BLOG

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.

Related Posts:

  • Out like a lamb my ass. It's a fierce month of Marpril. It's the Eleventy-ninth of Marpril and the wind is blowing down trees and taking the siding off triple-deckahs in Allston Rock City. It's been a rough month, kids. … Read More
  • Hot Head v. Cool Head : Who Really Prevails? I'm among those who did not tune in to the Kavanaugh hearing today, because I've had enough. Of everything. And all these old white men. But I see from all of your posts and tweets that the "honorable" (that's laughable) judge had himself a little mantrum today, is that right? This reporting ha… Read More
  • I Wish I Could Give My Brain A New Battery Six years ago my brain broke. I had a breakdown, several stays in the mental ward, so much therapy, both one-on-one and in group. Though I've experienced some good periods, for example I held a part-time job for two and a half years, it's been mostly a grim struggle. I have therapy once a week, so… Read More
  • The Big Clench: Grateful Thru Anxiety My stomach is constantly clenching and aching. I'm scared and anxious. But I'm trying not to fixate on the horror and instead be grateful. I am grateful for so many things. I am grateful that: I cook.  I cut my own hair, and Joe's hair too. I love where I live. We can still afford cable TV k… Read More
  • Lockdown Notes: Assembling Jigsaw Puzzles Joe finished our Boston puzzle today. It's a graphic illustration of the city drawn in black and colored in, bearing names of all the landmark buildings and attractions such as Quincy Market, Faneuil Hall and the State House. He finished it so fast. It feels so strange to finally see this Boston… Read More