The Final Straw

 the final/last straw: n. The last in a series of bad things that happen to make someone very upset angry, etc.

 

I wonder if I’m having a nervous breakdown.

I hadn’t thought of that term in years. You don’t hear it that often anymore. “Psychotic episodes” and “mental issues” are more likely to be used when describing a person falling apart emotionally, one who is unable to deal with everyday life in a rational, sane manner.

I was reminded of an uncle who struggled with his “nerves.” Given sparse information and, with the memory and impressions of a child, I recalled his being given time off from work and going to either the coast or the mountains for a respite. He would return and go back to work—until the pressures again became too much for him.

Seventy years ago families, let alone society, didn’t openly discuss problems, whether they were physical, mental, financial, or addictive. It was a time of kept secrets, behind closed doors. What was he going through? What was he experiencing and feeling? And why?

I wondered if he felt what I was feeling. Or vice versa. Perhaps I was feeling what he felt: helplessness over situations and circumstances he couldn’t control; his mind and being filled with frustration and anger; traveling through a tunnel of darkness with no hope of an end in sight.

A variety of stress tests are available online. They are designed to assess changes in your life and evaluate one’s level of stress. Illness, job change, loss, and financial issues are just a few that are addressed. I checked one out, and, if I wanted to set a standard for meeting the definition of stress, I would be the winner.

As a person of faith, “being in a state of stress” has never been a description I’ve considered for myself; however, “having a nervous breakdown” isn’t one I’ve thought about applying personally either. I am, however, human.

My family had been commenting repeatedly on the change: “Mom, I hate seeing you so angry.”

“I want my old Mom back.”

“Mom, to be honest, I’m concerned.”

I made a mental checklist using the fingers on my hand to appraise the last three or so years of my life: retirement—check; reduced income—check; terminal illness and subsequent death of a partner—check; Near Death Experience when a drunk driver almost killed me while I stood at a crosswalk—check; new neighbors—double, triple, quadruple check.

The first five have been a piece of cake compared to the last one. I do not want to malign my neighbors personally. However, I would suggest to any who read this: do not set about to establish an urban farm in the city without proper knowledge. Figure out how to contain and care for your animals before embarking on your dream. Your neighbors won’t be as thrilled as you when your farm animals repeatedly escape and wreak havoc.

For the past three years, I’ve dealt with loose bunnies, free range chickens, a flock of a dozen Muscovy ducks, and four barking dogs. Rather, I’ve tried dealing with their owners. My frustrations fell on deaf ears with no effort or apparent desire to rectify any issue. As a footnote, the city’s Animal Service Control and I are on a first name basis.

The final straw came recently when the large German Shepherd began climbing over the fence into my back yard—day after day. He trampled the emerging hosta starts, barked at me in my own yard, and frightened me with his aggressive behavior. The city was unable to do anything due to understaffing; the owners, as usual, did not answer the phone when I called.

Frustration gave way to anger. Anger gave way to seething anger. Seething anger gave way to an explosion. While I was embarrassed and mortified over my base emotional explosion, at the same time I was proud I finally stood up for myself. On a scale of 1-10, I was maxed out at a 10+++. D U N—DONE! I am definitely human.

When the owners left after retrieving their dog from my backyard for the fifth time in six days, they had to know that, after three years, my patience had run out. Period. Unapologetically period.

Humankind thinks of God as being without limits, that He is forever patient, forgiving, and longsuffering. While He is all of those things, He does, however, have a breaking point and operates within a time frame. When time is up, that’s it. Time’s up.

For what it’s worth, that is how this situation feels as well. Three years is a long time to spend in an ongoing battle with those who won’t meet halfway when valid issues and concerns are presented.

I had no idea I was so angry, but now that the pressure cooker exploded, I can say I am relieved. Was it the better way? It doesn't feel like it. Is anger my first option in relationships? Of course not, and I have taken that up with God. As I communicated repeatedly to the recipients of my anger, “It didn’t have to be this way.”  

A relationship with God is no different. If He is ignored, given no consideration, and tromped on, He takes action when “Time’s up.” What does that mean? He never stops loving, but He never forces Himself on anyone. He wants to be wanted. I feel He walks away.

It doesn’t have to be that way, but what is He to do?

I am of the belief and conviction there is a point and purpose to everything that happens in my life. What is the point? What is the purpose in these past three years? I will say, unequivocally, that God is faithful--even in the hard times. He did not make it easy, but He has been with me every step of the way as He helped create a stronger version of me--not through any strength or will of my own. 

By the way, I did not have a nervous breakdown. I was brought through the tunnel of darkness by God and came out the other end.

Plus--the dog is unable to enter my yard due to a barricade I put in place after tiring of waiting for a "solution" on the part of his owners. They have been careful—at least for the moment—to keep the barker away from my bedroom window at night. Perhaps they understand I reached “The Final Straw.” I can hope.

 

“…weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.”

Psalm 30:5