I just finished reading Come Here, by Richard Berendzen and Laura Palmer.
And I'm totally shaken by the experience.
Richard Berendzen graduated from Harvard in 1969 with a master's degree in astronomy and an interdisciplinary PhD, and became an assistant professor in physics and astronomy at Boston University. After seven years of teaching in Boston, he moved to Washington where he was offered the job of professor of physics and dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at the American University. This was in 1974. By 1979, at age forty-one, he was elected university president, to take office in January of 1980.
Dr. Richard Berendzen had it all.
Including a loving wife, and two darling daughters.
But Richard also had a dark secret, one that decades of intense studying and workaholism had repressed to the farthest corner of his mind. Not until he was in his early fifties did the secret return to haunt him. Overwhelmed by a flood of forbidden memories, Dr. Berendzen -- the eminent astronomer and academician who had transformed American University from a party school into a first-rate university -- suddenly began making suggestive phone calls, which were traced to his office. Forced to resign his post, he entered the renowned Johns Hopkins Hospital, where he was diagnosed as suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.
What was Richard's dark secret?
He had been sexually abused by his mother.
The first time it happened, he was eight years old. On a Sunday afternoon, he ran inside to get a drink of water and was summoned by his mother to enter her room -- the "middle room," as he always refers to it. "Come here," she said. By these two simple words, the terror was unleashed.
Reading about Richard's slow and tortuous recovery process made me relive some of the feelings I had experienced following my own abuse and voyage back to a happy life. Here are chosen passages that particularly struck home:
The next few days became a blur, as I slid into clinical depression. No horror, no hell can equal it. Beyond any physical pain I'd ever known, this agony permeated all of me. I wanted only to stay in my room with the lights off, drapes drawn, and door shut. I wanted to close in on myself, just as a dying star becomes a black hole.
...
And what should I do with my recurring thought of suicide? The alternative to suicide is the will to live. That requires a purpose.
...
They also gave me a booklet on depressive illnesses. I checked off every symptom: loss of appetite, feeling irritable, trouble coping, lack of interest in personal appearance, poor sleep, inability to concentrate, nausea, headaches, feeling hopeless, self-blame, uncontrollable crying, apathy. If it had been a lottery ticket, I would have won with a clean sweep.
...
Rage briefly cut through my depression, which then closed over me as a trap door seals in darkness. There was no escape. I felt frustrated that something existed inside me that I couldn't see and wouldn't show on a CAT scan or X ray. There wasn't a pill to cure it or a shot to ameliorate its effects. It was with me wherever I went; talking in group didn't help, and speaking privately with my doctors still left me in the same place -- depressed and scared by my utter absence of a will to live. My insides felt rotted. My Spartan room was lonely beyond belief. I cared about no one and no one cared about me. Did I feel sorry for myself? You bet. My misery was exacerbated by the inescapable fact that I had brought this on myself. It was all my fault.
...
This is the frustrating aspect of the illness. You can neither control nor escape it. No one can tell you how long it will last or what makes it end. Once it settles over you, it's like smog. The wind may move it, sometimes the Sun pops through, but then, without sound or warning, the depression closes back again. The totality of my circumstance overwhelmed me. Everything I had been, I wasn't any longer. I used to think I had value as a teacher, educator, astronomer, and administrator. Now that was over. When life had no value, it felt hopeless, and hopelessness is kindling for suicide. I hadn't picked a day or a time, but suicide still haunted me. The metaphor that kept coming back was of free-fall. I could see myself falling, falling, falling to the center of the Earth. I thought I had found hell. But would the fall ever end? I kept waiting to hit bottom. How far down could I fall? Each time I thought I was there, I found another level lower. If I could just hit bottom, I might be able to begin the long climb out of the hole.
...
I didn't understand it then and wouldn't for many more months, but ultimately the difference between depression and nondepression, the difference between giving up and going on, is hope. Love is not enough. You have to have hope. I knew my family loved me. Still I had no hope.
Without giving away the punch, let's just say that Richard finally got an "Ah Ha" moment where he decided to "let go." He figured that he had already hit bottom. And that maybe there was no bottom after all. He felt a rush of tranquility. Having relinquished control, he felt more centered and stable. He began to cherish life, to focus not on what he had lost, but on what he still had.
According to some estimates, 60 percent of child abuse victims don't remember the abuse until years later. The trauma resurfaces when many of them are married or in relationships. The trauma can overwhelm the survivor and the partner. It's important to seek professional help at once. Because healing requires words. There is no way around a tragedy or trauma. The only way over is through, and the way you get through is by talking. Friends and family may help, but therapists are essential for anyone who has been profoundly traumatized.
Here are more excerpts...all about hope and healing.
Out of the rotten bleakness of the past year, I finally, tentatively, and hesitantly let myself hope. Healing, which at first seemed like a maze with quick turns and countless barriers, now became a long uphill road.
...
I began to understand how much work is involved in healing -- conscious, deliberate, and demanding work. And its path is not a straight line. It's more like connected dots -- some forward, some not.
Healing is a gift, undoubtedly so. Through healing we mend a broken heart, a shattered spirit, a crushed soul. Although time is the ultimate balm, healing takes more than just time. It takes determination, effort, and support. It takes willingness to fail and to try again. It takes personal resolve and other people's help. It can be frustrating and infuriating. In the end, it can bring satisfaction and peace.
...
I now believe that ways exist to transform almost any pain. Pain is part of life. The great metaphor still holds: Through the pain of childbirth comes life. And throughout life, we all will encounter pain again. Our challenge, then, is not to dread it, but to deal with it, to learn from it. Do we succumb? Turn bitter? Give up? Or do we find ways to overcome it and learn from it? "The mind is seldom quickened to very vigorous operations," Samuel Johnson noted, "except by pain."
I did not set out to transform my pain; I first had to deal with survival. Then, as I realized that I could survive, I knew that living would be worthwhile only if it had meaning and purpose. All this was incremental, but now I see that ultimately healing is about transformation and redemption.
Following his therapy and recovery, Dr. Richard Berendzen faced many more challenges before he resumed his career. To read more about this man's victory over adversity, you can purchase Come Here -- A Man Overcomes the Tragic Aftermath of Childhood Sexual Abuse at Amazon.com
"My strength lies solely
in my tenacity."
- Louis Pasteur
in my tenacity."
- Louis Pasteur
