CCBlogs thinking critically, living faithfully

Note:
Larry Vaughan was once the pastor of a church. He now does the Lord's work in an institution working with the sort of kids the Church cannot handle. He is a marvelous writer, and what follows is a great example of the kid of things you'll find at his blog, Ad augusta per angust.This piece was originally published there on June 4th, 2008.

When a patient comes into our hospital they bring bags with them. When they get back to our unit we have a staff person go through their belongings and check each item for safety (you can’t have your own razors or knives), appropriateness (your shirt can’t glorify drugs), and contraband (we’ll be flushing that blunt you have hidden in your shoe). Then we do a skin assessment. That’s a fancy term for getting nekkid in front of a nurse so she can record all of your scars, bruises, piercings, and tattoos. We do these two things so we know exactly what you are bringing to our facility.

Unfortunately we don’t have a secret detector.

In addition to their belongings our residents bring in another type of baggage. This one is invisible to the naked eye, yet the impact of its contents are deep and real.

I can’t remember the last time a patient came to us with just a simple case of addiction. Man, what I wouldn’t give for a good, old fashioned alcoholic. The kids that come in these days almost always have a dual diagnosis. That means that that they have a substance abuse problem AND something keeping that problem company. Sometimes it’s ADHD. Sometimes it’s trauma. Maybe a personality disorder. Then there’s PTSD. Most of the time the problem is magnified by a familial dysfunction that would make your skin crawl.

Last night the residents and I talked about secrets. We met in the group room and created a safe place, a sanctuary. We closed the door so the other staff couldn’t hear what we were talking about. The bags started to unpack.

Last night we talked about rape and incest and abuse. We talked about loneliness and despair and rejection. We covered crimes, both felonies and misdemeanors. The waters got deeper as the group pressed on. Strangely absent from this group were the stories told to impress. I can spot these a mile off. This group was about risk.

Then came the last secret. It came from someone I care about deeply. I generally care about my patients on a clinical level. There’s too many of them for me to care about deeply. From time to time one of these kids sneaks into my heart from the back door. This kid picked my lock.

When he came to us his hair hung in front of his face. Hiding. A week into treatment he asked if he could get a haircut. Progress, I thought. But haircuts are against the rules. But, you know me, I like breaking some rules. So we gave him a haircut; a straight across “Lloyd Christmas” cut from Dumb and Dumber.

The thing about this kid is that he trusts me. Completely. When a therapist tells him something he asks me if it’s right. He accepts my answer. I know I am not objective with him. I know he is too close to me. I can’t help this. I can only try to hide it.

The thing that gets me about this kid is that he has the lowest self-esteem of anyone I have met in a long time. That’s pretty low. He feels rejected. Unworthy. He finds it almost impossible that anyone might care about him. This is especially odd since he has a sharp mind and a wonderful personality. The reality is miles removed from the perception. When he told me his secret it all made sense.

I can’t tell you the secret. The details are too horrific. Besides, I told him I would never tell anyone the specifics.

But I can tell you the results of the secret. His whole family knows. His uncles and his cousins and his siblings. And they all agree on one thing: He never should have been born. His family has told him this on a regular basis. Can you imagine coming into this world with that deck stacked against you? I’m not talking about a simple failed birth control incident. I wish it were that uncomplicated. The details make me nauseous. He grew up in this environment and it didn’t take long for him to accept this position. He accepts this opinion as if it were a law of nature. Like gravity.

Leered at from infancy. The innocent eyes of a child met with the judgmental stares of idiots.

When he told me the secret some other things made sense to me. Mainly his pity for me. Whenever I would encourage him, build him up, or praise him in any way he would look at me with pity in his eyes. Pity, as if to say, “You stupid man, you obviously don’t know what you are talking about.” His low self-value is so set in concrete that anyone who sees anything good in him is clearly, obviously mistaken.

He leaves my company tomorrow. Tonight we had a little talk. He told me that he appreciates my help. I thanked him for helping me. He looked puzzled at that statement. I clarified, “I’m a better man for having known you.”

He just smiled and walked away.

With pity in his eyes.