HTP Newspaper Articles

Times Record News  September 1, 2016

My Final Regular Column

Kevin L. Thompson: Writer to step aside to heal

For over 12 years now, I have been helping people in this community in the field of mental health. I have climbed corporate ladders, advocated for increased funding for mental health in the state, developed programs, trained professionals, and written of my own struggles in a retrospective way so that others may learn as I learn.

Over the course of 2016, I have become more aware of my own expectations for my life professionally and the name I (and others) have made for myself in the community and the state. Many times I have said that we should all love what we do and do what we love. But what happens when what you love and what you do are taking the life from you instead of adding to its fulfillment?

I read a story on an in-flight magazine while traveling a couple of weekends ago that discussed the mind set of many 'successful' people who say 'I can sleep when I'm dead' and other claims that rest and restoration should not take priority in a life with an upward trajectory. The article then proposed the notion that we may be obtaining success — but at what cost?

At 30,000 feet, I came face to face with my ego. It was a showdown. There was what I thought I should be, which was linked to pride and accomplishment that receives commendation, and there was the me that writes about being happy and reminds people that it's OK to smile, even when times are tough.

When people thank me for helping them, they don't cite my awards, degrees, or administrative abilities. They say that I help people remember simple life truths we all should know but don't always take the time to think about. It was at that altitude that I saw myself as the mouse in the maze, Texas, seeking the cheese. The funny thing is that I'm not even sure what I have been frantically running into walls trying to obtain.

From that height, I saw above and beyond the walls of the maze and, to my surprise, there was no cheese. The maze just keeps going. I am tired, my friends. I didn't know how tired or from what exactly until I took myself out of the situation and truly examined the life I claimed to know so much about. This was a very humbling experience.

I am proud to say that I let go of my ego before we touched down in the desert. I climbed a mountain and saw a place of healing. From atop that mountain, at 9,000 feet, the walls seemed small, insignificant, and quite surmountable.

I haven't told anyone this, but the extra noise in my head has become quite deafening over the past few months. There was one point a few weeks back where I was sitting in the living room at 10 p.m. by myself with no television or other device delivering the usual auditory or visual distraction we cling to so passionately.

I was surrounded by silence, but in my head, the room was full of people talking. There were meetings, appointments, trainings, lunches, and a general sense of urgency detectable in the otherwise indiscernible conversations. I opened my eyes and looked around to see nothing. The chaos was in my head.

Next week will be my last article and the last week I will call Texas home. I am going to the desert to heal. I have cherished my time, 21 years, in this community, but feel I must step away so that I can 'be well' as I have wished for you all so many times. I will miss you all. Be well, my friends.

_______________________________

THIS article, I wrote upon returning from the desert where I did not "heal."  Quite the opposite, actually

What I learned on Mt. Lemmon

May 11, 2017

Greetings, friends and neighbors. The whole "retiring to the desert at 42" thing was a bust. The path was nothing like I expected. But rather than speak of the heart ache and loss, I will share with you the lesson. It was not what I expected either. Parts, at least.

I came back humbled. There are some amazing people, places, and things in Arizona, but I thought of Texas every day. Ascending Mt Lemmon on a Labor Day weekend trip two weeks before moving there, I proclaimed that I would step away from Texas and start over professionally.

That was not to be. I noticed many differences in the culture and characteristics of the desert dwellers. There you can wear socks with your sandals but should approach "brassy and bold" with caution. In Texas, sandals with no socks, but we love big personalities and big ideas.

About a week after I got to Arizona, one of the TRN readers sent me a very kind card wishing me well in my future endeavors. She hoped I found the healing I was seeking in the desert. To her, I am glad to say that, yes, I did find what I was looking for. I learned what was important.

The thing that saw me through the experience was an unwavering belief that I would not stay down. There were people who believed in me without question. From what I am told, there was even a rescue attempt or two planned. I learned that I don't have to do anything but be me when I am around my friends who are themselves some pretty amazing people. I consider every person reading this column to be on that list.

I learned that true love transcends space. No matter how far I got from the place where I didn't like the road I was on, the road didn't seem to be getting better. In 1995, I set out for Texas in a small truck with a single bed, computer, guitar, and clothes. It took a little while to get to a place where I felt like I belonged, but Texas was very welcoming. The hearts of her people are just as big as her legendary sky.

I went up the mountain several times early on, while in Tucson, looking out over all that was "figuratively" mine. By the end, I wrote that the fool goes to the top of the mountain to feel big and full of accomplishment. The wise man goes to the top of the mountain to be reminded of how small he is and that there is work to be done.

I have missed this community. I have missed my family and friends. I am so grateful for those who didn't let go of me, no matter how extreme the situation got or how far away I seemed. I have always been a fan of symbolism in literature. I crashed in the desert, much like the Phoenix who was reduced to ashes. From those ashes the same Phoenix rose again renewed.

I am happy to report that things are turning around since my return. I have missed serving the people of Wichita Falls and the blessed state of Texas. I may be small, but together, we are big, and there is big work to be done. Be well, my friends.

Kevin Thompson worked in the mental health field in Wichita Falls and has appeared in the Times Record News regularly.

© 2017 Journal Media Group

Man’s best friend has your back

Newspaper October 2, 2014

Wichita Falls Times Record News (TX)

Kevin L. Thompson

Music can help heal the soul. I know this because a few weeks before Tony my Chihuahua passed, we were walking in the park with him doing his business, and I was politely looking the other way. As we walked through the alley, I heard a distinct tune whistling in my ear.

When I got back to my apartment, I picked up the guitar and wrote the tune. It was called “Walk the Dog,” though now it is sometimes called “The Ballad of Tony and Pudge.” After Tony had passed, I had the song to whistle and sing to about our time together. The first part goes this way:

Tony, what are you glad about,

Tony, you don’t get mad about,

Tony, that’s what I like about you.

Pets are such an important support to an individual who is seeking recovery from mental health issues. Service dogs are trained to assist individuals with post-traumatic stress syndrome as well as other situations involving emotional distress. My dog did what he wanted most of the time, but we would never have traded the life we had.

He made me take him out when all I wanted to do was disappear. He watched out for me and my family for a long time. He was quite passive aggressive toward my momma one day. He didn’t like her leaving at 5 a.m. for work every day.

So Tony waited until my mom got home and put up her boots in the closet. He sneaked into her closet and filled her boot with a stinky surprise. The next morning my mom shook her boots upside down, and out came the evidence. I think they both had a moment of frustration, but she learned to beware of sensitive dogs.

That being considered, I would like to say he was one of my truest and dearest friends. He saw me in emotional situations where I thought I was losing it, and he would go off on anyone he thought may disturb me in those tough times. He remained calm when I thought the world was crashing down.

During that time, I wrote a lot of music. Great victory songs, as opposed to statements of defeat. Even in the darkest pit, with guitar and pen in hand, I battled the emotions that I felt had taken me over. I was rattled but not defeated.

Sometimes I forget about the depths of depression. A kind animal depending on me got me through everything from my 15th birthday to age 30. Nowadays I am flying solo. That is if you don’t count the plant.

My dad has Buddy, the dog. When my momma passed, the three of us mourned and came together. We all continue to mourn in smaller ways. The support of humans can be a valuable thing, too, but pets can lift one’s spirit with just a glance.

So enjoy the friendly animals we have welcomed into our homes and hearts, and be well, my friends.

Copyright (c) 2014 Wichita Falls Times Record News

We can choose a better way

Newspaper October 23, 2014

Wichita Falls Times Record News (TX)

Author: Kevin L. Thompson

When I was in the psychiatric ward at Sheppard hospital before my discharge from the service, I felt devastated. I was losing everything. I saw no silver lining on clouds of this storm that had hovered over me. I was at the bottom of the pit of despair. I know there are many others who deal with similar issues. The difference in me and most people is that I refused to be denied my dream. From the time I started studying psychology in an effort to understand my own problems, I was hooked. I didn’t stop there. I figured that if I wanted to make enough to pay back my student loans, I may as well go for a professional license. The hours spent in school were certainly a major component of what I call my philosophy of counseling. That, however, pales in comparison with the hours I have logged with a severe mental health issue. My life turned around when I took responsibility for my choices and stopped being my label. Bipolar. Seems like a fairly benign word. The world is bipolar, so it only makes sense that we are all a little bipolar. However, put that label on a person’s head, and it becomes a target of judgment, ridicule and pity. There are times when I need the support and encouragement of my friends. Like everyone else, I have my moments. I am just lucky, I guess, to work at the Helen Farabee Centers with great people who have great attitudes toward life and the things that trip us up. You see, my education didn’t stop with the master’s degree. It didn’t stop after the 3,000 hour internship. It started the day the door closed and locked behind me on March 1, 1999. Then I realized that I had lost control. My true education began in that moment. There are many theories and approaches to counseling. I feel like my counseling journey started much like the cruel person who teaches the kid how to swim by throwing him in the deep end. I learned to weather the currents in my brain in the midst of deep and treacherous seas. Looking back, I see the reason for all my suffering. I had to lose everything to see what it was like so I would know how to treat the indigent population Helen Farabee Centers helps every week. I have lived out of a duffle bag. That is hard to deal with in and of itself. However, that is not the end of the story. Fifteen years later, I have taken all of those experiences, those lessons learned, and applied them to my wellness, as well as communicating what I know to others so that they can realize the opportunities that manifest when one embraces recovery. I still have bad days, but I chose to rise and serve the best I can. I know it can be a struggle. We all struggle from time to time. The thing is: There is joy and happiness to be had. We just have to choose it. Be well, my friends.

Copyright (c) 2014 Wichita Falls Times Record News