Author: Keith Anderson

This was originally posted on The Good men Project ( www.goodmenproject.com )

“Shattered, shattered
Love and hope and sex and dreams
Are still surviving on the street
Look at me, I’m in tatters!
I’m a shattered
Shattered” Rolling Stones

After years of being shunned, how did I return to feeling like a respected and respectable person.

Last week I wrote about acceptance, rejection, and feeing relevant. One could say it was the start of a discussion on stigma. I often read and hear about stigma. I see people using the word, and with due respect, not everyone appreciates its meaning. I am a firm believer that until you live it, you will not truly understand the impact mental illness and stigma have on people. One can be understanding but not understand it. One can have a perspective but it’s different than someone with lived experience. My family has one, I have another. All are needed for society to address the stigma against mental illness.

When your core group of friends abandons you, you then “get it”. The impact is like having your self-confidence, self-esteem, and self-worth shattered against a brick wall. This happened to me. I was hurt, angry, sad, and shocked, in no particular order, perhaps all at once.

As I felt the complete loss of support, I was in the midst of weekly therapy. This loss became a deep and ongoing discussion with my doctor. She of course was expecting this discussion.

But at the end, as with many issues in life, it came done to a simple, but gut wrenching decision. Do I want these so-called friends in my life? Do I want to hold on to that anger, that pain? Do I want to dismiss them from my life? To some extent, the friends made the decision, they didn’t want me in their lives. That’s a tough one to accept.

I eventually dismissed them from my mind and heart. I came to learn that doing so was healthy. It gave me the space to then address my own needs and seek friendships with new people who understood and accepted my life.
How did I rebound from such hurt, such abandonment? Simple occurrences were the building blocks to overcoming this harsh treatment.

Last week, I mentioned the positive impact the woman of my dreams had by accepting my depression as a factor in the demise of our relationship.

Let’s look at a few things that to most would not even go noticed.

I wasn’t well enough to work or even leave the house, so I spent a lot of time online. I was looking to better understand my life.

I came to learn many people with mental illness have felt the sting of stigma. It wasn’t me as a person who was rejected. I recognized that people ran from my mental illness, not from me, though the effect was the same. I was able to take some solace.

I was offered a job with the Canadian Mental Health Association. I hadn’t worked in eight years. I needed a bank account as my old ones were dormant since I had no money for a few years. Having a bank account with money deposited was huge! To have a bank teller who I knew but had seen in years, say “ Hello, Keith” was incredible. To be able to cash a pay cheque was overwhelming. I began feeling like a full person. I was not my illness.

I walked into the CMHA Offices as a staff member. Other staff accepted me as a colleague. The Executive Director who hired me sought my advice on a number of issues. I was the Project Manager on a national initiative and had discussions with people across Canada. I got to travel a bit. I met people who accepted me, who respected me. Some even liked me!

My life was starting to come together. I could function in a work place and make new friends. It took my breath at times!

Strangers being kind to me, holding a door open at a shop, helped me feel good. A smile as we passed each other on the street made my day better. Not just for that moment, but for the entire day.

I speak and write , obviously, about my journey through mental illness. When I get invited to present at a conference, it provides a true sense of belonging. In fact I am asked to present because of my mental illness. Now that’s something to recognize ! Receiving comments on my writings makes me feel good.

My mind came undone due to mental illness. Now I celebrate my depression that took so much of my life into darkness. My life is better as a result. It’s all about perspective.

We all have challenges. We all know pain. We also know the joys of life. We must embrace all aspects of our lives. Only then will our lives be worth living.

Socially Awkward in Recovery

My social etiquette was lacking. Years in the darkness had that effect.

I consider myself fully recovered from mental illness – depression, OCD, and anxiety.
Reflecting back, I knew by the autumn of 2007, I was going to regain my good health. It didn’t take much longer to recognize that l had recovered from 16 years of darkness. To see the brightness of life was overwhelming in the best possible sense.

The four years between my breakdown and recovery were spent in semi-isolation. I interacted with my family, two friends, and my doctors.That was all. Oh, a few online connections too.

Venturing into the world presented certain challenges.

Though healthy, I found myself lacking in certain social skills. Social demeanour had to be re-learned. Now I wasn’t completely inept or ignorant!

I was invited to speak at a mental health conference in my home town. The organizing committee and the conference speakers spend the evening before the conference at dinner. It’s a great idea to help calm one’s nerves and concerns about the conference. It was my first dinner at a restaurant in my home town in six years.
I found myself sitting at the table looking at a full setting – plates, dishes, and cutlery. I wasn’t sure which fork to use first, which plate to use for my bread! There was a time in my life when such dinners were common place. I did figure it all out but for those few moments, I felt out of sorts.

It sounds simple and even petty, and that’s the point, it is. So the fact that I struggled was even more pronounced to myself.

Travelling brought a new set of circumstances.

I was invited to volunteer with a Mental Health Commission of Canada project being organized by the Canadian Mental Health Association Manitoba Division. The Project Committee met a few times in different cities across Canada. Our first meeting was held in Winnipeg. I hadn’t flown in years. I asked my sister what was new at the airport. Check in was being completed at a kiosk. I had to read the airline’s site to learn was allowed in carry-on luggage. The security was more stringent. How much do I tip the cab driver? So much to consider.

All new to me! I always had a certain sense of pride that I was a seasoned traveller, but no more.

Making new friends was difficult enough let alone throwing texting into the relationship.

I was late to texting. I couldn’t afford an up to date cell phone until 2013. I learned quickly that cell phones were no longer used to talk. Hearing a voice was rare. Everyone texted. My problem was I didn’t know when the texting conversation ended. I would exchange a few text messages. Then I would read a text and wonder. Do I text again? Would it be too much? Is the other person gone? Not a clue what to do.

Oh and I don’t type very well or very quickly. It would take some time for me to send a text message. I would get a response in seconds that was five times as long as mine. Trying to discuss a matter on which there was a disagreement, ok, an argument, was the worst. I simply couldn’t keep up.

I still wonder what to do texting ! I have awkward moments when I really don’t know how to respond.

One important change in my life was a job. I had volunteered with the Canadian Mental Health Association Nova Scotia Division for a few years. A position became available and it was offered to me. I hadn’t worked in eight years. Many aspects about returning to a work environment concerned me. This may sound silly, but I did not know what to wear.
As a lawyer, I knew. I had a closet full of white shirts, jackets, and neck ties. I was comfortable wearing a jacket and tie so I stuck to my comfort zone. I was the only one so dressed at the CMHA Offices, but I was felt good! Though I had a few moments of self-doubt and second guessing especially as I sat at meetings with others wearing sweat pants and tee shirts!

With my life becoming more hopeful, happier, and healthier, I was trying new activities that to most were simply common place.

I usually look at life events through the prism of self-confidence, self-esteem, and self-worth. Those three self’s dictate so much in how I think, feel, and dream and thus in what I undertake in daily life. Without those in our minds and hearts, the slightest of challenges can become insurmountable obstacles.

We should always look at others and appreciate that their life context may be different. What is simple and easy for you, may not be for me.

“Don’t think we feel hurt or wounded
Or our egos are showing thru
It’s our world that’s been disrupted
And our strength reflects from you
Well it’s true
Not Fragile, over you
Try us when you’re getting down
Feelin’ high or just hangin’ round
Not Fragile” Bachman Turner Overdrive (my first rock concert)

Posted originally on The Good Men Project

We all want a sense of acceptance, a feeling that we belong.

Mental illness makes that difficult.

A diagnosis of depression. My career gone as a result. A mental breakdown. Not my best week.
It took 4 years to recognize that I could get healthy. Those years were spent with my family, going to weekly therapy, and hoping for relief. Some long days and nights but with moments of inspiration. The darkness slowly faded.

By the autumn of 2007, my life was showing some promise. I wasn’t completely healthy, but I knew I was fortunate in that I was on a healthy path. My lack of self-confidence had to be addressed.

I had this deep need to explain what had happened in my life. Few of my friends still talked to me. The stigma was so pervasive. If I had had a diagnosis of cancer, there would have been a queue after work each day to visit me. Mental illness, people stayed clear.

Acceptance by someone would have been so welcome. I craved for that acknowledgement.

One day, I went for groceries, a huge step, one to be celebrated. I was walking through the produce section and saw a dear friend walking towards me. I was so happy to see her, my heart raced, a bit anxious. She always hugged me when we met. I thought that finally someone was going to be good to me. She was about ten feet away when she noticed me. She stopped. I looked, our eyes connected. She turned on her heel and left me. I was hurt, angry, devastated. I didn’t leave the house for another two months.

I wanted people to accept that I had a mental illness and thus accept me as a person. With such low self-confidence and self-worth, I looked for the endorsement of others.

A former girlfriend, who was a superstar to me, emailed me years after my breakdown. We were a couple when my life came undone. Though I treated her terribly, I did not at the time understand why. I was rather thick headed about the symptoms, not knowing I had depression.

I had a presentation for the Nova Scotia Barristers’ Society on Mental Health in the Workplace and we agreed to meet after. To be honest I was more nervous about seeing her than doing my speech. I hadn’t seen her in seven years. She was the one who got away, taken by my mental illness.

I saw a car enter the parking lot and I knew it was her. I waited to greet her, my heart skipping. We hugged, took a few deep breaths.

We chatted as we got our drinks. Taking a seat, I knew what I wanted to say. I had waited years for this opportunity, never thinking I would have it though.

I collected myself, wasn’t easy to do. I apologized for my poor behaviour. She was so gracious, saying there was no need. She knew it was caused by my depression. She opened her heart to me, even with all the hurt I had caused her. The tears flowed, mainly mine. My depression was acknowledged. My behaviour was understood. I was accepted.
Her kindness and empathy gave me such confidence. I started to look at myself from a somewhat different perspective. I am a good person.

I didn’t need validation by others. I needed my own. I had to realize that I was a full person, that I was worthy to feel good about myself. This has been one of the toughest parts about recovery and addressing my past. I still struggle at times with a lack of self-confidence and self-worth.

I want to be relevant to myself first. I want to feel proud about what I have done in my life. There have been some wrong choices having nothing to do with my depression! We all have made them.

I have come to accept how depression had a devastating impact and how it influenced my behaviour. I get it now.
With that knowledge I can now move forward.

I embrace my past. I enjoy the present. I welcome my future.

“We were born before the wind
Also younger than the sun
Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic
Hark, now hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic” Van Morrison – Into the Mystic

By Meg O’Connell – Worth Living Ambassador for Newfoundland and Labrador

If you ever met me, or seen me, or even knew me really well, you would never guess that I was someone who dealt with such harsh conditions as I have. You would see me the way that I want to be seen, the happy go lucky girl who doesn’t have a care in the world. To many people I was that girl, but it was only a façade. I may be like that now, but I wasn’t always.

I knew from a very young age I didn’t fit in with the rest of the kids on the playground. When my family and I moved from Ontario to Nova Scotia, this feeling only became more prominent. Nobody liked the new kid, no matter where you moved. It didn’t matter what I did, or how I acted to try to fit in, I was always left out, and bullied. My neighbours were the worst. The family of five kids were relentless. I was the number one target on their hit list everyday, and they never failed to deliver laughter on the bus ride to school, at school, or even if I was riding my bike on the street. I would hear them yell out “FISH EYES” as they were playing with the rest of the kids on our road. One time on the bus they took an old pair of dirty underwear and held it up on the bus and yelled out to everyone that it was mine. Everyone, and I mean everyone on the bus was laughing at me. I began to cry, and I ran into the office as soon as I got to the school, but like all schools’ “bullying polices” nothing was done. And the parents of the children did nothing as well. We lived in Nova Scotia for five years until it finally came to an end when my grandmother passed away and we were on our way to Newfoundland.

A fresh start, it sounded so promising. But yet, all good things must come to an end. My high school experience was probably one of the hardest things I have ever had to deal with despite the horrible journey I had to get there. I made friends as quickly as I lost them. Someone in the school decided that they didn’t like me and started a rumour that I was saying bad things about my new found friends, and just like that I was on my own again. Listening to people whisper about how much of a bitch I was, in class right behind me, watching them point from across the room when I walked in, and the never failing “accidental bumps” in gym class that of course were not meant to bring me to the ground in a good little friendly basketball game, or at least that’s what they told the teacher.

I sat in the bathroom stalls for lunch and recess for months, calling my parents begging them for just one more move, so I could just get away from this place. However, this did not happen, and I was forced to go to school with hundreds of people I didn’t talk to every single day. It would almost be better to have felt non-existent and ignored, but that wasn’t about to happen. In a small town, and honestly anywhere, people need something to talk about, and I was it.

Things slightly differed when I realized there was a “reject” table I could sit at in the upstairs of the building away from where all the other students were. They were the loveliest people, it made me feel like I wasn’t the only one who had nobody to talk to. And I am forever grateful to have met them.

After a couple years I became friends with Jess, she also had been excluded/ messed with by other friends, and she was fed up with dealing with people like that. Around this time, I met Ry who later became my boyfriend for a year and a half. While we were dating he would barely leave his house unless it was to go to the movies. It is modest to say he had some mental issues. When I left to attend Memorial University an hour drive from where I live things only got worse. I was trapped, I wasn’t allowed to go the gym and not tell him, I wasn’t allowed to go hangout with my friends because they were “sluts” yet, he had never even met them. It was tough. But in late November 2015 I was only beginning to come to realize what tough actually was, this is when Ry told me he had been diagnosed with cancer. There was a spot on his liver and he would start going for treatments every Tuesday and Thursday.

My whole world was collapsing, I loved Ry, I would do anything for him. And now it felt like I was about to lose the one person I held dearest to me. As the semester at Memorial went on I became more and more stressed, with my studies, trying to see Ry on weekends, and not being able to go out and do anything to cope with everything that was going on around me, without being yelled at by the very person that I was so stressed about losing in the first place.

In February he told me that his treatments were going to be more frequent, so I slowly starting to see  less and less of him. It felt as if he was trying to ween me off of loving him. Valentines Day was the last day I saw him when he decided to drop the bomb on me that he wouldn’t be able to see me anymore because of all the treatments, he told me that he didn’t want me to visit him in the hospital because he didn’t want me to see him like that. And somehow I believed it. A couple of weeks went by of my begging to see him, and he consciously refusing. Until one day we were fighting about something stupid, and he simply stopped replying. The next weekend I saw that he was at a party on social media, and the he never had cancer at all. I was later informed by mutual friends that all the “treatments” he was having was actually code for him smoking weed at his friends’ house everyday, while I was in at school everyday crying, praying he was getting better. I had finally been shown the truth, and I have now come to realize that it was for the best. I have not heard from him since.

But the thing is that I don’t regret meeting him, or any of the people that bullied me, or any of the people that left me, when they said they wouldn’t. All of these hardships that I have gone  through have made me the person I am today. I am strong, I am kind, I am compassionate. I can relate to so many different people through my experiences.

Since then I have opened myself up to so many different people. I have gone on so many amazing adventures, and have laughed with people I never thought I would. I’m not scared of what’s out there! IM HAPPY BEING ME. I’m so happy to be alive and to be able to see the world in a different light, when at certain points in my life I didn’t even know there was one still out there worth living. And the thing is that, if you’re scared, that’s fine. It is what you do to overcome those obstacles no matter what they are! It is up to you. Look at what I went through? Would you ever think I would end up where I am today? I certainly didn’t think so. But guess what, “You are meant to fight.  When you are sick your body fights for its right to function. When you hold your breath, your body fights for its right to breathe. There are billions of tiny events from the surface of your skin down to the very cells of your body that have to happen in order for you to simply be sitting here today. If your most minuscule parts haven’t given up yet, why should you?”

Schizophrenic.NYC – Mental Health Clothing Line

Michelle Hammer – Creator and Founder

What is Schizophrenic.NYC?

The Mental Health Clothing Line, Schizophrenic.NYC, was created, founded, & designed by Michelle Hammer, a Schizophrenic New Yorker who wants to make a difference in the way the mentally ill homeless are treated in NYC, as well as change the way New Yorkers feel about mental illness. The concept behind the designs is that when the unmedicated person with Schizophrenia looks at a basic regular Rorschach test they see it with a whole different perspective. By redesigning the test with new colors and patterns, now everyone looks at the test with a whole new perspective

Clothing & Mission

In NYC what people wear gets noticed. When a person wears a Schizophrenic.NYC tank or tee, or any merchandise, they are spreading the word about mental health. It starts a discussion, and because of that, stigma begins to be reduced. Studies show that in NYC, 1 in 5 New Yorkers suffer from a mental health issue. If mental health issues are so common why is there so much stigma? This is what Schizophrenic.NYC is trying to change, one person at a time. We can only hope that one day there will be no more mental health stigma in NYC.

In addition to ending stigma in NYC, worse than having Schizophrenia, is being Schizophrenic, or have any mental illness and being homeless. There is nothing that more upsetting than seeing mentally ill people living on the streets of NYC. We want this to change now. Together we can make a difference. With every purchase made a portion of our profits get donated to organizations around NYC that support the struggle of the mentally ill homeless. Together we can make a change. Join the movement.

About The Founder Michelle

Michelle Hammer is a 28 year old NYC native with Schizophrenia. Diagnosed with

Schizophrenia at 22, she wanted to do something that could benefit the mental health community, especially the mentally ill homeless. In In May 2015, she founded the company Schizophrenic.NYC, which is a Mental Health Clothing Line.  Michelle takes a portion of the profits and donates to organizations in NYC that cater to the mental health community. Schizophrenic.NYC – DONT BE PARANOID, YOU LOOK GREAT.

LINKS

Website: www.Schizophrenic.NYC

Instagram: schizophrenic.nyc

Twitter: @SchizophrenicNY

Facebook: facebook.com/SchizophrenicNYC

I reflect on my life often. That reflection includes the dark days, and even this past weekend. My life is at times one big picture, and at other times, it is a simple moment in time.

I recently presented at the Schizophrenia Society of Nova Scotia’s Annual Conference. The theme was Thriving in Recovery.  In preparing, I thought about all the aspects of life that contributed to my recovery. I actually do consider myself to be recovered. The notion of recovery from mental illness ought to be discussed more to enable the community at large to understand . It wasn’t that long ago that even mental health advocacy groups didn’t fully recognize recovery as possible.  More about this in another blog!

Getting back to hope!  Many days I was lost. The impact of depression so intense that I thought life was not worth living. I had lost my health, my career was gone. I had a mental breakdown.

For me to even intellectually understand and rationalize that in the span of 5 days, I had gone from practising law at a high level to having a breakdown was difficult. It took months to grasp all of the circumstances.

How did I get healthy?  One major factor was hope. Many days I had no hope, but my family did. They told me that life would get better, that I would get well. So as my mind roamed through darkness, I believed my family.  Their hope for me was enough some days to sustain my own wanting to get healthy.

Slowly, I came to regain my own sense of hope. I needed to see actual things or events unfold to say to myself, ” I will get better”.   I learned I could read a book again. I could watch a movie.  I was starting to see joy return to my life. Thus my hope increased too.

For lengthy periods, hope was all I had. I would spend weeks in bed, unable to function beyond my bedroom. But I hoped for more in my life.

My family – they were correct. My life has gotten better. Like never before.  I have a few posts on my site about my current life, and how excited I am now about living.

Please don’t lose hope.

As seen on BringChange2Mind.org

By Keith Anderson
Sometimes random comments can lead to unexpected opportunities.

In the fall of 2009, I found myself in a somewhat good place. The 16 years of depression, OCD, and anxiety seemed to have passed. I was slowly venturing out in public. I had written one article about my journey. I had spoken at two conferences. One was for the Canadian Mental Health Association. The second was a panel discussion before a group of lawyers and judges. I found talking in front of strangers somewhat therapeutic.

But I still had little self-confidence, self-esteem , or self-worth. They were most damaged by my depression and breakdown. I still struggle with the damage done to the three self’s.

Much of my time was still spent in my bedroom, at my computer, looking for information on mental health, seeing what others were doing. I wanted to feel that I wasn’t alone.

I read an article Glenn Close had written for the Huffington Post about her sister, Jessie, and her nephew, Calen. I checked out the BC2M website. I even checked the facebook page. Back then I knew little about facebook. I had two friends, my niece and nephew!

I made a few comments on the BC2M facebook page.

A few weeks later, I was asked to have a discussion with Nancy at BC2M. We had a lengthy telephone call. I was then invited to be a BC2M Volunteer. I had no idea what was ahead, but the sense of acceptance and empathy from Nancy made my decision easy. I also had this need to be active in some way. I was getting weary of being alone.

That was in December of 2009 and I am still hanging around!

Though my role has changed over the years, one thing remains constant: the people involved with BC2M have helped in my recovery.

I had the wonderful opportunity to meet Jessie for the first time when she traveled to Halifax on my invitation to speak at a fundraiser. I got to meet her service dog and close companion Snitz too! We shared stories, we laughed and cried. Those few days were so special. Jessie and my mother talked and bonded as mothers of sons who had mental illness. Jessie, and so many others, gave me a sense of acceptance. Stigma had hurt me to such a great extent. But now, I could share and not be judged.

I see other BC2M Volunteers who have become true champions in mental health advocacy. To see these fellow BC2M Ambassadors share their journeys in magazines, blogs, and in person is such an inspiration! I’m in awe of their paths and so grateful for their persistent conversation!

I get emotional – tears of joy and admiration- when I see people on BC2M sharing, whether I know them personally or not. I feel such a sense of connection regardless. I am proud of all of you. We share mental illness and mental health. We share hope. I am comforted knowing that I am not alone.

The stigma has been confronted and will be shut down.

BC2M has changed the minds of many in terms of mental health awareness. BC2M has changed my life. For that I thank everyone involved with BC2M. Your kindness and friendship have helped me regain some of the three self’s.

I look forward to the next 5 years and what we individually and collectively will accomplish. It makes my life worth living.

I knew I wanted a voice. I had this deep need to explain to the world what had happened to me. To show how depression took such control.

So in the fall of 2007, I went looking online. I thought I could write an article about my journey and submit it for consideration.  I would send it to whomever I thought would be interested, which meant any news outlet for which I could find an email address.

A local newspaper, The Daily News, was very receptive. The editor wanted to run a three part series, written by me. I was so excited to have the opportunity to go public.

I submitted three articles, some editing was required.  After not hearing from me for 4 years,  people would finally learn how my life came undone. The paper had commissioned artwork to accompany my articles.  The series was set to start on a Saturday. The prior Monday, I watched the local news and the lead story was that the newspaper was being shut down, effective that day.  I was crushed.  No public appearance.

So I took a breath, collected myself, and emailed the National Post newspaper, here in Canada. Within the hour, I received a response that my article was a great fit for a new series, called All About Bouncing Back, that the paper was going to publish in the new year.

My article appeared on February 20, 2008.  A proud moment for me.

The editor chose the title – How I Returned to a Life Worth Living.  She understood where I had been, in darkness, and where I was at that time, in some light.

I always liked the title and I have made reference to it in presentations and in personal conversations.

I was invited to present at the Schizophrenia Society of Nova Scotia’s 27th Annual Conference to be held next month. The theme of the day long event is Thriving in Recovery.

The title of my presentation –  Worth Living.

After my depression diagnosis and then my breakdown, I was faced with a completely new lifestyle.

Now my use of the word “lifestyle” may not be what one normally describes as such, but for  me it is the proper word.

My life changed. I spent months in bed, then several years in the house.  My few steps outside were for weekly therapy, the occasional drive after dark, and some trips to the local book store. That was my life for many years.

My lifestyle had changed.  My daily routine no longer included practicing law, with all the resources and opportunities it provided.

The pay was gone.  The medical plan was gone. The interaction with people was gone.  Without being able to work, the sense of belonging and being part of a firm was gone.

As I note, I was in a bedroom.  Now the breakdown certainly brought on my being so self isolated. But a huge part of my thinking was trying to understand what had happened. To simply get my head around the idea of practicing law on a Friday to being in bed that Tuesday was extremely difficult. I felt like I was no longer in charge of my life. Everything had changed, and I had no say in that happening, it seemed.

But In time, I realized that I simply had an illness. Depression had a devastating impact on my life, both personal and professional. Those years of darkness could be explained, I could understand. That re-framing of mind was crucial.

I felt I was in a safe place , I had an illness, I wanted to get healthy.

Troubled Character

As seen on BringChange2Mind.com by Keith Anderson

Once depression had taken a firm grip around my life, I spent a couple of years house bound with the exception of my trek out for weekly therapy. In time, I gained back some self-confidence and became interested in venturing out into the world. Small steps though.

My psychologist would often set certain goals for me to achieve each week. Sometimes it was something simple, such as: try to watch a movie. Another  suggestion – to meditate. I attended an early Saturday morning class to learn. My meds made me sleepy, so through the class, I found myself not meditating but sleeping. I did improve in time!

In my quest for recovery, I would learn to set my own goals.

One place that was always a source of comfort and enjoyment was the bookstore.

Not being able to drive very often, I made a deal with my niece. If she would drive us to the bookstore, I would buy the books we each wanted.

Though an avid reader, fiction had never been my choice in the past. I read autobiographies and books on the arts and sciences. But at this unchartered time in my life, perhaps fiction could provide some new stories – a place to escape. It took a few choices, some good, some not, to find my niche.

One day in November of 2005, I picked up Knots and Crosses by Ian Rankin. I had heard of neither the book nor the author.  It was just a random choice of placement on the bookshelf and kismet.

It’s a short book, just 226 pages. But at that time, it was daunting. My ability to focus for any length of time was weak.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I read Knots and Crosses cover to cover. I found it compelling, intense, but with something of an additional interest. It took awhile to recognize what this appeal was.

I was beginning to learn that authors wrote a series of books based around the same characters and settings. I know the rest of the world knew this from age 16!

I soon started another book by Mr. Rankin. To learn more about the series, I checked his website. There were 10 more books at that time in this series. It was almost the New Year, so I set this as a goal for the year – to read the complete series.

After reading a few of the books, I was beginning to appreciate and even understand the main character, John Rebus, a detective with the Lothian and Borders Police in Edinburgh, Scotland.

Rebus had a mental breakdown following his military service in Northern Ireland and while undergoing Special Forces training. He then joins the Police Department. His personal relationships are challenging and not long lasting. He is solitary; focused on his work; loves his books and music; and he hides from the world by listening to album after album. So…yes, I “get” Rebus. Too well!

Now, don’t get me wrong, Rebus gave me no insight into my own difficult and troubled life back then. It is fiction after all. But the pages brought to light a certain note of irony. The random series that I chose to read had a main character that I related to rather well. Rebus’ modus operandi hit close to home.

I did accomplish my goal. By November of that year, I had read all the Rankin books that had been published at that time. I learned to focus better while reading. But the most important part – I truly enjoyed reading them!  Enjoyment was a huge step for me at the time.

Now, I can’t imagine not having a book or two with me. I have found other books with troubled characters. We are everywhere, some fictional, but more often, real!