Brave New Kitty

Myths are clues to the spiritual potentialities of the human life. – Joseph Campbell

Superheroes are the mythic figures of the modern age. They all have special powers they use for the good of mankind, powers that allow them to transcend their mortality and experience divinity in some small but significant way–thus manifesting a universally shared desire. Superman, the greatest superhero of them all, is essentially omnipotent, an actual god with most of the features we attribute to gods. Yet the superhero, like the Greek tragic hero, always has a fatal flaw, an Achilles heel making him forever unable to fully escape his humanity. Because of this, he (or she) is somebody we can all identify with.

One of the most interesting superheroes ever created is Batman. Batman, the Dark Knight, is unique among superheroes in that he has no special powers or magic gadgets that give him superhuman capabilities. He creates all of his powers with his own resources.

The story of how Batman came to be is as mythical as anything written two thousand years ago–that is, his story embodies an elemental human struggle. Bruce Wayne, the man who eventually becomes Batman, is a tortured soul, having lost his parents at a young age to a senseless, violent act that haunts him as an adult. He wants desperately to fight crime and corruption to avenge his parents’ deaths and overcome his sense of helplessness, but he’s paralyzed by fear. He works out to stay in peak physical condition, studies the great fighting techniques of the world until he knows them expertly, and pours millions of dollars into research that produces some of the coolest gadgetry known to the superhero world. But still he feels resistance inside himself. One day, he realizes that to become the person he wants to be, he must confront his deepest, darkest fears. For him, these fears are best symbolized by bats, so he goes to a cave where he knows bats live, and he stays there, surrounded by thousands of flying bats, until he no longer feels afraid. When he emerges, he is free of his fears. He is now Batman.

It’s just a comic book. But the mythology of Batman speaks directly to each of us. Bruce Wayne does literally what the rest of us must do psychologically if we are to flourish: he descends into the darkness and confronts his fears. So significant is this process, in fact, that he names himself for it. If we don’t confront our demons as Bruce Wayne did, they keep us stuck in a prison of our own unwillingness.

Nobody ever wants to deal with their pain, much less confront their demons. Usually, if we’re doing it, it’s because we’ve been forced to the edge of the abyss by circumstances in our lives–sometimes of our own making, sometimes not. How we get there, though, is for the most part irrelevant. It’s what we do once we’re there that counts. Do we face the abyss honestly, or do we try to escape? Because the truth is, the dark-night-of-the-soul experience is one of the greatest opportunities to gain wisdom that life can present us with. I heard a saying once, and while I don’t know the author, it is attributed to a Jesuit priest: “Only the truly humble learn through love. The rest of us have to learn through pain.”

This has certainly been true for me. My early years of sobriety were a period of the most explosive emotional and psychological change I’ve ever experienced. It was also the most painful. Around my second year of sobriety, the shiny newness of it all began to wear off, and I was left with all the raw feelings I’d been avoiding my whole life–and absolutely nothing to dull them with. The feelings kept bubbling up, deep and old and mysterious and frightening, and a cloud of darkness descended on me. I was one big, walking nerve end masquerading as a person. No wonder I drank, if this was the alternative.

Of course my first reaction was to make the pain stop. I knew I didn’t want to drink. I also knew I didn’t want to die, although I understood for the first time how suicide could sound like a viable solution to some. So I did what many people in this situation do. I went on antidepressants. But they didn’t really help. They just made me feel numb, and they had all sorts of awful side effects. And the feelings were still there.

One morning, I was reaching for that bottle of pills when a voice in my head said Just feel the feelings. I knew right there that I’d been trying to do with those antidepressants what I’d done with self-prescribed drugs my whole adult life: numb the pain. I also knew, and this was the great epiphany, that the pain was there for a reason, and if I kept avoiding it, I would never know what that reason was–and that it was important to know the reason.

Then and there, I embarked on an emotional adventure that was to change my life forever, and infinitely for the better, even though it was a long, hard, painful road. For five solid years, I stared into that emotional abyss routinely. I cried almost every day. It got so I actually looked forward to it; I set aside time for it and made a little ritual out of it by lighting candles and playing sad music. Crying released those deep, dark feelings, and with every release, I felt a little bit lighter, a little bit more intact. Whoever said tears were healing had it exactly right.

As awful as I felt throughout this period, I also felt…solid. I knew I was on the right path. I knew I was taking the best care of myself I possibly could. That was a powerful new feeling, and it was enough to keep me going. To my amazement, I was able to function just fine. Nobody not close to me had any inkling what I was going through. I not only made it to work every day but also went back to school to finish my college degree. As long as I gave myself permission to grieve–because somewhere along the way, I realized that’s what I was doing–and made room for it in my life, I got along beautifully. I wouldn’t have chosen it for myself, but staying present with my pain, fear, anger and grief was absolutely necessary to my sense of well-being, and I’m as grateful for this period now as I am for all the joyous experiences I’ve had.

Just as all the gadgets in the world were useless to Batman until he dealt with his own inner obstacles, all the external gadgets we use to feel better are meaningless (or at the very least, temporary) unless we dive into our own souls to confront our demons. Here’s sending out high hopes for all to be visited by that wonderful dark night that holds the key to your salvation. Embrace your demons, like Batman, and they will set you free.