Monday, June 23, 2014

Baseball Therapy

I miss my mom. Every time I try to write about her and the problems we have, I get blocked up and can't do it. I don't know what to say about it except to say that I don't know how to repair our relationship and it's just making me so sad. My attention span is shot. I can't follow any television anymore, except the news, and movies are right out. I think it's all wrapped up in my inability to pick up the phone and talk to my mother. I don't know what to say.


For months now I haven't watched much on TV. The only thing that I can really watch on TV is baseball games. Joe has a subscription to MLB Network, and so at any time he can put on any game. I watch the games, it doesn't matter who is playing. I watch the pitcher throw the ball, and the batter try to hit it. It's either a hit, or it's a foul, or it's a strike. If it's a hit then the fielders try to catch it or run it down. I don't need to guess because the announcers say what kind of pitch it was and they keep a running commentary on what's happening. The guys on both sides want the same thing and in this pursuit it's the simplest of actions to follow. I find it incredibly soothing. Baseball takes me out of whatever the pain is that I just can't deal with just then, and instead I just focus in on the pitcher and the batter and listen to the announcers say what it all means. Pitch by pitch I can soothe myself. It's baseball therapy.

I figured out this baseball therapy just before going into the psych ward the third time. I was in there the night of the Bruins something-or-other game (this would be May, so whatever final hockey games were being played) so while they all watched that on the main TV in the milieu, I got the remote control from the nurses' station and set the other TV to watch the Red Sox. I sat in a chair in the far common room where no one ever goes at night. It was just me by myself watching the pitcher, the batter, the fielders. Eventually a few people came in and there we were, motley crew of the depressed, anxious, schizophrenic, dissociative, what-have-you, all watching the pitcher, the batter, the fielders. It was quiet. We were focused on the game for a little while and it was nice.

I guess I find baseball therapeutic because of the fixed roles and the pace. Everyone knows just what to do at the right time. Everyone has a job and it gets done just so. They all have a job to do and they do it.

Why can't it all be that way. I miss my mom.

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