- blog, history, lifestyle, mental health, personal development, poetry, short story, trauma, Uncategorized
I’m an artist damn it. And not the starving kind.
“Sounds to me like you’re an artist.” My therapist said. I cringed. “Why did you just do that?” “Do what?” She laughed. “You made a face.” “Oh,” I smiled softly. “I hate that word.” “Why is that?” “I guess I just always thought it sounded so flaky.” “You *always* thought that?” There was a long pause. “Hm.” She said. “Let’s explore that a bit.” “Okay.” “It’s just that you’re a singer, songwriter, pianist, writer, marketer…” She ticked off the list with her fingers. I said nothing. “Sure sounds like an artist to me.” The truth was, there was a lot of baggage that came with that word. Public school for…
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Mommy? Will I have a sickness in my brain like daddy?
Yesterday, we talked to the kids about the virus in depth. We did the little activity where we put black pepper in water and then covered their fingers in soap. When they put their fingers in the water it dispersed the black pepper *germs*. We talked about why we couldn’t visit Granny over Spring Break, why we would be staying home more, why schools were closed. Lorelai then went on her merry way, giggling about washing her hands. But Judah went and sat on the couch, contemplative. I’ve known my son for a while now. Ever since Jesse was diagnosed with a mental illness, we’ve especially kept our eye on…
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Because I’m going to write about it. And it will be damn good.
I know a lot of people are scared right now about their financial situation with all this going on. I can say I definitely relate. After going through Hurricane Michael and then Jesse’s health crisis, taking things one day at a time has become a lifestyle. Disaster situations are expensive, but you can get ahead of this as best you can. It’s been hard to breathe sometimes, but I have found strategy that can help. Without minimizing your legitimate fears, I want to offer some advice. 1) Have a plan. What is the order of priority for your bills? Sit down and talk with the people in your household responsible…
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You really will be happy again.
“I’m losing my hair.” “What?” “I’m losing my hair!” I cry. I woke up that morning and it was just gone. A small patch of hair right at the front of my scalp just disappeared. So I did what every person shouldn’t do. I googled it. The word “Alopecia” popped up on the screen. “Please see a dermatologist,” was the recommendation. I did. This morning. “Alopecia.” They repeated. “It’s temporary. Have you been stressed?” I smiled and felt like crying. Living and feel like dying. Have I been stressed? Hilarious. Absolutely hilarious. They don’t talk about losing your hair after Hurricanes. They talk about insurance and the triple rent. They…
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I’m not sure if this place can help me
“I need you to know I’m not fragile,” my husband said as I pulled out of the parking lot. I knew exactly what he was referring to. My husband had been very sick lately. He had to go to a facility over 500 miles away for a month. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye and took a deep breath. Not fragile. Not… fragile… Strange. Life seemed quite fragile lately. When you love someone with a mental illness, it’s hard not to walk on eggshells. I remember when my husband was first diagnosed. All I could do was nod. Finally, a name to the third entity…
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Surround Them with Life and all That Makes it Joyous.
Contrary to popular belief, depression and other mental illnesses are not something you experience alone. Oh no. Trust me when I say, your family, your friends, anyone who ever loved you feels it. They feel it with you, and they struggle with the fact that they cannot pull it out of your head so they can fight it with you. This is why, in a study published in the American Journal of Geriatric Psychiatry, about 60% of participant caregivers developed a depressive and/or anxiety disorder within 24 months of caregiving. But I think that might have to do with our Western individualism. We believe that the power is only within…
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So does “everybody have a mental illness now?”
TW: death and suicide “Everybody has a mental illness now.” “Back in my day we didn’t need all this medication. We got kicked outside to work in the yard if we were sad.” “These kids wouldn’t survive back in my day.” And yeah. You’re probably right. They wouldn’t have survived. They would have died. Because that’s what happens when mental illnesses aren’t treated. People die. Or people live miserable lives, passing their pain on and on and on. I would argue that more people seem to suffer from various illnesses of this nature because now we’re actually medicating them and getting them help. They’re living longer and therefore their stories…
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How to Talk With a Depressed Person
Here are some helpful tricks I have found to be useful when speaking to a depressed person: Person: Everything we do is really pointless because we’re all going to die anyway. You: That may be true. I’m hungry. What do you want for breakfast? Toast? Eggs? *Redirection is your new best friend. Let them talk about the existential thoughts roiling inside them. You talk about food and how much you adore eggs and bacon. Let them know you heard what they said, validate them and redirect. They have enough existentialism for both of you. Promise. – Person: I have no motivation to do anything. You: Ugh. That’s awful. So I…
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What is The True Face of Poverty?
Here is the plight of people who are born into poverty. They are raised in the poorest section of their community. The poorest section of their community is subjected to more violence and crime. The schools in the poorest section of the community get the least funding of all the schools. The schools in the poorest section of the community have the highest turnover rate for teachers. Many kids in poverty are raised in foster homes or by a relative who is not their parent. There are good foster homes and bad ones, of course. Just like regular homes. It is not uncommon for a child in poverty to be…
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Chapter 1: The Boy in the Glass Bottle
He was a beautiful boy. Black hair and black eyes set in skin like sandstone. “Boy,” she said. “What are you doing in that bottle?” He stood tall and straight, his head just grazing the top of his glass prison. The bottle lay over on its side, a cork stuck in the neck. “Girl,” he smiled at her. His voice was muted, like hearing through water. “What are you doing out there?” She thought it a strange question from someone who was trapped. “Why are you in there?” she amended. She pressed the palm of her right hand to the glass, her breath leaving a mark like frost that soon…
