#the constant fluctuations between feeling good and bad are taking a toll on me

[fangswbenefits]

I need a way out of my head

[jenniferhettenbach]

Inside the Whale

This is something I wrote for a class I'm taking.

Inside the Whale

By Jennifer Hettenbach

If there was a response to my outburst, I didn't hear it. The only thing I could hear or focus on was the rapid building pressure, the emotion that roared inside my head, the numbness inside my fingers and toes, inside my chest, as if I could feel my body clamp down and try to keep me from exploding all over the small room. It wasn't working. Something was breaking in me, the pressure too much to hold back any longer. The fight to keep tears corralled behind closed lids to spilled over and roll down my cheeks. Pushed too far, and now I had gone crazy.

Society doesn't think much of people like me, low-wage workers, mothers, fathers, those of us who might have made a wrong turn or misjudged a step a time or two, us unskilled workers. Those of us who didn’t start with a leg up or even a lot of choices to begin with. Those of us who stock shelves, run registers, bring the food to your table, make overpriced coffee taste nothing like coffee or fulfill your online orders. We are all too often treated not like human beings, but cogs in a machine where our wants and needs don't matter. Where we don’t matter. Treated as if we deserve to struggle, to do without, abused and used because we didn’t make better choices, we weren’t born into different families didn’t try harder.

Society doesn’t take into consideration the brutality of low wage work. The constant stress, worry, of an unstable, unreliable, unrelenting job day in and day out with no promise of reward or finish line (Guendelsberger 10). A corporation that changes the rules as often as they change their CEO’s, to the benefit of its appearance rather than the toll of its employees. Or the manager who doesn’t pitch in when the work is in the weeds. Coworkers who look for a simple way out or customers who use you as a punching bag. Low wage work is “dehumanizing” (Guendelsberger 10) degrading and relentless.

I’d worked for Wally-World for almost four years when management approached me about a job. A supervisory position for the unloaders, someone to run the crew of maybe ten to fifteen people who unloaded the eighteen-wheeler trailer trucks and sorting merch for both the grocery side of the superstore and the G. M (general merchandise).

“You should apply for the position, Jennifer,” Larry, a support manager I had taken a liking to since he first appeared less than a year ago. We had a lot in common, as we both seemed to share that, “I’m not taking any more shit from you” vibe about us. When he worked, he often stopped by wherever department I was in to shoot the shit, but that night he had something different on his mind.

“I don’t know, I have a low tolerance for people, and even less for their bullshit,” I had told him between opening and breaking down cardboard boxes.

“Why do you think they always put you one the heaviest freight, Jennifer? Because you go in there and get the job done without having to have someone looking over your shoulder all the time. That is the kind of person this job needs. I think you will get the hang of the people in no time.”

And right there was my first mistake. I let myself be flattered by compliments, sucked into that game of sweet talk, none of which helps me pay my bills. One of my many flaws has always been looking for the approval of others, and when that approval comes with a side of encouragement, I let myself believe that other people know me better than I know myself. And what follows is the inevitable ignoring of that little voice in my head saying, “this is a bad idea.”

I took this news home and told anyone who would listen that there was a promotion available, and I was thinking of applying for it. I wanted advice, I wanted thoughtfulness, I wanted praise for my hard work. I wanted someone to tell me that I could do this job, but there was no one who could tell me what I wanted to hear. I had to find out on my own. I also talked to the higher ups, including the store manager, Daryl who would oversee the new spots. A fact that only added to the jobs appeal. I had worked for Daryl on the overnight shift, and I had liked him. He was easy to talk to, nice, and always made the crew under him feel like they were all working toward the same goal, unlike other managers I had worked for when they feel as if their crew should shutter at the sound of their voice.

The interview was conducted by Daryl, which he explained to me in detail what the job consisted of and what my responsibilities were, there was even talk about how my application bumped other applicants down a notch. A nugget that again stroked a very neglected part of my ego and started to add strength to my confidence. It felt good. And I was determined to get this job right. It didn’t take long for word to come back on my favor, a first for everything.

For about a minute and a half I was, dare I say, proud of myself. These people I had been working for, with had thought well enough of me and the job I had been doing to put me in charge of a bigger job. They didn’t think of me as trouble or a liar or untrustworthy, or a screwup. They trusted me to get the job done. I had earned it.

Hold onto something because here comes my second mistake.

I took the job as Cap Team Supervisor with the understanding of how things were going to run and who would be running them. I had asked all the questions and gotten all the answers, these were major factors in the decision of taking the job. But as always, nothing could be trusted, or counted on. From the start I had felt overwhelmed, unsupported, and left out there to survive on my own. Depending on what manager was on duty was the difference in answers or instructions. While one team of management might tell us to focus on the sort of the truck, the other on another day would tell us we needed to get the departments on the floor worked. Work unfinished by other shifts, departments, or just other employees often fell to the Cap Team to clean up or finish. Overstock that should have been binned on shelves in the back were left on carts we needed to sort incoming freight. Wrapped pallets of overstock taken down off a high stack to fetch one item would be left where it sat on the dancefloor.

Maybe it was Wally World Inc. or the store manager, Bret, or maybe it was Daryl himself, but one of them reached down and grabbed the edge of my metaphorical rug and yanked. Before I knew it, I was ass over elbows.

In a quick succession of moves, the job I had signed up for evaporated. The man in charge moved to another shift. Replaced by a mouthy little shit that loved the sound of his own voice more than any one of those plastic dolls on one of those “Real Housewives” shows. He thought a lot of himself, and I could feel it roll off him even before he opened his mouth. I had been in one of the outer offices complaining about one thing or another and looking for suggestions or resolutions to the problems that seemed to be piling up around me.

“I have big plans on how we can change this system and make it better, more efficient and less waste of time,” Danny had said sitting in the corner of the office looking at his phone the first time I saw him. That office was always crowded with management, a place employee out on the floor said they went to hide so I hadn’t paid him any attention. I didn’t know who he was or why he was commenting on a conversation he hadn’t been invited into when Daryl was nice enough to clue me in.

“Oh, this is Danny. He will be taking my place as Cap Team Manager.”

I didn’t like him from the jump. He wore his sunglasses on his head and spoke as if all the problems we had would simply vanish once “wait until they get a load of me”. And as much as I hoped that were true, I had my doubts. It didn’t take me long to realize that our new leader was there under his own set of skillful praise.

Our replacement leader was not only wanting the usual the two, sometimes three, truckloads of freight unloaded and sorted but was also looking to impress the elders. He volunteered us to have more and more departments on the floor stocked by the time the night crew came into stock. All of this with a constantly fluctuating crew of hires, fires, and quitters, not to mention the ones who were always continuous and on more than one occasion violent.

“Davidson!” I had shouted over the sound of rollers on the line, a stretchable line of rollers carrying boxes down off the truck and to the guys sorting it at the other end. Davidson, a new hire, was the size of a football player and easily must have weighed 400 pounds. He had only been working a week and even though his temper was quick triggered, he could throw an entire truck from one end to the other without complaint. The problem was he had a nasty habit of shoving the boxes down the line as if he were launching grenades at the enemy. Doing so, damaged freight, sent freight off the line and smashed fingers of the guys on the other end.

“Davidson!” I shouted again, trying to get his attention. When he finally looked at me, I felt a little spooked by the look on his face. “You are pushing too hard again!”

“Man, why don’t you tell these assholes to hurry the hell up!” he shouted back at me. “Look at the line, its packed full again!”

“Yes, I know, it does that when they have to move and reset pallets.”

“Fuck that!” he shouted and started down the line of rollers violently forcing the line of boxes to spill out onto the floor and bunch together. Boxes of every shape, size and weight spilled out onto the floor of both the trailer and the dance floor where guys on the other end shouted for the line to stop. But all I could do is watch this brute of a man as he stormed toward me. The only thing I could think was, “I hope he hurts me because I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

For this job, I had stepped so far outside my comfort zone, so far outside the box, so far away from what I am and who I am, I couldn’t even find my comfort anymore. I was miserable and unhappy. All I thought about anymore was work. How to deal with it. How to survive it. I took a job I thought I could learn how to do and found myself drifting alone out at sea without a harbor insight. I did the best I could with every ounce of myself, and with little to no help or advice from the upper management. I felt used.

I knew even before I pushed open that heavy wooden door leading into the small manager’s office, that my six-month performance review was going to be a far cry from the positive reviews I had received before. But I didn’t really know how bad until I opened the door and found not one but three managers sitting around the tiny room, none of them make eye contact.

Walmart has a policy that when reviews or talks are given there is supposed to be another person in the room as a witness to what happened. The fact that Danny, thought he needed two other people with him meant that he was concerned with how that little meeting was going to go. It was unlikely that he was concerned that my happiness at my good review would send me into such gleeful hysterics that I would be unable to control myself and he would need these other two to pull my fat ass off him. I thought I felt something hit the floor between my feet, turned out it was that last bit of heart.

Standing there in that manager's office that day, my fight-or-flight mechanism twitched. It felt like a morgue, as if no one wanted to be in there, especially me. I thought I was going to be fired. I had wished, contemplated, threatened, and screamed and maybe even prayed a little over the past months for the strength to quit, to walk out of that building and never come back. But I hadn't, I kept pushing, kept trying to get it right. I tortured myself for absolutely nothing.

“Come in, have a seat, Jennifer,” Danny said, speaking first, and I did, reluctantly.

The small office was square in shape with just enough room to hold two desks on either side of the room. One desk was held a computer, files, and manuals, while the one across from it seemed to be the catch all for everything else that came into the room. Four plastic chairs filled the space between the desk, all but one was occupied. The room felt tighter than it had before, and I felt a twinge of claustrophobia, another kick to my fight or flight. To give myself a little room, I leaned my butt against the catch all desk and put my feet in the chair, giving Danny my undivided.

Danny sat with his back to the computer, papers in his hands. I had tried to like him; some days were easier than others. He was an average guy with average looks, but something about him just told you a bald head and beer gut was somewhere in his future. He had thin blonde hair, combed back from his face, and usually topped with his sunglasses, but not that day. He was one of those guys who was always warning people about what a bad ass he was which was probably one of the first things I didn’t like about him.

Brandon, the overnight manager, sat in front of the door, opposite of Danny. Handsome, sweet, and a good personality with a fondness for bike riding and music. I don’t think I ever saw him get upset, though I did see reflections of a bad day set in his face, though he never took it out on people. There was a woman there, but I cannot remember who she was and if she said anything I don’t remember what it could have been.

“As you know, it's time for your six-month review,” Danny started, some papers sitting on his crossed legs.

Sitting on the desk, my hands gripping the edge to the point of pain. I leaned on my hands, and let my head fall between my shoulders. I don’t know if my brain registered what he was saying at first or if I was just trying to save myself the disappointment of hearing it all by only reaching out to grasp ahold of certain words--

“--giving you the lowest score possible--”

“--this job isn’t for you--”

“--not good with people--”

“--complaints against you--”

Every word felt like a blow to my self-esteem, the pain of complete failure. I felt like an idiot. Nothing I had done, nothing I had tried to do, pushing myself out of my comfort zone, driving myself crazy with anger and frustration to do a good job did any good. It didn't matter that Danny had never pulled me aside and told me there was a problem. It didn't seem to matter then when the company instigated a new protocol; they asked for time to iron out the kinks; a courtesy not allotted to me. Danny gave me the lowest score allowed, so all the other scores I had received before this, all the hard work I did before, wiped out.

There was something about me that Danny didn't like, but the reason is unclear. I know that when he first arrived and increased our workload without the stabilizing the workload, we already had; I told him so. When a former manager I worked under came back as a regular Joe and didn't like me telling him what to do, tried to rile up the crew against me. I didn't hide my anger at him for putting me through it. Maybe it was me not liking him. I have never been good at hiding my disdain. And as he was reading off my review, he had made no effort to hide himself. Afterword, I heard rumors about his distaste for women who were less than cooperative. Of course, people could have just been saying that to be sympathetic.

I don’t know if it were the tears, I could no longer hold back or the feel like something alien like was about to come through my chest, but I very much needed to be out of that room and away from that man. Before anyone could move, I was on my feet weaving through legs and chairs, passed Danny and the witness to my humiliation, fighting to get out that door as if the room were on fire, mumbling through a tight throat and dry mouth about needing a minute. I weaved I was in a full-blown panic, but there wasn’t any relief on the other side of that door.

I poured out of that tiny office as if there hadn’t been enough air inside and hoped to find a great big lungful of relief in that grey hallway that ran the length of the store. To my annoyance, I only found more people. I had to get away from people. The voices, the energy, the words felt like fingers touching me, agitating me, holding me down and keeping me there. If I didn’t, I would draw attention, attention I didn’t want or need, and eventually someone would ask what was wrong, a question my ego wasn’t ready to admit out loud; that I’d been an idiot and a fool to think that hard work and determination would get me through, would earn me a little corrective feedback if I were doing it wrong or maybe a little respect. But apparently, that was another one of those fairy tales like unconditional love and they create all men equal.

There wasn’t a lot of praise in my family. Or understanding, support, or emotion for that matter. My mother was one who couldn’t hide her distain either, though hers was directed at me. She hated everything about me and wasn’t shy about telling me about it. She never would admit she didn’t like me, but I could feel it. She hated me for making her a mother, and maker her feel things she didn’t want to feel; like guilt at not being around. I tried everything to win her love. Changed who I was, what I want, what I looked like, but there was always something. It wasn’t until she got a call from Texas, two states away from her Kansas home. A man she barely knew on the other end. He was fighting with me, hitting me, spitting on me, and he was calling so she could listen. The man continued his tirade, cursing me, punching me, backing me into the corner of the room. On his way out of the room, he picked up the phone to tell her, I was a whore before throwing the phone down and leaving the room. When I felt safe enough to go for the phone, some part of me thought she might ask if I was alright, I was wrong. “How could any daughter of mine be so stupid?”

I squeezed past people, elbowed through groups and freight being rolled this direction or that, mumbling something that sounded perversely polite. I burst through the swinging double doors that lead out of the back and onto the sales floor. I was somewhere between the men’s department and the shoes when I caught sight of Carmon, someone I considered a friend, and she of me.

“Jennifer, what’s wrong?” the small woman said moving toward me. For the briefest of seconds, I wanted to tell her, “I fucked up!” I wanted to let go of all that anger and frustration, hurt and outrage, but I stopped myself. If I opened my mouth and let it out, it probably wasn’t going to be pleasant, or kind or quiet for that matter. I liked Carmen, she had been sweet to me when I first started, and even bought me a cake and present for my birthday once. I didn’t want to take this out on her. Before she could get to me, I waved a hand at her and hurried away, cutting through the baby department into the men’s department.

I dodged and weaved past people, carts, displays and shelves until I burst out into the night air, taking a sharp deep breath as if coming up from underwater. I moved out of the flow of traffic coming in and out of the store and over to the side of the building where there were no people and no lights. The cool night air felt good on skin soaked in sweat and heated with fever. I took long, deep drags of smoke, held it in my lungs before blowing what my lungs didn’t absorb out through my nostrils.

A smile that held no laughter spread across my face as my tightened throat grew unbearable as I completely let go. The tears that had all fallen where joined by others and leaning against the cement building, I slide down the wall until my ass met the ground. You idiot! You stupid fucking idiot! I wanted to scream, but the sight of customers passing by kept me from it, even in my state, I still tried to be a good employee.

I’m not sure how long I sat there on the dirty cement. I knew it wasn’t long enough, the only way it would have been to never have went back inside, and for a minute I thought about it, but even that was beyond my ability to do. My son was in there, working the third shift we had started together, but I had thought I was special, good. But there was also the freedom. My entire life had been at someone else’s discretion. I got married too young, had kids too young, divorced too young. Through all of it, I was helped by others until the choices I made for my life, my children’s lives were no longer my own. That job afforded me a freedom that I could have gotten nowhere else.

Once back inside the cell, I tried to busy myself with removing pens, printer pages, and lists that I always seemed to be stuffed or sticking out of some pocket or another. I stripped off the navy-blue vest with the built-in yellow target on the back in case an active shooter happened to wonder if half his work was already done for him, as Danny continued reading aloud my list of flaws and defects, rounding it off with my lack of civil tone.

“You have several complaints against you from your crew.”

“I give as good as I get, Danny! If they choose to be a constant pain in my ass, constantly take up time, constantly need attention and argumentative, we are not going to be buddies. This is a job not Romper Room!” I said, feeling my control slipping with every word I uttered. Out of the fifteen some odd guys that were on the crew at the time, I bet I could have narrowed down that list to the two or three that had the problem with me. They had had that problem since day one. Some of the guys didn’t like being put in departments where I needed them but wanted to be put in the departments where they wanted to go. They didn’t like that when they gave me shit, I gave it right back.

“Speaking of complaints, is there a reason why this review needs an audience?”

All three seemed to try and speak at once, but Danny’s voice won out. “There needs to be a witness…” Brandon jumped to his feet and volunteered to go as if he couldn’t wait to get out of that room. It wasn’t the only one feeling it. Danny continued to ramble about how much I suck and told me he couldn't make me quit the position, but he thought I would be better off as a department manager working by myself.

“Do you have any openings for department managers?” I’d asked, hoping to get away from him as fast as possible.

“No.”

I threw the nylon vest I had balled in my hands onto the desk behind him, by tomorrow the story would sound as if I threw a hammer at his head instead of a nylon vest. I was done. I was done with this conversation, with this company, with this whole job.

“And by that action, I can see I’ve made the right choice.”

As soon as I was out of that office, I was on my phone first texting my son who was at work somewhere in the building and then calling my husband. I was looking for support, compassion, an ally, but the more I told him the angrier I became. I had worked hard, done my best and gotten the work done. My voice became louder and louder echoing in the hollows of the back room. I felt out of control and on the verge of madness, while my husband kept telling me to stop and calm down before they fired me. His concern for the job, the paycheck, outweighed his concern for my pride, my hurt, my self-respect. I’m sure that if I had been in a different state of mind some part of me might have been able to understand that, but not nearly enough.

I quit my job as supervisor and went back to stocking shelves with my son for a couple more weeks at least. I saw Danny in the store from time to time until one day he was gone. I heard he took another job at another retailer. And one of the few females that had been on the unloading crew took my spot as supervisor, though I heard she didn’t fare much better.

I like to think I learned a little bit about myself. For one, I don’t play well with others. And I don’t like it when the fate of the project depends on others. Wally-World can say a lot of things about me, but they can’t say that I didn’t get shit done. After I left, I started looking for something better, something that might make me feel good about myself. Something to prove to myself that I am better than some egotistical blow hard. Something that said, not so stupid. I decided to go to college. I am currently working toward my bachelor’s degree in English and Creative Writing.

[dragonracer]

Suicide and Mental Health

This is a very long post. Warning you in advance. But it's a topic that's heavy on my heart and it needs to be heard.

I don't usually discuss serious issues on social media because serious issues almost always devolve into political issues, which then devolve into incoherent screeching from both sides in an effort to see who can out-screech the other, at which point there is no longer a conversation and instead just a gigantic stressor added to your life.

But this topic is important to me and with yet another big suicide showing up all over my timeline and newsfeeds, I just need to say it. To put it out there in the world. Even though it will not change a damn thing and will simply be me screaming into the empty void. But it needs to be said: not only does the healthcare system in this country absolutely suck, the mental healthcare situation is even worse.

I lost my mother to suicide five years ago. It occurred from a mix of her own despair and failed systems. She was full-time caregiving for her parents because professional assistance was too expensive. My father was laid off due to company downsizing during a down economy and struggled to find employment, which meant he and Mom survived on unemployment and, when that ran out, got by on what remained of their savings, credit cards, and whatever assistance could be had by friends and family.

Which also meant no healthcare and no anti-depressants. Considering Mom had been diagnosed with clinical depression from a fairly early age, she needed them. My Dad's industry experienced a lot of fluctuation when I was growing up, so he had to endure many lay-offs (never his fault) and find new businesses in his field of profession, and those in-between times meant no health insurance. And even at a young age, I recognized Mom with her medication and without her medication.

Towards the end, she began to swing more and more wildly in her moods than ever before. I suspect more mentally was going on than just lack of anti-depressants, but I'll never truly know. And she had no access to help - be it physical or mental - because this country simply doesn't care about that... or if you're seeking free or discounted assistance, then you must be a deadbeat who is taking advantage of the system, just another hungry welfare mouth to feed (oh, hi, the start of my talk on stigmas as well).

I did my best to try and play "free counselor" with her over the phone every day. But I was ill-equipped to handle that sort of burden. I have no professional training in counseling or psychology.

And I DO NOT handle conflict well. At all. Mom suffered incredibly bad self-esteem issues. Which translated into not being able to really disagree with or argue with her without it being interpreted as a personal insult. I love my Mom. I always will. But it's only looking back on my childhood now over 30 years later that I realize I went through some level of psychological abuse. Totally unintentionally on her part, I know in my heart of hearts. She couldn't help it. And most of the time, Mom bled unconditional love. But when she was upset, the guilt trip to be had was a sight to behold. The very last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt her, and so I grew up a life of walking on eggshells. Being careful with what I said. Often not expressing my own thoughts or opinions if they might conflict with hers. Dad has no fault in this whatsoever because he was living it, too, and trying to do much the same as me.

Anyone who knows me well has seen the effects of this. I don't talk out loud much. Even in family settings or coworker lunches, when everyone is sharing stories like normal people, I'm more comfortable being the quiet listener. And as soon as there is any conflict, I get extremely uncomfortable. It's why I avoid politics - raised voices make me uneasy, hell, I start feeling stressed just READING political threads, so I avoid them. And anytime I end up unintentionally in an argument or am fussed at for something, tears start. Like a damn child. But I literally cannot help it. I have spent my entire life trying at every turn to either avoid or de-escalate conflict... and it goes back to a childhood of trying to keep my mother on an even keel.

So, trying to calm her down from the ledge almost every day near the end was draining. So draining. And there was no help I could give her, no services I could really point her to for help at the time. I (stupidly) did not think she would actually go through with suicide because she had talked about it off and on my whole life. And you know what "they say" - if someone says it a lot, they're just seeking attention. Well, "they" are incorrect. At that point, what I SHOULD have done was had her Baker-Acted, but there's that whole fear of conflict again... I knew they'd throw her in a pen for three days and then she'd be right back out with NO HELP and then super-pissed off at me for doing that to her. Like, relationship-ending levels of pissed. That was my fear. Irrevocably ruining our otherwise very tight and very loving (if flawed in ways) mother-daughter relationship. So, I didn't. Because I feared the potential conflict. It is something I will regret my entire life... because had I tried that, at least I could then say "I did everything I possibly could". But I didn't.

It reached a point where I was so mentally and emotionally shaken by all this that in our final confrontation (online at the time), I refused to answer my phone when she called. The only time I never answered her. I called it tough love at the time. Something I had never tried with anyone because... again... me and conflict, cannot deal.

About an hour later, she ended her life.

After the hazy days of shock and the memorial service, I was losing my mind with grief, guilt, and anger. I was angry at her. Angry at God. Angry at the lack of help and services that could have potentially prevented all this. And I absolutely HATED myself. I held no greater anger than at my inability to have saved her, for not answering the phone and trying (as I'd successfully done so many times before). It didn't matter that my brain logically understood I was not at fault; my heart was broken, and that's all I could feel.

I looked online for grief support groups. There wasn't really anything locally that was either a) active or b) wasn't during work hours. But I HAD to talk to someone. Someone professional. Someone who had no previous ties or connection to me or my situation. I needed an outsider's perspective to keep the guilt from eating me alive. I saw a listing for a suicide grief support group at inconvenient times at Haven Hospice and drove out there. A very sweet counselor there admitted their group would be ill-equipped to help me - it was intended for people "further down the grief road", not freshly-introduced like me - but she let me talk and vent in her office and she offered as much support as she could, bless her, and told me to see if my workplace offered any services.

So, I did. Our ad director at the time handed me a little card with a hotline associated with our healthcare insurance agency. I explained my situation and they set me up with a counselor for a free six-week session. That is, sadly, the only positive thing this entire system provided.

I visited this counselor once a week for six weeks. She was... somewhat helpful, somewhat not. I don't feel like we were a very good fit at all, but she was the only one our emergency hotline plan would send me to. And ironically enough, that's all she took from them... for long-term, she didn't accept the insurance company my workplace uses and so if I wanted to continue my sessions past the six free weeks, I would have to pay in full out of pocket. Which was gonna be roughly $200 weekly that I didn't really have extra to spend.

After six weeks, I was cut loose. Because you totally move right past suicide survivor trauma in just six weeks, right? Ha. Haha.

I looked online for ANY counselor that might accept our insurance. I needed help. More importantly, I recognized that and wanted the help. I ignored the stigma that goes along with people seeking out a counselor or psychologist/psychiatrist. The stigma of being viewed as either crazy or weak. The stigma that exists for mental situations, but not physical... nobody views you oddly or as being weak for seeing a doctor when you're sick or injured, but if you're suffering something mentally?

I found very few who even accepted insurance at all, and none who took ours, and without the extra $800 a month to spend on my mental health out-of-pocket, I simply endured. I had no choice. I found an online forum for suicide survivors and that helped a little bit for a while. But as time moved on, I had to leave. Seeing the newly grief-stricken day after day merely reopened raw wounds and I could find no healing there, only other lost souls who couldn't find professional help and desperately turned to strangers online for at least the comfort of camaraderie in the world's most awful club.

Fast-forward to this year. I found myself in a mentally toxic work situation. I had taken a different position and it was NOT working out at all like I had hoped. What I originally viewed as a challenge and maybe an opportunity to expand myself spiraled into the worst possible decision. I ultimately realized I was not cut out for sales. At all. Because it's 90% rejection, 10% successes. And even the wins didn't feel good because there were so many not-wins. I felt out of control of my life. I felt like a failure. And in that kind of position, you often have to deal with angry people for reasons that you were not responsible for, but you were "the face" to yell at. Yeah, that whole conflict thing for me again... I was undone. I cried in my car a lot. Coworkers found me sobbing in the bathroom an embarrassing number of times. I was in constant stress mode physically and mentally and I feared it would eventually take a toll on my health. I was always fighting with everyone in my life and coming home in SUPER BITCH mode to my poor husband. I was not "me". Not by a long shot.

I was in such a bad state. But I also felt trapped. I didn't want to die, but I did want to simply "not exist". At least for a little while. I needed help. I would have LOVED to have some sessions with a counselor. But Google searches told me the same sad story as I experienced five years ago: nobody takes your insurance, if they take insurance at all, and considering I was constantly 10 seconds away from rage-quitting in desperation at any given moment, I wasn't gonna be blowing wads of cash for mental health out-of-pocket.

Thankfully, a new position opportunity opened up at work that was a MUCH better fit for me, so I received the escape I had desperately been seeking. Today is such a 180 from three months ago that words don't do it justice.

But what if that hadn't happened? What if I was still clawing inside my head? With no real access to professional help?

I get angry every time I read about a suicide. Because I know exactly what it does to those left behind. But I also can't lay much blame on the soul that was hurting so badly that their pain blinded them to anything else... because what freaking HELP do they really have? Friends and family can only do so much - if either is even in the picture (some people aren't so fortunate). A suicide hotline is better than nothing, I suppose, but that seems like trying to put a bandage on a severed limb... it might be helpful in the short-term, but what help exists long-term? If they have no insurance or their insurance isn't accepted by counselors, how can they get help?

"Well, that's no excuse for the mega-rich, they can afford it!" And that absolutely is an understandable response. Other than even if you CAN just blow wads of cash for non-insured treatment, you still get to deal with the lovely stigma of being "weak" or "crazy". Because mental health is not viewed the same as physical health. People don't get it. You're simply expected to "be strong" or "man up". On that note, I imagine it's even WORSE for men because you guys are often reared to "not cry" and "be a man" and essentially have it drilled into your skull that feelings are bad and belong solely to the realm of women.

I get angry every time I read about a suicide. Because that mental health stigma immediately rears its ugly head every time, with every comment about the act being selfish. Because while it absolutely is selfish on some levels, at the end of the day, this was a person who fucking needed HELP and either could not get it or was too afraid/ashamed to try and get it, most likely. The system failed them, but instead of us getting righteously angry about THAT, we victim-blame instead.

Our healthcare system SUCKS. Our mental healthcare system is essentially non-existent. And I think that makes me angry more than anything else.

/ridiculously long rant... if you made it through all that, thank you

[anthropologyarda]

Ecology & the Death of the Two Trees

What happened to the elves when the Two Trees of Valinor died?

Now I don't mean historically - I have the Silmarillion for that. I mean scientifically what happened as a result of the loss of their light source, and what were the practical consequences for the elves.

Because I think the Undying Lands were dying.

The sun affects life on Earth in many complex ways that scientists are still trying to understand, but for us, the most important thing it does is act as the energy source for many of our planet’s processes, such as climate and plant photosynthesis.

Now imagine that instead of a sun as a planetary "engine", you have two trees that wax and wane. Whatever works for you. The bottom line is that strong, powerful, holy light energy - enough to power all of life's processes - is being emitted all of the time. Light is essential to the survival of Earth-like life. Plants need it to grow, and all animal species get their nutrients directly or indirectly from plants.

Now imagine some catastrophic event *cough Melkor* suddenly stops those great lights from shining and all you have left are the stars. Boom. The entire ecosystem goes from having a constant, unrestricted supply of energy to having little to none. No more light, no more energy, no more photosynthesis. All those plants supercharged on tree light? They wither and die. The happy little rabbit that ate those plants? Rail thin and starving. The fox that ate those rabbits? Dead. I think you can see where this is going. Destroy the cornerstone and the entire ecosystem collapses like a tower with no foundation. And the elves of Valinor are part of that ecosystem.

To further compound the problem, the loss of light probably also equals the loss of heat energy. In real life the phenomenon is called an impact winter or a volcanic winter depending on the source. Either way, the environment experiences prolonged cold weather it probably isn't prepared for. An impact winter is like a side of bad news to a main course of terrible news.

So what? Lots of plants and animals die, but famines eventually end. Time passes, the environment recovers. Let's examine timeline a bit. According to Tolkien Gateway, five Valian years passed between the death of the Two Trees and the rising of the moon and sun. In solar years this equals 48 years before Valinor’s energy source was restored. 48 years. Step back and think about how well a bunch of species adapted for unending bright light survived for almost half a century of dim starlight. The answer is not so much 'everything died' as 'everything went extinct'. (There is also the option that the plants and animals of Valinor aged at a slower rate than their Middle-earth counterparts. This doesn't really help them survive for half a century of poor conditions, but it does stop them from adapting more quickly to the new environment.)

I don't think I'm exaggerating. There is actually a legitimate precedent for 'the sun's rays are blocked and everything goes extinct.' It is called the K-T mass extinction event and you might recognize it as 'that thing that killed all the dinosaurs.' Scientists estimate that 50% of all species living at the time were wiped out.

Now that we have our premise let's get to the silm-related part of this equation: what about the elves?

Were the elves starving in the middle of paradise?

Here is where the science ends and the speculation begins. Aman is the land of the Valar, and  I can't imagine they would do nothing as the land withered around them and the Eldar starved. The question is how much could they do.

I will therefore examine three lines of conjecture: one with the best set of outcomes, one with the worst, and one with moderate outcomes.

The big variable here is how much power the Valar could wield reliably long term without harming the elves, and what it means in terms of their control over the land that Valinor was created entirely out of their power.

First outcome (good end): Valinor was supposed to contain all of the plant and animal species present in the world, and some that lived only in Valinor. To me this implies two possibilities.  One is that the environment was incredibly diverse geographically in order to support those species. While we know little about Valinor, I feel like the general aesthetic of 'paradise' does not support deserts and I can't come up with enough isolation mechanisms to explain dodos.

The other possibility is that the Valar systematically altered plant and animal species via magic to coexist without problems and to adapt to the unusual conditions of the Trees, supplementing this engineering with climate control that kept all of Valinor without severe storms or cold. This implies a huge investment of power which might yield a corresponding amount of control. So in this scenario the Trees die, Valinor's ecology goes into an emergency state but is kept alive and nourished by the Valar who have absolute power over the substance of their creation. Perhaps a few especially delicate species are lost, the weather might experience a few fluctuations and crop yields would not be as high as previous years. Everyone is living a little lean compared to previous bountiful years which adds to their general anxiety and fears, but starvation is not something anyone is seriously concerned about.

Second outcome (bad end): Tolkien tells us that Valinor was already a product of extreme bio-engineering. Any product of such extreme artificial conditions will immediately come into distress when exposed to natural environments, like if you tried to grow a tropical orchid in a dry climate. He also tells us that when Melkor put much of his power in the substance of Middle-Earth he 'lost' that power in a sense. It was not beyond his reach and influence but it could only be put to limited new uses. Therefore the Valar might be less powerful than they were when they created Valinor as well. Like Melkor they might retain influence over the material but in less direct ways. Add to this that the Valar, unlike Melkor, have a specialization of their power (Manwe rules the sky, Ulmo the sea etc.). Yavanna and Vana's powers might have been the only useful ones, possibly with Manwe's control of the weather via his sky powers aiding. So the question in this scenario is if the powers of those two Valier would be enough to avert large scale catastrophe.

The key here is not the plants but the animals. No Vala is credited with the creation or influence over all animals. Certain Valar have favorites like Orome's horses and hounds or Manwe's eagles so they might exercise some power over them. But there is no Vala for tree frogs or iguanas or rats. So the Trees die; Yavanna and Vana desperately try to stretch their power out over Valinor to keep everything impossibly alive. That takes care of some portion of the vegetation. If it was anything less than 100% than some individuals are starving and dying over that 48 year period of darkness. The death toll goes up as the percentage of vegetation preserved goes down. But not all animals eat plants. For the carnivores the news is all bad; loss of population in prey species means less to eat for them and some or many of them die. Then we add in environmental effects. For species that need specific climates to thrive the loss of the trees creates a suddenly unstable or inhospitable environment leading to population loss or extinction. Environmental cues for reproduction, flowering and other rhythms of living organisms are also negatively affected.

For the sake of this scenario we will say that Manwe's efforts at maintaining the climate and the sisters' powers are not enough by a significant margin to prevent these effects entirely. Recall our earlier tower metaphor. Like removing individual bricks, each species starts being unable to hold up the weight because of decimation or extinction. Not all species are equally affected; the most specialized who can't adapt fast enough - perhaps entire lineages who are no longer capable of surviving in the new environment - die out first. These might be disproportionately the native species, those most magical and beautiful like the mallorn trees without whom the land would be infinitely poorer and lose some of its magic. 

At first the effects are small, but they begin to accumulate and trickle down from the top through links of predation, parasitism, and cooperation. Natural systems are incredibly interconnected and no species is capable of surviving in a vacuum. If enough animals die even the plants don't escape the consequences. Eventually plants aren't pollinated by insects or their seeds aren’t spread by animals; the disaster begins to affect them too, adding extra pressure to the sisters’ powers. The Valar might have to simply abandon some areas to concentrate on keeping the edible, intensively farmed crops alive to feed the elves. The elves’ domesticated animals might not feel the same pains as their wild counterparts, but if the situation grew especially dire they would have to be abandoned to free food resources for their masters. Even if complete environmental collapse is avoided Valinor is still left with a diminished and traumatized natural environment, and the elves become intimately knowledgeable of the specter of starvation.

Then we have the third, and in my opinion, the most likely middle outcome that falls somewhere in between the best and worst outcomes. In this scenario the Valar have some, but not absolute power over the material of Valinor, with Vana and Yavanna having proportionately the most control, concentrated in the plants. Complete environmental collapse is avoided, but the losses of plants and animals are not light, and are noticeable to the elves.

The Teleri are in the best position in the midpoint scenario. Deep water ecosystems are much better insulated from large scale natural disaster, but coastal regions exposed to tree light would have been badly hit. But heir food supplies from the ocean would have been fairly secure.

The Vanyar might experience some scarcity, but they have the smallest population and live closest to the Valar. The areas where they lived may have held the best preserved areas for plant life. 

And then there’s the Noldor. They lack the advantages of the Teleri and the Vanyar. They have a larger population, no marine resources, and liver farther from the Valar. No doubt they bent their full technological might towards coming up with solutions, but I think they may have begun to seriously fear running out of food, the longer the darkness lasted and they still heard nothing from Taniquetil. For many of the youngest elves, this would have been the first time in their lives they experienced scarcity and food insecurity, and that must have been terrifying. The Valar would not have allowed them to starve, but that fear would have been present in the minds of the Noldor, and been an additional impetus to spur their return to Middle-earth.

Now after all this famine and extinction business, Yavanna and Nienna go coax fruit out of the trees, the sun and moon rise, and everybody lives happily ever after right?

Wrong. (What did you expect? This is the Silmarillion. Nobody is ever happy.)

Jump across the ocean to the Sindar in Beleriand. They don't know anything about the nastiness in Valinor that just went down. They're getting along just fine in the near-dark, thank you very much. Then the sun rises, blinds them, burns them and then shivs them in the back as a parting gift.

Besides supporting the food chain and all life on Earth, the sun also powers the weather and climate (shorthand: weather is short term, climate is long term).

I'm going to overlook the fact that supposedly Yavanna put all the animals into a stasis like state called 'the sleep of Yavanna' after the Valar left for Aman, because what the heck were the elves eating otherwise? And no, the answer is not plants. Many of our edible plants like fruits, nuts, and vegetables need animals for survival. Bees and other bugs pollinate them and animals eat the fruit and disperse the seeds. For the remaining cereal crops insects living in the soil like earthworms have a vital role in maintaining soil aeration and quality, not to mention bacterial flora's role. (I assume here that since elves and humans are capable of producing fertile hybrids we have similar dietary needs)

I'm also going to ignore the fact that weather is impossible without the sun's energy (thus no hydrologic cycle and no drinkable water) and just say that the sun rising at the least must have added a ton of energy to a stable climate, creating a temperature spike and kicking off abrupt climate change on a worldwide scale.

Yes, I just suggested that Middle-earth experienced global warming.

I've already talked about a probable famine and mass extinction in Aman, so let's think about what the effects sudden changes in rainfall and temperature might have on Beleriand! (hint: polar bears)

That's right! More famine! More mass extinction! Lots of crispy plants, dried up rivers and poor harvests. Some of the elves may have had protection. Like the Valar, Melian's power might have been helpful keeping Doriath supplied. Ulmo and his maiar might also have helped the elves on the coastline keep cool and fed.

We know little about the Avari but it seems to be implied that they were the least centralized of the elven kindreds and most nomadic. I don't know if this is fannon or cannon, but I always considered them be be most similar to hunter gatherer peoples rather than settled farmers. If so, they would have been the hardest hit of all the elves of Beleriand because their food supply would be almost entirely dependent on the availability of local plants and animals. This would actually be a good explanation for the dissolution and extinction of Avari culture if survival demanded they go seek out settled peoples with more reliable food supplies.

[anonymoustellall-blog]

Wondering.

Do you ever wonder where you would be if you didn't make that choice years ago? Didn't pick up the phone call that changed everything? What would it be like? Who would I be today? It's hard to decide if it was the best thing that lead to where you are now, or was it the worst decision and life could have been better. I am happy where I am at though. I reconnected with a long time crush after leaving a long relationship with my 1st or maybe 2nd love. I don't know which one it would be really. I had an on and off again relationship with a guy for 5 years. I don't know if I was really in love with him, or if it was the illusion of love. Either way, both of those relationships took its toll on me. Both were controlling. Both had cheated. I think I have a magnet for douche bags. Not this time around though. This time feels different. I like my crush. I wonder if he feels the same? Would he like to see where this would go? I don't know. We both had pretty much cut ties with our previous relationships in the same weekend. Haven't stopped hanging out since then. It has honestly been the best time of my life. Just sitting there and being goofy and talking and just being ourselves has been more fun than any of the luxury vacations, gift showering, and weekend trips from my last relationship. I can't explain how great it feels. To leave a toxic relationship and find someone who shows you everything you've been missing. In my last, well... Where to begin..? From the start I suppose. The 1st time we met was wonderful. Things after fluctuated between really good and really bad. He had been my boss. We got off to a rough start. Working together was unimaginably difficult. The littlest thing I did wrong, he'd threaten to fire me. Always had me running in circles. Always had eyes wandering to other places. There was always something to fight about. Was it because we were both stressed from working 16 hour days, or was that a hint at the beginning of the most toxic thing I have yet to endure. We were inseparable though. Having good times and bad. 4 months later I fell pregnant. I knew. I knew before I even took the test. The nauseous feelings. Uncontrollable cravings for Obee's and Pulled pork sandwiches with cornbread and baked beans. The fact that my best friend called to tell me she was pregnant. That was what lead me to take the test. Actually I took 6. I was in disbelief. Pregnant at 19. Telling him was the hardest thing. He told me I had to abort. If I didn't, he would leave me. He would also take the it away and would be able to due to my mental health history. He scared me into doing it. July 3rd, 2014. That day changed me. The constant thought of what would have been. February 25th, would have been the due date. Seeing the ultra sound was so painful. He didn't care. He was just there to drive. I remember it all. They had to sedate me because I was so nervous. After it happened, I immediately sat up and bursted into tears. The way home, I did nothing but cry and he yelled at me to stop. As I was going through all of that, he went shopping for himself? I am on a table doing what I told myself I would never do, and he is out buying shirts. Yeah, what a great guy. After that, my depression had really progressed, a long with my bipolar mood swings. I tried to commit suicide. I swallowed an entire bottle (60 pills) of lithium. I remember it all. I drove onto a backstreet. Turned off my phone and sat there looking at the moon, just thinking. Looking at the bottle, looking out the window, just wondering what to do. I finally decided. I took them all. Set the seat back and tried to sleep. My stomach began to turn and I proceeded to throw up. Then just laid back down into the seat. I remember how it all felt. The feeling of everything slowly drifting away. You feel your eyes becoming heavy and you just want to sleep. Next thing I know, I'm in the hospital. With the man who lead me to that point sitting in the chair next to my bed. A few months after that, things seemed to be okay. That was shortly over. I constantly caught him talking to other women. He told them things he never told me anymore. He never called me beautiful. Never held me. Never kissed me or touched me. He kept calling me fat, which 5'10" at 150lbs is pretty damn healthy maybe a few pounds over, but still in great health. I lost 40lbs because of him. Detoxed my body. Starved myself. I became emotionally and physically weak. Even that wasn't good enough. Instead of being called fat, he constantly told me I needed to gain weight because I looked sickly thin. Nothing was ever good enough? Anything I did was never good enough. He made me feel like an outcast. Especially when we hung with his friends. I have social anxiety. So my words don't come out right, I mix up my words and pronounce things wrong. He would always tell me to stop talking. So I did. Whenever we went out, I just sat there in silence. When I did though, he would yell at me for not talking. I was never good enough. He was so controlling a hypocritical. Do as I say, not as I do. I listened though. I stayed. Did I stay because I loved him? Or did I stay because he convinced me no one could love me. That this was it. The best I would have. I believed it. I stayed through all the fights that became violent. We never hit each other with skin to skin contact. Didn't mean things weren't thrown at each other. I've thrown my phone at him. He threw a bottle at me. Thing is. He has better aim. He constantly cheated on me. Over and over again. I became pregnant again November 2016. Due date was August 5th. I was pregnant about the same amount of time I was last time. This time though. Everything hit so soon. Craved pickles 2 weeks after conception. Morning sickness all day and night. As it progressed, I even had a bump. It didn't make since? How did I have a bump at 8 weeks this time and not the last? I ate everything in sight though. Really really craved grilled cheese, sour patch kids and lemonade. Oh my god, so much lemonade. Probably drank a pitcher a day. Once again. Here goes the same thing as July 2014. Again, this time was so much different. I didn't ask to see the ultra sound monitor. Didn't ask if it was multiples. Just wanted to be done with it. That didn't happen. A week after, it was awful. I was in crippling pain. It was seriously debilitating. I went to take a bath. I was hemorrhaging. It was awful. I remember just sitting in the bath tub and there was so much blood. Clots the size of my palm. They wouldn't stop. I was so scared. In tears and so afraid as to what was happening to me. I called planned parenthood and told them what was happening. They said to come in immediately. I called him because I needed him to drive. He wouldn't because he couldn't leave work. I had to drive an hour, in pain and do this alone. There I was. On the the table again. They didn't get all the tissue from the 1st time. Rare, but common with twins. Twins. Are you fucking kidding me? As if I didn't feel like shit already. Here I am, alone. Dealing with this by myself. I had to stay longer than usual because I didn't have a ride. It was just me. I gave up a lot for him. I did everything for him. All he did was cheat. Finally I have had enough. I packed my things and left him. It was the best decision of my life. I will never regret leaving.