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Lesson 004 | Life, Mental Health

Life is comprised of big and little events, the savory and the sweet. When we choose to actively ignore the small moments and victories while we’re waiting for the big ones to happen, we not only set ourselves up for disappointment-- but we also do ourselves a disservice.

It sounds stupid and small but these little microaggressions that we commit against ourselves build up over time. They create a pool of toxicity that becomes harder and harder to escape from.

Revel in the small moments of sweetness. That’s where the greatness is.

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What You Need To Know About National Suicide Hotlines in the U.S

Suicide hotlines like 273-TALK are national hotlines. This means that when someone dials them, their call is automatically directed to the crisis center nearest to them. If the center is closed or the lines are busy, the call will jump around until someone, somewhere answers it. So, although you’re calling from Wisconsin, there’s a good chance that you won’t be talking to a counselor who’s also located in your state.

This creates a good foundation for a fundamental problem to thrive.

There is no uniform, universal protocol for crisis center operations and procedures within the United States nor is there a standard for hotline operator training and this is a huge contributing factor as to why experiences vary wildly.

I worked at a crisis center that had an intensive, long training schedule — at the time, it was regarded as one of the most extensive training programs in the country. But in contrast, the only other crisis center in a 50 mile radius — which was located just one county over — was disorganized and dated, and to throw kerosene on an inferno, they let volunteers on the phone after just a few hours of orientation. Yes, people who were taking suicide calls. To put that into perspective, at my organization, we were required to complete over 600 hours of training before we were a certified “solo” counselor.

Part of our training required us to learn how to use our organization’s resource database.

Which leads to the next fundamental problem that exists.

There is no universal referral database for crisis centers.

Local crisis centers should have referrals that are a good fit for their demographic but even if they do, problems still occur with a national hotline that diverts calls.

Let’s say you call from Maine, but the person who picks up your call in in Maryland. The information they’ll have on therapists, hospitals, etc. located in Maine would be extraordinarily limited. Maine isn’t the demographic that they’re intended to serve, and additionally, it might be in conflict with their funding.

Not only does the counselor not have accurate and complete information on the options available for the caller but the criteria and policies that govern admittance and qualification for programs can differ significantly from state-to-state and insurance plan to insurance plan (of which we have no information). This means that it’s very possible that you have better options available to you than you’ll be made aware of. Many people struggle with saying, “I don’t know” and unfortunately frame their remarks as absolutes in an attempt to appear competent.

Additionally, there are crisis centers that are equipped to only provide references and have never received counseling training at all. Someone in crisis shouldn’t have to be told “I’m sorry, but we just give out referrals” if they start talking about their circumstances. I know how devastating a response that can be for someone whose finally asking for help.

There’s a pervasive belief in many industries that once a solution’s been invented that a problem is “figured out”. There are countless ways that this could be made better and so that people who ask for help are met with empathy and competency.

Should you really have to wonder about a counselor’s training while you’re in a fight for your life? No, counseling requires trust. You deserve someone who’s willing and able to listen effectively. Someone who can empathize with your situation and understands how this system works. These aren’t things learned during a weekend seminar.

High-profile tragedies push this subject to the forefront of our society’s conversations which is important but the issues at hand are far more insidious and systemic than most realize. I have a different perspective — I see things differently because I’ve been on the other side of those calls and I have first-hand experience with who may be answering it. 

That’s why I needed to share this with you.

Please don’t ever stop asking for help.

Please don’t be beaten down by all those who refuse to listen to all that you’re saying and all that’s left unsaid.

Don’t stop talking until someone starts listening.

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The Night I Was Almost Kidnapped, Raped, & Killed

*NOT* Clickbait. A True Story | Read to the end.

There are no explicit depictions of violence, rape, or murder in this story.

Okay, this is a long one, BUT I promise that it’s important. Grab some tea and head on back here. 

Ready? Alright, this is how it happened:

It was around 7 o’clock on a November night. I was on my way to rehearsal but I stopped to return something at the supermarket.

It was uncharacteristically busy for a weekday night and there was no parking to be found in the main lot so I parked in the side-section, perhaps about 30 feet from the main action.

There were dozens of people milling around in the front, which was well-lit. I was on a mission, so I wasted no time walking in and taking care of business. I walked back out and past several groups of people. I quickly walked back to my car, and in one swift motion, popped the lock, got in, and as my lock clicked, someone started banging on my passenger side window.

“Hey! Hey! Excuse me! Could you please help me?!”

I was driving a coupe at the time, and its stance was low to the ground. He never stooped to peer inside so I had to duck down to see who was talking to me. He was silhouetted by the lights behind him but I could tell he was young — early 20s — and he was dressed in casual clothes.

“Yes?” I replied.

“Could you please roll down your window?”

I eased the passenger window down about an inch.

“Could you open it more?”

I asked him about what he needed.

Very rapidly, he said: 

“My family… we just ran out of gas. My grandma’s with us. We’re in that mini-van over there.”

He pointed behind where we were, gesturing towards the front of the store.

“Now we can’t get home. We need some help. Can you help us?”

He called over his shoulder.

“Yes! I’m just talking to her right now, Grandma! I’ll be right there!”

I started to turn to see who he was talking to. I had barely moved when he slammed on my passenger window again. BAM! BAM! BAM!

“Hey! Look at me! Look over here! Listen! I need you! Will you help us? We really need help!”

Now, let me tell you: there was no fucking way that I was getting out of that car, but I was genuinely confused. 

“What are you asking?”

He replied: “I want you to give me a ride.”

I told him that I was sorry but, no.

“What do you mean? I told you that we need help. My grandma’s waiting in the car and we have no way to get home.”

And that’s when he tried opening my door. He pulled and pulled on the handle.

“Please, I need your help! I just need a ride! It won’t take that long!”

“No.”

I started my car and put it in reverse but before it could even roll, he muttered a bunch of expletives under his breath and stormed off.

I backed out of the spot and drove towards the exit, getting a good look at the front of the store that he had been gesturing towards. He had disappeared into the crowd and, of course, there was no mini-van to be found.

The exchange lasted no more than 2–3 minutes. It all happened very quickly.

 And that’s because it was designed to.

        * * *

When I got to the theater that night, I told my cast mates about what had happened. The gals in the cast thought it was “weird” and were relieved that they didn’t live near there.

I spoke to one of my best friends on the phone the next day to firm up plans for dinner. She lived about 15 minutes away from where it had happened. She dismissed the whole incident and assured me that she would be fine because she never went to that supermarket.

Not one of them got what the point was.

Additionally, you should know that when I reported the incident to the store, they told me that I “probably shouldn’t park there in the future because there aren’t any security cameras over there”, even though it’s where their employees are told to park, and yes, this was a major retailer.

That little jewel of information isn’t pivotal to this story — I just thought it was too ridiculous not to share.

The police were more receptive but still, since nothing had really happened, I was basically just reporting it to put it on their radar (you should always do that, no matter how silly you might feel, okay?).

        * * *

There are 2 important points I want to make here:

The illusion of safety is shockingly compelling.

Muscle memory saved my life that night.

When I shared that story with people in my circle, I found it bizarre that these women all believed that they were safe as long as they didn’t go “there.” The store was located in a fine town that doesn’t routinely experience a large amount of violent crime. It’s a regular place, as common as they come. It could have happened anywhere and to anyone. It just happened to be me that night.

Believing that you can consider yourself protected as long as you stay away from certain places or don’t do certain things is incredibly dangerous. Following the “rules” can get you killed just as easily as breaking them does. It’s like when people find out that their next-door-neighbor’s a serial killer and they’re all like, “you know, I never would have guessed. He always seemed like such a nice guy...”

Because here’s the truth:

I did everything that I was supposed to do that night.

I parked in a spot as close as I could to the entrance of the store, it was in a well-lit area, I was aware of my surroundings, walked quickly to and from my car, and I locked my door the absolute second I got inside. There were many other people around that night but the idea of safety in numbers is also an illusion. Most people aren’t paying attention.

As I said, muscle memory saved my life that night. My entire childhood was my mom drilling in to me to be aware of my surroundings in public places and to always lock my door. She would literally quiz me in stores about the people around me to make sure I was paying attention. Think of the pilot for the show Psych — “how many hats are in the restaurant?” — that was my mom and me. I know that’s the exception, and not the rule — most people aren’t raised like that.

And yet, despite being as ninja-like as I had been taught to be, I never saw or heard him coming that night but he must have been damn close to get to my door as quick as he did. If I hadn’t thrown that lock, he still would have pawed the handle and would have been inside in a flash. I am so thankful for that habit.

       * * *

So, the title of this post is: “The Night I Was Almost Kidnapped, Raped, and Killed” and right about now, you’re probably thinking that this was, in fact, massive clickbait on my part, because how could I possibly know if that would have indeed been my fate if anything had gone differently?

A few days after the incident, a news story broke: In several towns in my area— including the one that I was in that night — there were reports of a group of men targeting women in supermarket parking lots, where one of them would approach her and ask for help, and then they were abducted and raped. One of them managed to get away before they could kill her.

Always remember to lock your door, kids.

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Lesson 003 | Life, Self

I have scars. You have scars. They each have a lesson and a story.

So, when I think about it like that, I have to wonder: why would we try to hide them? They’re our stories to tell.

They mean that we’ve been somewhere. They mean that we’ve experienced something.

And, most importantly, we survived.

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No one is too small to make a difference.

Greta Thunberg (via thesovereignzine)

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Lesson 002 | Life

Here are some daily affirmations for those who really hate daily affirmations:

“I will fuck up today and I’m okay with that.”

“I will be okay with not doing well today.”

“I will try today and I will be okay when I inevitably fail.”

It’s okay to fuck up. It’s okay to fail. Try better tomorrow.

Continue to try because you can. If for no other reason then you have this chance.

Because you’re alive.

And today, that’s enough.

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Everyone’s a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it’ll live its whole life believing that it’s stupid.

Albert Einstein

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Leelah Alcorn’s blog was deleted and posts about her are being removed. Don’t stop spreading this. Reblog everything you can, post everything you can. 

These are her pictures

here are some of her drawings

this is her note

Don’t let this die.

Not this.

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Lesson 001 | Life

Everything we know, feel, think, and believe is something that’s been learned: by people who we’ve known and loved, people who we’ve known and hated, and people who we’ve never met. Books, school, movies — it all leaves an imprint.

 We enter into the world as a blank slate and then we have all these experiences and it all gets broken down, processed and put back together again — just like the Wonkavision machine — but most times, it doesn’t go back together the same way, and you know what?

That’s good! That’s really good. In fact, that’s amazing.

Celebrate that. Enjoy it. Putting things together is half the fun.