies
  • when people speak loudly on their cell phones (especially on public transportation)
  • when salespeople try to tell me what I need
  • when doctors (or other professionals) are condescending
  • when someone drinks like a fish (or orders a Tomahawk) at dinner and wants to split the check
  • when young people take a seat on public transportation and then fail to offer their seat to those who need to sit
  • when an individual insists on talking to me about their religion even when I insist I am not interested
  • when individuals use a public restroom and leave it a mess
  • when someone comes to my house for a dinner party and says, “I meant to bring you something, but I forgot” or “I didn’t have time to stop.”

As I was typing, I realized my list is endless. I’d love to know about your triggers.

My Reaction to Being Triggered

I imagine that many of you will relate to how it feels to be triggered. It seems like it doesn’t take much to set people off these days. Lately, my immediate reaction to being triggered is rage. After the initial internal explosion of anger, I assess the situation. Is it safe for me to communicate my displeasure? Unfortunately, most people cannot handle feedback; therefore, I have to hold back. This has been true for past relationships and interaction with family as well. Baggage I have carried with me since childhood has had a big impact on my everyday life. The things that trigger me have remained fairly consistent; what has changed is how I react.

What Control Looks Like

If I can diffuse my anger and walk away, that is by far the best response. I take a deep breath and consider a healthy way to cope. If I’m on the road, I try my best to switch to soothing music. If the anger builds and I feel myself remaining tense, I pull over and sit for a while. If I’m on the street, I cross over to the opposite side. If I’m in a shop, I leave. If I need to buy something, I go to another part of the shop and wait a few minutes.

When I worked in an office I had no choice but to completely control my anger. Considering I worked in the same place for 16 years and I was promoted several times, I must have been successful at holding back. I recall walking to my office, closing the door, and taking several deep breaths. Ultimately I did lose my cool with my boss and then resigned a few days later; however, in all fairness, it was time.

I think when you can control your anger in the workplace, you should be able to do it everywhere else. If you find you have trouble responding in a healthy way, there are people and organizations available to help. I found that a life coach, was a life saver.

The Work

Ah the hard work that needs to be done — it ain’t easy. In order to prevent myself from becoming an angry old man, I need to be aware of my triggers and work on my reaction. I need to react in a healthy way, without the help of substances. Here’s the plan:

  1. The first thing I need to do is choose healthy responses to most situations. Create a tool box with tools I can call upon.
  2. I need to practice with someone I trust. I need to be fully present.
  3. After I try a response, I need to assess the success of said response. Did I remain calm? Did I carry the anger with me all day or night? If I was able to diffuse the anger, what did I learn from it?
  4. Repeat, repeat, repeat, until a successful response becomes my go to in the future.
  5. Do a regular check on where I am with anger control.
  6. Congratulate myself for making progress and learning new behaviors.
  7. Ask people I trust, how I’m doing.

One needs to also keep in mind that some amount of anger is healthy — it’s good to feel rage, so long as you can control it.

What I Strive For

Ultimately, I’d like to be nonplussed by my triggers — I’d like to stop caring as much as I do. For example, I witness someone leaving dog poop on the street and I either pick it up myself or turn the other way. No lingering anger or resentment, just acceptance and a version of indifference.

I don’t want to be “that guy.” That guy who pisses and moans about everything; that guy who is labeled “negative;” that guy who doesn’t see the good in things or people; that guy with a short fuse; that guy who doesn’t care about anything. I want to be known as easygoing and sexy (just wanted to be sure you were paying attention).

I observed a person I was spending time with yesterday, being triggered several times. I observed several passive aggressive responses to their anger. A great way to learn how not to respond. Nobody likes the tension caused by this sort of reaction. This is why Karens are unpopular.

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Future Travel

Lyon, France for Christmas, South Africa land & sea in February, and Oslo, Norway, July 2024. Finally, a visit to the Puglia region of Italy in the spring of 2025. The United States in 2025 is likely: Brooklyn, Florida, Portland, Maine, Maryland, and North Carolina. I booked a Mediterranean cruise for October 2025; more about that some other time — it sails from Tel Aviv. I know you may not see it, but this is a much lighter travel schedule than the past.

Current State of Mind

I’m having my wood floors refinished next month and it will be a big mess (I don’t like messes). In anticipation, I am taking it easy and keeping plans to a minimum. I know that my life will be turned upside down for at least a week in mid-January; therefore, I’m enjoying the holiday season and the quiet that I am experiencing now.

Namaste
Posted on by CP · 10 Comments

My Last Night With Anthony

I only wish I’d known my brother would soon leave us

Anthony was super sensitive, troubled, and a danger to himself. He was also extremely supportive and people couldn’t help loving him. He was born two years after me in Brooklyn, at a time when behavioral and psychological issues went undiagnosed. Anthony wasn’t lock-him-up crazy, but he wasn’t meant to be left to his own devices either. I knew my brother struggled, but I had my own shit to deal with growing up. Our broken home was not the best environment for personal instability. As if by random selection, I thrived in our shared dysfunction, my brother did not. Anthony was only 38 when a fatal dose of heroin took his life. He apparently had an enlarged heart as a result of years of cocaine abuse. The coroner documented his death as an accident — we’ll never know for sure. This is the story of our last night together.

I was turning 40 and finally somewhat satisfied with the direction of my life. A career that was progressing nicely, a completed Ph.D., a brownstone apartment in Brooklyn that was all mine, and for the most part, acceptance of my sexual orientation. I was ready to celebrate. I planned a big party at a friend’s Manhattan, Park Avenue penthouse. I hired chefs, entertainment, and invited nearly 100 of my closest friends and family. I had already come out as gay, but this was more like coming out as having survived my youth. I prepared a speech for the occasion where I would let those who cared about me know how much they meant to me. Anthony flew to New York from North Carolina. I was too busy during the day of my party to spend any time with him; I told him I’d see him at my party.

By the time he arrived, the party was in full swing. He walked over to me at some point, sullen and resembling death. I wasn’t immediately alarmed, I’d seen him in despair many times in our lives. He suffered from severe depression and his marriage had recently ended. I hugged him and promised him that at some point during the evening, we’d have some quality time. We passed one another several times throughout the night. I asked him to stick around for my speech because there was something I wanted him to hear.

My sister Kathy approached me during the party chaos. She told me that she knew I was busy, but she was worried about Anthony. I recall saying something like, “Aren’t we always worried about Anthony?” A failed suicide attempt in his teens left us all forever on edge. I assured her that I’d check in on him before he flew back to North Carolina. It was a big night for me and my focus was on other things.

I gave my speech and referred to him as my brother and best friend. I was hoping that would cheer him up; it did make him smile, but clearly he was in a dark place. He’d been clean and sober for a long time and I was concerned that he might be so despondent he’d start using again. Anyone who has dealt with depression will tell you that the attempt to help someone is not always met with an embrace.

Anthony stayed till the end of the party and helped me load my gifts into the car. He had an early morning flight, but he seemed eager to speak to me about something on his mind. He had a history of placing me in the center of challenging times in his life. At one point in his early twenties I found him emaciated and close to death in his North Carolina apartment. There were empty heroine vials and used needles everywhere. I carried him out to my car and drove him to a rehab facility in Charlotte. He stayed for the three week treatment and remained clean (as far as I knew) until a short period prior to his death. He traveled the country speaking to young people about addiction and his journey to a better life — a healthier life. He often credited me with saving him, although I never wanted that responsibility. It was my mother who begged me to go to his apartment on the day I found him. By then, I was close to giving up on him. Rehabilitation, meeting a woman he fell in love with, and then having a beautiful baby girl, all led to stability and some semblance of happiness. Until it all came crashing down. Back to the night we unknowingly said goodbye forever.

After loading the car, we drove to Brooklyn and went to a diner to talk. Anthony wept and shared his disappointment about a marriage that had fallen apart and the knowledge that his six year old daughter would no longer be a part of his daily life. He was devastated and blamed himself for all of it. I listened and tried my best to be supportive. His tendency toward violence and extreme anger made it difficult to absolve him of any blame. Considering his state of mind, this was not the time to chide him for his bad behavior. I liked and respected his wife, but I also felt that she had in some way brought it on — I’m certain some of those feelings came from being a protective brother; I knew the triggers that brought out the worst in Anthony. 

Hours of talk painfully passed as the sun eventually showed through the filthy diner windows. I began hearing some softening of Anthony’s sobs and a small amount of relief. His flight was due to take off soon and I needed to get him to the airport. We were both spent and weary. I was deeply concerned about Anthony’s state-of-mind, but I needed sleep. We had been there before and I knew this time we had together would only be a bandaid. 

When we arrived curbside at departures, I stepped out of the car to hug my brother. As he wept in my arms, I recall telling him that he could come and stay with me anytime. I asked him to call me when he got home and he nodded and left me with a hint of a smile. I was relieved that the night was over as I drove away. This was the last time I saw my brother. He called me several times before overdosing/heart failure in July. After his death, I asked myself if there was anything more that I could have done. The answer of course is yes, there is always more one could have done, but I’m certain that there was nothing I could have done that would have prevented his death. His last call to me was a few days before he took to the streets to find heroin. He was deeply depressed, however, that was par for the course. I know that it was Anthony’s lifelong struggle with depression and addiction that killed him. Those of us who loved him may have at times eased his pain a bit, but none of us could have prevented his death. His struggle and friendship will inspire and haunt me until I die.

____________________________________

If you are struggling with a loved one who suffers from depression, there is no formula for helping them survive. Love, counseling, mental health programs, the sharing of resources, and the support of everyone around you can hopefully get you both through this devastating reality.

Anthony is sitting next to me on the sofa. My guess is that he was a year old in this photo and I was three. In the second photo, we were in North Carolina sometime in the early 80s.

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Future Travel

Basel, Switzerland in September, Asia land & sea, end of October/November and South Africa land & sea in February. My sister Debbie and her husband Lynn, will be joining me on a visit to our father’s birthplace in the Puglia region of Italy in 2025.

Current State-of Mind

These last few weeks in Faro have been a gift. Lots of quiet time for reflection and rest. I have once again decided to steer clear of toxic individuals — I say once again because I occasionally lose perspective and use poor judgment; I needed a good jolt. It’s impossible to rid yourself of all who cause you grief; however, you can limit the number by being proactive. Taking the high road is always the best path. Healthy disagreement is good, but not always possible; therefore, when it’s not an option, walk away. Anthony and others I have lost remind me of how fleeting life is.

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News: I have been waiting for the following (it will be a deciding factor in my remaining in Portugal):

After a long battle, Portugal passed a law on Friday legalizing euthanasia for people in great suffering and with incurable diseases, joining just a handful of countries around the world (wikipedia). Bravo!

Please forgive any typographical or grammatical errors.