What do YOU Do When Life Spins Out of Control?

I love my relationship with Louis. It teaches me so much about myself, and human nature in general. When he was first snatched up to become one of the Walking Dead, I found myself walking around with that Nina Gordon song, The End of the World, playing over and over and over in my mind. Why does the sun go on shining? Why do the birds go on singing? I’m looking at everything in a really detached way, thinking, “Wow…life really does go on…” and “I wonder how many people are walking around feeling just like me?” Stunned, shell shocked, adrift. (There must be hundreds of thousands of them after all the tragedies and bad news the world has experienced these past few months.)

He didn’t say goodbye, but he’s gone nonetheless. Our friendship/relationship will never be the same. Those two years of fun, easy, relaxed visits are over—without warning, and overnight.

Right now he’s telling me he doesn’t want me to come and see him, and, frankly, right now, I don’t have any desire to go. More on this at the end of this blog post.

In the meantime I walk around, feeling somewhat like I’ve lost my best friend. You know, how like when you were a kid, maybe the buddy you hung around with the most suddenly got transferred in the middle of the school year. Even if it was at the end of the school year, it was still wrenching. The thought, “He’s gone,” will suddenly drift into my mind, seemingly out of nowhere, and I’ll stop and probe it like a sore tooth--until it becomes too painful—and then I’ll quickly find something else to do.

I’m getting so much done…stuff I haven’t made time for in two years…like planting flowers….oh, dear, do I see a pattern? I think I do. Two years ago he was coming off an 18-month stay in isolation, 15 months of it waiting for a transfer they couldn’t quite manage to pull off, as, among other things, his name kept getting deleted from the transfer list. This time he was transferred overnight, just going to show you that when they want to move you, they can.

Oh, the lies. The lies, the lies, the lies. I feel so horrible for that man. First they told him he was in isolation because they ‘didn’t have a single cell bed for him,’ and they ‘just needed to keep him in the hole for a few days until one freed up.’ 96 people had been transferred in from Michigan the day before, and the place was full up.

But the guy ahead of him on the list of those waiting for a cell to open up was gone in a few days. And then he saw the Program Review Committee, who informed him he was being kept in isolation due to being a danger to himself or others. What? Knews to him. He explained to them that he walked to the van that transported him there of his own accord—which meant he wasn’t in trouble, didn’t have a write up. His paperwork said he was to be transferred from general population to general population. Or at least that’s what the guards in the van told him, and what the person processing him into the new institution told him.

So PRC took another week to investigate. Came back and told him he’s been issued a separation from his previous facility. No write up, no disciplinary action, someone just wanted him out of there. Someone from the central office on the other side of the state. The transfer wasn’t generated by his previous facility. And now he’s been assigned to long term confinement. We’re talking years.

So yes, I’m walking around in a stunned state, knowing everything has suddenly changed, and wow, it’s true, life does go on. Is this what grieving feels like, I wonder?

I think I must be part scientist. I seem to have perfected this ability to step outside myself and identify my emotions, separate myself from them even as they are happening. I feel them as intensely as ever, and yet, I am still separate from them. The birds keep on singing, the laundry keeps on piling up, the cat litter needs to be emptied, the car needs to be inspected, the tires need to be rotated. Work needs to be done…and so I do it.

When life spins out of control like it has…I tend to fold in on myself, spend more time in prayer and contemplation, internally testing what’s real and not real, making sure I keep in touch with my thoughts and emotions. Making sure I stay centered. There’s no more blindly running to escape my feelings, like I used to do. Now I meet them head on, but in a very controlled manner. I sort of release them in a slow and steady drip, like an IV bag, so that they don’t overwhelm me. I cancel all activity that isn’t essential to my health and well being, and spend more time pampering me—or doing things that bring me pleasure, make me smile.

Hence, the flowers. I spent over 45 minutes yesterday picking them out, and they are perfect. I smile every time I pull into the driveway. I went to an art gallery showing Friday night, and am seriously considering buying a piece that captured my attention. Just to do it. It’s called Joyful, Joyful, and the bold, vibrant colors in it just spoke to me. Not my usual earth tone self at all. I think it would look great in my office.

I’m taking more walks….outside….because I can. The other night I walked in the fog, and it was beautiful under the streetlamps. I’ve upped my number of Qigong classes from two per week to four. The positive energy in that group is amazing…and just what I need right now.

But enough about me. You get the picture. So…when Life spins out of control for me, I pull in, get my bearings, then push back with positive choices and activities.

When Life spins out of control for Louis, he gets Bossy.

Oh…my…God. I never noticed that before. Maybe because I was too caught up in my own emotions to notice. But this time it’s different. Maybe it’s the Qigong that makes the difference, but I am so able to separate myself from what is happening that it’s not funny. Usually, when Louis goes into isolation, there comes a time, as with his last long term confinement, that I reach a point where I’ve had enough (of his micromanaging) and tell him, “Don’t bother calling me when you get out.”

This time I caught it early on, spent a day or two stewing on it, then nipped it right in the bud.

He hasn’t been able to write. With one party telling him he’s just waiting on a cell, and another party telling him he’s waiting on another transfer, the overall consensus was why bother letting him get into his property, as they’d just have to do it all over again once he found a permanent cell. Or they could avoid doing it altogether if he was transferred.

So in the meantime, he’s had no paper or envelopes available to write to me. He says of the others on Death Row, “I don’t know when I’m leaving here, and I can’t take from people who have less than me.” So he warned me he wouldn’t be writing for a while.

Well, he was finally allowed to get into his property this week---three weeks after his transfer, and he found out one of the reasons for the delay—several items are missing. Food, his new sneakers, sweats. I’m sorry, but if that isn’t the lowest of the low…the man has the equivalent of maybe three boxes the size of copier paper boxes to his name, and someone—someone sanctioned by the state and charged with his care and well being--feels compelled to steal from him?

As he once told me a long time ago, “It doesn’t pay to get attached to anything when you're in prison.”

So you can see why he might feel the need to assert his control over something. His future is uncertain, his living conditions are out of his hands, the reason for his confinement keeps changing, his voice is not being heard, and he’s now facing indefinite long-term solitary confinement, where his every movement is controlled, and people are stealing his stuff. The very people who are supposed to be watching over his stuff.

So I get this letter yesterday, after well over a week of wondering how he’s doing, that pretty much tells me I’m getting ripped off left and right. By the guy from AAA, who brought me a new battery, by the nutritionist—I believe he said “If there’s a quack in town, you will find them.” By my mechanics, who take care of my car, and by the person who sold me the car I bought for my son. “You paid $1000 too much for that car,” Louis informs me. “I told you that deal was wrong from the start.”

He’s not usually like this. My best guess is he must be too busy when he’s in population to focus on me. He knows I won’t sit still for it anyway.

But I never recognized this pattern in his behavior until now.

And so it makes me wonder….what do YOU do when you feel like your life is spinning out of control?

Do you run?

Do you go inside yourself?

Do you get bossy?

What do you do?