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This is genuinely what I’m struggling with right now

Journal page.

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A comic about controlling your symptoms and trying to get other people to understand why it’s so hard to do so, in goo form

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And so am I

softieblu ♡ requested by anon ♡ 

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Have to remember this.

You’re not reading this by accident.

Everything is going to be okay.

Breathe and remember that you’ve been in this place before.

You’ve been this uncomfortable, anxious and scared, and you survived.

Close your eyes and feel the universe within you making a way for you right now.

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Drop the fight and move on to greener pasture

instagram : thetypewriterdaily

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Become a Mental Health Advocate in Ten Seconds or less

On some kind of social media that I’m not sure what it is, someone named Madison (aka @https_mads) wrote the following:

“Stop dropping the suicide hotline every time someone commits. People who are depressed don’t want to talk to a random stranger they want your support and love. We know the hotline exists. It’s a Google search away. If you really care you’d fucking check on your friends.”

Original post seems to have been penned on 6/5/18 at 8:25 PM

I originally saw a picture of this post on facebook and was eager to see the comments but quickly became dismayed to discover how little people understood. For whatever reason they had, they were calling quote selfish, self-focused and several other things. Losing courage, I called my mom for a pick me up only to discover that she felt the same way as those who were against Madison’s brilliant post. My mom believes very much in family—which is great—but believes that once someone is IN a relationship, especially if they have kids, I am to assume their friendship “commitment” to me is to lessen as they have other, new priorities. I was really upset and here are my concerns.

1. PROFESSIONAL CARE IS NEEDED, YES, BUT DOES NOT PROVIDE THE TENDER TOUCH

2. Anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder: WHATEVER THE ISSUE IT IS REINFORCED BY ISOLATION

3. AM I QUALIFIED TO HELP

WHAT PROFESSIONAL HELP CAN’T DO

You might be wondering why I’m so “stuck” on this as my mom would say. Here’s why. I’ve got possibly the best therapist I’ve ever had at this point (I’ve been super blessed that way) and I have a doctor who is very good and cares marginally about my well being. Why isn’t that enough? Easy: Partially because I am paying them. It is like hiring an escort and feeling loved. Unlike an escort, my therapist can’t hold me while I cry. My doctor isn’t available on long nights when the voices are telling me to take my own life. BUT YOU—the one who works odd hours? Could totally field a call and just listen or even talk for a sec about yourself and make me laugh. YOU—who has your kids all day—could totally invite me over for tea or coffee while your kids run amok around the house. YOU—who has a really shitty band with a great name—could try to get me out of the house even just for your practice. YOU—who has a dog and knows I love them—could recommend a play date for our pups. YOU—who works at a bakery— could bring me three left over bagels because you know how hard it is for me to eat breakfast. YOU—who loves the outdoors—could invite me for a short walk. YOU—who ANYTHING—all day at any time could do anything to let me know you care. I told a “friend” a few years ago I was depressed and she promptly informed me that she wouldn’t be able to be in my life. I was heartbroken. But what I told her was there are so many ways to reach out to a friend who is hurting. It is as simple as sending a cute meme to make me smile. Literally. That simple. It says: Hey, I thought of you, I know your heart hurts and I want to make you smile. SO SIMPLE. Not difficult. Not time consuming. But you just did it you magnificent asshole. You just ministered to a mentally ill person. Look at you, soaring far above the blindness of society about this horrific group of illnesses by doing nothing more than sending a text (which you’re doing every day, anyway).

AM I QUALIFIED TO HELP?

Hell to the yeah you are. We all are. “But I don’t know anything about ______”. Oh yeah? Here’s an idea. If you care about your friend as much as you say you do PICK UP A FUCKING BOOK. That simple. Trouble reading due to time? No problem! There’s this great tool called the internet and it’s not too difficult to discern sites that are reputable. Even better, sit down with your friend. Ask them to tell you what they are feeling. Do they feel like meds are helping? Do they need help finding a doctor? What are they scared of the most right now? BOOM. YOU JUST WENT FROM STUPID TO ADVOCATE IN LESS THAN 20 SECONDS. If I were there I’d put a pin on your lapel.

DISEASE OF ISOLATION

Much like addiction, those with mental illness struggle with isolation whether self-imposed or societally-enacted. We’ve all heard the general list of things that are hard to do when you’re depressed like showering or other self-care, getting out of the house, etc. etc. Every time I’ve been suicidal and started making a plan to end my life, 9 out of 10 situations involved me being lonely. Of thinking no one cares. That I am a drain on society. And that both the national budget and my friends would be happier if I were gone. At 34, I’ve finally come to believe that some of my friends really do love and value me; that they would be upset to lose me. Use of semi-colon on purpose. Because that has been a real game changer. But I was diagnosed at 17 and never believed it until now. So now when I think about suicide I cry because of how I know it would make them feel, but in those moments, the pain is so intense, my desire to escape it is very real.

TL;DR SYNOPSIS: it takes less than ten seconds to be there for someone who is hurting.

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Dear Amazon, I’m the last person who needs to learn to tie fancy knots

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Why you want your children in your treatment plan

A few months ago, a dear friend of mine had a pretty intense nervous breakdown. I supplied some klonopin to try to calm him down but considering his hallucinations and anger towards his wife I highly advised hospitalization. They took my recommendation. He was put into a hospital nearby with a GREAT psychiatric program—especially one therapist in particular who basically reads minds, not that I can prove it but mad props to him regardless. I try to keep my opinions to myself on a lot of things but when my friend’s wife said the couple had decided to keep their daughter out of the hospital and withold her from seeing the enormity or stress of the situation, I was extremely disappointed. Their daughter is really smart and definitely had the necessary depth to grasp the situation and WITHOUT QUESTION grow from it. Daughter is 4 or 5.

Let’s skip back say, ten-ish years to a very bad Christmas where I was personally in the hospital. I was probably in my early 20s. Christmas time is hard for a lot of people but for me it was always unmitigated hell. I was generally in the hospital during Thanksgiving and Christmas. Well, one of my cohorts—read hospital buddies or fellow patients— had kids. Two to be precise. A baby boy and a 3 or 4 year old little girl. It was Christmas morning and as I rounded the corner he informed me his family had just left but he had this HUGE grin on his face, as tho every last ounce of depression had been lifted from his body. He was also sporting the most god-awful slippers I’d ever seen. Being anaylitical, I formed a judgement: horrific bright orange and camoflage with a stag’s emblem embroidered on the toe. They were possibly the ugliest things that I’d seen in the last say 5 years. He noticed me looking and piped up proudly: “aren’t they the most wonderful slippers you’ve ever seen!?” I just kind of widened my eyes a bit as he clearly had more to say. He told me his daughter picked them out herself. She thought they were so beautiful. She thought Daddy would love them more than anything in the whole world. She was only slightly wrong because I think the only thing he loved more than his ugly-slippers was his children. On that accursed day, with all the pain we were experiencing, he had magic slippers that healed him. Sure maybe they only worked for a day or two, but that is enough time to foster hope in the broken. She gave him the gift of PURE. UNADULTERATED. LOVE. No holds barred, no caveats. I found myself hoping my parents brought me slippers later that day!

Let’s call the dude the with slippers Doug. What Doug and his wife understood was something very special. That children need to be exposed to mental health and what all that entails. Doug’s daughter, unlike my friend’s daughter, learned it was ok to not be ok. Learned it was ok not to plaster a smile on your face when you feel like crying. She learned above all, that being there for someone who hurts is the single greatest gift she could give—even if for now it was coming in the form of neon orange slippers. Most importantly, she learned something I didn’t until I was much, much older: It is okay to ask for help, always.

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Mental illness: You have to suffer.

Mental illness: But you can’t burden anyone else with your suffering, or you’re a terrible person

Mental illness: But you gotta suffer real hard, so hard it makes it difficult to function and hard to not physically show.

Mental illness: But you can’t let anyone know you’re suffering otherwise you’re manipulative and a liar

Mental illness: But you can’t smile and act happy otherwise you’re invalid and not truly suffering correctly.

Mental illness: Suffer.

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My latest quilt. RAINBOW LIFE!!!

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And no one ever wants to admit it. Instead they make it seem like I’ve done something wrong. Lay the blame elsewhere... when it would have hurt a lot less if they could’ve just admitted they were compassionless, unsympathetic, and self-absorbed.

“The truth is that You couldn’t help me because You weren’t strong enough so you left me. I am not too much to handle.”

—excerpts from a story i’ll never write