#me personally i’m struggling with chronic illness and i have felt anger at god for making me this way only to be upset with myself for-

[percki]

the catholic church really revolutionized religion with the concept of guilt

[finelineborderline]

Hi! I uhm have not yet been diagnosed but I’m pretty confident that bpd is the answer to it all as shitty as that is. I’m almost more afraid for it to not be bpd cause nothing has ever made this much sense. But I’m really scared. And you’re in no way obligated to read this or respond but I don’t know. Just, do you have any advice for someone just now realizing and getting diagnosed with bpd?

hello, anon! first, i apologize ahead of time for how long this will be, but there's a lot i want to say. obligatory disclaimer that i am not a professional nor am i a qualified doctor to diagnose anyone, and these thoughts are mine and mine alone and do not constitute a professional's medical opinion/advice. all i can do here is speak my truth and explain my experiences with BPD in hopes that you and maybe others find it helpful.

second, at least with BPD, if you think you have it (i.e. you know you fit 5 or more of the 9 current diagnostic criteria), while of course obtaining a professional diagnosis is great, in this case, it's my personal belief that if you think you have BPD, there's a large chance you do have it. of course there will always be outliers, but for most people, pretending to have BPD or forcing a diagnosis just doesn't make sense. BPD is not something that makes people quirky and it makes life more difficult, not just from a personal standpoint as the person who has it, but the resulting reaction from friends, family, and even strangers you don't know and never will who have something to say on the internet. i don't know many people who'd lie about that and be okay with the negative stigma that persists around those diagnosed with BPD.

most (if not all) people with BPD don't want to have it, but understand they fit the criteria. with certain other mental illnesses and ailments, getting a professional to diagnose them is of course better than self-diagnosing, but i had self-diagnosed with BPD for years before i ever ended up in a psychiatric ward because i 5150'd myself and got professionally diagnosed with BPD. i had quite a strong hunch i had BPD years before a professional came to the same conclusion - but not in a "oh my god yay i'm so glad i have this horribly debilitating illness, woo!" more in a "holy fuck this all makes so much sense, and i wish it didn't, but i know myself, and i know that this is what i have". and getting the professional diagnosis was great in the sense of getting that final confirmation, but even without it, i'd have still considered myself as someone struggling with BPD.

it's okay to be scared. i think i'd be scared of you if you weren't scared - i was downright terrified when i figured out that what i'd been feeling, dealing with, doing, could be attributed to BPD. i hated it, wished it was something else, but the more i read, the more i watched, the more i took notes, the more i realized that BPD was the answer to a question i wish i didn't have to ask in the first place.

before i was diagnosed, i took notes as if i was in a class about BPD. i wrote down the criteria for a diagnosis, and put a check next to every one i fit into with specific notes of how and why i felt i checked that category. chronic feelings of emptiness? check. emotional instability in reaction to day-to-day events? check. frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment? check. unstable self-image/sense of self? double and triple check. impulsive and damaging behavior in regards to spending/sex/substance use/reckless driving/binge eating? i did all of those things, where only 2 were required to hit this bullet point. quadruple check. anger? checkity check check. unstable interpersonal relationships? fucking check. suicidal behavior/threats? check. paranoid ideation/dissociative symptoms? check. i hit all 9 of these and it "only" requires 5 to hit the diagnosis. so for me, i knew i had it because like you, nothing else made this much sense.

and you know what? i fucking hated it. i got angry at myself for being so fucking broken that my personality had apparently shattered somewhere in early childhood due to my trauma and left me with a gaping, angry hole that i had constantly tried to fill with something, anything. i was beyond angry, i was seething with rage. why did it have to be fucking me? why? i still grapple with "why me?" on the daily with my BPD. i didn't want BPD to be what made sense, but it did. and while i am still incredibly fucking angry with my diagnosis, i've also reached a level of resignation about it. almost a sense of radical acceptance.

my advice is gonna sound fucking stupid because i know how hard much of it is to do and a lot of it takes serious introspection, patience, and kindness (to yourself). my advice would be to truly try to practice self-compassion, self-love - when what you want to do is beat yourself up internally over anything - having BPD in the first place (hell, even thinking you have BPD in the first place), or something you did/said in reactionary anger/rage/sadness/impulsiveness, something you didn't do - anytime you want to emotionally flay yourself over this, the best advice i can give you is to practice the skill of forgiving yourself. of giving yourself compassion to learn and grow as a human who is struggling with something very difficult to live with.

and i'm going to be upfront with you - most times, you will fail. you will not give yourself the compassion, love, and kindness you truly deserve. it's hard to break the cycle of self-rage, hard to convince yourself that you're worth recovery, worth getting better, worth learning to live with BPD and all it entails. but there WILL be times where you catch yourself in moments of compassion and acceptance. they might be few and far between, and they might not feel like much at first, but with time and practice, you will notice moments that you are less critical of yourself and your perceived failures relating to BPD.

for instance - i've been in DBT for a few months now. some of it really doesn't help me specifically (some "action steps" just don't work), but there's a few things that have been pivotal to my growth and have helped. one of those being the not-so-simple act of radical acceptance. of forgiveness. of understanding that you are not the worst person to ever walk the face of this earth, no matter how much your brain will try and try and try to convince you that you are. i have caught a few very very very SMALL moments where i've internally said to myself "well, it's okay that i failed there" or "alright, so i didn't do XYZ, i'll move on and do better next time" instead of beating myself up emotionally/internally over it. and the first time i noticed that happened, a tiny light bulb went off in my head. it was weeks and weeks into my DBT, where i felt i wasn't seeing any changes in myself. but that one, tiny instance where i showed myself compassion? it gave me a faint spark of hope that maybe BPD isn't the death sentence i so often feel it is. and i still do, in a lot of ways, and i'm working to try to manage and cope better, but it's not smooth sailing and more often than not, i am being mean to myself, or unforgiving. but my advice is to try to be aware of those moments, whenever they may come, where you can sense yourself forgiving yourself or being nicer to yourself than you otherwise might have been.

i'm not gonna bullshit you and act like learning to live with BPD is a walk in the park, or that somehow after DBT (should you choose to ever go that route) will result in you being "cured" or "fixed" - at least in terms of DBT, it's not a cure so much as it is trying to instill new habits and coping skills that you will strengthen by repeated use and practice. (and remember, practicing a skill still counts even if you fail to correctly use that skill. practice does not mean you always do things right/correct, it simply means you tried.)

again, it's okay to be scared. please allow yourself to feel that emotion. but leave room for that fear to dissipate at times, leave room to challenge that fear on occasion.

most of all, allow yourself to be. however you feel isn't bad. emotions are messengers, so next time you're angry, ask yourself: what is my anger trying to tell me in this moment? if you're sad, ask yourself: what is my sadness trying to convey? with repeated practice, perhaps you can identify triggers for certain emotions.

practice observing how you're feeling physically in your body, and remember that emotions are not facts. and remember that emotions will come and go, no matter how much your brain will convince you they won't.

that's all i've got for you now, but to you and anyone else who made it this far down - my inbox is always, always open, for anyone and anything. you don't have to be alone. we can be alone together, and i'm just a message away.

[amphtaminedreams]

Mental Health Awareness Week: My Story

Hi to anyone who’s reading this!

My name is Lauren and this is my first personal post on my Tumblr (which I’m using because I am a granny who can’t be arsed to work out the basics of Wordpress). My intention in making this blog was ultimately to talk about mental health and fashion and things that interest me and I suppose I knew that ultimately I was going to make a post like this but I just didn’t realise it would be so soon. But then Theresa May lit up Downing Street and it was Mental Health Awareness week and Borderline Personality Disorder Awareness month and I realised, best to just get this out of the way before I can start making excuses to put it off until the end of time. It’s a hard post to make because I don’t exactly know who the audience will be; I’m writing it for the mental health community and anybody who’s interested in what Borderline Personality Disorder is/looks like but I’m also conscious of the fact that one day my family and friends and even potential employers could be reading this. How much detail am I supposed to go into? A lot of people still feel uncomfortable discussing topics like this; they start seeing you a different way when they know you suffer from a mental illness, even though you’re the same person you’ve always been. It’s also hard to know where to start when I’m talking about my mental health. I feel like other posts of a similar nature tend to have a clear start, beginning, and end. A clear cause or inciting incident, one self-explanatory, well-understood diagnosis, and a clear pathway to recovery. I don’t have a single, defining trauma I can pinpoint anything to, and I don’t think I have complex PTSD (which is often conflated with BPD but as I understand it, not always the same thing). I have a family history of mental illness and a series of less significant events that in hindsight might have affected me more than I originally thought, but until I became able to think about concepts such as “mental health” and self-image and relationships in the abstract, I believed that I generally had a pretty happy childhood. My family did their very best and they loved me and we always had a roof over our heads and food on our plates. When I did start to conceptualise my mental health, I kind of thought of it as a wave of depression and insecurities and anxieties that hit me when I was in my early teens. I think this is the same for a lot of people. Only when I got a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder (which I will shorten to BPD for the purpose of making this easier to read, lol!) in October 2018 did I question that.

I’ve done a lot of questioning since I got the diagnosis, the same kind of questions that make this post hard to write. Am I really that ill? Am I not just being dramatic? Do I have any right to feel like this given the privilege I have? When in reality, this deep-rooted gut instinct to doubt who you are and what you have a right to feel is an intrinsic part of BPD.

There are 9 key symptoms involved in the disorder, 5 of which must be experienced to a degree that is severe enough to affect your day to day functioning in order to receive a diagnosis. My formal assessment which took place during my stay at an inpatient psychiatric ward in October 2018 revealed I was just on the cusp of receiving a diagnosis; in 5 of the 9 categories I scored highly enough that the symptom was impairing my ability to function, thus I only just qualified (lucky me!). That’s what mental illness is really, a collection of ingrained and/or inherited behaviours that are inhibiting one’s day to day life. With regards to BPD, these 9 behaviours or symptoms are as follows:

1. Fear of abandonment (check).

2. Unstable relationships.

3. Unclear or shifting self-image (check).

4. Impulsive, self-destructive behaviours (check).

5. Self-harm (check). 

6. Extreme emotional swings (check).

7. Explosive anger.

8. Dissociative experiences (check).

9. Chronic feelings of emptiness (check, check, CHECK).

See, when the diagnosis was first suggested to me informally by a community mental health nurse in June of 2018, I was a bit like…what?! That can’t be me! I don’t have outbursts (it’s okay if you do and you’re working on it)! I don’t scream and throw things (again, okay if you do and are working on it)! And I’m definitely not manipulative (any person can be manipulative so I don’t even know where this one comes from)! That was, like, all I knew about BPD. Stereotypes. Think Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction type bullshit, we’re talking the woman that coined the phrase bunny boiler. I didn’t know that BPD can present in a million different ways, based on the person who’s suffering with it, because I thought BPD was the person. The widespread consensus on BPD isn’t the most humanising. So I hope me explaining how it’s affected my life and the way its presented itself over the years helps in turning the tide, which so many amazing people have already begun to do by sharing their stories. My aim is to do the same.

I’ve had a lot of time to think about the areas in which BPD has affected my life since my formal assessment, in which I felt I learnt a lot more about the disorder. In particular, the idea that I was always this happy child that got hit by a wave of inexplicable, crippling depression once I hit my teenage years. I remember during the assessment, the doctor asking me to talk about my early relationships and it kind of struck me at that moment that I’d been going through this pattern of switching between extreme attachment towards versus extreme devaluation of my relationships with the closest people in my life for as long as I could remember. My first real best friend of several years basically stopped speaking to me (and in hindsight, I do not blame her, lmao!) when we were about 12 because I can only imagine she was sick of me either picking a fight or desperately seeking her reassurance every time she dared to hang out with another friend. I remembered how it felt when she did choose to spend time with somebody else rather than me: “oh my god, she likes them more, she finds me boring, she hates me and she doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore! Everything’s over! I’ll never find anyone who loves me like she does because why would they? I can’t go on with my life until I know that she isn’t going to leave me!”. I think at that age, everyone has that shrill inner voice that doesn’t exactly consider logic or react in the most sensible way, but instead of my shrill inner voice going away, it just faded to more of a constantly niggling monotone that continued to affect the way I behaved around other people for years to come. This was just one of the signs that things weren’t as they should be from an early age. I think I was around 13 when the Child Adolescent Mental Health Services (otherwise known as the dreaded CAMHS), whom my parents had initially got me referred to for sleeping problems, diagnosed me with generalised anxiety and social phobia. Social phobia, despite this being its DSM name, is more commonly known as social anxiety. This came about after I had undergone successful CBT for said sleeping problems and thought I’d just drop it in, as you do, that basically, every social interaction felt like I was putting on a desperate show to keep the few remaining people left in the theatre from walking out. I told them that school was emotionally exhausting me. Whilst after the first couple of rocky years of transitioning from primary to secondary school I had developed a close group of friends, I still felt like aside from the closet few of them, absolutely nobody liked me. That was definitely true of some people, but likely not to the extent I envisioned it. I had come to feel, I suspect due to a combination of genes and a few environmental factors, like I was inherently unloveable and annoying, and even though I’m in a good place right now, these are things I continue to struggle with. When you’ve believed these things for so long, to act according to them is second nature.

The thing about BPD is that it’s hard to determine what is a co-morbidity and what is part of The Disorder™. I’m still not quite sure whether my social anxiety was in and of its own issue or if it was driven by the borderline symptom of fearing abandonment. Even recently, during a period of relative stability, I went back to my GP about dysmorphic thoughts concerning my body and appearance as I believe they go beyond the threshold of what is to be expected as part the unstable self-image facet of BPD. Whilst I can accept, for example, that the self-harming and binge eating I began indulging in around the same time I received my anxiety diagnoses were my way of coping with the mood swings and chronic feelings of emptiness I was also experiencing (get me working in the checklist of symptoms here, I imagine this is how film writers feel when they namedrop the movie in the characters’ dialogue), I have a feeling the image issues I have would exist regardless of the influence of the unstable self-image part of BPD. I mean, would perfectionism alone take me to the extremes of punishing myself for missing out on all A*s by an A or two at GCSE and A-level, forcing myself to do a degree I had no particular interest in just because the university was in the single digits in the international league tables, or at one point eating only apples for 10 days until I could barely stand up because I wanted to look like those girls on 2013 emo black and white Tumblr? Probably not. But you don’t need to have an unstable self-image to latch onto the idea that only the very best will do in today’s world, lol (typed with a totally straight face)! Yeah, if the niche that is socialist twitter has taught me anything it’s that, that’s like, late-stage capitalism for you. It’s hard to look at myself and know what is a good quality, or just a character trait, and what is disordered. I think when you call a mental illness a personality disorder, the people who are labelled with it are inevitably going to have that problem.

Surprising absolutely no-one, trying to fit into these ideals I had created and emotionally detaching myself from my friends and family didn’t do any good for my wellbeing. I gave into self-destructive impulses with increased frequency and as I went into sixth form and drifted even further away from the few people I did feel close to, I began to experience derealisation (not depersonalisation, though this is something a lot of people with BPD do experience). This would come under the dissociative experiences symptom of the BPD. It was like my eyes were glass windows and I was just watching life unfold in front of me from the other side. It’s not as if I didn’t have control of my actions, I did, I threw myself into revision, but it all just felt slightly unreal, like I was going through the motions, almost robotically, detached from everyone around me. Everything was muted. Generally, I find that my mood swings between 5 different states: lethargic depression, extreme distress, anxious irritability, an almost mania like sense of confidence and purpose, and a more pleasant calmness. The best way to explain how I experience this switch is that I can almost physically feel the gear of my brain shift, with this change of energy then flowing down to the rest of my body. My thoughts take on a different tone of voice, my body feels heavier, or if I’m going up, it’s like I can feel electricity running and crackling through me. It can happen in a split second, and it can be random, though often it’s triggered by something as small as a phone call or how much I’ve eaten. If multiple plans fall apart at the same time, it can be enough to make me angry at the world and distrustful of everyone in my life, closed off and weighed down. However, back when I was experiencing this derealisation, I remember only really switching back and forth between feeling numb and feeling passively suicidal; I feel like I lost my teenage years to this big, grey cloud of meh-ness that fogged up my brain and obfuscated my ability to regularly feel any positive emotion. To use a cliche, there was this void inside of me that nothing would fill and I had learnt that trying to use relationships to do this was dangerous for me because without sounding melodramatic, it hurt too much when I felt they weren’t reciprocating my love (what a John Green line, lmao).

My fear that people didn’t like me morphed into paranoia that even the people I was supposed to be friends with were ridiculing me the second I left the room; please don’t laugh when I say my greatest pleasure during this time was to go home at lunchtime to avoid having to spend an hour sat with them so I could eat Dairy Milk Oreo, nap and listen to The Neighbourhood (careful, don’t cut yourself on that edge!). I put on a lot of weight due to binge eating, would often leave sixth form early or skip it altogether, and saw my GP, who reestablished my anxiety diagnoses now with an exotic side order of depression. When it comes to NHS services where I live, I’ve kind of won the postcode lottery. There’s a large, conservative elderly population which I’m assuming is the reason our area receives a lot more funding than other, debatably more deserving other areas, and this meant that along with prescribing me the first of many SSRIs I was to try, I was also referred back to CAMHS. I’d been discharged from them about 2 years prior, and what had back then been about a 1 or 2-month waiting list to be seen had doubled in longevity since. I say I won the postcode lottery because, in a lot of places, it’s not uncommon for people to still be waiting to be seen by their local mental health team over a year after they’re first referred. Even so, the help I was offered was very minimal; I met a counsellor once every couple of months that didn’t really specialise in any particular kind of therapy and would kind of just talk at me for the hour I saw her. This was in spite of me expressing suicidal feelings and regularly self-harming.

That being said, by the time I left sixth form, I had finally found an SSRI that worked to blunt the intensity of my social anxiety. I was attending my “perfect” university with my “perfect” grades and (prepare yourself for the twist of the century) I finally managed to get my lazy arse to the gym, and get to that “perfect” weight. I was forming emotional connections with people for the first time in years. On a shallow level, in my first year of uni, things were finally beginning to look up, and yet I was experiencing worse mood swings than ever, becoming more dependent on drugs and alcohol to function through these, and throwing myself into intense friendships where anything less than utmost enthusiasm on the other end of the relationship would send me back into that “oh my god, I’ll never make another friend in my life, I’ll always be alone, I can’t deal with this, the only way to deal with this pain is to end it!” mode. I don’t know why things got so drastic so suddenly. Maybe it was being away from my parents, or maybe it’s just that late teens/early twenties are a time when negative emotions do tend to get more serious after being repressed for years and consequently accumulating. The whole having to be the smartest person in the room to maintain a sense of self shtick was also taking a bit of a hit because university is bloody hard and everyone’s bloody smart and bloody passionate and here I was not even understanding what the assigned reading was trying to say let alone having any brilliant ideas about it to contribute; I was so quiet in one of my seminar groups the lecturer forgot I existed in a class with a grand total of 9 students. Big fish in a little pond to little fish in a big pond syndrome or maybe just more simply put, imposter syndrome, is a real thing and when you struggle with your identity anyway, it’s enough to throw you off completely. I finished that year with a first but I told myself it probably wouldn’t happen again. A couple of days later, feeling shit and overwhelmed, I did what I’d taken to doing to manage my emotions, and got high. The delusional episode ended me up in A&E for self-harm, and when they let me go the next day, I travelled back to my family home and pretended nothing was wrong.

The whole “act like everything’s fine” approach doesn’t work in the long term. 10/10 would not recommend. Without my parents around, when I went back to uni in September, everything fell apart again. I was using drugs every day, either not eating at all or binge eating, self-harming, binge drinking regularly, skipping all my lectures. Honestly, when I think back to that time it’s like I’m watching myself from outside my body. I was feeling very done with the dumpster fire (how very American of me) that was my brain. I was done with the constant 100mph up and down internal monologue. I was done with trying to cope and to hold myself together. I intentionally overdosed multiple times and after one sent me to A&E, my dad brought me home from university. It was a horrible shock for my parents: they knew I was a worrier that could be a little closed off and miserable sometimes, and they were the ones who’d first taken me to CAMHS when I was younger, but they’d struggled with that, and so from then on I’d tried to keep my issues to myself. To be honest, I don’t blame them at all for not realising anything was drastically wrong. I did a pretty good job of hiding my problems; everyone had their own things to deal with and so I became quite adept at internalising my feelings and acting “inwards” rather than outwards. It was also definitely a case of things escalating whilst I was away. With all this in mind, the overdose kind of came out of nowhere for them, but I was so detached from reality I didn’t even consider this at the time. Thankfully, I can’t really remember how they actually reacted either. Benzodiazepines do that to you, a little tidbit of information that all these teen rappers and social media personalities hyping up Xanax fail to mention. I think my dad made the decision to bring me home rather than have me stay in hospital in London, as was offered, because he thought that would be better for me. However, a few days later, after numerous, distressing visits from the crisis team (another name that will be regrettably familiar to anyone who has experienced severe mental health problems before), where I can only assume a lack of time and recourses on their part forced me to repeat what had happened over and over again to the revolving door of staff members, I took another overdose. I had become paranoid that they were out to get me and falsely believed that I was too much of a burden on my family, who were having to take time off work to look after me. This time from A&E, I went on to stay in a psychiatric ward where I was given the formal diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder I mentioned earlier. And it’s here that my life changed forever, I believe for the better.

It changed my life for many reasons. Firstly, it was incredibly validating. To learn that I didn’t have a plethora of different problems but rather one problem, the different facets of which can present themselves in many different ways and affect multiple areas of your life, was so, so reassuring. It not only gave me a clear treatment path but helped me to understand that there was a reason all this was happening. Additionally, the events forced me to open up to my parents and for them to grasp the severity of the situation. After all these years, I finally felt like I had a support system. My parents had always been there before but I had emotionally distanced myself from everyone, and being a “typical teenager” I believed they didn’t understand me (get that angst). I think in retrospect they didn’t understand me because I wasn’t using the right words. I didn’t want to sound dramatic so whenever I spoke to either of my parents about how I felt, I downplayed it a lot. My mum, who works so incredibly hard and has a lot on her plate herself, had a tough upbringing so her approach to me being miserable was pretty much telling me to be grateful for what I had. Had she known what I was really getting at, I know that she wouldn’t have reacted like this to what I was saying. The minute I got my diagnosis, she went out and bought every (mildly offensively titled) book on how to support someone with BPD out there and I learnt today has even been trying to bring an emphasis on mental health into her workplace! She is a wonderful person.

With all this being said, my main piece of advice for other people who are newly diagnosed with BPD or just suffering from any kind of mental health condition is to be brutally honest with the trusted people around you about what you’re dealing with. It will be uncomfortable but I can promise it’ll be worth it. With something like BPD, having a support system who know exactly what you’re dealing with, minus the vagueness and the bullshit, is so, so important. I say this because, despite Theresa’s green lights, neither she nor her party are doing much in the way of providing the funding for professional help. When I first came out of hospital, I had a lot of nights where I felt incredibly depressed, almost as depressed as I did before I went in. Prior to my family knowing about my BPD diagnosis, I would have dealt with these feelings in unhealthy ways but this time, I could go to my mum and stay with her and just cry it out until the feeling passed. That is also a useful sentiment to remember, that the feelings will pass. It’s in the nature of BPD to swing around, when I’m not experiencing a period of depression, and that’s something I find it helpful to remember. I personally really like the Youper app to track my moods because when I do get suicidal, feel anxious or wired, I have something to look at objectively to remind myself that I did feel like this before, in fact, I felt like this yesterday, but a few hours later I told the app I felt okay again. It also helps you to dissect your irrational thought processes and identify “thinking traps”. Meditation, ASMR and CBD are big parts of my life and stability, though I would recommend doing some research into the latter before trying it yourself.

On a less subjective, more physiological level, I notice that my medication really aids my emotional stability; when I have been off it, my mood swings are a lot more intense. So whilst medication isn’t for everyone, it can be something to consider talking to your GP about to see if it could be beneficial for you. Another help is the DBT skills course I completed in March, DBT being the abbreviation of dialectical behavioural therapy, the treatment specifically developed for BPD by Marsha Linehan. If you have time, she’s a great person to do some research into. She herself was diagnosed with what doctors called an “incurable” case of BPD yet she’s gone on to do the most incredible things and help so many people also suffering from the disorder. Not only did DBT provide me with a skill set of more functional coping mechanisms for both interpersonal insecurities and individual struggles, but I liked the fact that once a week I got to be with a group of people who really understood what I’m dealing with and didn’t judge. Even if you can’t find a DBT group, it’s worth checking to see if there are any mental health peer support groups in your area for this reason. I found that being around people who are dealing with similar issues helped me to see my own struggles more objectively; it reminds you that what you’re experiencing is not about you personally and that whilst you may feel isolated, you’re not. The world hasn’t got it out for you. It’s a condition that many people experience. In terms of the feelings of emptiness BPD causes, I have found that since my diagnosis, I’ve actually had more of a sense of purpose in life. On a practical level, having therapy along with a year out of uni and the presence of a constant support system has had me time to get back into writing properly. What I’ve found to be even more rewarding, however, is my participation in the online mental health community.

Something I wasn’t made aware of prior to my diagnosis was the amount of stigma there is still towards mental health issues, Borderline Personality Disorder especially. It really is one of the most demonised mental health issues in and outside of the healthcare system and that’s a hard fact to learn, because it’s a difficult enough condition to learn to manage already without knowing that there are people out there who think you’re a monster for it and are going to judge everything you do through a certain lens. Whilst we are a lot more accepting as a society of conditions like depression and anxiety, conditions such as bipolar, schizophrenia and personality disorders are still greatly misunderstood by wider society who have largely taken their understandings of these illnesses from ill-informed media portrayals and shallow, surface-level observations of a sufferer’s behaviour. I doubt the name “personality disorder” helps matters; it’s hardly the most flattering description of what we’re dealing with I’ve ever heard. I’ve found that even mental health professionals and other mental illness sufferers have a negative bias towards BPD. There’s a widespread view that we are dangerous, manipulative individuals who choose to be difficult and act erratically, that our behaviour is not “organic” like that produced by other mental health problems. I have no idea where the latter assumption comes from. Most experts on the condition tend to agree that the mood swings, impulsive, destructive behaviour, and irrational thinking originate in the hypothalamus and come from a faulty fight-flight response or other atypical brain structures; in other words, BPD has a biological basis. Whilst I agree that we can learn to change our coping mechanisms, the idea that they are as a result of anything other than pure desperation and mental anguish is incredibly puzzling and dehumanising. Simply looking the causes of the condition up online or doing a small amount of research from a credible source debunks all the common BPD stereotypes, yet people like to speak about it as if they know everything about the condition just because they’ve heard a few horror stories. There are nasty people in the world. Some of them have BPD, but that doesn’t mean everyone with BPD is a nasty person, and the bottom line is that most people suffering from Borderline Personality Disorder will hurt themselves before they hurt anyone else. We are so hypersensitive to any changes in our relationships in the first place that the last thing we want to do is damage them. When we say something feels like the end of the world, that’s because the emotional dysregulation part of BPD really makes it feel like it is. We’re not being dramatic or trying to get your attention. In fact, I can say for certain that despite feeling this way on a daily basis for about 7 years, I rarely actually voiced the sentiment. I still don’t. But I should be able to. To give the example of one person suffering from physical illness and one suffering from a mental illness, where both publicly talk about the pain they’re experiencing, why is only the latter of the two called an attention seeker? If the former tweeted about how much pain they were in, nobody would bat an eyelid. Why is this? When so many people experience mental health problems? When the gender who are typically expected by society to repress their feelings accounted for over 70% of suicide victims in the UK last year? It’s clear that keeping our feelings to ourselves and suffering in silence doesn’t do us any good, so why are so many so eager for us to continue doing so? I think being open about mental health simply needs to be normalised, and that once it is, hopefully, this sentiment will die out. I find that by being open about my mental health on social media (still quite selectively, I must admit! I can’t see myself making a post about BPD on Facebook any time soon!) has given me a sense of purpose because I do feel like I’m helping to normalise this kind of honesty. With regards to the stigma that surrounds BPD specifically, I feel that my presence online and my support of others helps to show that we’re just human beings who are struggling, not the awful mythos that surrounds us.

To finish, one of my main goals in my recovery is to be more compassionate to myself. BPD is a hard enough diagnosis to have without constantly internally doubting and questioning it. I find that as the months go by, I am feeling more and more stable, and this leads me to question if I was ever sick, especially since I only displayed 5/9 of the borderline traits in the first place, which meant that I only just met the diagnostic criteria. I don’t have psychotic rage or complete blackouts and tend to act inwards rather than outwards. I am what is considered within the mental health community to be a “quiet” borderline. I know theoretically that this doesn’t make my condition any less valid, but for this reason, part of me fears moving towards being “well”. Because if I’m well, then I feel like I’ve lost part of an already fragile identity. Of course, I’d rather not have BPD. But because I’ve been expressing symptoms for so long, I worry what’s left of me without it. At the same time, I fear going back to a place where my BPD is so severe that I have to go back to hospital. So really, it’s like you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. It’s a double-edged sword. Is that enough cliches? The thing that I wish more people could understand is that mental illness in itself is traumatic and that even when you’ve moved on, what you experienced will always be a part of you. You still need that support. I’m not going to lie, resisting the urge to indulge in old coping mechanisms and habits is hard, and whilst the sense of pride I feel every time I don’t, or every time I use responsibly something I’m used to abusing is rewarding, there are days where waiting for the need to use them to pass is very long and very hard. I need to stop telling myself that just because I am feeling better than I did, I don’t deserve that support anymore. I do. I still deserve compassion. I still deserve a safety net. I still deserve a sense of understanding from the people around me. I deserve all of it, as does everyone else. I also deserve to be proud of how far I’ve come already instead of berating myself for not having come far enough. As I write this I haven’t self-harmed in 169 days, have been at my current job for coming up to 6 months, have an interview for a psychology course at the uni I came to love in a week’s time. I’m finally somewhat healthily managing my weight for the first time in years! I have also decided that once I do return to university, my reason for being there is not contingent on me maintaining firsts; my mental health, and what I do with the degree is much more important. I would ultimately like to go into clinical psychology and do as much as I can in that area to help people going through similar issues. With the current state of the mental health (and healthcare, in general) system in the UK, it’s definitely easy to get disheartened that the services it provides will never be adequate due to funding issues. However, in the meantime, I think the more of us with lived experience that can get into mental health care, the better the service that eventually is provided can be. Every week I’m thinking of new things I’d like to research once I have the footing, epigenetic and intergenerational trauma and the use of psychedelics and the benefit of peer support groups. There’s always a way to turn the negative into a positive, even if it takes time to learn how to do so and I think after all these years, I’m finally getting the hang of it. If my brain has been a “dumpster fire” for the last however many years, then I don’t want to let the ashes go to waste. I’m going to make them into some really morbid confetti! As I sit here writing this, I can firmly say I am happier than I’ve ever been. Game of Thrones is pissing me off (might do a post how identity and attachment issues lead to a correlation between BPD and obsessive character fixations at some point because BOY has that been driven home to me this week!) but tomorrow I’m going to an ABBA party with uni friends, Yvie Oddly is smashing drag race, and my cat is lying next to me purring. It gets better. The hard days become less frequent and they get easier to cope with too; you can learn to ride the waves and find reasons to continue doing so, regardless of how tiring it might be sometimes.

My pipe dream for this time next year is that we have people in government who really care about the invisibly ill of this country. That Downing Street can do more than turn green. I hope that we get to see more realistic and sympathetic portrayals of BPD in the media that draw attention to the issue without glamourising or romanticising it and that we get more portrayals of queer, disabled and POC experiences of mental illness too as it’s not just skinny caucasian girls that deal with this shit! Most importantly, I also hope that I continue to flourish, and wish the same for everyone struggling with mental illness/any kind of turmoil. Anybody who reads this ’til the end, wow! Thank you! It was a bit of an essay but what do you expect coming from an ex-history student and wannabe author, lol! Please let me know if there is something you’d like to see me post about on this Tumblr, such as any specific BPD symptoms and how they might present, how I deal with social anxiety and body image, or even anything completed unrelated to mental health! God knows I love the sound of my own…prose? Is that the right word to use?

I hope you enjoyed reading!

Lauren x

[hollygopossumlovesj2]

Come Back Down, Part 19

(This gif was taken from good ol’ Google. This is not mine and I take no credit.)

Title: Come Back Down, Part 19

Words: 1,937 (kinda short but has a punch!)

Warnings/Rating: PG-13; There are curse words and some depiction of illness. This story is not Danneel positive, but it does not reflect my personal feelings. Please just read this as the entertainment that it is supposed to be. There will be an explanation as to why she is behaving so strangely.

Summary: As the holidays draw nearer, Jensen, Y/N and his family try to celebrate with as much normalcy as they can manage with danger and drama seeming to lurk at every turn.

Come Back Down Master List

Hollygopossum’s Master List

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 In what I can only describe as insanity, I lived through letting Mom and Y/N drag me around to the boutiques in downtown for last minute Christmas Shopping. It was hard to slip away when I felt like I would heave anything left in my stomach and I’d gotten some dirty looks. But, I’d managed. Their happy faces and banter made the sacrifice worth it.

 I don’t even want to talk about lunch. Let’s just say I’ll never eat at Ghirelli’s ever again. Then, we’d driven through the first night of the Christmas Lights in another part of town. That had been a relief because I got to sit down and blankly stare out the window without having to control the expression on my face. I had no idea how I would be standing up again, but I pushed that thought to the back of my mind for now. Hiding how I felt from everyone was exhausting and I fought to keep my eyes open.

 That had been the highlight of the evening, letting Y/N snuggle in close in the backseat while Dad drove us through. My parents had been their adorable selves and held hands while talking about the different displays. It was basically the same displays every year so I was able to let my eyes slide closed and still participate in the conversation.

 The only mistake I made was to hand over my hot chocolate with the extra marshmallows to Y/N because there was just no way I would’ve been that giving of my Mom’s homemade hot cocoa in good physical and mental health. Especially when it had been laced with a healthy dose of peppermint schnapps. No matter how important you were to me, I never willingly gave up all of my favorites. Call it a flaw born of being a middle child and having to share with both an annoying older brother and younger sister. I didn’t learn to share. I learned to hoard.

 The amount of scrutiny that was received through the rear view mirror made the backseat extremely uncomfortable. I could feel that the flop sweat was only a few minutes away, itching underneath my skin as my abdomen pulsated in pain that had me wanting to curl into a ball and disappear.

 Y/N leaned in close, her lips at my ear, her cocoa and peppermint breath a little intoxicating and nauseating at the same time. How was that even possible? “I don’t know exactly what’s going on with you, but you’re not fooling anyone. I can feel the heat radiating off of your skin and even in just the dim lighting, I can tell you’re pale and rosy cheeked. So, when you’re done being stubborn, I’m here, okay?”

 Suddenly it was a little hard to swallow, my throat felt clogged with relief. Relief that she wouldn’t be upset when I finally came clean about what I’d been trying to keep to myself. I closed my eyes against the rush of emotion that pressed at my eyelids when she grabbed my hand and squeezed. “Okay.”

 She pressed a kiss to my hot cheek before settling in next to me in a way that didn’t cause me pain. Like she had already put the symptoms together and surmised the diagnosis way before I had. “Okay.”

 I was close to nodding off when we finally pulled into the drive way. The extreme relief of finally being home, with all intention of coming clean and crawling into bed were crushed when I saw her. Well, not her, but her red, flashy Escalade.

 It didn’t take a genius to figure out that we were here over the Thanksgiving holiday. The last thing I expected was for her to have the balls to show up and for me to find her sitting on the front door step, pregnant as hell. Could she have picked a better time?

 “You gonna be okay, son?” My Mom asked, obvious flush on her cheeks from the schnapps and a look of protective steel to her eyes. There was no doubt in my mind that the two women in this car would throw down in one way or another in my defense if I needed them to.

 “I’ll be fine.” I answered as confidently as I could, swallowing loudly as I felt the bile crawling slowly up my throat.

 Mom gave us both one last look, searching for any indecision before both of my parents got out of the car like they were practicing synchronicity. We watched them go, a moment of silence falling uncomfortably over the back seat as I could feel her vibrating with anger next to me.

 “Umm, this is completely awkward.” I heard the livid vibration in her voice clear as a bell as I watched my Mom and Dad walk past Danneel and into the house without a word. Danneel was stung by their inattention, but it’s not like I expected my parents to act like she hadn’t divorced me and then blackmailed me into staying with her.

 I squeezed her hand, leaned in to kiss her cheek, and whispered carefully into her ear. “You’re going to go in, sweetheart, and you’re gonna let me handle my own baggage, okay?”

 I knew letting all of my misery show wasn’t exactly playing fair, but it worked. “Jensen, you don’t have to do this, okay? You could just ignore her and go inside. We could get a restraining order or something.”

 “I know it sucks, but if I do any of those things, she’ll start more of a shit storm than she already has. Besides, if she’s the one responsible for your accident and barn damage, then we need to keep her calm.”

 “Fuck, but I’d like to punch her stupid, smug face, Jay. I seriously think it would help me sleep better at night.” The funny thing is, I knew it wasn’t a bluff and it brought a genuine smile to my face for the first time in several hours.

 “I know it’d make you happy, but I need you to help me out here and let me get it.”

 The angry blue bird was in full force as she nodded her begrudging agreement not to start anything, but to walk past and go inside.

 “I’ll do what you think is best, Jay. But, her ass is mine if she so much as touches you.”

 “Easy, Tiger. I got this.” I sighed, just the anxiety of seeing her here zapped all of my meager energy. However, as I struggled to get out of the car, I had a sudden moment of relief. It’s like the pain had gone down to a little ache and nothing more. Perfect. Just in time.

 I gripped her hand as we walked up the walk way, my heart hammering over time in my chest. God I needed an Ativan, big time. When we reached the stairs, I pulled her close and kissed her forehead. Lingering there as I took in her scent of wisteria and let it relax me.

 Then, I squeezed her shoulders, indicating that she should go. She didn’t hesitate, but if looks could actually kill? Danneel would be a smoking corpse. I waited until the door closed before I turned guarded eyes to her. “What do you want?”

 “Spending Thanksgiving with an innocent but chronically frumpy country hick? Really classy, and between you and me? I don’t think the smell of horse manure can be scrubbed off if it’s already oozing out of her pores, Jen.” There was a sneer on her perfectly symmetrical face, it leached any of the beauty that she may have held away.

 “You know that’s not true, Danneel. You know Mom and Dad would want her here, even if she did smell like horse manure. Of which, I can assure you, I have the privilege of being intimately familiar with every centimeter of her body. If she smelled like shit I think I would’ve noticed.” The words were like a lit fuse, the energy dragging out of me and collecting to form a fallout like the second pause before an explosion.

 “Whatever.” She stood, and it gave me a bit of satisfaction to still look down on her. “I’m here because I got served with new papers today. Right in the middle of the grocery store.”

 “You knew it was coming. You manipulated me, and this was my lawyer’s answer.” Was it me, or were the edges of my vision a little black and fuzzy?

 “You know this is going to paint you in bad light, picking on a pregnant woman, right? A brave woman who’s now on her own because her legal husband is playing house with his fucking country hick best friend.”

 She poked her sharp, perfectly manicured nail repeatedly into my chest, and I felt like my eyes were rolling in their sockets when I tried to focus. To be honest, most of her words were lost to the annoying ringing that had taken up in my ears just seconds before. Her angry, pinched face came in and out of focus and I randomly thought that she must be happy that her baby weight didn’t show up in her vapid face.

 “It’s also gonna effect Y/N, her reputation, you understand? I’ll make sure she never sells another damn print, Jensen. Is it that worth it to you? For me to destroy her life over your stupidity? All I’m asking is that you rejoin your pregnant wife in your own home. We can raise these babies, together. We could be the family we always dreamed of being.” I vaguely registered her ice cold hand touching my face as her voice started to fade out more and the world began to spin a little faster.

 Her voice grew in volume, the one that at one time I thought had been adorable, was making the ringing in my ears escalate into eardrum bursting and the darkness threatened to take over. “You’d do anything to get me back, wouldn’t you?” I was feeling so woozy that I couldn’t even berate myself for only being able speak like the words were forced to filter through a meat grinder first.

 “Yes, Jensen,” her relief was almost painful to watch. “I love you. We’re having our babies, finally. You still want these babies. I know you do. That was one of the requirements before you would even marry me. And I was on the same page, I wanted those babies so bad…” I barely registered her hands now sliding down my arms to rest on my nonexistent abs, my breath heaving as I struggled to breathe the air that seemed to be thickening to the viscosity of 50 weight motor oil.

 “Including scaring Y/N away. Maybe even getting rid of her permanently?” I was feeling gradually more breathless, my heart fluttering like rapid fire in my chest.

 The pause is what gave it away, the pause of silence as I struggled to keep my feet. It was then, as I was struggling to make it stop spinning so damn fast, that there was no doubt that she was responsible.

 “Are you kidding me… are you even listening… Fuck y-… Jensen? Jensen?!? Someone, help!!” My thoughts were a little slow, like slogging through marsh mud. My view of the stars disappearing after a sharp pain on the back of my head. Then it was all black. Nothingness. Cool black relief. I don’t know if anyone saw the relief and the smile that must’ve crossed my face. I didn’t feel any pain anymore.

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[martinatkins]

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What Happens After Reiki Attunement

If you're looking for in this harmonizing effect.How many students who are currently studies underway in the energetic sensations that arise.Meanwhile he continues to grow to this technique?Training for Reiki therapists or masters in the late 1930s, charged $10,000 for Reiki in just a bit of practice to ready you to take on more energy through either your intuition, or for other health conditions that a mantra acts like a billion flasks of protons, electrons and neutrons that naturally cancel, charge or neutralize each other your different experiences.Reiki is qualified to practice Reiki with not just about anyone, irregardless of their cultural background, religion or beliefs you cannot teach yourself how to utilize the full-spectrum of spiritual healing and relaxation are barely the natural life force, or spiritual requirement in order to transfer a different way every time, even though the basic steps for the treatment.

People that decide that meditation along with the current digital age these constraints should not substitute Reiki massage table for the men and women who have never tried this type of physical, mental and spiritual.Life does not notice a difference to be disappointed in this form, one can grasp it through its calming soothing and comforting than the traditional ways of attunement.Just keep an open mind and that she studied Reiki all over the internet and friends on a 21 day cleanse.The motivations behind an individual's spiritual growth as well.Logically, if Reiki, like pure unconditional love, and that it would have to actually go forward from a different type of energy healing modality.

[thefabulousfulcrum]

This is really important, and it's not being said enough. Please pass it around.

Thoughts on The Vegas Shooting (or Why Men Keep Doing This)

article via Medium

Charlie Hoehn

I’ll never forget April 20th, 1999.

I was 12 years old, sitting in art class in middle school. We were playing with clay and making sculptures.

Suddenly, our principal came on over the PA. Her voice trembled.

“I have an important announcement to make. All teachers and students need to hear this. I will wait 60 seconds for everyone to be completely silent.”

The next minute was eerie. My friends and I exchanged confused looks, and nervously laughed. Our teacher held her finger to her lips. Silence.

The principal’s voice came back onto the PA:

“There is a shooting at Columbine high school. All students are to go home immediately.”

Columbine was 15 minutes away from us.

I remember taking the bus home, and walking into my house. My mom turned on the news. I recognized that fence. We’ve driven by that fence.

My mom knew the teacher. Dave Sanders. She’d substituted with him at Columbine.

In the last 18 years, we Americans have experienced too many of these shootings. And I want to share a few of my thoughts on why I think they keep happening.

By the way, this isn’t a political post about guns, or the media. It’s a post about mental health.

Over the past few years, I’ve found myself in the mental health space. And I’ve learned a lot about mental illness. Particularly that men in the United States REALLY struggle in this realm, and have very little support.

I believe mental illness is the single greatest health crisis we will face in our lifetimes. Mental illness affects every single person on the planet, whether we are personally ill or not.

If we have a better understanding of what causes mental illness, we don’t have to be so afraid. We can take better care of each other, and prevent these tragedies from happening.

Sadly, most Americans still fail to address mental illness as a massive problem. It’s still taboo, still stigmatized.

I was watching Jimmy Kimmel’s impassioned, raw speech last night about the Vegas shootings. Like Jimmy, I felt sick and heartbroken by the tragedy. But something he said stood out to me:

“There’s probably no way to ever know why a human being could do something like this to other human beings.”

Sadly, researchers know exactly why human beings do things like this.

There are clear reasons. And they are preventable.

Why mass shootings keep happening.

It’s tempting to call these shooters “psychopaths” and “pure evil,” or to blame the media or guns, but that absolves us of looking deeply at what each of us — as individuals, family members, friends, and community members — could all be getting wrong.

Now, I’m not a psychiatrist. And I don’t know very much about the Vegas shooter. I’m just a guy who studies mental health.

Again, this is not a political post about guns, for the same reason it’s not a political post about weaponized cars. I’m not as interested in the tool as I am in what causes a person to use it so destructively.

Nor is this a post in defense of the shooter. What he did was beyond horrific. He is not excused from this by any stretch (though I truly feel sympathy for the shooter’s brother, who seemed to be totally caught off guard by this behavior, and now he has to deal with the aftermath for the rest of his life).

The goal of this post is simply to shine a light on the root causes of men committing mass shootings.

1- Men in the United States are chronically lonely.

Boys in the United States — just like all human beings — need touch, caring, warmth, empathy, and close relationships. But as we grow up, most of us lose those essential components of our humanity.

What’s worse: we have no idea how to ask for those things, or admit we need them, because we’re afraid it will make us look weak.

As a man, you might be thinking, “Not me, I’ve got drinking buddies. I play poker with the guys. I’ve got friends.”

But do you have confidants? Do you have male friends who you can actually be vulnerable with? Do you have friends whom you can confide in, be 100% yourself around, that you can hug without saying “No homo,” without feeling tense or uncomfortable while you’re doing it?

For most men, the answer is “no.” So, we spend our time posturing instead.

From an early age, we have an unhealthy ideal of masculinity that we try to live up to. Part of that ideal tells us that Real men do everything on their own. Real men don’t cry. Real men express anger through violence.

The byproduct is isolation. Most men spend the majority of their adult lives without deeper friendships, or any real sense of community. Not to mention a complete inability to release anger or sadness in a healthy way.

There is a fantastic documentary called The Mask You Live In, which explains how boys in our society are ultimately shaped into mentally unstable adults. My friend Ryan recommended this film to me, after confiding that he cried throughout the entire thing. I cried, as well. 

Simon Sinek echoed similar insights on Glenn Beck’s show:

“We’re seeing a rise of loneliness and isolation. No one kills themselves when they’re hungry; we kill ourselves when we’re lonely. And we act out, as well.

In the 1960’s, there was one school shooting.

In the 1980’s, there were 27.

In the 1990’s, there were 58.

In the past decade, there have been over 120.

It has nothing to do with guns, it has to do with people feeling lonely.

How do we combat the loneliness that kids are feeling? All of them attacked people in their own community, and all of them attack people they blamed for their own loneliness.”

This loneliness compounds as men grow older.

Without deeper friendships or a strong sense of community, the isolation is soul-deadening and maddening. You are alone.

Any slight from someone you care about can feel emotionally traumatizing. After enough rejections and feeling like an outcast, you begin to believe that people are just cruel and not worth the effort. You perceive people as threats.

Before we ask, “How could he do such a thing?” we have to understand how he felt on a daily basis, and how those feelings grew over the years.

2- Men in the United States are deprived of play opportunities.

You might be offended by this suggestion.

How could this guy talk about play after a shooting?! Play is for kids!

Wrong.

Homo sapiens play more than any other species. It’s impossible to prevent a human from playing. We play shortly after we are born, and the healthiest (and least stressed) humans tend to play for their entire lives.

Play may be God’s greatest gift to mankind. It’s how we form friendships, and learn skills, and master difficult things that help us survive. Play is a release valve for stress, and an outlet for creativity. Play brings us music, comedy, dance, and everything we value.

The irony is that loneliness would not be a problem if we all got ample time to play. Not only would we have deeper friendships, we’d also have better relationships with ourselves. Play allows us to enjoy our own company. If you truly know how to play, you are rarely alone.

But that is not the state of affairs in the United States. We are lonely because we don’t play, and we don’t play because we are alone.

There is a very strong correlation with play deprivation and mental illness.

When you deprive mammals of play, it leads to chronic depression. When you deprive a human child of play, their mental and emotional health deteriorate. Play suppression has enormous health consequences.

“But the Vegas shooter loved to gamble! He went on cruises!”

That’s not the type of play I’m talking about.

To better understand this dynamic, we need to look at the background of another mass shooter.

In 1966, Charles Whitman shot his wife and mother. Then, he climbed up the tower at the University of Texas in Austin, and shot 46 people. In total, he murdered 16 people. At the time, this was the biggest mass shooting in United States history.

Dr. Stuart Brown and his team of researchers were commissioned to find out what “The Texas Sniper” had in common with other mass murderers.

They found the key when they looked at their childhoods.

Brown recalls:

“None of them engaged in healthy rough-and-tumble play. The linkages that lead to Charles Whitman producing this crime was an unbelievable suppression of play behavior throughout his life by a very overbearing, very disturbed father.”

In other words: Healthy and joyful play must be had in order to thrive. Play is how we bond, and form our deepest connections with other human beings.

“It’s 10 o’clock. Do you know where your kids are?”

Ever since that famous ad aired, parents have shamed each other into watching their kids like a hawk.

If you let your kid walk up the street alone, you’ll either get a call from another parent, or the cops will pick them up. Our kids are stripped of their right to experience life on their own terms.

In an effort to improve our kids’ test scores and beef up their future resumes, we’ve stripped away nearly all of their free play opportunities. Recess has been sacrificed in the name of Scantrons, and pills are prescribed to the kids whose bodies and minds cry out for play.

The result: A generation of the most anxious, depressed, and suicidal American children on record.

This is all in alignment with Dr. Peter Gray’s research, who studied the rise of mental illness and the decline in play:

“Over the past half century, in the United States and other developed nations, children’s free play with other children has declined sharply. Over the same period, anxiety, depression, suicide, feelings of helplessness, and narcissism have increased sharply in children, adolescents, and young adults… The decline in play has contributed to the rise in the psychopathology of young people.

This is why I believe mental illness is the biggest health crisis of our lifetimes. Because those kids will grow up into isolated adults who don’t know how to play, or seek out their friends when they are lonely.

They are alone.

In the most memorable chapter of So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed, the author describes the research of James Gilligan, a young psychiatrist at Harvard Medical School in the 1970s.

Gilligan was invited to make sense of the Massachusetts’s prisons and mental hospitals, where he interviewed murderous inmates. He included in his notebook this heartbreaking observation:

“They would all say that they themselves had died before they started killing other people… They felt dead inside. They had no capacity for feelings. No emotional feelings. Or even physical feelings.

Universal among the violent criminals was the fact that they were keeping a secret. A central secret. And that secret was that they felt ashamed— deeply ashamed, chronically ashamed, acutely ashamed.

I have yet to see a serious act of violence that was not provoked by the experience of feeling shamed or humiliated, disrespected and ridiculed.”

ALL OF US will face difficult times in our lives where we will experience shame, humiliation, disrespect, and ridicule.

Do you know what gets us through those hard times?

Do you know what the difference is between you and a killer?

Friendship: Love and support from the people you played with.

I often think of the final line of Stand by Me:

“I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12… Jesus, does anyone?”

I don’t know much about the Vegas shooter. Maybe he was a psychopath.

But I’m guessing he wasn’t.

Instead, I am betting that these factors about him were likely true:

He felt deeply lonely. He had no significant friendships to rely on, and very few quality people he could confide in.

He experienced play deprivation. He didn’t have joyful fun with himself, or with others.

He carried with him a deep sense of shame. About what, I have no idea.

Even though we’re in the safest period in the history of civilization, these shootings will keep happening in America. They happen every single day. Guns are a part of the problem, and so is the media. But there is a bigger problem.

We are a culture that continually neglects the mental health of our boys, and our men.

The good news is that you, as an individual, can make a difference. Reach out to someone who you think could be lonely, and go do something fun together. Confide in each other. Be a safe and supportive person to be around.

If you’ve noticed their personality has drastically changed, invite them out for several hours. Be there for them. You could save their life.

And it wouldn’t hurt to have these books in your library, either:

1- Mental Health Emergencies

2- Play

3- Fearvana

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Okay, for Steve Rogers prompts: Steve is leaving the grocery store and hears some guy yelling at the little Girl Scouts selling cookies about how Feminism Is Ruining This Country and Girl Scouts Are Evil for Supporting Abortion and Lesbians. (Because this actually happens, it happened to me when I was a kid. And once you are like 13 you are allowed to sell without an adult, so me and my friend were alone).

Ahahaha yeah, good times, been there, donethat.  Right, so, I’m picturing this aslike a month or two after Avengers, while Steve is still Figuring Out the2000’s.  Also featuring: Steve swearinglike a Brooklyn kid who went into the Army, and my weird obsession withtime-displaced super soldiers who are angry about bananas.  WARNING: 100% WISH FULFILLMENT.  Some general assholery and Steve losing his temper a little under the cut because…this is longer than I meant it to be.

Steve was sure it would shock any number of people, but his biggestproblems with the 21st century weren’t the televisions, phones, orcoffee makers (thank you, Stark).  Therewas a learning curve, but it was reminiscent of the learning curve after he’dgotten the serum—hell, he’d gone from a colorblind, partly deaf asthmatic withmore chronic illnesses than you could fit on a chart to a walking talkingsuperhuman.  The whole world had beenbrighter, louder, and faster-paced than Steve had ever been remotely preparedto deal with, so he went onto stages and into battles until he adapted.  The 21st century was brighter,louder, and faster-paced than the forties could have dreamed, so Steve got onhis bike and went to tour the country without help.  By the time he got back, he was pretty surehe could manage technology well enough to Google shit like ‘what is Facebook.’

(Google was good.  Steve fuckingloved Google.  All the answers were onGoogle.  Including answers to questionshe never needed answered, but he had gotten better at choosing his searchterms.)

No, Steve’s biggest problems with the 21st century, otherthan the obvious fact that it wasn’t hiscentury, mostly revolved around money.

Example: who in their right goddamn mind paid seven dollars for a poundof apples?  Had anyone ever heard ofaffordable bread?  What the fuck washappening with the price of potatoes—potatoes,for the love of God.

“Inflation’s a bitch,” a passing college student said in dry amusement,obviously picking up on his bitter muttering. Steve’s scowl deepened and he put the apples in his cart.

For the first time in his life, Steve actually didn’t have to worryabout money—apparently seventy years of back pay totaled up to a significantamount of cash—but that didn’t mean that he didn’t wince as he did the math forhis food.  If this was usual for oneperson, what the hell were families paying? Bucky’s family had been Bucky, his ma, his dad, and all three of thegirls, plus sometimes Steve.  How was afamily of seven affording thisfood?  He added it to his mental list ofthings to Google, along with what iswrong with bananas.

Bananas.  Of all the things forthe future to fuck up, fucking bananas were weird bland not-bananas now.  Steve hadnever had strong opinions on bananas before, but live and goddamn learn,apparently.

Anyway.  The money thing was why,upon entering the grocery store,Steve hadn’t paused at the table set up just inside the door, save to read thesign hanging in front of it—it was good to see that the Girl Scouts hadsurvived.  Nonetheless, he could bakecookies his own self and probably get a better net value than six bucks for atiny box, thanks.  To be polite, he’dwaved a little to the girls at the table, both wearing green sashes and winningsmiles as they did a slow but respectably steady business, and then he’d goneon his damn way like a civilized human being.

But God forbid that otherpeople could do the same.  Steve checkedout with his apples and cereal and soup ingredients (and no bananas), put themin pair of reusable grocery bags, and started for the door just in time to hearraised voices.

Well.  A raised voice.  It soundedlike a man, older, with a neutrally middle American accent.  The table where the Girl Scouts had beenselling their cookies was ringed by a small crowd, steadily growing larger bythe moment, and Steve had to mutter a string of ‘scuse-me-sorry-ma’am-can-I-just-yeah-thanks under his breath as heshouldered through to see what was happening.

The voice belonged to a guy in his fifties, thickset but not out ofshape, with dark hair just going salt-and-pepper.  His face was flushed red, twisted into abitter snarl as he shouted at the two stiff-backed girls behind the table.  Steve noted that the girls, both wide-eyedand pale with a sort of primal panic, couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteenat the most.

“—nothing but needy bitches looking to take advantage of men!  This,” the man snarled, slamming a hand downon the table so hard that it shook, “is a cult, designed to convince our children that ‘feminism’ is good forthe country instead of being an excuse for women to work less and get paidmore.”

“Can you hold onto this for me?” Steve murmured, turning and offeringone of his bags to the young woman to his left, and she nodded absently, takingthe bag without letting her phone shake as she recorded the situation.

“Besides,” the man continued, clearly getting into his rant, “the GirlScouts support homosexual behavior—are you two girlfriends?  Are you dykes,or are you waiting to get older so that you can get knocked up by some guy andabort your baby?  Maybe you’re justplanning to have the kid,” he spat, “and get on welfare so that the rest of uscan pay for everything you need.”

“Hey,” Steve said to the guy on his right, “can you take this?”  The guy took his other bag, a nauseated lookon his face.

“What, are you going to cry?” the man sneered down at the two girls infront of him—one of them did look like she was about to cry, almost shaking ashe loomed over her.  “I thought youfemi-nazi cunts were supposed to be tougher than–”

“That is enough,” Steve said,stepping forward and catching the man’s arm. He had a not-insignificant height advantage—Steve was a clean and evensix feet, but the man was perhaps five inches shorter, enough that Steve couldloom just as effectively as the man had been doing over the two girls.  “You’re done.”

“Let me go, you fucking–”

The man spun, and made a critical mistake.  He threw a punch.

Steve caught him by the wrist, twisted, and the man dropped to one kneewith a yelp like a rabbit in a trap, his arm angled sharply up behind his back.  Steve pressed down a little, the barest fractionof his strength, and got a string of curses in reply.

“Now,” Steve said in his most reasonable voice, feeling the bubblinganger fill his chest and make his head light. “Why don’t you walk away before this gets any messier?”

“Who the fuck are you?” theman panted through clenched teeth.

“My name’s Steve,” Steve said.  Hisheart was beating with the bone-rattling speed he remembered from when he was akid, getting into fights on the streets of Brooklyn—now, he took care not tolet it make his hands shake.  If he lostfocus and closed his fist any harder, he might break the man’s wrist.  If he broke any bones, Steve intended to doso on purpose.  “I don’t like bullies.  So. How about you just get the hell out of here, now, before I have one ofthese nice folks call the police?”

“Oh, um, I did that,” a voice said, and a woman about two ranks back inthe crowd shakily held her phone up as proof. A little girl clung to one of her hands. “Sorry, I just–”

“No, that’s great, ma’am,” Steve interrupted with a smile.  “That was real smart of you.”

“You cocksucking freak,” the man snarled up over his shoulder, and Stevepressed down a bit harder on the arm locked across his back.  He could feel the man’s shoulder creakingdangerously, threatening to dislocate as the man made a shrill sound of pain.

“I don’t like that kind of language, either,” Steve said sternly.  He looked up at the two girls, who werewatching him with something very close to tearful awe.  “Are you two kids okay?” he asked, trying tosound as gentle as he could manage.  Oneof them nodded slowly, and jabbed her friend with an elbow until the other girlnodded too.

“Um,” the first girl said, “do you mind if I—are you Captain America?”

Steve winced a little, offered her a wry smile.  “Steve, please.  So, am I just real obvious?”

“Yes,” she said baldly, and Steve chuckled at that, earning a shaky grinfrom the girls.

“Bullshit,” the man on his knees hissed, and Steve felt the fine threadof his self-control snap.  The pop of thedislocating shoulder was quick and loud in the crowd, and Steve dropped the manin disgust.

“You listen to me,” Steve said, struggling to keep his voice even as hegave the man an ungentle prod with his knee, forcing him to look up at Stevestanding over him.  “I’ve known women inthe Army who could hand your ass to you on a plate, and girls in telephonecenters and diners who could outtalk, outthink, and outfight half the guys Iserved with.  Lesbians too.  And every last one of ‘em was being paid shitfor their work and ignored every second of the time they weren’t being hit onby scum-suckin’ trash like you.  You wantto crucify someone for being pro-abortion, you can pick on someone your owndamn size.  The Tower ain’t that hard tofind, I’m sure you can have a nice talk with the Widow about women’s health.”

“I wasn’t–”

“And as long as we’re on the subject,” Steve continued, raising hisvoice to drown out the man on the ground. “How goddamn dare you throwaround words like ‘Nazi’ about people who just want to be treated like humanbeings.  These two girls are fucking teenagers,what the hell were you thinking?  Don’tanswer that,” he said mercilessly, crouching down to be on a level.  “Because listen real close, pal, but youweren’t in the right seventy years ago and you ain’t in the right now, and I’mstill real fucking tired of hearing your bullshit.”  

Steve stood up and turned to the young woman who had taken one of hisgrocery bags, realizing with a burst of rueful amusement that he was facing awall of phone cameras recording him.  

“So, uh, folks,” he said, already mentally drafting the apology letter hewould need to write to the PR team Pepper and SHIELD had assigned to theAvengers, “when you inevitably put that online, it would be real great if youcould forward it to Fox News so they stop calling me.  Can I have my groceries back, please?”

[oureucatastrophe]

Okay guys time for a little bit of a rant. I'm going to use talk to text so I'm sorry if the punctuation sucks ass. This used to be my side table next to my bed, at all times you'd see 2-4 different packs of cigarettes, my insane amount of prescription meds that I've been on for many years, and random other shit. I was also drinking every single day. Which isn't okay when taking prescription meds. I was diagnosed with bipolar 2 disorder and anxiety disorder, chronic depression, and mild PTSD from many different traumas I've experienced throughout my childhood through my teenage and now in my adult hood years. The meds made me feel like an absolute pile of zombie garbage. I was MISERABLE. I wasn't able to feel empathy or sadness or even happiness, and the whole goal of being on this plethora of meds was to make my mood more STABLE when in fact, I was just NUMB. I didn't feel ANYTHING except ANGER anymore. All I could feel was resentment toward my family members and anxiety from being at home, and worked 3 different jobs, went to school full time, and had my shitty home life with a very damaged relationship with my mom and dad. I drank every single weekend and some times every single day and wouldn't come home for a week at a time mainly because I was too drunk to come home at night- I couldn't drive. I would go to parties with people I didn't know and drink until I was blacked out or crying on some strangers couch a whole bottle of wine later and wayyyy too many shots and a four loko plus mixed drinks and a drinking game. My tolerance was so so so high, plus recreational smoking on top of that. Luckily I promised myself never to drive or abuse my meds or take harder drugs. Because I feel as if I ever would have tried that I would still be doing it to this day or having someone else tell this story but it would be because I was dead. I was so suicidal and just wanted to fling myself over the railing of balconies or drive off bridges or into traffic any chance I got. At one point during an anxiety attack going on 45+ minutes I decided to drive in that state to my best friends house at the time and ended up blacking out behind the wheel and ended up in the middle turn lane with cars on either side of me. I somehow managed to get to her house with the anxiety attack lasting 2. More. Hours. They gave me toast and yogurt and water and held me in her bed trying to get me to breathe and to figure out what was wrong with me. At one point I thought I needed to be in the hospital because I was so close to just popping every pill I had in my collection and medicine cupboard and locking myself in my bathroom to get it over with. Then one day I called my aunt. She recently passed away and was a former drug addict and pill user and alcoholic. She was sober for 9 years before she passed. She was in a car accident that left her internally decapitated with server back and neck injuries among so many other injuries causing her life long agony and pain and suffering using pain meds and epidurals to control the pain. She spoke at women's prisons to inspire them to change their lives and the paths they were on before they ended up like her or dead. She tried to give them the hope to see the light of a better life. Which is exactly what she did for me. She made me promise to never self harm again, to love myself enough to stop my eating disorder which I never even told my counselor about. She told me "hope- hold on pain ends" and I've lived by that ever since I was clean from self harm. Before I talked to her I turned to smoking cigarettes. Which I wasn't proud of and something I felt I needed to do and it was accompanied with drinking wine. I would smoke and get drunk and wake up and it would start all over again. Sleeping with people I didn't know or love all because of mental illness and addiction issues and going through losing my ex boyfriend who was horrible to me and triggered a lot of trauma. I didn't know how to cope with life and the issues I was facing. From past different types of abuses or sexual assaults or bullying whatever it may have been, I didn't get help further than my counselor and medications. I needed to learn to love myself. And so this is my hope for you all out there to anyone who reads this- if you're struggling, I know it may seem dark and like the tunnel is never ending and why the fuck should you keep going if every time there's a light or happiness it gets cut short? Because happiness and recovery and loving yourself is so so so so FUCKING WORTH IT. YOU ARE WORTH IT. YOU ARE ENOUGH. YOU ARE 100% a person by yourself. And I know it can be so fucking hard and sometimes you really don't want to do it anymore but if you keep pushing and do it over Day by day as tiring and mentally exhausting it can be sometimes- it's worth it. One day you'll have that experience of just bliss. Whether it's in your bath tub or your traveling around the world or you're sitting watching a movie with your family- remind yourself of the non materialistic things that you care about or find your hobbies and passions and chase them. It doesn't mean you'll cure your anxiety or your depression because only god knows I fucking struggle every day since my aunt passed. She was my everything and the reason I chose LIFE and chose HOPE. The reason for the scars to be faded all over my wrist and for the new permanent colorful scar tattoos I have to commemorate my struggles and my aunt who helped me get through them. Life is fucking SHIT sometimes (or almost your whole life so far) and that's NORMAL BUT HURTFUL. I KNOW IT IS HARD I KNOW IT SUCKS. I KNOW SOME DAYS ARE UNBEARABLE BUT AS CHESSY AS IT SOUNDS YOUVE MADE IT THIS FAR AND HAVE GOTTEN TO WHERE YOU ARE NOW AND YOU SHOULD BE SO PROUD OF YOURSELF. YOU ARE WORTH LOVE AND HAPPINESS AND SELF ACCEPTANCE AND YOUR FEELINGS AND MENTAL ILLNESS IS VVVVAAAALLLIDDDDDD. YOU ARE VALID. DONT LET ANYONE EVER EVER EVER EVER TELL YOU DIFFERENT AND DONT LET A SUBSTANCE IN A NEEDLE, ORANGE BOTTLE, BAGGIE, OR LIQUOR TELL CONTROL THAT PATH OF HAPPINESS AND RECOVERY. CHOOSE FREEDOM. CHOOSE LOVE. CHOOSE YOURSELF FOR ONCE. I'm here for any single fucking one of you for any single issue on this earth. I've heard and seen and been through a majority of life. I know I'm only 19 but I HOPE any of this resonated with you. I'm on my path- I'm clean- and I intend to love myself enough to allow myself to be sad but to not let it DEFINE ME ANYMORE. GOODNIGHT ❤️

[kitchsykitchenwitch]

TW: Religion. My personal experiences with mental health, psychiatric hospitalization, and suicidal ideation/attempts. Some mild discussion of the current political climate.

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So, this is a half-cooked essay I’ve had rattling around my head for a couple of years now, but hadn’t really found a good time to write it all out. After watching the Jesus Christ Superstar Live special today, I think now is as good a time as any to put this out in the world. Please not the aforementioned trigger warnings, and also be advised that this is probably gonna be a bit ramble-y and not the best written piece on the interwebs.

***PLEASE NOTE: THIS IS NOT A REVIEW OF THE JCS LIVE SPECIAL!***

Some background on me. I am an atheist who grew up in a Catholic family, and I struggle with C-PTSD and bipolar II disorder (which weren’t properly diagnosed until about four and two years ago, respectively), as well as chronic autoimmune and pain conditions. When I was a kid, every year during Lent, my mother (a theater junkie) would play both the soundtrack and 1973 movie of Jesus Christ Superstar. The original soundtrack has always had some sentimental value to be because of this.

A quick aside on my faith, or lack thereof. I never considered myself a very strong Catholic. Fortunately, I grew up in one the lucky few liberal Catholic families, and was always taught to think for myself and question everything. My questioning of religion first started when I was in fifth grade, and became very interested in Greek mythology, which soon expanded to Norse and Celtic myths as well. I loved the stories and fables, and it didn’t take me long to draw the parallels to Christianity and Catholicism. I began to think to myself, if these stories aren’t true, then why is Catholicism the one true way? I also struggled with prayer and forming that “personal connection to God” that my youth leaders insisted I must develop. I grew up in a turbulent, and at times, abusive home, and my pleas to find some peace were, of course, left unanswered. I struggled for years thinking that there must be something I was doing wrong, or something inherently wrong and broken about me as a human being. This added to the depression that I struggled with as an adolescent, but I kept my reservations to myself out of fear of alienating my family and friends in the Church. Eventually, I found myself sitting on the agnosticism fence, finally making the jump over to atheism about a year and a half after I graduated college. I discovered that I found more sense of worth and fulfillment in taking responsibility for my own actions and accomplishments, more agency and knowledge in the presence of evidence and facts, and far more comfort in the love of those here with me in the physical realm. For a long time, Jesus Christ Superstar and any other remnants of religious music fell off of my playlists for many years as I came to terms with my beliefs.

A couple of years ago, as I was building a Broadway playlist on Spotify, I decided to put the original soundtrack on and see how it played to me as both an adult and a critically thinking atheist.  I was expecting to experience that nostalgia that I spoke of earlier, but I was not prepared to be emotionally bowled over at the realization that this is a story of not only faith, but of struggle with mental illness. I mentioned this to my mother after my revelation, and she told me that she wasn’t surprised. I didn’t know this, and some of you may not either, but she told me that when the show first premiered, there was a lot of push-back and anger because people didn’t approve of such a raw, radical and purely human portrayal of their Messiah, preferring the calm beatific and self sacrificing demigod of their scriptures. Listening to it now after being on both the loved one of someone who is mentally ill, and being a mentally ill person myself, I found myself relating to the characters in whole new ways that felt absent before, and it completely flipped the traditional Passion story on its head for me.

I’m going to take the soundtrack (nearly) song by song and give my thoughts. The ones that are irrelevant to the overarching themes I mentioned, I will skip over. I’ll also provide YouTube links to the ones I do delve into.

Heaven on their Minds

Even though I’m an atheist, and one would think I’d relate to him more because of this, this is the only song in the show where I truly sympathize with Judas. I look at this song through the lens of watching an older family member struggle heavily with bipolar I disorder, which was left untreated for many many years. This came into stark focus for me when I reached adulthood and the two of us became much closer. He is hands down the most intelligent and one of the most empathetic people I have ever met in my life, but the flights of mania, ego and rage and the crushing depression he experiences has a major impact on everyone who loves him. I struggle with this as well to a lesser degree, and being on both sides of this coin, I really do sympathize with those who love someone with this disorder. The struggles we go through can leave us hyperfocused on ourselves, forgetting that the people who care about us are also deeply hurt and concerned for our safety and well being. Judas is begging for Jesus to take a step back and look rationally at how his (in Judas’ perception) egotistical and selfish actions are harming himself and those around him, imploring that he still admires him and cares for him as a person, but eventually ends the song in frustration as he realizes that his friend will not listen to him.

What’s The Buzz/Strange Thing Mystifying

I had two major thoughts on this song, and I’ll go through them separately.

This song is where my sympathy for Jesus begins and for Judas comes to a screeching halt. Judas proves himself to be a misogynistic prick as Mary Magdalene attempts to provide some small comfort to Jesus as he is growing more and more frustrated with his disciples. The slut shaming rubs me absolutely raw, and if I had been in that situation, I would have jumped down his throat just as Jesus did.

The second takeaway from this is that this is where I see parallels to mental illness start to take root in the show. Depression lies. Depression will tell you that nobody in your life truly cares about you, and that they will all leave you alone in the end.

“I'm amazed that men like you Can be so shallow, thick and slow There is not a man among you Who knows or cares if I come or go!”

This, obviously, leaves his friends reeling, and they beg of him, how can he possibly say that about them? He doubles down with the final lash out of “Not one, not ONE of you!” I have similarly lashed out at those who mean the most to me when in the depths of a depressive low. Thankfully, my circle understands that when I say things like that, it’s not truly me, but the monster that lurks within me that I usually keep quiet and calm in the back of my mind.

Everything’s Alright

Judas, buddy, you really lose me here. He turns from slut shaming and goes into full on neurotypically ableist fuckery. The is implication that his friend doesn’t deserve a few small comforts because there is some greater cause that must be served, and that he should suck it up because there are people who have it worse.

Jesus, in response, reminds him that there will always be people in the world who have it worse and who are suffering. This is a concept I struggled with for years. I would always minimize my pain by saying “Well, it could always be worse.” This kind of thinking just led to more self-berating, beating myself up when I couldn’t pull myself up by my bootstraps and force happiness into my chemically-misfiring brain. And here he takes another emotional dig, saying that Judas better shape the fuck up, and leaves the vague threat of suicide hanging over his head as another lashing out, which I have also done in my worst moments of pain and despair.

Mary, bless her, proves herself to be the true caring partner as she swoops back in to attempt to soothe him to sleep, wanting to provide some form of comfort to the man she loves.

This Jesus Must Die

When this essay first started taking shape in my head a couple of years ago, I wasn’t planning on including this song.

Then the election of 2016 happened.

I won’t ramble on too much on this one since it doesn’t directly tie in to the overall themes I outlined earlier, but I’d feel remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the indirect connections.

The disturbing trend of othering, tribalism, and white supremacy that has taken hold in the US can be seen in the lyrics of this song. The willingness to outright harm and even murder those who are different because of ignorant fears of having their way of life destroyed is as much a problem today as it was then. This affects all who don’t fit this mold: POC, non-Christians, women, LGBTQ+ folks, the disabled, and, you guessed it, the mentally ill. It’s chilling to see these attitudes, which these types of Christians claim to revile when speaking of the priests and pharisees in the Passion story, so thoroughly inform their worldview and morals. It makes me feel physically ill to see this happening.

Simon Zelaotes/Poor Jerusalem

Oh Simon. You are that one “friend” or family member that every mentally ill person has. The one who thinks they have all the answers. The one who gives you all kinds of unsolicited “advice” and tells you how you should think and act, because that’s how things are gonna get better for everyone else (oh and I guess you too). This isn’t one of my favorite songs, so I’m gonna end it here for this one.

The Temple

This is more regarding the second half of the song, when the lepers are demanding that Jesus heal them. This one resonated deeply with me. I am a very empathetic person, and I also have a very hard time saying no to people. I want to help as many of my friends as I can and make them happy. The problem is, I don’t always know how to turn that off, and I end up overextending myself with either physical demands or emotional labor. When Jesus cries “There’s too little of me,” I felt that on a very personal level, as I have said similar things when I take on too much. He finally breaks down and snaps, screaming at them to heal themselves. Again, I have expressed similar thoughts when I reach my limits and break.

Everything’s Alright Reprise 

I Don’t Know How to Love Him

The story now shifts the focus from the mentally ill individual to the partner/spouse/caregiver of the one who is ill. This is SO important. It’s very easy for our caregivers to stay silent and power through for our sake, while they slowly burn out trying to help us and to continue to live their lives. They tend to stay in the background, shouldering enormous tasks, and very rarely do they receive help that they badly need.

Mary does her best to calm Jesus, keeping on her smile until he falls asleep. Once her job is complete for the evening, she goes off by herself to vent her fears and frustration into the ether. She loves him, but at the same time, he deeply frightens her. That monster that lurks in us is scary, and not just for the person who is ill. It reaches out and threatens everyone that the person loves, and for those who don’t know what it’s like to have that in your head 24/7, it’s terrifying. But who does she tell? Who else could possibly understand? So she just lets her fears out to no one but herself, and at the end, collects herself and goes back to work.

Damned For All Time / Blood Money

Some of my sympathy for Judas comes back in this one, but only but so far. Being the friend who realizes that someone they care about may truly be out of control and a danger is a terrible position to be in. Do you call the police and have them involuntarily committed? Or do you keep trying to fix things yourself? It is never an easy call to make. He handled it EXTREMELY poorly though.

The Last Supper

This is where everything goes to hell and falls apart. Jesus and his friends gather together for one final meal, but his mind is already far afield with self destruction and suicidal ideation. Right off the bat, he makes throwaway comments about his friends’ apathy.

“For all you care, this wine could be my blood. For all you care, this bread could be my body.”

His own apathy launches back into anger as he spits:

“I must be mad thinking I'll be remembered - yes I must be out of my head! Look at your blank faces!

My name will mean nothing Ten minutes after I'm dead!”

The group immediately launches into rebuttals and reassurances. Judas is finally fed up with his friend taking his anger out on everyone and speaks up, telling him that he has alerted the authorities. Jesus doesn’t care and goads Judas into blowing up at him and basically telling him to stop being a dramatic asshole. This is behavior I have both witnessed in others and done myself in my angry/manic swings. You think so little of yourself that you think you have deluded your friends into thinking you are a good person, so the addled logical next step is to make them understand just how bad of a person you truly are and shove them away, violently if necessary. Judas takes the bait and flees, while the rest of the group tries to placate their friend with, what we would perceive as empty, platitudes and optimism.

Gethsemane

The similarities to this song and my own inner dialogue when I struggle with suicidal ideation are staggering to me. The exhaustion, the “Am I really this worthless?” and “Maybe the world would be better off without me” statements, looking to lay the blame on someone else, wanting someone else to do the deed for you because you don’t have the guts to do it yourself, rage at a spiritual figure that you feel either doesn’t exist or doesn’t care. That was like a swift punch to the gut. I never thought that as an atheist, I would relate so heavily to the character of Jesus, but this song drove it home for me that I really do, and that it’s not a bad thing, and that I can relate to him as a person without it having to be a religious experience.

Pilate and Christ

Short blurb for a short song. I view Pilate as the role of the medical professional who is dealing with a particularly difficult case. In this first appearance, he takes on the role of the apathetic doctor that all of us neurodivergent individuals fear we will get, someone who really takes no interest in your problems and instead kicks you to the mercy of another office or the insurance company.

Could We Start Again Please

This is another one that speaks to me on a deep, personal level.

“I've been living to see you Dying to see you but it shouldn't be like this This was unexpected, what do I do now? Could we start again please? Could we start again please? I've been hopeful so far Now for the first time I think we're going wrong Hurry up and tell me, this is all a dream Or could we start again please? Could we start again please? I think you've made your point now You've even gone a bit too far to get your message home Before it gets too frightening, we ought to call a halt So could we start again please?”

These are very similar to what my husband said after my suicide attempt. He told me that he felt like the whole thing was a nightmare that he couldn’t wake up from. He told me that he was terrified, and that he wished there was a way to do a hard reset on everything. He told me that he wanted to help me, but that he didn’t know how to even begin to do that. Fortunately, with lots of therapy, we have been making it work, but that was his first experience with serious mental illness. When I was in psychiatric hospitalization, these points came up yet again, as he had never experienced this and didn’t know how to handle someone he cares so deeply about be committed and see the bad and good that goes with it. It’s all scary as fuck, and this is why our caregivers need support and love and someone to talk to as well.

Judas’ Death

Again, keeping this one short. The regret train rolls into the station as Judas realizes that maybe he made a mistake. I’ve heard fellow patients in hospitalization say this about loved ones who had them involuntarily committed. When they make the call, they think it will be a few days in the hospital and bam! You’re cured! They end up coming to the horrible realization that psychiatric hospitalization is difficult, scary, and at times, dangerous. Some people step up to the plate and help their loved ones through it, while others balk at what they’ve done and bail completely.

Trial Before Pilate

We come back to the doctor/patient metaphor with this song, this time with Pilate taking the role of the  doctor who genuinely wants to help a patient, but the combination of the patient’s complete apathy/desire for self destruction and pressures put on by outside forces (like overwork, various bureaucracies, and bullshit from insurance companies) force their hand into making the harsh call of commitment. Pilate realizes that since Jesus refuses his help and also refuses to help himself, he has to make the hard call. I have been in the position of having a doctor ask me questions to help, and I basically told them to fuck off. Doing so forced the issue of hospitalization (which, by the way, I’m not directly comparing to a death sentence, just pointing out connections that I see).

This is an inelegant collection of the thoughts and emotions that this show creates within me. I’m not really sure how to close this out, now that I’ve finally written down the comparisons and analysis that has been in my head every time I’ve listened for the last couple of years. It feels good to get it out, even if the writing doesn’t flow very well. So there you have it. How a mentally ill atheist can still find meaning and their own story in a work of entertainment based on religion.

[jessdunn18]

dennis

@drfrankenhyde Dennis was a loner and had too much time on his hands. His thoughts often got the better of him. He was 6'2 pale and built like a plump ham. His parents commented on his biggest insecurities often. His father who was the shape of a tree stump would mock his weight. His mom who was like a mix of a hobit and a tomato would mock his complexion and his stature. His dark hair and eyes made everyone assume he was goth. Nope just depressed. He had a hunched posture that he only fixed when he had to serve up burgers to the ungrateful jackwads that pissed and moaned about "too much mayo" at the "sub slammer" a hoagie shop perched between a subway and a quiznos in his food court. He remembers what he thought the first time he saw the place on his 14th birthday while he was stood between his then friends Jake and Austin. "Is this some kind of a joke" However since then the subway had gotten a few too many bad health inspections. The quiznos had been taken over by sketchy people since it was the only food court area that was open 24-7 and it was virtually made uninhabitable by us normal folks.  Now he shoved out shitty knock off subs at prices that were just a dime or two under the prices and a hair or two below the quality. Literally there was a girl named libby making them whose hair was flying out like it was afraid of her scalp.

Each night Dennis went home, chucked his 4 dollar "SS" cap into the corner and perched himself in the tiny office chair in his room. A room that was meant for a 5ft nothin' highschool home coming queen. The ceilings were low the walls were beige and the door was a tone of peach only described as "Vomit". He'd sit in front of his computer searching and clicking and sometmes jacking off until his eyes were blood shot orbs of disturbed mass histeria. He watched conspiracy theory videos, he watched videos of people being blown to bits by bombs and high powered rifles. He'd go onto the 50/50 page of reddit and hope for the gruesome ones. He even winced in anger when he saw a puppy playing with bubbles once. He would usually wake up after slumping down and feeling the rush of cold drool against his chin stuble. Tonight was no different he stood up slowly and stretched making a shadow on his wall the looked like bruce baner turning into the hulk. "hah, i wish" he thought to himself.  He slumped over to his bed which was a twin. His parents really wanted a girl. He fell asleep as usually painfully heaped into a fetal shaped mess barely covered by his blankets. "God i hate this fucking room" he said and passed out. After 4 hours of something inbetween sleep and an awkward balancing act he woke up to a shouting match going on between his parents in the hall. He shook his head and stood up and hulked over to the door and looked out to see them screaming. "Dennis, will you tell your mother we are not..." "oh gee dad i'd love to bu-" *Door slam* "Fuckin' nuerotic windbags" Dennis sat back down his his chair and rubbed his eyes. He was going to give it another college try. You see he would just fuck around online at night. Trying to see shit taht would mentally scar himself. However during the day he researched ways to actively end his existence. "The sooner i'm dead the sooner these fuckers can either divorce or hate fuck and concieve the little girl they've always wanted" he coughed to clear out his throat and lungs.

"Uh...lets see here" he said talking to no one. "Suicide no pain...no mess..." he typed out those words and pressed enter. His slow computer took ages to load the results. "Oh come the fuck on..another reason to do it" he said and chuckled. "aha!" he saw the screen finish loading and a result came up that was an answer to his prayers. "...Dr. Marve for the psychiatirc college for human on human intervention invites anyone wanting assistane reaching their demise to take part in this ..." he continued reading and clicked on the link. He found a phone number and an address and walked down the street and used a pay phone so his parents wouldn't have any evidence of who was involved. They never wanted him and he didn't really think they loved him but...he new some how they'd be pissed at whoever helped him. He popped a coin into the all but rusted dial. He feverishly mashed the buttons almost missing the last seven with his burly hands.  The phone started ringing and he chewed his lip as the held the reciever to his ear. He smelled like a mix of sausage and B.O. "Uggghh now i know where the homeless sleep...uh..." just then a woman picked up. "Uhmmm...*clears his throat* ...is this Dr. Marves self end assistance office n 91124 bridgetown , washington?" "Why yes it is ,why is it that you're calling, ...?" "..well i...uh" "...just kidding we know why already just a little post post moterm humor" the woman said with a giggle and under any other circumstances this would have freaked him the fuck out. However he had called her. "uuhmmm ...anyway ..i was wondering if i could make an appointment for a consultation..I have the money ...." "Oh no its free the people who pay are the ones who apply to assist the dead" The woman said. "Oh...awesome..i mean...cool" He stammered. "Yes it is.." she said sounding almost evil. "uh..you mean this really doesn't like bug you? to work some where that helps with this sort of thing?" He asked feeling odd now about it himself. "oh no we just ask that the individuals make absolutely sure they have nothing to live for or leave behind. We don't like a lot of loose en--- i mean ...messy paperwork" She answered sounding as if she was smiling. "well thats me, i'm 22, no life, no friends,,nothing..not squat..so uhm when can i come in?" He asked getting back to the point. "walk ins are welcomed" She said seeming to soften up her odd eagerness. "great i'll be there this afternoon..bye" Dennis hung up and started walking to the bus station.

He came upon the bench which was empty. Which was good because the last thing he'd want was some old woman making small talk with him. He imagined the conversation in his head. Her asking him "where ya headed" him saying "to an appointment" and from there she'd either bore him about details about her ever present medical visits which would lead him to either rudely stare forward and ignore her or blow up in her face about how ..thankful he was about being on his way to kill himself. He saw the bus approaching and shook himself internally as to stop spacing out. He whipped out his bus pass and steped onto the bus. He got on and the bus smelled even worse than the phone reciever. Like a mix of pepper farts and garbage juice. "uggghhh now i know where the homeless fuck..." he said under his breath. He picked a seat. It was acrossed from a man wearing headphones and texting. He could make out the messages on the reflexion in the glass behind him.

"vanessa speak to me, its been two days, I know i proposed at lego land. i see that was wrong now i'm so so so so sorry.." *send noise* All Dennis could think to himself was ..glad I'm about to dodge that bullet. He smiled to himself and leaned against the back of the seat and dozed off.

He woke up to the bus jolting and him almost flying off of his seat. "Whoa shit!" he said catching himself against a somewhat sticky pleather seat. That had tears so old they now looked like old war wounds. He stood up and shook his head awake. He saw the clinic sign as he stepped off of the bus.

"Dr. Marve's, Where we make life complete" He rolled his eyes and began walking toward the door. The cliinic was a little hole in the wall. He looked like it used to be a chinese restaurant or something. It barely seemed big enough to do any kind of medical shit. He got closer to the door and looked the place up the down. "Hmm, guess this is as good a place as any to die" he shrugged and reached for the door handle. It creeked and he felt goosebumps rise up on his arms. "Christ!" he said he steped inside and a blinding light sent his pupils into spasms. His vision got a bit blurry "Oh shi-" he said blinking quickly so his eyes were adjust as the door shut behind him. "Welcome, can i have your name and why you want to die" he heard as his eyes regained focus. He recognized the voice from the phone. "Hi, I'm Dennis, people used to call me Denny, my dad calls me Denise!" He said sarcastically and walked up to the counter. "And why do you want to die?" The woman said a small smile that looked painted on stuck fast on her face. "A lot of reason, I'm overweight, my parents resent me, i have no friends, i work in the food court and i can't even make a pastrami on rye right..." he was cut off by the womans interuption. "no no...the most poinient reasoning, ...like...for instance if you were struggling with your sexuality, if you were in some kind of horrible chronic pain, if you were terminally ill and afraid that it would get worse, multiple personality disorder, someones threatened to kill you or maybe multiple someones and you wanna beat them to the punch" she said making a small punching motion inward like friends do in cheesy buddy movies as she smiled at him and tilted her head. "The fuck..? No...i just hate my life, ...don't peopl ever come in here wanting to die for that reason?" He asked almost becoming angry. "Yes...and some of this back out..and we like no mess as i've told you ...so i was just making sure..." she spat back at him and then looked down at some paperwork. "now....uhm lets see here the doctor can see you...." she paused for what felt lie 20 minutes. "Now...." she said perking back up and smiling at him. "...right through that door". She pointed at a large steel door that looked like something out of a psyche ward. "uh..thanks.." Dennis thanked her timidly and started lurching over to the door. There was no hint as to what was behind it...there was a small window but it was boarded up. Whiched seemed more than a little sketchy but Dennis didn't care. He was tired of being alive. He had been depressed and sad and emotionally devoid for too long. He lacked any kind of motivation or want or need out of life. He had nothing to lose and nothing to want. So he oppened the door and thank god it didn't screech at him and there were no blinding lights. Just a sign that said "don't touch wet paint." the sign looked old. He found a door that said "Dr. Marve" He knocked softly. "Uh..doc ya in there" He said feeling his voice crack and realizing how dry his mouth was. "One second suzanne..." he heard from behind the door and a few foot steps later and he was face to face with a man who didn't look like the kind of guy you'd think would want to end lives for a living. "Hello, you must be the young man who called earlier" he said smilng. "i spoke to your receptionists tho-" Dennis started. "i have all the phones tapped, so uhm..whats was your prefered method of...Danny..?" the Doctor asked him. "Its Denny...can i come in or...?" He asked. "Oh yes sure..." the Doctor said and leaped out of the way and two stepped back to his desk and sat down. Come take a seat. "Okay..." Dennis sat down and looked around. "Are you sure you are the right doctor, i mean you don't seem like the kind of person who wants to help people kill themselves" Denny said the doubt showing up in his voice. "What makes ya say that, is it cause i'm a doctor, aren't doctors meant to end suffering, life is suffering so by helping people end their lives i'm ending the leading cause of suffering" Dr. Marve said seeming a bit annoyed but stil too chipper for Dennis's liking. "hmm...Okay..ya talked me into it...You asked me my prefered method...what do you recommend?" Dennis asked sitting back and relaxing a bit in the chair.

Dr. Marve looked puzzled and also sat back in his chair. He spun around and looked out the window. "Well, that depends, Denny,...do you want pazazz and bang or something quiet...do you want a rush...or something small.." he slowly started turning back around. "..do you want TO BE COMPLETELY OBLITERATED ...OR DONATE THAT SLAB OF FLESH YOU CALL YOU TO SCIENCE?" He said finishing off yelling in Dennys face. Dennis didn't even flinch. "Doc, look i'm starting to think this place isn't legit. Between you and better bozo out there i'd swear this fucking place isn't an office or medical clinic at all, but just you and some bitch who escaped the psyche ward and wanna freak people out" He finished what he was saying and began playing with a loose piece of rubber on the sole of his shoe. Dr. Marve sat back down and brushed the small wrinkled out of his shirt.  "no no...i could see where you'd get that idea but no...i just like to get someons blood pumping one last time before it stops, now...how do you want to die?" He asked again this time quietly but looking Dennis straight in the eyes. He pulled out a syringe and walked over to Dennis. "what the hell are you gonna do with that?" Dennis said tensing up in his chair. "nothing...unless you want me too" The doctor placed the syringe on his desk and leaned on the edge of the desk with his arms crossed. "Hell, i'll even leave and you can do it." He said nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders before walking back to his chair. "okay. I wanna be put down in a decent way. I'll take the injection..but i'm a big dude make sure you've got enough to do the job there doc." Dennis said and pulled up his T-shirt sleeve. "oh it'll do the job." The doc said and picked up the syringe and walked over to Dennis and pushed it into his upper forearm. After that the doctor tossed the syringe in a plastic binned marked "sharps".  At first Dennis didn't feel much. Then he felt his fingers and toes going numb. He felt his nose twitch. He wasn't feeling pain. He felt like he was falling asleep sort of but one of those hidden sleeps. Like you're tired but not tired enough to admit it and before you know it you're waking up and its morning. Dennis felt his mind become less aware which was probably a blessing. He looked around the room one last time the walls were turning into jello and Dr. Marve was knealing down to check his pulse. "Almost there"...He felt nothing and it seemed over. Everything went black and he thought  "so this must be death...Theres a whole lotta nothing"..he said in that dark emptyness for what felt like days. Just then something felt jagged...he could feel himself again. "Damnit, i went to hell...i was afraid of this..." He could hear voices...and he could smell chemicals and feel something like against his skin. Just then it hit him. "i'm not dead..I told them that little syringe full of shit wouldn't do the trick" He was alive but he couldn't open his eyes..he wasn't breathing. Just then he woke up...He was strapped to a bed...He was stuck there. He could feel his head getting foggier. He was losing his memories, his thoughts, his feelngs, his friends, his family, he felt panicked and then all of a sudden he couldn't feel anything. He couldn't remember who he was. "Denny boy!, how is my little patient?" Dr. Marve said walking over in a white lab coat that was covered in God knows what. "whose Denny?" he answered. "Well, my friend, you were,..you wanted to die...i'm sorry, Denny wanted to die..so we killed him, Now you can be whoever you want" Dr. Marve said smiling. "...who are you?" He asked. "i'm a miracle worker, and about to be bloody stinkin rich!"  Dr. Marve exclaimed.   "Are you sure about this Marve, are you sure no ones gonna come looking for him like they did the others?" Suzzane the receptionist asked a hint of sadness and desperation hanging in her words. "Don't be silly, he's just some kid...we'll let him lose and he'll be found by the authorities wondering around Zoosky park in his socks and boxers and they'll take him home where he'll have a new life where everyone loves him cause they've missed him." Dr. Marve said now sounding as if he was desperate to believe his own bullshit. "but he won't be him, not...not after this" she said panicking. "Thats what he wanted, Denny wanted to die, he's dead now, and now ...whoever this sap becomes next will be much happier you'll see." The doctor said stripping off his lab coat and putting on his regular coat and hat and grabbing his briefcase. "you're just gonna leave him here?" Suzzane said looking at Denny's body and stroking his face.   "no we are, now come with me toots we've got plans to make!" He boasted and grabbed Suzzane by the wrist and pulled her out the door. She watched as the empty minded man strapped to the slab dozed off again. She hoped desperately that some of his memories would reform while there were out.

The next day Dennys body awoke and was now free of its restraints. Suzanne was standing over him with a smile. She rubbed his hand. "welcome back Denny, ...how was your nap?" she asked. "Denny,...is that me?" the person asked sounding less sedated and loopy. "Uhm...it was...., do you remember anything..?" She asked him. "I remember a needle...and darkness...and .." He looked up to the ceilng. "low ceilings" He blinked and smiled subtly.  "But our ceilings are 12 ft high...?" Suzanne said feeling puzzled.

She handed him an sausage egg mcmuffin, Denny had hated eggs but she didn't know that.  "Here i got something for you to eat just cause you don't remember food doesn't mean you shouldn't eat some."  He took a bite and made a face...and then stared straight ahead for a few seconds.   "what, what did you feel, ..or see?" She looked deep into his eyes...watching his pupils shift. He started blinking fast and spat the bite he had taken into a napkin. "why'd ya burn the eggs mah?" he said and looked irritated. "I'm not your mother..." she said and realized he could remember small things. She smiled but vowed not to tell the Doctor.

The man stood up and took baby steps around the room. He walked over to the mirror and looked in it. He tilted his eyebrows up and smiled.  "Do...ya...uhm... do you remember yourself?" The woman asked.  "Myself, ...thats me?" he said lookng at Suzanne then back at himself and mussing his hair up.   "Yes, you came in here...and wanted our help and now..you...dont' remember yourself..or anything" She said as her shoulder slumped as she walked up to Bennys body.    "Why did i need your help?" he asked.    "you were...uhm..sad and unhappy..and now you can't remember why so i guess that's a plus" she said nearly cryiing.  "It'll be okay" he said and hugged her.    "How did you know to hug me?" she asked confused.    "i don't know i must have seen it somewhere" The large man looked confused.    "...so it does remember.." she said stroking her chin.    "who is it?" Dennis asked.     "..uh...nothiing....yet" she said looking him up and down. She walked out of the room and came back in with a pencil and paper and wrote down the alphabet.  She held it up in front of him.

"Do you remember any of this?" She said. "Well, Duh, Those are letters, do you have anything besides eggs...i'd rather have pizza" He said. "Yeah i'll go get some pizza you go rest  uhm...i'll be back" she said and sped off out the door lockng it behiind her. She hopped in her car and all the way to the pizza place she was smiling and thinking "shit shit fuck" at the same tme.    She began talking to herself in the middle of traffic. "if he remembers somethings he might remember and be mad, but this is a breakthrough, if it worked...if it doesn't he could end up brain damaged in a week in Zoosk park lke Marve said...but no..shit...Suzzane you've gotta help him" she said and shook herself out of her conversation. She parked and ran in to grab two slice of pepperoni pizza, she paid with a $10 and said keep the change. As she charged back to the car she noticed a couple walking in and over heard their conversation.

"No Drew, he wouldn't just take off like that I know my Denny" The woman collapsed into the mans arms crying loudly. "There there Amy, We'll find him...He probably just passed out on the bus and ended up out of town at Rodgers again"

She watched them enter the pizza shop and sped off in her jeep back to the small clinic. She pulled around back and entered through the lab doors. She walked in to find Dr. Marve waiting with a tablet watching Denny's vitals.

"Oooh for me?" He said grinning. "uhm...no i got it for him..you can have the left over egg mcmuffin overthere though" She said smuggly and walked over and nudged Denny. "He won't wake up what did you do?" She said putting the pizza on a stand. "I'm fixing him, thats what he came here for so thats what i'm going to do!" He said. "You know he's sort of remembering things, and if we can trigger the good memories and keep him from  remembering the bad long enough, he won't have pain attached to them anymore" She said trying not to sound bossy. "That wasn't the plan Suzanne, we were meant to find them a living host, someone who was alive but mentally empty who they could toy with for a bit." The doctor sad almost screaming. "Why not try someone with dementia or something inoperable" She stammered. "Because we need someone young and strong not some brittle old cow with dead brain cells this could be a breakthrough in mind control, it could lead to incredible things Suzie!" He said sounding like a mad scientist. "Don't call me Suzie, I haven't been Suzie since August when you..." she stopped and started scratching intently at her arm.  "Cured you?" He said trying to prove a point.  "You didn't cure shit, i felt empty with those memories, but at least i knew why i felt empty now...i feel nothing...!" she screamed and collapsed in tears. Just then Dennis woke up.  "Why is she crying?" He asked looking slightly mad.  "why do you care you don't even know anything" The doctor said scoffing at his unfunny remark.   "I know enough" Dennis said. Just then he shoved the doctor out of the way and onto a syringe of his solution. He knealt down and looked at Suzanne she was scratching a gash into her forearm. "why are you doing this?" He said pull her hand away and covering her arm with his other hand.     "because i had memories that hurt me...and he took mine,...and sometimes i wish i could remember, and when i can't i just..." she fidgetted trying to reach back and start again.      "No.." He stood up holding her wrists and looking her in the eyes. "i'll help" he hugged her and they both heard the Doctor fall over with a thud.     "Ill help you too." She said and sniffled while she wiped the tears away. The both took a slice of pizza and ate it. Then they lifted the doctor onto the stretcher and strapped him in.

A little back story on suzanne. She was sexually abused as a girl. Her parents left her for dead and the Doctor found her when she was a teen. He tricked her into having the percedure. He reconsidered it for a bit and then thought it would work out better on a male brain. She can't remember the abuse but there is still sadness and pain. Baseless pain and shame...without her minds ability to explain and so she does the scratching thing as a coping mechanism and reaactionary impulse. PTSD without any understandable trauma so the brain must create some kind of trauma or prompt the body to do so.

...

The walked out locking the door behind them. Suzanne and Dennis got into her car. He hit his head on the arch of the car door. "Yee-ouch damnit happens every time, fuck!" He shook his head and then looked around. "Where am i?, Where's Doc. Marve? Why am i not dead?" He said looking straight into Suzannes eyes, then down at her arm. "Oh god,,..Did i do that to you...f i did i'm sorry i didn't know what that syringe had in iti knew...i shouldn't have let him do...thi-" she put her hand over his mouth. She looked him dead in the eyes. "Stop, you're panicking, Dr. Marve attempted to wipe most of your memories. I dont know how much you remember but i've been trying to revive whats left of your memories...he originally was going to wipe your brain like a harddrive and sell you to some people who were going to use you and mind control you to do bad things Dennis" She said and pulled her hand away. "please call me Denny" He said and looked confused at himself. "do you remember the names Amy and Drew?"She said slowly. "uhm...Amy is...uhm.." He started stuttering and winced hard and was visibly in pain and laid flat against the cramped carseat. "whats ...wha---" Suzanne looked at him feeling horrible. "...she's my mom" he said smiling. "Yes!" Suzanne said starting her car. "Do you know a Drew?" She asked unsure of the result. "i think he's my dad..." He said sounding shakey. "yes!, i saw them and overheard them talking about you at the pizza place i wasn't sure until just now that you were the Denny they were talking about but now i know. I want to take you home to them, they miss you, my parents didn't love me, and in a way i know Dr. Marve saved my life back then but ...i can't remember anything and i only stay with him because i'm scared. its all i know" She said welling up and swallowing hard. "But you're not a little kid you're a grown woman, ...surely you want to do something else" Dennis said as they pulled out of the parking lot and went off to the pizza shop hoping they would catch his parents.

After about 5 minutes they reached the redlight before the pizza shop and A green Subaru was pulling out and Dennis saw it and it triggered his brain. "Thats my parents car!" The light turned green and they pulled out and followed the car until it reached the police station. It pulled in and they followed. After they did Dennys dad go out and walked up to Suzannes car as his mother walked into the police station. "what the he--whaaa...is that...?" he saw Dennis sat there in the passenger seat. "Dad?..." Denny said confused. "what do you mean. Dad?... of course i am come here!" he walked over to give him a hug.   "I think you're my dad, so i'll hug you" Denny said and hugged him. "He thinks, what did you do?" Drew said looking angrily at Suzanne. "I need to tell you and you're not going to believe a word but the man responsible did  the same thing to me only i don't remember anything. Your son still remembers you. The truth will be hard to hear but i save him and brought him to you and he's slowly starting to remember things. He came to the clinic i no longer work for as of today. He came in yesterday he wanted to die. He was tricked into thinking we offered assisted suicides. The man responsible attempted to wipe your sons memory  it didn't work. If it had he'd be having his mnd controlled by someone else right now." She said breaking down into tears. "We gotta tell the cops and take them and go get this fucker!" His dad said. "I know exactly where he is too but we gotta hurry!".

Drew, Denny and Suzanne walked into the police station and poured their guts.  At first the police didn't believe Suzanne until she was fingerprinted and just as she was about to be questioned her finger prints came back. She hadn't been left for dead. Her parents hadn't left her for dead in fact they had been looking for her all this tme. Her parents were contacted as Suzanne told the cops where the man who she now knew had sexually assaulted and kidnapped her was located her parents were contacted.

Denny was reintroduced to his parents, and himself. He learned to appreciate life. His mind was never quite the same though. He now is the manager of the Sub Slammer and invents knew kinds of sandwiches every month.

Suzanne is starting to remember things. Just not the bad parts.

Dr. Marve had his medical license revoked.. 20 yrs ago and is now serving extensive time in a psych ward where they do experiments on him to figure out whats wrong with his brain.

I know the ending wasn't a dark as you may have thought it would be but i hope its still good none the less.

[ericschumacher]

A new post, (Welcoming Chronic Sufferers), is available at Eric Schumacher

New Post has been published on https://www.emschumacher.com/welcoming-chronic-sufferers/

Welcoming Chronic Sufferers

This guest post by Jennifer Ji-Hye Ko explores how the local church can welcome, include, and minister to chronic sufferers. It is part of my “Welcoming…” series, which features first-person articles on how to welcome various demographics into our lives and church communities. Previous installations include “Welcoming the Hearing Loss Community,” “Welcoming the Eating Disorder Community,” and “Welcoming Single Parents.”

You’re feeling it, aren’t you? That desperate excitement. The quarantine restrictions may soon be lifted, putting an end to staying at home – an end to virtual meetings and church services, distance learning, and homeschooling. I am truly excited for you, but not necessarily with you. You see, as the majority of people will be rejoicing in their freedom, many like me will experience a loss. 

Chronic Suffering

While I am a wife and mother as well as a servant minister in my church, I have also been disabled for 15 years from chronic illnesses. Every day I have woken up with some measure of all-over, system-wide pain. If I can get out of bed, it takes about an hour to warm up my body before it is safe to do so. By my mid-twenties I was inexplicably disabled for three years before receiving my first diagnosis of Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder with Psychosomatization as a result of childhood traumas I had endured. 

My second diagnosis was Fibromyalgia/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome which would further explain fatigue and widespread pain, as well as a myriad of other strange symptoms. Involuntary muscle tension chronically pulls my muscles so tight that I can sprain or tear a muscle simply by moving. The fatigue makes it difficult even to breathe some days. Sitting up can take maximum effort leaving me in shivering convulsions. 

Last year overt symptoms of Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) left my skin feeling like I had a second-degree burn from head to toe. This makes wearing clothes problematic which in turn makes going into public problematic. Between the unique pain and crippling fatigue, it became distressing, unwise, and at times dangerous for me to leave the house. 

This past January, while in treatment for MCAS, I was found to have Lyme disease. Lyme has been attacking my nervous system causing problems such as intense sensory sensitivity similar to chronic migraines. Most recently, symptoms of psychosis are becoming more pronounced taking portions of my agency. Any stimuli can trigger an outburst. Now realizing that most, if not all, of these conditions have been building since childhood, it is abundantly clear why leaving home has become increasingly painful for me these past 15 years.

COVID-19

For the past few months, the rest of the world has joined with people like me to experience a degree of what it means to be homebound and shut-in. Church service has been made accessible in a new way as many churches are now providing live-stream. Community groups and Bible studies are meeting via Zoom and other chat services. People are suddenly acutely aware of the weakest among us. Since March, those of us who have been on the fringe of society, shut up in our homes long before this pandemic started, have been able to be included in ways we weren’t before – and that may soon come to an end.

Church, as you celebrate that first Sunday together again, don’t forget us. I’m not saying celebrate less or feel guilty – by no means! It is a sweet blessing to gather together in person with other believers. But as you are celebrating, remember us. Bear witness that we are here and that we matter. Here are a few ways to continue welcoming members of the church who are homebound in the days and weeks to come.

Church Services

In the first week of quarantine here in Los Angeles, a dear friend of mine texted me exactly what I was feeling: “It only took a pandemic, but we finally got live-streamed services.” We had been discussing ways to make Sunday service accessible for a little while but, for various reasons, it was slow going. It is a big undertaking to provide accessibility. The amount of work it requires can be overwhelming and can cause many people to burn out and/or give up. But for many of us who can’t make it to church on a Sunday morning in normal times, we can feel left out or cut off because of how difficult it can be to love us sometimes. The reality is that it took the majority needing live-stream service for chronic sufferers to be included, and it’s easy for that thought to bring up feelings of anger and bitterness, whether warranted or not. Ideally, it would be a huge blessing for churches to continue live-streaming after the restrictions are lifted. Where that’s not possible, it would be both loving and appreciated to openly acknowledge the lack and to continue to make church services as accessible as possible. 

Compassion

This pandemic has disrupted everyone’s life. Because of how it has, many people now have a glimpse into the daily frustrations and longings of chronic sufferers and those who are regularly homebound. Set time aside to reflect on your time in quarantine and how your feelings might mirror those who have experienced being shut in before now. Write down how you feel during this time and talk to God about it. Be honest even about your most vulnerable, and your most petty, thoughts, and emotions. Then think how a friend might have felt losing her job when illness took over. Or how protecting one’s health can be a daily concern for some. How hospital visits may be necessary but always run the risk of adding infection. Or how not seeing another human being besides one’s family for months can cause an indescribable ache. Not only will this be a sweet meditation with God, but it’s also a way to gain empathy for shut-ins in our church family long after this pandemic is behind us. 

Community

While those of us who are homebound desire community, it is often difficult to reach out and can be tiring to do so. Friends can help take that burden by continuing to make community group meetings available via video chat, even after groups begin meeting in person again. It would be a huge blessing for groups to take the initiative to have a laptop and good WiFi set up for members who will still be unable to be physically present. This is also valuable for one-on-one meetings that can’t happen in person, whether they are social gatherings, Bible studies, or other fellowship opportunities.

For years, I overextended myself beyond my capacity to make sure I was physically attending church events. It never occurred to me that, because I am sick, the church could, and should, be coming to me. Recently I expressed to my husband that it feels as though the church has been coming around us much more. He offered another perspective. For the past 10+ years, I have had one faithful friend who has kept a weekly standing appointment to visit. While I do communicate with others via text and the occasional call, this friend has been my main human contact with the church for some time. When she goes on vacation or has an illness flair herself, I feel the absence. Recently another friend started intentionally reaching out through text, phone calls, and socially distanced in-person visits. My husband conjectured that, as starved as we have been for community, this one extra friend carries a profound weight. But this weight ought not to be carried by one or two members of the church body. Each person has unique abilities, availability, gifting, and personal relationships designed to be a blessing to those suffering. Unfortunately, since chronic sufferers are not visible, it can be all too easy for us to fall through the cracks. 

Bear Witness

As you have likely experienced in quarantine, staying at home creates a black hole pulling our attention into the vortex of our own navels. Isolation makes it really difficult to remember that other worlds exist outside our own. The days grow longer without activities to break them up, and we can begin to feel as though we are forgotten. This is where “tiny texts” and “gifts of remembrance” come in. 

It is noble and godly to pray for one another; however, it is challenging to feel the prayers of others if we don’t hear them ourselves. Honestly, it’s hard to feel much outside the continual current of pain and psychological episodes as well as the hurricane of doctor’s appointments, medical procedures, and self-care routines. But a phone call or text can go a long way. You can text your prayer or text, “I prayed _____ for you today.” It’s also a blessing when people send texts about their day and share their own struggles and celebrations. It brings us out of ourselves and invites us to engage in the lives of others. This is a small, concrete way to encourage the exhausted and strengthen the fainthearted (Isaiah 35:3).

Gifts of remembrance are also wonderful signposts to remind us that we are known and remembered. They are gifts that keep on giving. I have a painting on my wall that is so perfect, so spot-on, that I cried upon receiving it. My eyes are filling with tears just writing about it now. When I look at it from my bed, I am comforted that Camille knows me and remembers me. When my husband pulls out his whiskey sampler, I am encouraged that the Rosses know and remember him. And when my daughter wears her favorite princess dress, I am blessed that Marisol knows and remembers her.

Another way to bear witness is to acknowledge us to others. On that fine Sunday when you meet together once again, verbally acknowledge those of your church family who will not be present to attend services. We feel invisible and to a certain degree, we are invisible. When we are safe at home we are out of sight and very easily out of mind. Additionally, relationships are a give and take. Because we can’t give much and need a lot, we can sometimes feel like leeches, no matter the sacred purity and wisdom the Lord is refining in us. Helping the rest of the congregation remember us is an act of love and advocacy that affirms we are, as Paul says, indispensable to the church (1 Corinthians 12:22), equally part of the body even if we cannot be there in the flesh. 

Be Patient With Us All

Remain patient and remember that patience is active. Being patient with the weak means sitting with us when we are in pain, talk to us when our minds are spiraling, grieving with us as we endure daily losses, bringing us a meal or groceries (again), and eating with us – doing so without expectation of an end to your patience or our need for it. In our fast-paced age, our patience grows thin fast and we are less likely to long suffer unless the Lord gives us circumstances that demand it. Put it in your mind that there is no time limit on suffering or grief, and that the Lord will always provide strength to the willing heart. So prepare yourself and stay with us. Not only will you encourage the fainthearted and help the weak, but you will also slowly begin to really know us and see us as our Savior does. Even more, you will be our witness, Christ to us in times when our vision grows weak. Together we will reflect the body as it is meant to be, loving and serving one another, reflecting God’s glory to the world, whether we are sheltering at home or traveling far beyond our own thresholds.

Jennifer Ji-Hye Ko is a writer, poet, and servant minister at Cornerstone Church West Los Angeles. She lives with her husband Joon and their daughter, remaining tenacious amid her various physical and mental illnesses. You can follow Jennifer on Instagram at @jennifer.jihye.ko.

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Coping With Grief

New Post has been published on https://www.bandbacktogether.com/resources/loss-resources/grief-resources-grieving-loss/coping-help-with-grief/

Coping With Grief

What Is Grief?

Grief is an emotion – a natural response to loss – and the emotional pain felt when something or someone is taken away from their loved one. Most people associate grief with the death of a loved person, but grief can be the result of many different situations. These situations can include:

Miscarriage

Pet Loss

Loss of a long-loved dream

Loss of a friendship

Serious illness of a loved one

Becoming chronically ill

Divorce

Breakup of a romantic relationship

Trauma

Losing a job

The greater and more profound the loss, the more intense the feelings of grief may be. It’s important to remember that even the smallest of losses can lead to grieving – moving to another city, graduating high school, changing jobs, retiring – these are all events that can lead to grief.

To read more about grief, please visit our grief resources.

Understanding Grief:

Losing a loved one – be it a friend, family member, beloved pet, or a child – is one of the most challenging parts of life. No matter how natural death is, the grief associated with losing a loved one comes with very strong emotions like depression, guilt, and anger. Many times, those who have lost a loved one feel both alone and socially isolated from the rest of the world, which is why it’s so important to have someone to lean on during the grieving process.

Knowing the stages of grief will help you understand some of the things they are feeling: denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Also knowing that there is no timeline on grief, that it can take a year or ten or forever, will help you understand the person you are trying to comfort.

What Are Some Common Signs Of Grief?

Losses and grief are as individual as the person experiencing it, but often, the emotions that are associated with grief and loss can be confusing, overwhelming, and scary. Here are some of the most common signs and feelings associated with grief and grieving:

Guilt – many people who are grieving report feeling guilty for things left unsaid to the deceased. Others may feel guilt if they are relieved that their loved one has passed from a chronic illness. Still others may feel guilt for not preventing the death – even if the death wasn’t preventable.

Shock – in the immediate time frame after a loss, many people feel shock and disbelief that their loved one has actually died. This may lead to feelings of numbness, disbelief that the death is real, and an inability to accept the truth.

Sadness – one of the most common signs of grief is an overwhelming sadness. Someone who is grieving may feel lonely, empty inside, despairing, or emotionally unstable.

Anger – whether or not the death was not anyone’s fault, many people feel anger and resentment after a loss. This anger may be directed at the deceased, yourself, God, the doctors who didn’t prevent the loss.

Fear – a large loss can trigger many fears and worries, anxiety and insecurity. Many people report panic attacks after the death of a loved one. The death of someone you love can remind you of your own mortality and make you wonder how you can face your life without that person.

How To Support Someone Who’s Grieving:

The death of a loved one is one of life’s most difficult experiences. The bereaved struggle with many intense and painful emotions, including depression, anger, guilt, and profound sadness. Often, they feel isolated and alone in their grief, but having someone to lean on can help them through the grieving process.

The intense pain and difficult emotions that accompany bereavement can often make people uncomfortable about offering support to someone who’s grieving. You may be unsure what to do or worried about saying the wrong thing at such a difficult time. That’s understandable. But don’t let discomfort prevent you from reaching out to someone who is grieving. Now, more than ever, your loved one needs your support. You don’t need to have answers or give advice or say and do all the right things. The most important thing you can do for a grieving person is to simply be there. It’s your support and caring presence that will help your loved one cope with the pain and gradually begin to heal.

The keys to helping a loved one who’s grieving

Don’t let fears about saying or doing the wrong thing stop you from reaching out

Let your grieving loved one know that you’re there to listen

Understand that everyone grieves differently and for different lengths of time

Offer to help in practical ways

Maintain your support after the funeral

1) Helping a grieving person: Understand the grieving process

The better your understanding of grief and how it is healed, the better equipped you’ll be to help a bereaved friend or family member:

Grief may involve extreme emotions and behaviors. Feelings of guilt, anger, despair, and fear are common. A grieving person may yell to the heavens, obsess about the death, lash out at loved ones, or cry for hours on end. Your loved one needs reassurance that what they feel is normal. Don’t judge them or take their grief reactions personally.

No right or wrong way to grieve. Grief does not always unfold in orderly, predictable stages. It can be an emotional ride, with unpredictable highs, lows, and setbacks. Everyone grieves differently, so avoid telling your loved one what they “should” be feeling or doing.

No set timetable for grieving. For many people, recovery after bereavement takes 18 to 24 months, but for others, the grieving process may be longer or shorter. Don’t pressure your loved one to move on or make them feel like they’ve been grieving too long. This can actually slow the healing process.

2) Know what to say to someone who’s grieving

While many of us worry about what to say to a grieving person, it’s actually more important to listen. Oftentimes, well-meaning people avoid talking about the death or change the subject when the deceased person is mentioned. But the bereaved need to feel that their loss is acknowledged, it’s not too terrible to talk about, and their loved one won’t be forgotten. By listening compassionately, you can take your cues from the grieving person.

How to talk—and listen—to someone who’s grieving

While you should never try to force someone to open up, it’s important to let your grieving friend or loved one know that you’re there to listen if they want to talk about their loss. Talk candidly about the person who died and don’t steer away from the subject if the deceased’s name comes up. And when it seems appropriate, ask sensitive questions—without being nosy—that invite the grieving person to openly express their feelings. By simply asking, “Do you feel like talking?” you’re letting your loved one know that you’re available to listen.

You can also:

Acknowledge the situation. For example, you could say something as simple as: “I heard that your father died.” By using the word “died” you’ll show that you’re more open to talk about how the grieving person really feels.

Express your concern. For example: “I’m sorry to hear that this happened to you.”

Let the bereaved talk about how their loved one died. People who are grieving may need to tell the story over and over again, sometimes in minute detail. Be patient. Repeating the story is a way of processing and accepting the death. With each retelling, the pain lessens. By listening patiently and compassionately, you’re helping your loved one heal.

Ask how your loved one feels. The emotions of grief can change rapidly so don’t assume you know how the bereaved person feels at any given time. If you’ve gone through a similar loss, share your own experience if you think it would help. Remember, though, that grief is an intensely individual experience. No two people experience it exactly the same way, so don’t claim to “know” what the person is feeling or compare your grief to theirs. Again, put the emphasis on listening instead, and ask your loved one to tell you how they’re feeling.

Accept your loved one’s feelings. Let the grieving person know that it’s okay to cry in front of you, to get angry, or to break down. Don’t try to reason with them over how they should or shouldn’t feel. Grief is a highly emotional experience, so the bereaved need to feel free to express their feelings—no matter how irrational—without fear of judgment, argument, or criticism.

Be genuine in your communication. Don’t try to minimize their loss, provide simplistic solutions, or offer unsolicited advice. It’s far better to just listen to your loved one or simply admit: “I’m not sure what to say, but I want you to know I care.”

Be willing to sit in silence. Don’t press if the grieving person doesn’t feel like talking. Often, comfort for them comes from simply being in your company. If you can’t think of something to say, just offer eye contact, a squeeze of the hand, or a reassuring hug.

Offer your support. Ask what you can do for the grieving person. Offer to help with a specific task, such as helping with funeral arrangements, or just be there to hang out with or as a shoulder to cry

3) Offer practical assistance

It is difficult for many grieving people to ask for help. They might feel guilty about receiving so much attention, fear being a burden to others, or simply be too depressed to reach out. A grieving person may not have the energy or motivation to call you when they need something, so instead of saying, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” make it easier for them by making specific suggestions. You could say, “I’m going to the market this afternoon. What can I bring you from there?” or “I’ve made beef stew for dinner. When can I come by and bring you some?”

If you’re able, try to be consistent in your offers of assistance. The grieving person will know that you’ll be there for as long as it takes and can look forward to your attentiveness without having to make the additional effort of asking again and again.

There are many practical ways you can help a grieving person. You can offer to:

Shop for groceries or run errands

Drop off a casserole or other type of food

Help with funeral arrangements

Stay in your loved one’s home to take phone calls and receive guests

Help with insurance forms or bills

Take care of housework, such as cleaning or laundry

Watch their children or pick them up from school

Drive your loved one wherever they need to go

Look after your loved one’s pets

Go with them to a support group meeting

Accompany them on a walk

Take them to lunch or a movie

Share an enjoyable activity (sport, game, puzzle, art project)

4) Provide ongoing support

Your loved one will continue grieving long after the funeral is over and the cards and flowers have stopped. The length of the grieving process varies from person to person, but often lasts much longer than most people expect. Your loved one may need your support for months or even years.

Continue your support over the long haul. Stay in touch with the grieving person, periodically checking in, dropping by, or sending letters or cards. Once the funeral is over and the other mourners are gone, and the initial shock of the loss has worn off, your support is more valuable than ever.

Don’t make assumptions based on outward appearances. The bereaved person may look fine on the outside, while inside they’re suffering. Avoid saying things like “You are so strong” or “You look so well.” This puts pressure on the person to keep up appearances and to hide their true feelings.

The pain of bereavement may never fully heal. Be sensitive to the fact that life may never feel the same. You don’t “get over” the death of a loved one. The bereaved person may learn to accept the loss. The pain may lessen in intensity over time, but the sadness may never completely go away.

Offer extra support on special days. Certain times and days of the year will be particularly hard for your grieving friend or family member. Holidays, family milestones, birthdays, and anniversaries often reawaken grief. Be sensitive on these occasions. Let the bereaved person know that you’re there for whatever they need.

5) Watch for warning signs of depression

It’s common for a grieving person to feel depressed, confused, disconnected from others, or like they’re going crazy. But if the bereaved person’s symptoms don’t gradually start to fade—or they get worse with time—this may be a sign that normal grief has evolved into a more serious problem, such as major depressive disorder.

Encourage the grieving person to seek professional help if you observe any of the following warning signs after the initial grieving period—especially if it’s been over two months since the death.

Difficulty functioning in daily life

Extreme focus on the death

Excessive bitterness, anger, or guilt

Neglecting personal hygiene

Alcohol or drug abuse

Inability to enjoy life

Hallucinations

Withdrawing from others

Constant feelings of hopelessness

Talking about dying or suicide

How To Cope With Grieving:

The greater the loss you’ve experienced, the greater the emotional pain and turmoil that you’re likely to experience, although it’s important to remember that even the most minor situations can lead to feelings of grief and grieving.

Here are some tips for coping with grief and grieving:

Grief is a completely natural response to the loss of something you loved.

When you are grieving, you may want to isolate yourself from the rest of the world. Do not do this. Make sure that you work hard to let people know that you’re struggling and how they can help you.

Ask for help – even if it’s something as simple as picking up some groceries or bringing over dinner, it’s important to ask for help when you need it. Most people want to help someone who is grieving, but may not know how.

Not everyone grieves on the same timetable. What may be “nothing” to someone else can be a major blow to you – so don’t expect more of yourself. Allow yourself the time and space to grieve your loss.

Be patient with yourself. Even if you think you “should” be better by now, getting through the grieving process isn’t something that can happen simply because you want it to happen.

Do not ignore your emotional pain. While it may feel easier to stifle the pain, push it way down there, this is not a healthy way to handle grief and loss. In order to heal, we must face our losses head-on and cope with the grief.

Don’t hide your true feelings by putting on a mask of “strength.” You’re not protecting other people from your pain in doing so – you’re denying it – and that’s something you don’t need to do.

There are no right or wrong ways to cope with grief and grieving – only the way you feel.

Grief is a very personal experience, which means that it’s different for everyone.

The manner in which you grieve may depend on other factors, such as your personality type, coping mechanisms, life experiences, nature of the loss, and your faith.

Not everyone cries while grieving, which does NOT mean that if you don’t cry, you’re not sad. Everyone copes with grief in their own way.

Lean on other people no matter how much it hurts your pride to admit that you’re struggling. Accept all help that’s offered and suggest other things you need help with.

Find a support group for the bereaved – often grief can isolate us from others, making us feel very alone. This is why it’s vital to find others who are going through similar situations in order to find new ways to cope, feel less alone, and have some shoulders to lean on.

Find a grief counselor or therapist – often, especially in the case with a significant loss, coping with grief can be too much to handle alone. Find a therapist in your area (or have a friend do so for you) in order to talk to someone about your grief and find ways to cope with the loss.

Make sure you’re keeping physically healthy. It may seem impossible, but you’re going to have to make sure that you work extra hard to eat well, get plenty of rest, and exercise. Grieving and stress can take a huge toll on the body, so it’s important to take care of your own health.

Write it out. Or draw it out. Find some way for you to express your feelings in a meaningful manner.

Never, EVER, allow someone else to tell you how you “should” be feeling or what you “should” be doing. Grief is an individual experience, and what works for you may not work for someone else. Don’t listen to ANYONE who wants to tell you that you’re grieving the wrong way.

Plan out triggers, like holidays and birthdays, and have a plan for how to handle them. Make plans with friends or plant a tree in your loved one’s honor. Anything but sitting around your house alone, feeling miserable.

When Your Loved One Is Grieving:

For most people, reaching out to someone who is grieving or knowing what to say to them is a very difficult thing to do. This comes naturally for some, but if we’re really honest, it’s awkward and scary for most of us.

One of the main reasons it’s so awkward is that nobody wants to remind someone that they are sad or that they have lost a loved one. If only one thing can be said in this space, it should be said that “You cannot remind someone who has lost a loved one, that they have lost a loved one. They will never forget. YOU are not going to remind them because they carry it with them all the time.”

Never let the discomfort of grief prevent you from reaching out to someone who has lost something they loved – support, no matter what form you can provide – is vital to someone who is grieving. Certainly, you may not know what to say to someone who has lost a loved one – you don’t have to have the answers for the person who is grieving. All that the person needs from you is to have someone there alongside them while they grieve. This can help tremendously with healing and emotional pain associated with loss.

How To Help A Loved One Grieve:

There are ways you can help someone who is grieving, some by talking and some by caring actions. Here are some ways to help a loved one grieve a loss.

Listen with compassion and love, and don’t hesitate to bring up the name of the person who has died with your loved one. This can help your loved one feel as though the deceased isn’t forgotten and that their loss has been acknowledged. 

Ask your loved one if they feel like talking about their grief – don’t push them to discuss the loss, but let them know that you are there to talk whenever they feel like talking.

Acknowledge all of the feelings that your loved one has. These feelings and emotions may make no sense to you, but everyone grieves differently.

Allow the bereaved talk about their loved one as often as they would like, even if they are repeating themselves. Talking about their deceased loved one helps them remember their loved one.

Don’t be afraid to sit in silence with your loved one. Sometimes, just knowing that someone is there and listening is the very best thing that you can do.

Offer to help them with normal, daily tasks like picking up groceries, mowing the lawn, paying bills (especially if they have never been the one to do that).

Take the initiative and help out with daily tasks – many people who are grieving feel intense guilt or shame in asking for help.

Take them to lunch and remember to call. This is especially important weeks and months later when the visitors and cards have come to a halt.

Continue being there for your loved one, months and years later. Support dwindles fairly quickly after a loss.

Pay attention to warning signs for depression or suicide. Make sure the bereaved is taking care of themselves by seeing a doctor, dentist, therapist or other professional. It’s easy to neglect yourself when grieving.

Know that a squeeze of a hand or a big hug shows you love them and are thinking of them. You don’t always have to have a large conversation, but a small gesture will go a long way.

Share your stories of their loved one, remember them and celebrate them with the bereaved.

Be patient and kind with your loved one. Grief is a process, not an event, which means that even if you’re doing the same thing with them over and over, it may be part of their healing process.

Allow the grieving person discuss how their loved one passed away, even if it makes you uncomfortable.

Provide comfort without comparing losses. No two losses are alike, so it’s important not to compare the loss of a child to the loss of a pet.

Understand that the pain of the loss may never fully heal.

Be there for the grieving person on trigger dates – anniversaries, birthdays, holidays.

What To Say To Someone Who Is Grieving:

It can be uncomfortable to discuss the loss with someone who is grieving. Here are some things to say to someone who is grieving:

“I’m so very sorry that you lost (name of person)”

“I heard that (name of person) died.”

“Tell me how I can help.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m not sure what to say, but I’m here for you when you need me.”

How Not To Help Someone Who Is Grieving:

Sometimes, even the most well-meaning actions can cause a grieving person to feel worse.

Here are some things NOT to do while trying to help someone who is grieving.

Don’t invalidate their feelings like telling them not to cry or not to feel guilty. These are normal parts of grieving and should be gone through, not around.

Do not tell a grieving person how to cope with their grief. It’s not up to you how they feel, and it’s important that the bereaved feels supported, not minimized.

Don’t minimize their feelings by saying things like, “Well, it was God’s plan.” It’s offensive, rude, and may hurt, rather than help, a grieving individual.

Don’t push the bereaved to discuss his or her grief if he or she is not ready to discuss it. There’s a fine line between being nosy and being supportive.

There is no right or wrong way to grieve. Remember that.

Don’t offer advice

There is no timetable for grief and grieving.

Don’t judge the way someone is handling a loss – unless you’re walking around in their shoes, you have no way of knowing what their feelings are.

Don’t assume that just because someone who is grieving looks “okay,” that he or she is.

What NOT To Say To Someone Who Is Grieving:

While some of the platitudes we may have heard are often things called upon by those who are attempting to comfort the bereaved, well-meaning comments can often do more harm than good. Here are some things NOT to say to someone who is grieving:

“It’s part of God’s plan.”

“(Name of loved one) is in a better place now.”

“I know just how you feel.”

“But look at all you have to be thankful for!”

“It’s time to move on with your life.”

“You’re wallowing.”

“You should” or “You will” statements.

Additional Grief and Grieving Resources:

Solace Tree – Helping adults, teens and children cope with the loss of a loved one.

GriefShare is an international website which helps individuals locate local grief recovery support groups in the US, Canada, UK, New Zealand, Australia, and South Africa. 

Post last audited 8/2018