Category Archives: Mental health

Best friend

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Okay, so I haven’t been able to string even a day of clean eating together in what seems like forever.   This addiction has morphed into a beast.   I haven’t stopped fighting though.  I just don’t know how to fight it.    

Food addiction is a physical addiction with a cravings and withdrawal cycle.  Anyone who tells you different hasn’t done their homework.  They are uneducated and ignorant regarding the matter.   There are certainly emotional triggers that can bring about an eating “binge”.   

When I feel a certain way; my pattern of eating changes accordingly.   Actually, that last line is complete BS.   There is virtually no emotional state that won’t drive me to binge.  I eat when I’m happy, I eat when I’m sad, I eat when I’m nervous, I eat when I’m angry, I eat to celebrate, I eat out of boredom.  Food has been there when people haven’t.  In a strange way food has been a best friend.   It’s just that my best friend is trying to disfigure my body and ultimately kill me so it’s like an abusive relationship that I need to end.  

I truly believe that people with addictions don’t get better until they hit their bottom. I don’t know what my bottom will be because it keeps getting lower.

In my 20’s I told myself I’d never go above 140 lbs.  Blew past that.  In my 30’s I told myself I’d never binge at someone else’s house on their food.   Did that at my moms.    Promised myself I’d never binge on my kids Halloween candy.   Did it.  All the while saying “I’ll replace it while they are at school before they realize it’s even gone.”  But really? Really! Who does this shit!!  Who takes candy from a baby? Besides that, even if they never found out, I knew….I knew.  And looking in the mirror became harder to do for more than the obvious reason.

Even though I’ve been asking God for help I don’t know if I will get better because I’m not sure that I’m ready to part ways with this toxic relationship.   Does that make sense? 

Part of me is ready to get healthy but only part of the time.   It waxes and wanes on any given day.  How far down river will I get, when I don’t have both recovery oars in the water?

For a non-food iaddict, food is just food.  For me, food is so many things:  Food is comfort, it is stress relief, food is safety, it’s happiness, food is love.   I know some  normal people will read that line and think, “wow that is so effed up!  ‘Food is love?’ they will say to themselves?  I know it’s true seeing it on paper does sound crazy, but that’s the powerful distorted connection it has in this writer’s  life.  That’s why diets don’t work or if they do, the weight loss usually returns so fast.   Once weight loss happens I go right back to that missing friend, that missing thing which used to comfort me.  That’s why Oprah Winfrey who has millions in net worth cannot, even with the aide of a personal chef, trainer, and psychotherapy seem to keep the weight so easily.  It’s goes so deep.    

Hpw does one unwed the thing which for years that has brought them relief day in, day out? I have no idea but I know the solution isn’t in merely counting calories.

I know there are people who have broken free from food addiction.

I wonder if I will ever be able my shit together and get some decent clean time in.  This is so demoralizing.   My instinct is to to just hide out all day at home .  All the weight I’ve gained makes me feel self-conscious and ashamed.  Of course I could always traverse through the world wearing a bag over my head.  

Seriously, I don’t know anymore.   I need a plan though, because this is just not working for me.   


Brokenness

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Growing up I had many fears.   They were not just ordinary kid fears.  For there were things which lurked in the dark.  Things from which my parents could not protect me.   I often felt petrified particularly at night.   The nights were long and at times seemed to stretch out interminably.

To make matters worse the landscape of my daytime was such that I was rather invisible.   Usually well-behaved, I got lost in the shuffle of the chaos and discord,  the cacophony of our home.  I needed comfort after the unspeakable terror of the night.  I often fantasized about being rescued by a benevolent parent archetype.  Someone who would recognize my hidden suffering and rescue me from the profane which my parents could not see.

So ever since I was small I can remember seeking out bits of care and affection hoping to stitch together enough to survive.    I have a crystal clear memory of cutting a bunch of lavender colored lilacs with a pair of scissors from the bush outside my bedroom window.   I brought them to school as a gift for my 3rd grade teacher, with some tin foil wrapped at the base.  I was hoping my good deed would earn me a bit of her praise.  Wishing she might look favorably upon me.   I was starving, aching for somebody, anybody,  to tell me that I was a good girl.

That desperation has not changed much since then; only my age has.

Even when I have managed to capture that attention and validation from a man as an adult,  that I had so desperately sought back then, I cannot hold onto the warmth I feel from receiving it for very long.  Because my early childhood trauma left me with a hole somewhere, all of the warmth and goodness I am able to take in slips away into the darkness leaving me feeling empty and alone.

I have been left in a constant unending cycle of seeking attention and validation from others.  The process itself is exhausting, time-consuming, and always ends the same.   I must begin it all over.

Trying to figure out how to construct the emotional glue with which to fill this invisible hole has proven a lot harder than I ever imagined.  For I don’t know where the hole exists within myself to patch and the spackle is not readily available at the local hardware store.

I still feel like a little girl inside, wanting that care and reassurance that I am lovable and good.  There is the sobering realization that it’s all going to have to come from me.  I’m going to have to be that voice I always needed.

I don’t want to shoulder this.  I want a different way.  I continue to struggle with accepting that there will never be anyone to rescue me.   There won’t be any grown up to tell me that I’m good.  Because I’m not 7 years old anymore, even if I feel like it on the inside.

It sucks being broken.   Dealing with kid feelings, kid fears, in a grown up body.

Kid Fears – The Indigo Girls – 1988

Pain from pearls, hey little girl
How much have you grown?
Pain from pearls, hey little girl
Flowers for the ones you’ve known
Are you on fire
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Secret staircase (secret staircase), running high (running high)
You had a hiding place
Secret staircase (secret staircase), running low (running low)
They all know, now you’re inside
Are you on fire
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Kid fears
Skipping stones, we know the price now
Any sin will do
How much further, if you can spin
How much further, if you are smooth
Are you on fire (are you on fire)
From the years? (from the years)
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Replace the rent with the stars above
Replace the need with love
Replace the anger with the tide
Replace the ones, the ones, the ones, that you love
The ones that you love
Are you on fire
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Are you on fire
From the years
What would you give for your
Kid fears
What would you give for your
Kid fears
What would you give for your
Kid fears
You can’t feel
The kids
Songwriters: Amy Elizabeth Ray / Emily Ann Saliers

 


Land, Fire, Sea.

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When our partner has been unfaithful it is a shocking betrayal we don’t expect.  If they then leave the relationship, we are forced to grieve.   This is another painful betrayal which can blindside us.  They are still alive and as such grieving them becomes what I would categorize as a different sort of “complicated grief”, no less painful than a bereaved partner.

We are not only grieving our partner but also the loss of the life we had together and the loss of dreams of the future that will no longer be.  It is a multi-layered loss which is often minimized by well-meaning people trying to help by pointing out facts meant to quiet our pain like,”wow, what a such and such!!! .”  and “you just dodged a huge bullet.

Complicated Grief or CG – from Mayo Clinic.org: “losing a loved one is one of the most distressing and, unfortunately, common experiences people face. Most people experiencing normal grief and bereavement have a period of sorrow, numbness, and even guilt and anger. Gradually these feelings ease, and it’s possible to accept loss and move forward.

For some people, feelings of loss are debilitating and don’t improve even after time passes. This is known as complicated grief, sometimes called persistent complex bereavement disorder. In complicated grief, painful emotions are so long lasting and severe that you have trouble recovering from the loss and resuming your own life.

I believe that my experience and those of others who experienced infidelity and were then abandoned by their partner, CG could aptly describe the same type of grieving process.

I decided that my ex-narcopath’s idealization phase was just that, a way to reel me into the relationship on his fishing line.  However, the feelings and love for him were real for me.  Just because they were contrived on his end only meant that I felt the loss and pain and grief of losing what I thought I had.

I eventually came to accept that I had fallen in love with an illusion.   That took time to arrive to that understanding and even longer to accept.  In the end, I was grieving the man I thought I had, not the man I actually had.  This cognitive dissonance slowed my grieving process down.   For as I would start to become angry at him and go through the grieving process, I would quickly remember how wonderful he had treated me in the beginning and get hopeful again that maybe we could reconcile.  Then I would have to begin the grief process all over again.  Not to mention him staying in touch with me, one weak moment of me communicating with him and I was right back to missing him only to be cast aside and wounded by him again.

It came in cycles.  Waves as it were.  Until the waves came closer and closer in succession until they were on top of each other colliding.

Then, I was faced with despair and nothing the grief process itself.  But how? How does one grieve someone who is still alive?

I observed and compared people who lost partners to death and noted that as a victim of infidelity who was dumped, I  was lacking ritual and ceremony in my grieving process.  I then set out to find find personal ways to make my grief feel more real and tangible.

I first visited many online forums and connected with lots of people who had experienced the same thing that I had.   I listened to their stories and advice.

Once I accepted that it needed the be over for ME….(it had long since been over for him) I decided to take all his fake-ass love letters and put them in a wooden box.   Then I took said box with his photo in it and dug a hole into the woods.   I placed a medium sized rock over the pseudo-grave with a simple black symbol I had painted on the rock which was meaningful to me.

I wrote a short eulogy and read it out loud expressing my feelings of betrayal for the sweet man that I would miss.  I said in closing he never had existed except in my heart.  I wrote it for the man I thought I had, for he was the man for which I was crying. .   I had my best friend there to bear witness to my process.  I found this helpful and was pretty sure by then she was ready to smack a shovel over his head and put him into a box with the sheer amount of hours I cried on the phone to her.

I have heard other women getting lighter fluid and torching their love letters.  Still others ripping them into bits and throwing them into the ocean.  I knew of one other woman where threw her letters into a trash dumpster and then taking a photo and sending it that the ex.   Another    man simply bound his letters up and returned them via mail no return address.

Which method you choose matters not.  The important thing is that the process empowers you and brings you closer to healing.  There’s always the option to do nothing at all.   Simply sit be with your pain.

There is no right or wrong way to grieve.  There is no blueprint and certainly no handout anyone gives you for this kind of off the charts level of fucked up pain.   You will have to do it your own way.   At your cadence.   On your terms.

You may grieve before your ready but not before you can.  Freedom really has always been inside of you.    You can do this.  You will be okay.

 

 


Minecrack

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So often times when you are trying to get rid of one addiction, you need to find a healthier substitute to fill that empty space.

I’ve found something which helps me to distract my mental obsession with the food porn, which is everywhere.   It’s like a hamster that runs around on a little wheel in my head.

My defense against the food addict hamster on its wheel,  is Minecraft.

It started out over two weeks ago, I hopped on the PS4 and it’s now gained traction to where it’s now becoming dare I say another thing that I binge on.

I’ve built a penthouse, with a pool, an underground bunker with built-ins for all my chests for my “mined” ore, a nether portal, and use my map to explore all kinds of biomes.  I’m rocking this tween game like a boss.

It’s so addictive, it should be called Minecrack.  Mojang is making a killing.  But hey, as long as I’m staying on the straight and narrow it’s all good.

I’m pretty sure I have a highly addictive personality.  Ahem….

Gotta run now, back to the mines.

 

 


Addiction

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Photo:  my rosary beads 

Anyone who has ever struggled with addiction knows all too well the viscous cycle of it all.

Every fiber of you craves the thing to which you are addicted.   Your brain tells you quietly that it will kill you, yet the voice of the addiction is louder yelling at you to give in.

Every attempt to stop leaves you  struggling in a brutal tug of war.  The internal voice is always telling you to give in:

“You know you will feel better if you do it” 

“You deserve a break.”

”You know it’s gonna be so good…”

There’s a seductive quality to addiction.  I believe that there is perhaps an evil force which belies the whole process.   Trying to ensnare victims back in.

If for some reason you give in and relapse, you tell yourself:

”Its okay, you can just start over tomorrow,” as a way to assuage your guilt.

If you manage to to relapse in the middle of a week, you tell yourself,

”its okay, you can make a fresh start on Monday.”

Then you get so deep into it, you start telling yourself stuff like,”I’ll start over next month.”  

Then comes the realization when you can’t stop after a whole month after really trying several times, “I just haven’t  tried hard enough or I have to work up to it and get into the recovery mindset.”

Then after total agonizing defeat, still a persistent denial busts in that,”I could quit if I want to, I just don’t want to right now, I like what I am doing.” 

What the fuck?!

Did I just hear my thoughts right.  Yup.  I could quit if I want to but I don’t want to?  Buddy, my ass has been done whooped by this addiction but not I’m “ready?”  That’s precious.

I think only a true addict can indentify with these insane thoughts.

I’ve been living with addiction and relapse for a decade at least.  I’m in this shit up to my eye balls.

It occurred to me today That the one huge part I’ve been leaving out of the mix is steps 1, 2, and 3.  Ha!

It’s always white knuckling.  Who wants to admit defeat? Be powerless, And then surrender?  Not a lot signing up for that shit.  We do it because we get sick and tired of being of being sick and tired.

Time to get on my knees again and ask for God’s help.

 

 

 


She let herself go

 

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Want to know how a woman goes from looking sexy and shaving her pussy, getting her brows waxed, nails done; to packing on a shit ton of weight, wearing a pair of sweatpants like skin, and wandering through life with no make-up?

Too easy.

Its because….she gave up.

“There are some things worse than being alone,” my step-dad once told me, “and one of them is being in a bad relationship.” ‘Course I didn’t believe him at that time.

I’ve got an update for him now, if he were here for me to tell.   But he’s gone the bastard.  My step-dad disowned me when my mom told him his son had molested me as a child.  The truth hurts, some run.

I’d tell him,  “There are some thing worse than being dead and one of them is staying in a relationship once it’s already on life-support instead of just pulling the plug.”

Watching yourself slip away a little at a time after your partner slipped away.   When you finally “come to”, you are old and ugly and barely recognizable in the mirror.   Worse still, your soul feels marred and there is a disconnect from the only Higher Power that can pull you from the black place you find yourself in.

You are now a mere shadow of who you once were.  Not caring if you are physically dead some days, because you already feel dead on the inside.  The urge to pull the wheel to the embankment at 80 mph on the freeway creeps in more than it should.

“She let herself go”, you hear them say, and you don’t even care anymore.  It’s true because you did.  So fucking what.

You have bigger fish to fry now, than a to maintain that trim waistline and to try and look sexy for any superficial jerk-off liar who objectifies women.

Newsflash bitches.  Your cocks aren’t a higher power.  They never were.   And for all the women ensnared by abusive asshole men who exploited our kindness and love? I’ll raise you a fuck off to your “ISO a submissive” racket.

Stop acting out your own victimization under the pretense of helping to guide, shape, or otherwise better women.

Oh she let herself go alright, and that may have been a blessing in disguise.   Because  now maybe she can go inward and create the person she should have been.

 

 

 

 


I’m a Marketing Dream

It occurred to me the other day as I stared blankly out of the window, not wanting to get out of bed, just like every other day, I am in the Bell Jar.  

So many of the commercials on TV for medications to treat depression are so fake.  They depict people suffering with it having a seemingly mild case of the doldrums. Just moving as if stuck in molasses.

They never show you what depression really looks like.

I am willing to let a pharmaceutical company film me to get a more accurate depiction.  It would look something like this…..

Voice over of announcer: “Depression robs a person of their energy.”

Camera pans to me sitting in the middle of my living room with a mountain of dirty laundry staring at it like the woman from Close Encounters of a Third Kind.  Saying, “I know I should wash you” and then just shaking my head no and finally collapsing back into the cushion and saying “fuck it.”  I am down to one pair of clean panties this is now my “edge play.”

Voice of announcer:  “Depression feels physical.” 

Camera lens catches me glancing outside at the morning school bus through the window .  I move to the kitchen and stare at the heaping pile of dishes that has amassed in the sink and repeat “fuck it” as I then head to the bed and proceed to pull the blinds and dive in to the sheets.  (Time elapses)   I rise in my pajamas in a haze hearing the afternoon school bus pulls around the block again.

Voice of announcer:  “Depression causes changes in appetite.”

Last scene too fucking easy.  Like a vampire rising from the mist I awake from bed to eat a box of Girl Scout  cookies.  Because anyone knows that if doesn’t come out of a package or ready-to-eat microvave box, then food isn’t consumed.  Camera fades with me on the couch with said cookies in the middle of the night swearing at the Girl Scouts, blaming them for peddling their crack.

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Real Depression?

Depression is wearing the same pear of sweat pants and tee-shirts every day like a uniform, and having hygiene fall to the wayside til’ someone has to insist a shower is taken.   Brushing teeth? what’s that? there’s no energy.  Sleeping 16 hours a day feels natural.    Feeling black even when the sun is shining.

Depressions steals a person of their  emotions.  Such that life holds neither joy, nor sorrow, no anger, no pain.  It steals away the ability to imagine, to dream, to hope for a better day.  It is the great equalizer changing healthy,  robust,  thriving people into living, breathing, vacuous zombies pondering their very existence.

*******

Why doesn’t Roche, Pfizer, or GlaxoSmithKline want to show what real depression looks like?  Because their drugs are largely ineffective against severe forms of it.   You will look and feel the same on their drugs as you will off them.    Big Pharma doesn’t want anyone to know that.  If the efficacy of their products aren’t much better than a placebo than Lord have mercy, where would their capitalist enterprise be?

I have tried 13 anti-depressants over my lifetime and only one did something.  Not a great track record for pills as monotherapy.   If you are mildly depressed, pills may snap your serotonin back into shape.  Buddy, if you have a severe case of dysthymia, and some C-PTSD you are not going to have that sort of response.

Millions of people are suffering with depression.   Big Pharma wants to profit from the pills they produce to treat a condition that is largely unresponsive to pharmacological intervention.

The most common reason for people to become depressed is sustaining stress and trauma.  Until we become more pro-active as a society about preventing trauma both in childhood and in adulthood we are destined to fail by looking for a pharmaceutical panacea to remedy the problem.

Learning how to intervene once children and adults have been identified as having been exposed to trauma and getting these individuals trauma informed care, we have the hope of healing them.

People need people.  The broken trust that happens through the process of trauma needs to be repaired.   Pharmaceuticals certainly have their place as an aide.  The way out of depression starts with the desire; the wanting to climb out of the bell jar.  Once that decision has been made to seek help, the human factor, not a pill, will always be a more effective “treatment”.

 

 

 

 


Running from myself

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Have you ever experienced so much emotional pain and misery that you feel like you are bleeding from the inside out? That you are willing to just say a silent  goodbye to your family, job, home, belongings, everything?  To take to the road and just drive away and leave it all behind?

It’s to difficult to believe these thoughts have crossed my mind.  At the same time I just want to escape the stress and pain.  It’s been so long since I’ve truly laughed or felt a sense of peace and joy.   The closest I’ve come is when I’m immersed in nature.

Nature never judges.  Nature’s beauty, it  never lets me down.   Yet, there is something missing still, even there.

There is something missing in my life.  There is a hole inside my heart from long ago, that has never mended, that needs to still heal.   All the wounds that have been layered over, have further destroyed me.

Now I just want to run.  Run until I can’t find myself anymore.

 

 


13 Reasons Why we need Suicide Awareness not just in September

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I was born at 1:44 am, when it’s as dark as it can get.  I have struggled for most of my life to feel happy.  To feel loved.  Perhaps that early darkness played a minuscule part and set the stage for the depression that enveloped me later in life and stole my joy.

By the time anyone is reading this, I am gone now.  I’m off to watch the last episode in this Netflix series “13 Reasons Why.”  So sit back, relax, and plug into whatever reading device you’re looking into as I share why this Netflix Original series is super fucking interesting and is bringing much needed awareness to suicide prevention.

I have had the opportunity to meet and got to know many people that survived their suicide attempt.  Twelve admissions to different psychiatric hospitals when I was between age 18-22 enabled me to meet those people.  Those men and women, including myself, didn’t have the wherewithal in their jumbled up mind, to sit down and speak into a microphone and record some kind of vendetta against the people who screwed them over, before actually pulling the plug on their life.  For me it wasn’t about a vendetta, it was about feeling so depressed and dead inside that I just couldn’t go on like that.  Things felt like they would never end.  I blamed no one, in fact blame never even popped into my mind….ever.   I think that’s the only criticism I have of the show is that the protagonist placed blame for her suicide on other people.  It may leave viewers with a notion that all people that Suicide leave the world angry.  That would be both untrue and especially devastating to families of victims. I was never angry , I tried to end my life because I felt hopeless.

By the time one musters the resignation it takes to jump into the noose, pull the trigger, down the pills,  or jump off the bridge; most could give a flying shit about leaving a note for anybody, let alone make 13 cassette tapes.  I know I didn’t.  The people I met didn’t leave notes either.  It honestly never occurred to me, my mind was ultra focused on leaving, not on what I may be leaving behind.

Statistically speaking, victims of suicide only leave notes  3-42% of the time.  Which means that 2/3 of suicides leave this world far more often with no words left said. Of those who do leave notes case studies reveal that the notes usually leave instructions for funeral arrangements or taking care of loved ones and mundane requests such as making sure newspaper subscriptions are cancelled.    The notes lack the sort of logicical solace the bereaved are searching for in this sort of tragedy.

“Suicides are often impulsive, and can be prevented at the last minute.  About 90 percent of people who attempt suicide and survive do not die by suicide. One survey found that 87 percent of people who attempt suicide and survive had deliberated for less than a day, 71 percent for less than an hour, and 24 percent for less than five minutes.

In a particularly vivid example of this, Ken Baldwin, who survived a jump off the Golden Gate Bridge, once told the New Yorker’s Tad Friend that as he was falling, he “instantly realized that everything in my life that I’d thought was unfixable was totally fixable — except for having just jumped” -Dylan Matthew

For me suicide was an impulsive act born from the wedding  of my mood growing darker and me becoming more isolative.  I never picked out an exact day, only a method.  The timing just instinctively drew near.   More went into building up to doing it and reassuring  myself that things would never change. To me a specific day was inconsequential,  I just knew I’d do it “soon.”  I never told anyone.  Then I sort of woke up and was feeling horrible, I knew it was “the day.” It was pretty arbitrary in that sense.

I had three suicide attempts and an intervened fourth. The first was cutting  my wrist which required stiches.  The second was driving my car into a concrete wall.  There was some damage to my car, not so much to me.  I still got sectioned into the hospital when paramedics found out I drove into the wall on purpose.  The third was taking an entire bottle of prescription pills which landed me on a cardiac telemetry unit.   The last time I was holed up in my mom’s house with her loaded  .22 handgun.  I lay crying on that cold black tiles bathroom floor holding the gun.  My mom called my then psychiatrist and he talked to me on speaker phone through the door. I eventually came out. Each time was more serious and progressively worse.

The myth that women are just seeking attention but that men really do it a myth too.  Men usually pick lethal methods for their first attempt and are therefore “successful” when they try.   That said the old adage of of at first you don’t succeed try try again seems to hold true for women.  Statistically,  try more often, try less lethal method first, but eventually catch up to their male counterparts and succeed…. seems to hold true for women.  My aunt made several attempts on her life and the last ended her on life support in ICU.  It is by the grace of God she is here.

I never picked out an exact day, only a method.  Suicide for me was always impulsive. I was very depressed for a prolonged period of time, I had no access to feelings, I felt numb all the time, dead inside. The suicidal ideations would come and go and then eventually they would build and one day then I just acted on it. Tbere was no way any one could have intervened because there was no way anyone could have known I was planning to do this.

My best friend’s husband attempted suicide 6 years ago.  He took his police service revolver into his car in the wee hours of the morning and shot himself in the head.   He died instantly. He only planned a few details.  To park his car on a main highway where he knew his fellow officers would find him and not his family.  He hung a quilt over the drivers side doors so that any passing motorists would not see the carnage.  He did this at around 4 am so that his suspicious looking vehicle would be discovered at daybreak.  It was very graphic.  His wife, my friend wanted to see him and wanted the car back.  The police told her that neither were options and sent her brother to take a look.  Inside the car were pieces of brain and skull along with significant volume of blood throughout the vehicle.  Once she was told this, viewing her husband was obviously something that she bor the family wanted.

They had four kids.  Four girls that will never have a Dad.  It has affected those girls in horrible ways. Two of them send text messages regularly to Facebook and Instagram hoping that heaven also has these apps.  Old photos and home movies are all they can see of him.  Old voice messages are all they can hear of him.  A cold stone grave is all they can hold onto at birthdays, holidays, hard-to-get-through days.  Suicide is forever.  It can’t be taken back.

Recognize Suicide warning signs can help you intervene at an early point by talking to your friend or family member.  Remember that talking about suicide will not make someone do it.  Ask them how you can help, if you feel it is beyond what you can do, call 911.
Physical changes

•Major changes to sleeping patterns – too much or too little
•Loss of energy
•Loss of interest in personal hygiene or appearance
•Loss of interest in sex
•Sudden and extreme changes in eating habits – either loss of appetite or increase in appetite
•Weight gain or loss
•Increase in minor illnesses

Conversational signs

•No future – “What’s the point? Things are never going to get any better”
•Guilt – “It’s all my fault, I’m to blame”
•Escape – “I can’t take this anymore”
•Alone – “I’m on my own … no-one cares about me”
•Damaged – “I’ve been irreparably damaged… I’ll never be the same again”
•Helpless – “Nothing I do makes a bit of difference, it’s beyond my control”
•Talking about suicide or death
•Planning for suicide

Behaviours

•Alcohol or drug misuse
•Fighting and/or breaking the law
•Withdrawal from family and friends
•Quitting activities that were previously important
•Prior suicidal behaviour
Self-harming
•Putting affairs in order (giving away possessions, especially those that have special significance for the person)
•Writing a suicide note or goodbye letters to people
•Uncharacteristic risk-taking or recklessness (for example driving recklessly)
•Unexplained crying
•Emotional outbursts

Feelings

Sadness
Anger
Shame
Desperation
Disconnection
Hopelessness
Feeling Emotionally Dead        Worthlessness
Powerlessness
Loneliness
Isolation

It can be scary as hell when someone you love reveals or shows signs of suicidal thoughts. However, not taking thoughts of suicide seriously can have a devastating outcome. If you think your friend or family member will hurt herself or someone else, call 911 immediately.

There are a few ways to approach this situation:

•Remove means such as guns, knives or stockpiled pills.
•Calmly ask simple and direct questions, such as “Can I help you call your psychiatrist?” rather than, “Would you rather I call your psychiatrist, your therapist or your case manager?”
•Talk openly and honestly about suicide. •Don’t be afraid to ask questions such as “Are you having thoughts of suicide?” or “Do you have a plan for how you would kill yourself?”
•If there are multiple people, have one person speak at a time
•Ask what you can do to help
•Don’t argue, threaten or raise your voice
•Don’t debate whether suicide is right or wrong
•If your loved one asks for something, provide it, as long as the request is safe and reasonable
•If you are nervous, try not to fidget or pace
•If your loved one is having hallucinations or delusions, be gentle and sympathetic, but do not get in an argument about whether the delusions or hallucinations are real

You can make a difference for someone who is suffering.  Don’t be afraid to talk to them, it could mean the difference between life or death.  If you are the one who is suffering, please talk to someone, anyone you can about your pain, don’t make a permanent solution to what IS a temporary problem. ❤️

#endmentalhealthstigma

#timetotalk

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Great Steel Gates

C9BA76F4-5F34-479E-AC02-7C14F0D397AC

Intellectualization and humor are finely tuned defense mechanisms serving to protect me from things.  Things which even hint at the scar tissue I carry from earlier battles suffered in life.

Sometimes though, I wish someone knew me well enough to know I’m using them and break out the C4.

#scaredbehindsmiles


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