Angry voices heard
From another room
Afraid to move
Afraid to cry.
And if they should die
Before the morning breaks
Pray their souls someone will take.
You call them the sins of children
And children must be brave
You call them the sins of children
And children, children must
all be saved.
Martha and The Muffins – The Sins of Children
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Last month I went to a suicide prevention training designed for therapists. In the first video we watched, a man who had jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge talked about his experience. “For hours I was out there deciding whether or not to go. I told myself that if someone, anyone, asks me if I’m OK, I wouldn’t do it.” Eventually someone did stop to talk, but only to ask him to take her picture. He took this as the final sign and leapt. He regretted his decision the moment he cleared the railing.
For chunks of the training I was dissociating. Words stopped penetrating. I felt floaty, detached. Dissociation is a natural process that kicks in when we’re overwhelmed. My body was shutting itself off from more input while my mind dealt with what was already on my plate. The same thing had happened to me twice before. On…
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Fellow #AStarisBorn nominee Ned Hicksen.
It’s one of life’s little mysteries, the fact that I can fall asleep in front of the television during a documentary chronicling man’s loudest explosions, yet be kept awake by the sound of my own nose whistling. In my defense, this was a new phenomenon, and something that, under any other circumstances, would have been amusing. However, at 1:30 in the morning, having your nose emit a solid C-major every time you exhale is just plain annoying.
What made matters worse was that I wasn’t alone in my musical endeavors. My wife was also blowing her horn — I’m guessing in E-flat — which, between the two of us, sounded like a pair of jug blowers trying to tune up for the spring dance. Instinctively, I grabbed the earplugs from the nightstand and inserted them. As I quickly discovered, this is a little like covering your ears so you can’t…
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