“We all fall down” Part 2 by Bob Perks

I wrote the following prayer and framed it as a gift
to Marianne on Valentine’s Day this year:

“A Prayer and a Promise”
God…Thank you for my beautiful, loving, wife Marianne.
Give her strength to get through this day. Hold her hand
for me as she has used that hand to pull me up time and time
again. Whisper in her ear, “Bob Loves You”…if ever
she should tire and remind her that this is a new journey
we all will share, “ever more.”

Thanks to my sister-in-law, Elaine for the inspiration for
the title. She took the time to speak with me after my
wife told her what happened. Her first words to me were,
“Bob, we all fall down.”

I have since spoken to everyone in my family about it.
I am loved.

“We all fall down” Part 2
By Bob Perks
I arrived at the facility in the early evening.

I had since calmed down and was adjusting
to the reality that there was no way out. I
simply had to follow through on the process
so I could get on with my life.

What I wasn’t acknowledging was I needed
help to do it.

Upon arrival I told the nurses that I wanted
no visitors. Not even my wife. Perceived
shame and arrogance still prevailed.

I was introduced to my room and room mate
and settled in with what little I had.

The unit was a fully locked facility for obvious
security reasons.

As I was checking in, I observed a group of
people in what was called the community room.
All eyes on the new guy made me feel a bit
uncomfortable at first.

I have never had a problem with meeting new
people so, I made my rounds introducing myself
to the others.

I began a journey defiantly and would come to
discover it was all in God’s plan.

Since I arrived late on a Friday the next few days
would be pretty much uneventful. There were no
therapy sessions, classes or in depth conversations
with anyone other than my new friends.

I was in Adult 4. This section worked with people
who were struggling with life issues. Cutters, people
who hurt themselves, people there for a brief mental
interlude because life was smothering them and a few
who had suicidal thoughts.

I am guessing that some of you might refer to this
as the “nut house”, the “loony bin,” and other
sadly misunderstood and hurtful labels.

It couldn’t be further from the truth.

In one discussion I had with a fellow patient, we
came to the conclusion that if you took
anyone off the street, perhaps even you, and placed
them in this unit, you’d fit right in. You’d most
likely discover unaddressed issues and realities
you may be hiding for years. You might also have
a difficult time convincing the staff that you were
“just fine” and could go home.

The fact is, we all have life challenges. Some handle
them, some don’t…some hide them and slowly self
destruct from the inside out.

This place can change all of that.

I believed that as soon as Monday arrived they would
come to see that I didn’t belong there and release me.
Throughout the weekend, in fact, a number of people
asked me, “What ARE you doing here? You’re too happy.”
It became apparent on Monday that in order to get
home I’d have to prove my ability to deal with my
over sensitivity to family concerns and put things
in perspective.

I didn’t want to become numb to my sensitive ways, I just
wanted to put them in their proper place.

I would later determine that I had not in any way attempted
to take my life. All my pills were intact, accept for the
scrambled message sent to my friend asking for prayer,
there were no suicide goodbyes or notes left for loved ones.
I simply crashed under self imposed pressure.

That first evening I called my wife and apologized for what
had happened. I asked for her to visit the next day.

It was super bowl weekend and I knew I had to do something
about it. A few were taking up a small collection to try
to get a pizza.

Since I had no money, wallet or cell phone, I had to wait my
turn at the pay phone to place a request with Marianne.

“I heard they wanted to order pizza for the group. I offered
to pay for everything. So, I need $100,” I told Marianne.
“Okay?” she replied with a slight bit of confusion.

This little party became the focus of everyone there. We were
about to place an order for $100 worth of pizza, wings and
soda. It was a big deal because most of the hospital food
was tasteless. Pizza and wings were a bit of the reality of
outside the walls of this place and a taste of the future we
all longed for.

It was remarkable how excited everyone was. Those who had
cares and concerns, depression and anxiety came together
to celebrate life.

When Marianne arrived I also had her bring several copies of
my two books to leave for others and to give to people I felt
God wanted me to personally touch.

Over the next few days I came to know each and every one of
these people like we were long time friends, even family.

I truly believe that I was meant to be there. There was
a greater purpose than my own issues for having to spend
time with friends I’ve never met…before now.

Although we sat through chat sessions of therapy, art classes
where scissors were not permitted and all too many games of
Pictionary, I discovered that the real therapy evolved right there
in the community room and in the hallways one on one among
the people themselves.

It took 14 full laps to walk the hallway to equal one mile. I did
a lot of walking.

We did a lot of talking.

I cannot go into personal details of the lives and reasons
my new found friends were there, but I will tell you that for
some like myself, it would be a one time visit. For some it
was like a homecoming because they still have not found
the answers they were seeking and have been there
before.

No, it wasn’t because they lacked faith. The Bible was
prominent in many conversations. It wasn’t because they
were “druggies and alcoholics” who some consider should
be locked up for good.

They were human beings with families, children, lovers,
friends and professionals who permitted life to get out of
focus and fear rule over their every decision. Yes, some
had drinking problems, drug addictions but all were just
like you and I. God’s children.

It would end up being six days in that facility for me.

I remember clearly the moment my wife walked through
the door that first day and saw me standing there with
my sneakers unlaced, my belt missing, unshaven and
ashamed.

I can see myself standing in the window of my room
each night watching her drive away into the real world,
the big world I could not touch, smell or even inhale.

The day I was released I walked into the community
room where all my friends were meeting. Interrupting the
class I stood in the doorway afraid that I would burst into
tears because you know I hate goodbyes.

Suddenly these words came to mind:
“Every time you hear a car horn beep, a patient gets
their wings. Listen in a few moments you’ll hear it.”

I hugged two friends, Momma and Big T, as tears poured out.

I ran as fast as I could with the nurse to meet my wife downstairs.
I didn’t even lace my shoes nor put a belt on.

As we pulled out of the lot I said, “Turn right and stop
when I tell you.”

She did. I laid my hand on the horn and beeped a dozen
or more times.

Reminiscent of “It’s a Wonderful Life” I found myself
yelling, “Hello, car!” “Hello, house” “Hello, pond!”
“Hello, froggy on top of the television!”

And then I fell on the floor and let my dogs lick
the “hello” out of me!

On a Valentine’s Day I will remember the rest of my well
lived and greatly appreciated life, I had my first appointment
with my psychiatrist. A tough old guy who during my stay there
personally challenged me by knowing what buttons to push.

I had promised him when we made the appointment on my
last visit with him that I would call if I needed him.

“You know that’s Valentine’s day. Do
I need to bring you chocolates?”

“Yes,” he replied without looking at me.

“Milk or dark?” I asked.

“Mix.”

“Okay, but I refuse to bring you flowers!” I told him.

“You can’t eat flowers,” he said with a tiny curled up smile
on his face.

It turned out to be the sweetest day of my life.

So, there you are. I had to be committed to a mental facility.
Just writing that still shakes me a bit.

It was worth it.

Imagine too, what my wife felt like. Imagine the pain and
anguish she held in her heart as she left me there and
drove home to an empty house.

She would later tell that she “felt my presence.”

Now listen…you there right now reading this. There is
no shame in any of this. If you had any other disease or
physical ailment you would deal with it. You would fight
for your life.

If you are struggling with life and at times feel overwhelmed
and think you can’t handle it talk to your family, your doctor,
your minister, rabbi or priest. Talk to God. He’s a great
listener and already knows your heart.

If you have had thoughts of suicide…don’t wait, get help
right now! No your family or the world won’t be better off
without you. They will suffer greatly and there will be a void
left in their lives that only you can fill. You can lose your job,
your house, your best friend, spouse or all your valuables and
your being gone won’t change any of that.

You are loved. Even if you think you aren’t.
You are needed desperately in this world. Even when you
believe you have no purpose.

God didn’t create you without purpose. He created you with
love and hope for the world.

I love you,
I need you.

Here are four things that I learned:
1. I will stop and think before I react and ask myself “Is it worth it?”
2. I will do what is in my best interest.
3. I will NEVER consider suicide. There are always other options.
4. I will remember the past to learn from it so I don’t repeat the
same mistakes or “Beat Myself up.”

Oh, wait. There are five…
My wife did this because she loved me that much. Yes, That much!

I want you to learn to love yourself that much, too. To love yourself
is to love God who created you.

There is nothing that you and God can’t handle together.
I know. Believe me, I know because…
“We all fall down!”
Love always and all ways,
Bob
“I wish you enough!”
J
Bob

I encourage you to share my stories but
I do ask that you keep my name and contact
information with my work.