Honesty

Let me preach a bit today, my friends, about honesty. Deep honesty is good for the soul. It deepens connections. It’s refreshing, like an ocean breeze. At times, brutal, but necessary. There is a certain peace that comes when you are honest with yourself. Often, our biggest challenges and joys are found when we are honest with ourselves and others. Honesty sets us free.

Honesty is crucial to the treatment of mental illness. I’m here to tell you I have not always been honest in my journey towards mental well being. Technically, I didn’t lie but I was afraid that acknowledging my feelings would tarnish my ‘perfect image’.

After my first child was born, I was in a pit of disparity. This was 18 years ago when people first started talking about post Partum depression. I knew I had it bad but I just knew telling would make me a bad mom. Part of the problem was previously diagnosed depression. Part of the problem was irrational rage at my ex. He seemed to take to parenthood like a duck to water. He could diaper better. She wouldn’t spit up on him so much. She’d blissfully fall asleep for him. I was a wreck with two thumbs. Not to insult children or dogs but both seem to sense your mood and respond accordingly. And boy, was my mood all over the map. Instead of being honest with my ex or asking for help, I let resentment and anger and self loathing build instead. Ultimately, I think that may have had a contribution to the divorce because it’s a pattern that we fell into as husband and wife. Instead, I went back to work early and dug myself out of the hole with a better job and lots of practice. However, in the spirit of complete honesty, there were times I had to distance myself because I was afraid I could harm her. Honesty would have eased my family’s burden. Nothing shameful would have happened if I’d shared how I was feeling. I would have gotten help sooner and been the mother I wanted to be faster.

Deception by omitting is not honesty.

Honesty years ago could have saved me from years of exhaustion. We all know growing families and being a working mom is hard. But, I can’t describe to you how tired I was. I can only say my bones were weary. I spent the first half of my 30’s trying to take the weight off, excercise, and eat every diet on the market. I was still bone tired and fat. During a routine physical, I apologized to my doctor for complaining but I was so tired and couldn’t lose weight. Turns out, my thyroid was no longer working. After some simple tests, I got thyroid hormone replacement and I feel better. Thyroid is also connected to depression!!

Brutal honesty can be a great thing!!

In my later 30’s, I was still being treated for depression. What I never told my doctors was I had these days where I was super-Tanya sprinkled throughout the month. It was perfect. I’d lay in a deep hole in the couch, unable to brush my teeth for days, then, poof, a high energy day where i could cook, clean, bathe, with energy to spare. I only needed a few hours sleep, like 5-6, and I was off again until the crash back to the couch. I know normal people don’t do that but I couldn’t tell. I knew, or convinced myself I knew, the doctors would take my good days. Y’all, this is bipolar disorder. No, I didn’t talk fast. No, I didn’t get promiscuous. Nothing Lifetime Movie Channel showed me, no Questionaire seemed to apply to my symptoms. Yes, I get irritatable. Yes, I had amazing energy at times. I have bipolar type II. I live in a more depressed state with infrequent bursts of lower level mania. Look it up, if you want more information. Suicide and suicidal ideations mark most of my journey through life.

Honesty could have eased today’s burden. If I had been honest years and years ago, I could be living a more normal life.

If any parts of my story sound like yours, please, be honest. Ask for help. Speak up.

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My Recent Journey to Hell and Back…

Hi all,

I’m sorry I haven’t been with you recently. I’ve danced in heaven and experienced torture in the 7th level of hell. Bipolar disorder is a beautiful disaster in which you can experience these highs and lows in which you feet never leave Earth.

Let me be more clear. I was just released from the hospital for suicidal behavior. I have attempted suicide 4 times. I’ve been hospitalized multiple times, voluntarily, to prevent suicide. I will not tell you how. This is an attempt to tell my story, not give suggestions or trigger attempts.

I was diagnosed rather late in my life. I hid the high times and announced my depression to my doctors. I started on Zoloft and recently stopper Vrylar. If you name it, I’ve tried it. Some medicines worked and others didn’t. Some worked a while and other didn’t work over time. Psychiatry isn’t an exact science. Today, I am suffering through a new med combo and detox from an old med combo.

I don’t really want to die. Stupid thing for a suicidal person to say? No. I just want the static in my head to stop. I want the crushing loneliness to end. I can be lonely even at a party for me!! You wouldn’t know. I’d smile, be engaging, eat, dance, and still be trying to plan my death. Unless I want you to know, you’ll never know how deep my pain feel. You’ll never know how loud it is in my head. You’ll never know how crushing my depression might be. Ask me and I’ll probably lie. I’ll lie to spare you the pain of knowing. In my mind, what good would it do you to know? It would only hurt and worry you, in my irrational, circular thinking.

I say I don’t want death. That’s true. I want peace. I don’t want to ride this roller coaster in hell anymore. Even the elation I feel is bitter and sour and horrifying. You have no idea how it feels to live with no inhibitions, hurting those you love, not thinking things through, making decicisions when you are moving through life 10x faster than life’s normal pace. 

Peace. Silence. Of course, peace on earth and shit, but peace inside of me. I pray for peace. I pray for silence. I pray for death, an abomination in the eyes of God. Death will bring peace and silence but only for a moment. Death by one’s own hand is the only unforgivable sin. Not preaching, just saying.

Anyway, I want to redefine my blog for depressives, bipolars, manics, and others suffering with mental illness. We can’t hide anymore. 

Outrage…

You may have seen the news this week that convicted rapist, Brock Turner, has been release from jail after serving 3 months of his 6 month sentence. He was set free for good behavior.

Brock was convicted of rape after being discovered having sex with an unconscious woman near a trash container in an alleyway. Two men happened to stumble upon Brock and the victim. They called 911 for assistance.

Although there was ample evidence against Brock at trial, the judge, perhaps persuaded by political clout, sentenced Brock to only 6 months in jail for the brutal rape. The judge cited Brock’s youth, athleticism, and ‘bright future’ as the reason for such a light sentence.

It’s true to say Brock did have a bright future. As a student at Stanford University, he was a star swimmer. Credible rumors swirled that he would be tapped to join the Olympic swim team. Apparently, he was also a good student, as well. Brock had potential.

At present, his Olympic dreams are dead. No one wants to take on the liability of a convicted rapist. Especially overseas.

His supporters have taken up the cause on Facebook claiming he is not a rapist. His only crime, they say, was a youthful indescression. As if having sex with a passed out girl is something all boys have done. 

What makes this story worse is the victim blaming. Brock’s supporters would have you believe being passed out in your night out clothes is becconing rapists; an invitation, if you will. While we all acknowledge rape is a crime, victim blaming is rampant in this country.

‘She shouldn’t have gotten so drunk’

‘She should have been dressed decently/like a lady.’ 

‘She shouldn’t have been in the alley that late at night.’

I don’t know the victims BAC. Is it possible she drank herself under the table? Absolutely. Teens and college students are generally binge drinkers. Meaning, they don’t drink copious amounts of alcohol daily but do drink a lot of alcohol in a short time regularly. Usually on weekends and/or holidays. 

I do know the victim was wearing shorts and a tee shirt. She was dressed like many other girls in America that night.

Perhaps she stepped into the alleyway to get some air or to smoke. It doesn’t matter why she was there. The point is, she was there and she passed out.

The point is, she was unable to consent to sexual activity. 

The point is, Brock Turner forced sex upon a young woman who could not speak for herself.

That makes Brock a rapist.

REDRUM

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. 

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

Just watched the movie. I couldn’t resist!! Copy and past rocks!!

#ilovescarymovies

Poorly Written Poem

Does he still love me?

I often wonder.

He claims he want to Let me be,

But his logic is a confounder.

Must we yell, must we fight?

Why do you ignore my silent pleas, 

When we pass like ships in the night?

And, why must you call me names that make me cry, causing me to be ill at ease.

It leads me to a dangerous place of fright that lasts far into the next day.

When did I lose you?

I can’t seem to recall,

Or, did I somehow lose me and you, too?

It seems once we lived happily ever after but it’s been some time since that fairy tale ending took a tumble and fall.

I love you still, can’t you see?

But will each crash and burn,

I wonder why you don’t see my head begin to fall,

With thoughts of leaving somehow, churning 

Inside my head.

Salty tears sting my eyes as I agree with your rules, your thought, and unkind words.

Inside, I sink lower and lower, lover, still.

Your words felt like pain in my chest as the tears roll and my mind whirls.

Lights out, lover feels better. Yet I’m left thinking so darkly, it chills

My bones and my spirit to the core.

Why can it open and swallow me whole, I ask my God. Simply let it swallow me, this vast, carpeted Floor.

Let’s Play ‘What If?’

You know this game. You play it yourself all the time.

What if I’d married _____?

What if I take the new job?

What if I didn’t have kids?

Sometimes we ‘what if?’ for emotional torture or for a fantasy. But, we do play the game. For whatever reason, we like to wonder what the other path, the one we didn’t pick, would be like. 

I suggest we play a little political ‘What If?’. This is pure fantasy and speculation dreamed up in my feeble mind. I’m not suggesting any action on your part or endorsing a specific policy or candidate. I’m just playing, ‘What if?’ with my one faithful reader!!

Before we begin, I want to provide a vocabulary lesson, just to make sure we are on the same page.

The Electoral College is a process, not a place. The founding fathers established it in the Constitution as a compromise between election of the President by a vote in Congress and election of the President by a popular vote of qualified citizens. The Electoral College process consists of the selection of the electors, the meeting of the electors where they vote for President and Vice President, and the counting of the electoral votes by Congress.

Basically, the Electoral College is in place because our founding fathers felt we, the people, would not always choose the best candidate in a popular vote. So much for representation by the people, huh?

Now, the game!!

What if no one showed up on Election Day? What if the polls were unmanned and no one came to vote, even though the right to vote is undisturbed? Suppose we, the people, decided we wanted neither candidate to win and, in protest, we did not participate in the popular vote. Would the Electoral College vote without us? Would congress then have the right to choose the president in absentia of the popular vote and the electoral college? What about the seats that are open as of November 4th; would incumbents be allowed to vote or the vacating members of congress? 

If there were a mass protest, what would happen in state and local governments that are no governed by the electoral college? Would vacating members receive another term by default or would a re-election on a state and local level have to take place? 

In any part of the process, could we, the protesting people, influence change over the candidates in a new election?

What if one person in each state voted for Bozo the Clown as a write in? In this case, Bozo would win the popular vote. In some states, the Electoral College follows the popular vote. Theoretically speaking, could Bozo win enough electoral votes to become the new president or would the electoral college in other states defete Bozo by using their influence to debunk Bozo as a candidate even if Bozo won the popular vote in a 50 states?

What do you think???

Elemis QVCUK Today’s Special Value 04/09/16

Wonder what Europeon women love? Check it out!!

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Why you should substitute sugar and how to accomplish it

Interesting facts for dieters!!

the life you gave me

Sugar is a subject of some major controversy lately. Some people label it as “toxic.”there is even a book about sugar titled “pure,white and deadly. “There are many reasons some doctors have been pointing accusing fingers at sugar lately.

Primary among them is the leading cause of deathto in America are type 2 diabetes,heart disease and obesity~ all of which are linked to people eating excessive sugar.

How does sugar cause disease? When you eat sugar, your sugar levels spike putting your body on a “sugar high”that gives you a quick boost of energy,and then crashes suddenly.this crash weakens your body.

One of the ways to combat this is to cut down on sugar.but nobody likes things that aren’t sweet. More complex forms of sugar,that don’t cause the same spikes, offer a good alternative,although they too should be eaten in moderation.

Here,I will discuss 4 sources of more complex sugars…

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Political Rant…

I’m so tired of hearing if I’m not for Trump, I must be pro Hilary. Well, just to clarify, I’m not for either. It hurts me to say that I don’t like either candidate. In fact, I hate the idea that either one of these clowns could be our next president. Never before have I seen such ignorance spew forth like vomit from any other clown running for office.

I am middle class. I have a nice home thanks to the bottom dropping out of the real estate market. Got a great deal thanks to another middle class couple who were days from repossession. I have a nice, used car and truck in the driveway. My fridge is mostly full. We have electricity, running water, and a few of life’s extras. We have clothes and shoes. I know where our next meal is coming from.

But, my happy little life could be destroyed in a moment. If I get sick, like cancer sick, we could lose it all. A drunk driver almost took away our dreams.

My point is, I’m living on the edge, like most of my middle class friends. It’s frightening to think how close to the edge we all are. That’s not what middle class is supposed to mean. We didn’t build our foundations on sand or unstable mountains. We built our lives on solid ground that’s grown less stable every year.

We need good jobs. Hell, we need jobs!! We need them in this country, not overseas.

We need to know a catostrophic illness or personal tragedy isn’t going to bankrupt us.

Every student who wants to go to college, even middle class students, can find a way to go without borrowing against their future.

We need books in classrooms, decent teacher pay, and reduced numbers of students per class. And, get rid of common core, for the love of cookies!!

We need more schools; less prisons!! 

We need nurses and doctors and hospitals!! We need more funding for legitimate research.

Homeless need homes!!

We need so much that these clowns running for office will never understand. They have no idea how in jeopardy that middle class is now. Tell me, America, who will catch me when I fall?