“Success requires persistence, the ability to not give up in the face of failure. I believe that optimistic explanatory style is the key to persistence.”
~ Martin Seligman

I am old enough to been around the block a few times, seen a few things, raised some hell in my youth. Even did some time in the local pen. But I did the typical things, got a decent job nothing really mind-blowing I managed a couple of modular home companies and did some construction on the side. Got married, she popped out a couple of kids. The more I saw, the more I began to question was it all worth it, we work harder to have more things to work harder for.

I guess my current career began when I hit a drunk man walking the roads with my classic orange 71 Chevy El Camino, I colorfully call “Camie”. I thought I would be scared shitless but I found myself staring at the blood all over the chrome and the twisted mangled body feeling more alive that ever. For the first time in a long time I saw everything so clear.. its like someone taking a clawhammer to the framework of reality. My life seemed so meaningless before that moment. I felt an extreme drug like rush, my dick stiffened harder than it had in years. I felt as giddy as a teenager finding out he was going to get lucky that night. Of course I got arrested by the cops, charged and cleared since the guy had twice the legal limit in him and had a list of DUI’s a mile long.

I tried to go back to a normal life.. it felt so fake and cheap even sex paled in comparison to the high I felt. Every time I think of it, it was like getting high for the few time all over. I began to watch snuff films and go out of my way to see accidents or murders.. I drove out all hours of the night in crack gang hoods.. I began to work out just to keep the high was driving me mad.. My wife thought I was sleeping around on her.. One night I decided to go for it. That I needed that high no matter what.. I did research and started to see glaring holes in the legal and justice system. I did the hardest thing I ever could.. I lied to my wife for the first and only time in my life.. I told her I loved another woman, she could have it all if I could just leave her and the kids.. She cried, but she is strong.. I told her it wasn’t her fault. No fault divorces are so easy and painless. All I did was keep the car, the laptop I am using to write this and my clothes. Everything else I gave to her or sold on Ebay.

Well maybe two lies.. I didn’t tell her that I been secretly hiding a couple of grand a year. She always thought it was going into the 401K or the bank.. And with this money I had invested it under a front company (I was going to surprise her at retirement but I found another need for it). I was now single, wealthy enough to stay off the grid.

During my rides in the hood I befriended some of the criminal type (surprisingly enough most criminals are easy-going and despite the oblivious pitfalls of their career enjoy life). One of them could for a price could assist in making sure I was off the grid by faking all the paperwork to say I was dead. I “died” a couple of weeks later.. and was reborn into my new life.

Alot of people will say I had a messed up childhood, watched too much TV, played too much GTA, did one too many dungeon crawls in AD&D etc.. etc.. But I am here to set the record str8 and list my deeds. I discovered what its like to not be held down in a system designed to slowly kill you. Use to think the rich got richer and poor got poorer.. no modern civilization is grinding us all down. We are losing that wild free spirit that plus us on the top of the food chain in the first place..

Maybe. Hmmm…..did I?

Anyways, I started to zoom through my pile and shot a glance over to the husband.

He was just talking away to the kids and listening to music. “Foolish move,” I muttered quietly, “music and those kids will just slow ya down. Ha, ha, ha, ha! suhckah.”

I turned back to my ever diminishing pile, when my eye glanced to the closet and I noticed it.

Those freaking hangars are hanging incorrectly. The clothes are dragging them to one side. And shoo – those pants don’t belong over there; jeans don’t go with the stretchy pants and dangit there goes those funky hangars again. And will someone please tell me what possessed me to place those two short sleeved shirts with the sweaters?

Sigh…..at the worst times does my OCD love to rear it’s ugly head; like when I’m trying to win a race that no one knew they were in but me.

Once I was done I looked to my husband with a defeated, pathetic look – until I saw he had still pieces of clothes left.

“Ha!” With everyone’s attention, I paraded around like a proud peacock; “I finished my pile before you AND I let my crazy run free.”

My husband, turned quickly on one foot, twisted his head to one side and responded: “what the crap you talking about? Have you lost your mind?”

The boy: “mommy done? Mommy play toys!”

The girl: “ha, ha. I farted.”

Yeah, they knew who was the boss

Of course, there are some people in my life who would rush to deny this, citing the social justice work I do, citing my support of various causes, citing my love for my friends. And I do love my friends, and I do care about a great number of things, and try to have the best intentions, but it isn’t enough.

When I’ve acted selfishly, and am privately berating myself for it, I often decide that I am probably the kind of person who doesn’t truly care for others, but I suppose that is just a way of escaping responsibility – if I let myself believe that it is just part of the fabric of my being, then I shall never change, and I have to change.

So I wonder if there are perhaps two sorts of selfishness; the sort that observes the suffering of others, and disregards it with a sniff, and the kind that means ever so well, even as it turns the eyes inward, until there is nothing left but self, self, self. And then I wonder, if that’s the case, whether it really matters which sort of selfish I am, because the outcome is ultimately the same. People are hurt by my selfish actions. I doubt whether or not I intended to hurt them changes their pain.

My issue is that I push myself far beyond the limits of my well-being, and ignore a plethora of anxieties, which hurt as fiercely as raw, open wounds; which should really be dealt with immediately. At some point, because I am nowhere near as good at withstanding pain as I think I am, I begin to break down. The signs are always the same. It begins with sleepless nights, disordered eating – meals at funny times, or no meals, with food squirrelled away to be eaten quickly and shamefully in quiet, secret moments. I begin to lose an hour or so to staring into space, barely aware of my surroundings, barely aware of anything other than the bleak grey that slowly gobbles up everything good. That process being complete, I become utterly, utterly selfish.

It’s not exactly that I cut off contact with people. If anything, I harass people with contact, desperate for affection, approval, anything that will stop me feeling worthless. Anything that will make me feel anything other than a waste of good air. Anything that falls short of the positive reinforcement I require to survive becomes The Enemy.

Yep, I can be fucking awful at accepting criticism. When I’m in a bad way, I read any form of request or reminder as a rebuke, a snub on my capability, my decency.  I begin to see veiled attacks in every polite email. I make enemies of my friends. I ignore the issues they raise with me, focussing instead on what I believe to be their motive, which is always some sort of negative emotion towards me. I assume that because I despise myself, they must despise me too. Essentially, I make their issues, which they have spent their energy explaining, all about me. 

At the moment, I don’t quite know how to rectify it. Just deciding not to be selfish any longer doesn’t work. How I wish it did! But I’ve made the same promises to myself, and the same subsequent mistakes, over and over. Simply telling myself that I will improve isn’t going to work. 

I’ve been taking anti-anxiety medication for a long time, which I childishly hoped would solve all my problems – the mythical magic pills that would cure me of myself. Unfortunately with benzodiazepines, the more one takes, the less it helps, and all I’ve been left with is an addiction, and no idea which direction to go in. If I don’t take them, I suffer panic attacks, heightened anxiety, physical and mental symptoms of withdrawal. But if I take them, the effect is minimal. I am relieved to have sated my addiction, and that is all.

What I need to do is tackle the issue at its root. Of course, because my selfishness is a character flaw that hurts people, trying to tackle its root brings with it a lot of guilt. I feel like I shouldn’t bother – like I don’t deserve to feel better, because people have been hurt. But if I continue to hate myself, and to spin hatred from what those around me say and do, then I’ll just carry on hurting people, I suppose. I’ve got to work on…well, if not loving myself, at least not despising myself so completely that my entire existence becomes one long struggle against an enemy that isn’t even real.  

I’m exhausted, and can’t really think of an an appropriate way to end this post. So here’s a picture of a cat dressed like a shark stalking a duck. Sometimes I really love the Internet.

Photo Credit: Ben Asen Photography, h/t Melissa Fisher

The Institute for Community Living (ICL) celebrated its 27th anniversary last week at the Ritz Carlton in lower Manhattan. The event was made bittersweet by the departure of Peter Campanelli, ICL’s founder who is retiring after 27 years of service to teach at NYU. This not-for-profit organization, a longtime client of ESKW/A, provides social, medical, and affordable housing services for individuals with mental illness and developmental disabilities – an often overlooked population in New York City.

ESKW/A has built several projects that are tailored to the special needs of ICL, such as space for support services, group activities, rehabilitation, and job search assistance; these projects include Lewis Avenue, Lawton Avenue, Stepping Stone, and Milestone I + II, as well ICL’s Corporate Offices. We are proud to partner with this organization that does so much for this underserved population of our city.

Durham could be taking a much more proactive stance on mental health. The national student population has seen a sharp rise in cases of mental illness and suicide as a consequence of increasing financial pressures adding to existing academic stresses. There is a greater need now to look after students’ mental wellbeing than ever before.

Durham University already has a lot to be commended on in this area. The university has a clear and positive policy on student mental health. There is the wealth of detailed information and advice on the Durham University website for students experiencing a mental health crisis, highlighting the counselling service offered by the university itself, and also providing details of a number of other organizations and helplines. Then there are College Tutors and mentors, and the beginning of Epiphany term saw the launch of the DSU’s Mental Health Awareness week.

The very existence of these pages on the Durham website is an indication of the progress that has been made towards destigmatizing and raising awareness of mental illness. That the university not only acknowledges the mental health difficulties experienced by its students, but provides specialised services for them, reflects the broader cultural recognition of the significance of mental disorders.

Yet, for all that these initiatives are worthy of praise, more can be done to fulfil the university’s pledge to “[Engender] a culture in which mental health difficulties are recognised and supported”.  As I learnt last year, it is still all too easy for students to unwittingly slip through the net.

 A brief mention of the counselling service and college mentors in that first week of freshers’, when we are all drunk on excitement and optimism (among other things), is all well and good. But we are young. We are human. And we get distracted, over-socialised and overworked, and we forget.

I like to think that I am not the least attentive and self-aware student in existence. I know that Durham has a pastoral community, and I have friends who have been granted extensions or concessions in their academic work for personal difficulties. And yet, during my third year, when I became so stressed about my work that I lost all confidence in my abilities, and I struggled to sleep and barely ate, neither I, nor anyone I knew, noticed anything was wrong.

 When this all culminated in an episode of severe depression, I had no idea what was going on or what to do. I could barely get out of bed, let alone take the initiative to search the university website for information. I was woefully ignorant about mental illness, and thus completely unprepared to deal with a crisis.

 To make a real impact on our lives, mental health information and resources need a more constant presence in our day to day lives. That mental wellbeing is not talked about more openly and knowledgeably is not a specific failure on the part of the university; it is a deeply-engrained aspect of our culture. However, university life entails a unique mixture of conditions and opportunities that make students and the university well-placed to make a difference when it comes to mental health.

 In Durham there is a high concentration of young, intelligent, and potentially vulnerable minds – why isn’t every opportunity to raise their awareness of mental health being grasped? Where are the invitations for organisations like Mind and Rethink to have stalls on campus? Why do colleges only run welfare campaigns like Stress-Less during exam season?

There are so many ways to promote mental health and raise awareness of mental illness that aren’t being exploited. Durham should build on the good work it has already done, and set an example for the rest of the nation.

The big news of the week so far is that I went off my meds last weekend, and had a shortened dose on Monday, and I actually felt OK, and functioned within reasonable expectations.

I can survive without my meds, but it is usually less fun for everybody involved. My brain gets fuzzy sometimes, and it gets difficult to think. That can be very frustrating. And I end up as a typical ADHD person – distracted, lazy, disorganized, more emotional/exaggerated, and I get hungry. One of the side effects of ADHD meds, at least for me, is appetite supression. I am not as hungry when I take my meds, and sometimes I forget to eat. When I am off my meds, I get hungry, and my brain wants SUGAR. Which is not really what my brain needs.

Anyway, back on subject, I actually managed to function over the weekend, which is unusual, even when I take my meds. I kinda stayed focused, I got stuff done (eventually), and I did not kill my sister. I tried to participate more in family stuff, and everything. It was not perfect by any stretch of the imagination. I did not get much (any) studying done for my class, I still spent time in my room, I didn’t do everything I was planning to do, etc.

The event that started this, or at least pushed me into more action, was another blow-up with my dad. He gets frustrated with me because I have this well established pattern of starting strong and then losing interest halfway through, and I end up failing my class. The two chemistry exams this quarter have not gone very well. I am trying to be honest with my parents and not cover up my problems as much as I have done in the past. I don’t like it, I really don’t like disappointing my parents, and it is easier to lie, but I need to be honest with them.

One of the things I do need to tell them is about my emotional issues, the way I have shut down all of my emotions. I am trying to figure out how to do that. I am going to talk to my therapist about this on Friday, if I remember. Hopefully I will find the courage and time to tell them this weekend.

I need to be brave like another sweet friend, who got out and met new people recently.  I have never been very self assured, and as a result it takes me a long time to make friends.  I have one who is my bestest that I have ever had, but she lives 6 hours away.  Yesterday my therapist asked me if I had a person who made me feel comforted or safe and other than my friend 6 hours away, and her, I could not think of anyone.  It seems like all my friends have grown tired of me, and it makes me feel lonely.  Ugh this post has turned into a giant whine.  I need to get up and do something productive….

I do not want to eat, but I must eat, because otherwise, I die. Depression is back. No, no slicing yourself up, go for a walk/jog thing. Draw. Paint. Make earrings. Make so many earrings. Make more earrings than you have ears, which is two, which means I easily can make a large amount of earrings. 

I want a boyfriend. There, I’ve said it. I want someone to share my life with. Or at least, a gal pal. A gal pal who lives within walking distance. This is not so. A dog? A rodent? All in due time. I have Earl Grey tea. Fuck you, feelings, I have tea. 

I am a bit…uneasy leaning on frustrated this morning. This week it’s supposed to rain everyday, thunderstorms & all that. However, I have not seen a drop of rain since Sunday when I was in Brooklyn with the collective. Thunderstorms give me inspiration to write more than usual and I have not gotten that. It’s been sunny & cloudy & currently the sky is doing that gray/heavy winds/smells of rain in the air thing, but a drop has not fallen. Gaia is playing with my emotions obviously. Nonetheless, I shall push on with this day.

Last night I was going to write about egoic minds, but I was falling asleep as my thoughts were growing & that would have been a very sporadic post to see (my tired mind is an interesting one). However, the basic idea is this: I know I have an egoic mind. I’ve always had it, as many people do, because we’re programmed as such. I have been training myself to not think with care of others opinions or thoughts of me, my art, my writing, etc., but it difficult. My therapist has pointed out my anxiety (now the sun is coming out- smh) & my displacement in social situations. I fear not being viewed in a favorable way which also leads into my paranoia. What are they thinking? Do they think I’m dumb? Do they like my stuff? Do they like me? They can’t like me. Why would they? I’m not this or that or that or this. Constant, constant, constant noise. My meditations help me to eliminate doubt in my mind or worry of such maybes & to only focus on my truths. However, years of self-consciousness has layers that will take much longer than months to shed.

I’ve been attempting to not dwell on my past indiscretions because there are many and they are…despicable in some cases. The most recent & hopefully last was my disrespect to one of my closest friends who I lost as a friend because of my action. I try not to think of it or her and how I may have effected her and how she may view me because it only fuels the egoic mind to push forth and feed on its negativity, but it is so damn hard. One thing 1 South & my therapist taught is that my stress levels are stupid through the roof and that they are mainly caused because of what I think will happen, may happen, or could be happening without definitive proof of any of it. Basically, my overactive imagination working against me for once.

Coming to know a peace where I am not constantly thinking of other’s thoughts is a life goal of mine. If I can reach that goal one day, I will have reached a place in my life where I can be genuinely happy. It will prove that I’ve come so far in my studies that 21 years of self-doubt is a fact that is no longer relevant to me. I want to be able to live for the now. Not yesterday, or tomorrow, or a year from now, not even 10 minutes from now. Simply, appreciating this current time for what it is and for all that it is and that’s it.

- Cook

P.S. I do truly believe one day I may not want to live in New York anymore. It’s becoming a deeper want for me. I am not certain that I want to live in a the hurried city while I am trying to reach a calm in my life.

-Albert Einstein-

A recent study revealed that on average, children laugh 300-400 times a day. Adults laugh a mere 15-18 times.  Somewhere between adolescence and adulthood, we have seemingly forgotten our innate desire to vocally express silliness and joy through laughter, and starting today, it’s time to laugh your way to health and happiness.

You already know that a good sense of humor, a positive attitude, and the support of loved ones play a vital role in overall health and wellness. Add to that frequent laughter, and you have one of the quickest, cheapest, and most essential ways to unleash the child within, bond with others, and increase your own vitality.

One of the major benefits of laughing on a regular basis (none of this 15 times a day mumbo-jumbo) is the release of endorphins. Many people associate endorphins with intense physical activities, such as running, but a well-placed deep belly laugh provides the same mental and physical benefits.

Perhaps you already infuse your daily with hearty doses of laughter, and if so, kudos! If not, consider the multiple health benefits listed below as added incentive to laugh as loud and as often as possible:                     

• Reduce stress
• Increase memory
• Lower blood pressure
• Oxygenate and improve blood flow
• Boost Immune System
• Improve Mental Health
• Release Tension in the Body
• Strengthen Social Bonds
• Boost Energy

Approaching both life and eating with a sense of laughter creates a feeling of enjoyment and pleasure. It reinforces the idea that daily focus on healthy living and clean eating is energizing, joyous, and positive. After all, feeling healthy and looking great is FUN!

The rational part of me knows I’m being hypersensitive in some regard. But the rational part also accepts my irrational minds explanation. 

Housemate 2 portrays herself as sensitive and caring etc etc, throughout her exam period had I not asked her how she was/wished her luck this would be used as ammunition. Now that it’s my turn to be (attempt to be) stressed and struggling I think it’s fair to expect the same courtesy back.

I was told of for not appearing like I cared about what she/they said and not engaging in conversation last semester, so why is not the same thing is allowed to happen in reverse but I’m not allowed to think this way because it’d just be excused as housemate 2 being housemate 2 and not having the capacity to be a bit of a cow 

This is the housemate that accused me of stealing her keys, just because she was having a bad day. Go figure. 

“The Lily Chandeliers are named after my daughter, because she was my inspiration for becoming a Stylist. I left my corporate career to stay at home with Lily, wanting a job with more flexibility. I hope to show Lily that she can achieve anything she works hard for. With Stella & Dot, I know nothing is off limits for my family. I feel grateful that becoming a mom led me to my true purpose & I am proud to show Lily that passion leads to success.”

Get yours today: http://www.stelladot.com/sites/Danailyareese

I am more than my depression.

I am more than my anxiety.

I am more than my weight.

I am more than my appearance.

I am more than my education.

I am more than my talent.

I am more than my family.

I am more than my thoughts.

I am more than my past.

I am more than all of that.

But without any one of those, I wouldn’t be who I am today.

“My daughter and my mother are two of the most important females in my life and I am proud to name these rings after my mom, Mimi. My grandmothers were both called Mimi as well, so these earrings are a reminder of THREE amazing women that I have had the pleasure to call family…they mean the world to me.”

Go shopping today: http://www.stelladot.com/sites/Danailyareese

I wouldn’t wish anxiety or depression on my worst enemy. It makes you feel so terrible about yourself. I don’t think it gets talked about it enough either. I’m ashamed that I suffer from anxiety and occasionally become depressed but if it was more widely talked about I wouldn’t be ashamed of myself, weak or alone.

It’s also annoying because it makes you selfish. I sit and watch the news and recently there’s been some terrible things on it, the Boston Marathon, Oklahoma tornado, Woolwich attack… and I’m sit here worrying about things that really don’t matter all that much.

But at the time they matter a great deal to me.

People suffer from anxiety for lots of different reasons, mine is because of relationships. It’s an awful thing because I get so close to someone, love them, care for them, become attached to them and then suddenly I start to worry ‘what if I don’t feel what I thought I did?’, ‘what if one of us gets hurt?’, ‘what if I can’t do this?’ and the endless questions go on and on and on. I was single for 2 years because I just couldn’t risk the upset again, the heartache, the tears and the hurt. 

It doesn’t bother me being single, it’s lonely and a constant battle of pushing people away but it’s rare I get anxious. The thing is I didn’t even know it was anxiety until very recently. I knew I was scared, I knew I was very destructive with relationships but I didn’t really know why.

This time I’m with someone really understanding and loving, who I can talk to if I need to. So I started doing therapy, which is expensive but for me I’d rather spend money on trying to try and rationalise my fears instead of spending money drinking and running away from them.

The anxiety is now a fair bit more manageable. I have days like yesterday and today when I still panic and think very negatively but the idea of cognitive behaviour therapy is to challenge the views that you take for granted. For example if I were scared of dogs a fear could be ‘I can’t go out on a walk in case there’s a dog there’ whereas a more realistic view could be ‘there may not be a dog there and if there were it is likely to be with an owner and I do not have to make contact with it’.

To me the fear of a dog seems ridiculous, but to someone else my terror of commitment and feelings may seem strange. The thing is when I’m with Matt things seem to fall into place. Not all of the time but mostly, sometimes I get anxious, sometimes I get annoyed but generally it’s my favourite place to be. We’ve not been together very long but we’re very close, before we got together he was one of my best friends but I always knew it was more than that. Even when I’m at my lowest I still want to be with him. The only time I don’t is when I’ve seen him lots and want some ‘me’ time.

So really we’re pretty ‘normal’ as a couple.

I just get scared and then I panic. My mum, Matt and Sharon, my therapist say that everyone has bad days. Today’s been a bad day but it’s not as bad as I’ve known them to be, I’d like to think I’m finally getting somewhere but we shall see. Sometimes I think I shouldn’t have to try so hard, that relationships should come naturally but I guess they just don’t to everyone.

Looking back, I’ve hurt people. People I cared about but pushing people away is always easier. Not thinking or acknowledging your problems is always easier but it doesn’t mean they go away.

In reality the relationship I’m most scared of is the one between me and my anxiety, that’s the relationship I’d like to get rid of right now.

Becca

On May 17th 1990 homosexuality was removed from the International Classification of Disease at the World Health Organisation (WHO).

IDAHOBIT began its journey in 2004. The idea was that gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people would get together every May 17th to commemorate what happened in 1990. It took a year to campaign for, and organise, but on May 17th 2005 the first IDAHOBIT was held.

IDAHOBIT happens so awareness can be raised. For example, the one held in Brighton last Friday had the theme Mental Health. MPs such as Caroline Lucas (Green Party), who recently voted for gay marriage; local councillors; people who work for local LGBT organisations and, I feel most importantly, individuals who had experienced Mental Health Issues plus experienced homophobia. One young transgender woman, Sarah, spoke so eloquently and emotively that I felt compelled to write and share my experiences too.

I am a lesbian. I have known for over half my life that I liked the same sex. It is not a crime to be gay.

I hid it for a number of years from my family. Having been born into, and raised, by a Roman Catholic family I grew up believing homosexuality was a sin. This, obviously, left me rather conflicted as a young teenager. I was afraid to ‘come out’ to my family for fear they would try to change my mind. Within 2 hours of ‘coming out’ my worst fears were confirmed, I was sat on the sofa with my mum by my side clutching her rosary beads and a priest in the armchair opposite whilst they discussed getting this evil spirit out of me. I had never felt so ashamed in all my life. Ashamed of what you may ask, well quite simply myself. My head was spinning in conflict. Until realising I was a lesbian at 14, sex before marriage was a huge no no for me, being gay was a sin and marriage should be between just a man and a woman. Even when I had to go onto the Pill in my early teenage years for health reasons, it had to go past no only the family priest but the bloody Bishop!!!!! Everything I had known was falling apart, it felt like I was losing my family.

Over time my parents kind of accepted my sexuality. I had always been told that it was my father who had had the biggest problem with my being gay, after my parents split several years ago it transpired that it was my mother who had the biggest issues. Why? Because it was morally wrong, she was also sad because she thought it would mean that I would not be able to provide grandchildren for her. I had to point out that I was told I was infertile in my teens thanks to Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) and Endometriosis. As I have ‘grown up’ I have also realised that I am not a maternal woman, however I fully intend to exercise my right to have fur babies (aka kittens please if you are offering thanks).

Serious health problems mean that any partner I may have will need to be able to look after me and care for me when I am at my most vulnerable. The chances of me finding anyone now are slim to none, especially when I do not get out all that often hahaha! Everyone deserves to be loved don’t they?

One of my best friends, Aimee, has been so exceptionally supportive and encouraging. I have truly come out of my shell more. Aimee is like a sister to me, I refer to her as my illegally adopted little sister. She has made me realise that whatever life throws at me I can handle it with dignity and grace. our love of hazelnut lattes; chocolate; Red Bull and fruit tea combined with lots of swearing and a love for all things feline means we get on like a cat with catnip. Aimee, along with all my closest friends, have made my life actually worth living. My friends make me feel loved, cherished and cared for.

I have a close male friend, he has really cushioned the blow and made sure I do not fall into depression as I battle my way through horrid systems. He has his own fair share of issues but he never fails to be there for me, 24/7!

I have both male and female friends. Neither feel I am a threat nor do they question my sexuality. It has not always been like that though.

I used to hold back my sexuality from people I was going to be friends with. Most were accepting but one or two were truly horrid. (names have been changed in following sentences).

One friend, Samantha, was the same age as me plus was on the same college course. We got on well, our lives could not be more different. She had a little boy aged 2, I was not really wanting children.

One day our class was cancelled, that was fine as it was a particularly boring subject matter. We had the choice to either go to the pub down the road or go to the cafe that sold teacakes and pots of tea for one for a whopping £1.50! Being 19 the pub seemed like the perfect choice.

As we approached the pub two males walked in moments before us. Sam was horrified as they holding hands. We ended up having a rather heated discussion, she felt it was wrong to gay. She then kept calling me a dyke every few words, as well as some pretty disgusting swearing. I walked away knowing full well someone had just verbally attacked me, and all the LGBT community. I did not realise at that point in time that you could report anything like that so I just tried to gather myself and try to carry on with my normal life.

Within days rumours flew around college, rumours that I had made a pass (and made rather explicit suggestions) at Samantha. The college counsellor called me to her office as the rumours reached her, and other members of staff. Having counselled me prior to, and after, I came out to my family she knew that I would not do something so silly. A week after seeing the counsellor I was called into the Dean’s office to explain myself (Sam was also at this meeting with her mother). Oh, the look on their faces as the counsellor backed me up. After 2 hours of discussions and going in/out the office it was decided I was in the right. Sam was expelled from college for inappropriate behaviour.

This was before Faceache (you know what I am on about here) and other social networking sites existed, yes there was life before social media. I dread to think what she would have been like if that sort of outlet had been available for usage.

I heard from a college friend the other week, we spoke about what happened back then. I asked if she had heard from Sam at all, her reply? She has recently got engaged to her partner of 2.5 years, a partner called Alice!

Homophobia can come from people you were not expecting it to. Do not be afraid to report incidents or crimes to the police, they will take it seriously.

It is not a crime in the UK to be part of the LGBT community. However, in other countries being LGBT is and people are being executed or punished in horrifying ways. Stand up, be proud of who you are and keep pushing the message that homophobia; transphobia and biphobia is WRONG.

This weeks post is about some of things I have been doing with nan to help keep her feeling involved, mobile and relatively healthy.

I found a site on the internet about exercises that can be done by elderly people. Some of them seem a little complicated and out of nan’s ability range but I think the general idea of stretching will be helpful for her. Of course it is important to consult with a medic/doctor before starting any activities as they may aggrevate existing problems, and cause more damage then good. While nan does her gentle stretches I do my less gentle exercises with some music going, Nan laughs at how puffed out I get while she sits in her chair and does arm raises. If you would like to check out some gentle stretches for your elderly family the website I used is: http://www.eldergym.com/exercises-for-the-elderly.html but of course the internet has hundreds of other websites that a simple search can drag up for you.

While nan was in hospital after one of her falls the nurses let us know how important it was for her to be eating healthy meals. Where nan had been living on her own it seems she had only been eating egg & chips or cheese on toast. Of course there’s nothing wrong with these in moderation, but nan doesn’t feel comfortable cooking anything else so was missing out on vital nutrients. Now I’m here I make sure she has her toast in the morning, with her pills and tea, luckily nan loves tea and gets up to make herself a cup almost as soon as she has finished the previous cup, so there is little risk of her becoming dehydrated. At lunchtime nan has lunches delivered. They give her a menu once a week so she gets some choice in what she has. She never ever ever eats the vegetables that come with the lunches, insisting she doesn’t like them. She also has a habit of ordering meals that she doesn’t like. Today for example she had chicken and mushroom pie, but when it came she told me she doesn’t like pie, or mushrooms. This is the first I’ve heard as we often have mushrooms in our evening meals to bulk them out. So she ate her mash, picked out the chicken and then wolfed down her pudding. Guarunteed if I serve chicken and mushroom pie tonight she will eat the whole thing, except the crust (which I always burn, I don’t know why, can anyone help avoid this?!) Then once we have watched the news headlines at 6 nan will accompany me to the kitchen and we will decide what to have for dinner (I say we, I mean I tell nan what I had planned to make and she says that sounds lovely). I then get out all the ingredients (except the leftover vegetables from lunch, they stay hidden in the fridge til the last moment) and get nan to do something simple like slicing the mushrooms, or grating the cheese (nan likes grating the cheese as it means she can pick bits off of the cheese and snack on it). This helps her feel more like she is able to help, and gives her a bit more confidence. Once I have assured her that all is left to do is put it in the oven I mix the vegetables in (as they have already been cooked they are relatively soft, so easy to blend in with other foods) and then dish it up. In the ten months I have been here there has only been one meal that nan hasn’t enjoyed, lasagne (because, as she informed me halfway through eating it, she doesn’t like pasta). Occasionally nan will pick out some of the vegetables, but as long as she has eaten some of them it doesn’t bother me too much. For pudding I try to include some fruit, so canned peaches, mandarins, strawberries etc.

Nan and I also like to be creative in the kitchen. I have several recipe books, and use them as a basis for dinners, but often add things that need to be used up in the fridge or ingredients I know nan really loves. By doing this we have discovered a great recipe for a fish pie, and a lovely sausage and potato bake. If anyone would like me to share these recipes let me know and I’ll put them up, cooking is a great way to get a loved one with dementia involved and I will be trying out more recipes to share with you all if wanted.

I hope everyone has used dementia awareness week to benefit their own knowledge of dementia, as well as educating others. Thankyou once again for reading, and for the kindness and support you have all shown me, and other carers.

5. Invest in support.

There is a big difference between ATTENDING a support group and PARTICIPATING in a support group. Participants are much less likely to relapse because participants can’t say, “to hell with those meetings” for longer than a few nights before he starts to get phone calls. “You okay? We haven’t seen you in awhile.” No one really notices the attendant, on the contrary, because she hasn’t invested herself into the group. 

A real life example! Ever since I had a running injury, I have been swimming a few times a week. A group of very fast, we’re-going-to-swim-the-Chesapeake-Bay swimmers practice at 6 am, and I was a tad intimidated to join in their fun. Plus getting into cold water first thing in the morning wasn’t all that appealing. So at first I was an attendant. When I didn’t show up, no one really noticed. I was a fringe member. However, recently I have transitioned into a participant. I make a concerted effort to get to know them, show up at the parties (from here on out, at least), and this week I am even calling my first work out (equivalent to chairing a twelve-step support group).

6. Predict times of weakness.

Whenever I give up sweets–usually every year for Lent–I know which hour is going to be hardest. Between three and four in the afternoon. My blood sugar drops and I want nothing more than processed sugar. For awhile, then, I was replacing my sweet treat with roasted almonds…not nearly as good, but also not as toxic to my mood. When I gave up smoking and then when I gave up smoking again, and then when I gave up smoking the last time, I identified the weak points throughout the day: with my coffee in the morning, after my coffee in the morning, after my shower in the morning … okay you get the point. If you can be prepared for potential temptations in the near future, you have a much better chance of using your will power to overcome the challenge.

7. Build on your strengths.

Twelve-step groups do a brilliant job of this when they distribute one day, one week, one month, one year, 21-year tokens. It’s not like the things are that expensive, but oh man are they valuable! I still remember when I got my first-month token. I wouldn’t let go of it. It was the first success and the foundation for other successes. Positive psychologists today stress the value of building on strengths. It is a crucial key to resiliency, optimism, and yes, will power.

8. Think of SpongeBob

So I guess I’ve been living under a rock because before Monday, I did not know that each of the characters on SpongeBob represented one of the seven deadly sins. For the last three days, whenever I feel a sin coming on, I think of the proper SpongeBob character and, well, I don’t always do something about it, but at least it makes me laugh and relax a tad.

1. Sloth-Patrick 

2. Wrath-Squidward 

3. Greed-Mr. Krabs 

4. Envy-Plankton 

5. Glutony-Gary 

6. Pride-Sandy 

7. Lust-SpongeBob

Originally published on Beyond Blue at Beliefnet.com

Art by Jasmine Becket-Griffith

For decades 

she tried

to comprehend

the pain

reflected there

in those liquid pools

◊

She searched

those eyes

the ones that stared

back at her

the ones

that held

all her secrets

◊

They gave

only brief glimpses

of what resided there

careful

not to expose

too much

◊

She tried

to let others see

but her eyes

denied , lied

covering

the agony

 inside 

◊

Until

one day

it no longer mattered

she

gave

up

The end

~✥~

ς 

This is a holiday weekend and I may take some time away to relax.

Happy Memorial Day

(remember the reason for the day)

Went to the doctor’s yesterday.  I told her about depression and eating habits.  Did not tell her about trying to throw up two days ago.  Also did not tell her about multiple attempts at trying to O.D. on Advil. She ended up prescribing me a stronger medication to treat both anxiety and depression and I’m supposed to check in with her again in about a month to tell her what’s up with how I’m feeling.  We shall see.

Doc also had a bunch of really fun one-liners for me.  Must be taking some lessons from my  gal CCT.

Quotes About Me from Doc:

1. “You may be flirting with an eating disorder”                                                                          Just about the only thing I can flirt with. Hey Anorexia Nervosa, you wanna come back to my place for a cup of sugar-free and cream-free coffee? ;)
2. “Have you ever considered that you could have OCD?”                                              Uh. No. Um. Never. Not until this point, thank you.  Just another type of crazy to add to the mental illness list, I guess.
3. “Type A personalities like you are very driven to succeed”                                       I’m a Type A personality? Don’t I usually just let people walk all over me?
4. “Don’t worry, Type A’s are the most successful people in this world!”           Oh good! I’m definitely set for success then! Probably there is nothing in my current state to stand in the way of all my potential success.
5. “I don’t just want you better, I want you well“                                                           I guess this is somewhat comforting? I mean, I’ll give Doc credit where credit is due.  I want this too, but did you really have to say it like we’re in the middle of a medical drama and about to cut to a commercial break?

Ah well, I suppose I can stand a half hour of patronizing talk of hopefulness if it keeps me from eventually offing myself, right?

Our New Friend Lloyd

After doc appointment I went to hang out with Em and Katie.  We went to our city park and hung out on the dock by the lake.  It was such a nice day and so lovely and warm! I was laying down and had unbuttoned my shirt all the way so you could see the middle of my bra and a vertical line of skin from my naval upwards.  It wasn’t a really big deal because no one was around.  Or so we thought.  Kat was drawing on Em’s back when some guy comes over and looks out to the water, but we figured he would leave since we were already on the dock.  So we thought.

The man comes over behind Kat and starts touching Em’s back too. We all let out a little shocked yelp.  Lloyd introduces himself and asks Em if she could tell the difference between a man touching her back and a woman.

Strike one for Lloyd.

I sit up and start doing up my shirt.  Lloyd apologizes for intruding on our “girl time” when we were “topless tanning” and “tanning our cooches”. That is in no way an accurate representation of what you saw Lloyd.  You saw my stomach and that is all.

Strike two for Lloyd.

Despite his apology, Lloyd does not leave.  Instead, he sits down beside me and starts chatting us all up. We quickly learn that Lloyd, who appears to be in his thirties, is in grade 12 getting is high school equivalency after dropping out the first time around.  We also quickly learn that Lloyd is misogynistic, and that he likes to ask young women what terminology they use to describe male genitalia (yet he only gives the choices of “cock” or the fictional word “peni” – I’m sure there are more than just those two, Lloyd).

Strikes three and four for Lloyd.

At this point Lloyd should be long out of the game, yet he persists.  He finally relents and tells us he needs to be at the library in the next ten minutes.  THANK FUCKING GOD. Unfortunately, this was not before he saw all the bruises on my legs from the mudslide the day prior.  Lloyd told me I must be “accident prone” and that “those bruises are hot”.  I don’t know what you’re into Lloyd, but I do not want to be a part of it. sir.

Ugh. Ahhhh. Fuck. No. Infinite strikes for Lloyd.

We waited about five minutes after he left and booked it to the car, all declaring we never want to see Lloyd again.

Note: Pre-Lloyd Smiles

I Pretend to Play Sports Like Beach Volleyball

The majority of my friends are male.  I love this. I adore bro-ing out.  I live for their crude jokes and dark humour.   As long as I can remember, I’ve always found it easier to make friends with boys than with girls (the exception of course is the close but small group of girls I have in my life right now).

Anyway, I love my boys to death, but our friendship comes at a price.  This summer they got it in their heads that we’re going to play sports every Wednesday.  Last week was soccer and that’s when I collected some of the older bruises my ol’ pal Lloyd admired (shudder).

In theory, playing sports is great! I love being outside, I love being active, I love spending time with my best friends.  The only problem is, I can’t play sports to save my life.  Which means that these kinds of games bring back post-traumatic-middle-school-gym-class flashbacks potent enough to rival a ‘Nam veteran’s.

Ah well. I went and I played and I had fun and my team won a game and it wasn’t totally terrible.  I guess I just hate feeling like I’m the most useless at things, feeling like you’re single-handedly letting an entire group of people down.  It probably all comes back to wanting to succeed in everything I do and control my success out of fear that I’ll lose all my friends if I’m not a good enough person.  Good enough at everything, that is.

Regardless of all my paranoia and all my anxieties, I truly did have fun.  Not bathing in a river in a thunder storm kind of fun, but fun nonetheless.

The only part I really felt weird about was that we all decided to get ice cream after playing. I didn’t order anything and a few of my friends responded with “typical Julie”.  This is not the first time comments like that have been made, and they always worry me.  For now, I think they just think that I’m a super health-conscious vegetarian, but I worry that they might be getting suspicious of my eating habits.

Also, as we were eating outside, a car drove past and the driver yelled at us for being “punk-ass bitches” and “giving her attitude”.  We had never seen this woman in our lives before.  Apparently yesterday was the prime day for the crazies to be out and about.  I suppose that I can always be thankful that my type of crazy can only hurt me and would never threaten anyone else.  That’s the good thing about secret crazy.

When we all dispersed, I got home around nine and ran 7.5 km on my treadmill. This morning I weighed 138 lbs, so I guess all the obsessiveness and friends’ suspicions were worth it in the end?

I just want to feel skinny and attractive.  I don’t want there to be a reason for the people I love to not love me back.

Unfortunately, although I try to watch out for my own health pretty well via diet & exercise (but not well enough; I have fallen off the band wagon a little bit as of the last couple of weeks…gotta get back on it though because I AM wearing that damn bikini this summer!), I really don’t give myself the proper TLC that I should. Being an epileptic with grand mal seizures and having a severe case of depression is what makes me confess this.

The diagnosis. When I was 15 years old in high school, I was low on self-esteem even though I lost a bunch of weight for eating salad for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for however many months (seriously that is what I did). I didn’t know a good diet from a bad one; after all, nutrition was never really taught in school and not much at all at home. All I knew was that salads were healthy because they were low in calories and always the best option at a restaurant. Smoking weed on occasion was alright too because it boosted my metabolism (please keep in mind that this WAS my 15 year old girl mentality; not today’s). Anyway, it was sometime after my 15th birthday freshman year of high school that I was walking the hallways with my head hung down low as usual and then suddenly felt not as usual. I just got done with my first class of the day which was Beginning Keyboarding (I don’t think they even teach that class anymore) and was headed to my most dreaded class of the day, Spanish. (Okay, second dreaded–Chemistry was far worse!) Don’t get me wrong here, I think languages are great; but my teacher at the time…not so much. But I did genuinely feel very strange and knew something was wrong…I needed to go to the nurse (I wasn’t intentionally trying to play hooky). I don’t remember anything after lying down but thankfully another kid was also in the nurse’s office and heard me fall on the floor; freaked out by the loud thump, my classmate found me seizing. The school nurse called my mom and apparently my mom asked me what day of the week it was but I was so out of it that I replied with “Saturday”; it was definitely a Tuesday that day, but I don’t recollect any of this. So…what’s the connection here? Why bring up nutritional/exercise health and epilepsy? You must be thinking, “alright home slice, what’s yo point?!”

I was not diagnosed with epilepsy until I was 15. Shortly after that my depression went to very high extremes; I sometimes saw counselors because of one of my parents making me see one but I hated going. As I matured over the years, I had more props for counselors and used to see them on a regular basis. Within the last six months though I haven’t bothered seeing anyone because I so badly want to feel fine on my own, without anyone’s help. I feel like I’m doing pretty okay on my diet and exercise and suppress my stress as much as possible (as in I accept what I cannot control & strive to fix what I can) so WHY on EARTH would I go see a counselor or actively take my seizure medication as regularly as I should? I’m feeling fucking peachy keen here, dammit…or so I was. I’ve noticed that when I’m eating right and exercising hard, my head feels lighter and I don’t experience any symptoms of my epilepsy. Within the last month though despite still working out intensely and regularly, my symptoms have gotten especially bad. Last month I had four seizures in one day, multiple bouts of anxiety attacks, and another seizure yesterday. I’ve been taking my pills regularly again, so what’s the big deal?

The big deal is that I wasn’t being honest with myself; I really haven’t been taking care of myself as well as I should. I’ve gone out drinking to stupid extents and have eaten poorly on more occasions than I would like to confess. I haven’t bothered with seeing a counselor because like I said, I just want to feel fine on my own; after all, that’s why I stopped taking my seizure medication a while back because I didn’t want to have to rely on pills…I just wanted to feel normal. And so I got thinking, “people who feel normal don’t see counselors”. This is not true, and I know better than that, but I let my nerves get the best of me. Just as I did eight years ago when I was 15 (oh my lanta that was eight years ago? I might cry now…), I didn’t take care of my depression because I wanted to be like everybody else; (oh public school system, you dirty bastard). But what is normal, anyway? This little plant here isn’t being normal by growing between a rock and a hard place (tehe), but he’s still growing and standing tall.

Maybe neglecting my depression is what led me to getting seizures. I don’t know nor does my neurologist. But what I do know is that when I do take care of myself with regular exercise, consistent healthy nutrition practices, and give my mind that spring cleaning it deserves, my panic attacks are minimal, I like being around me (when I’m depressed, I don’t even want to hang out with me!), and my seizures are absent. This makes me believe that there is truly a correlation between what I inhale and exert with illnesses/disorders. Maybe someday my grand mal seizures will go away and I won’t have to rely on pills, and maybe someday my depression will no longer get the best of me. The only way I’ll ever be able to find out is if I am ALWAYS utilizing that caretaker habit I have on myself. 

At the end of the day, the only person who can really take care of you is you. You can be your own worst enemy or you can be your own personal assistant always there to help guide you in the right direction. I initially wanted to say “your own best friend”, but it definitely gave off a creeper vibe. Also, though our best friends love us, they do not always have our best interests at heart (the sad but unfortunate truth). So, I figure a personal assistant would be a more accurate description. AND I’m going to be my own personal assistant by reminding myself each and every day why a healthy lifestyle is essential to my mental wellbeing and physical health (especially with my epilepsy; every grand mal seizure that I have puts me at risk for brain damage and even death). But even better, I’m going to be that asshole assistant by telling myself that I need to do it despite times I may not want to or would rather do something else. Either way, I’ll be thanking myself later. I hope my readers, my nutrisassies do the same .

Sincerely,

Grace