The story of the man who was possessed by demons hits close to home. Hearing it read in church brought up images of my mother being strapped in a straight jacket, which was humiliating for all of us. My son Benjamin was more compliant when he went to a locked facility, and yet that only amplified the sense of betrayal. 

 

Circumstances within and outside of the medical world brought healing both to my manic mother and our autistic son. In the gospel of Mark the man pummeled by a legion of hellions was granted freedom when Jesus sentenced the evil doers to impale a herd of pigs. They stampeded into the water and drowned. With his tormentors gone, the man was finally in his right mind. 

 

There were no swine to receive the anxiety that imprisoned my mother or our son. Did it dissipate into the air? 

 

Hearing the text reminded me that people who are fettered by anxiety need our mercy. Regrettably I was more attuned to the distress of being the daughter and mother, than what it felt like to flail from within. 

 

Part of the process Jesus used was to name the demons. Legion. When Rumpelstiltskin held a young maiden hostage to his will she was able to break the bond by speaking his name. Articulating a diagnosis can open doors because there is a plan of action. 

 

The tethers that constrain me are less obvious. They mostly ricochet inside my head. Fear, criticism, blame. When I can label them much of their dominion dissipates. In the wake of their retreat I can dwell in safety.