#I remember just how debilitating and devastating his mental trauma is

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

[ TRUST ] for a scenario where sender’s muse is the only one receivers muse will let close. ( Robin )

✧ ━━ 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐂 𝐈 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝙱𝚈 𝙳𝙰𝚈𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃

The gargling prayers and pleas had long begun to mingle into a single, choking drone bleating from the mangled body below him. He had lost count of the strikes; how many times his blade had wedged itself between Haruko's ribs or plunged down into her precious heart. Not that it much mattered, anyway, for Robin found himself captivated by the shift; that pathetic whimpering and weeping was a welcome reprieve from her previously barbed words. It was an unfortunate truth that Haruko's voice held an unsettling power over him, and it seemed she had only searched him out to indulge in her advantages. Pity for her that he was not a patient man. Taunt after taunt she berated him with rather scornful observations that burrowed quick into his mind to hide away. It was simpler this way; the guttural noises that filled the space were far more satisfying than those verbal knives she had earlier hurled at him.

Anything to get her to stop talking about it.

"It" being merely an answer he did not want to hear, a resounding "yes" where it should have been a sharp "no". The way she looked at him when she said it too, so confidently, so sure of herself - even now, splattered in blood did she appear happy. As if his violent reaction had simply validated her stance.

Do you truly perceive me as a man capable of such gentle ministrations?

𝒀𝒆𝒔. ... 𝑰 𝒅𝒐.

His aching knife hand, however, finally found pause when a single stick crunched behind him; a deliberate act, of course. Robin knew that his usual visitor would never actually accidentally reveal themself, they were far too clever for that. They thrived on the thrill of the chase, the unseen dance of predator and prey that Robin was usually all too pleased to take part in. But by now the remnants of life now splattered around him had stained Haruko's beautiful dress from the soft ivory of the Holy Virgin into a sickening garden of crimson offal, and her killer found it difficult to turn away from it all. A quiet, very small, flicker of relief fell over him though, as he recalled the horror of his previous encounter atop the clock tower. He could not handle another episode like that — perhaps it was a good thing he had expelled all of his emotion onto her.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐, 𝒔𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔, 𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖? 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒊𝒕, 𝑰 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒉𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒔, 𝑺𝒍𝒂𝒚��𝒓.

You are ignorant. Now I beseech thee; rush homeward to your husband.

The gentle downward tug on his lip alerted him to the sticky strands of bloodied saliva that grotesquely connected his mouth to the gaping, festering wound leaking unceremoniously from the lovely column of Haruko's neck. Another step from his Ghostly companion, and before he could stop himself - an animalistic bark erupted his throat as he snapped his head towards Ghostface. Wide eyes glinted in the lowlight of the backwood like shards of glass, while stained fangs bared; like some starving animal prepared to defend it's kill at all cost.

After a moment, the revelry fell to a haunting lull, leaving only the sound of his ragged breath. With trembling hands, Robin slowly removed the blade from its gruesome duty, quick to yank it free from Haruko's breast, and tossed it into the dead grass beside them to be swallowed by the earth itself. Then, with a desperate urgency, he brought the length of his sleeve to his mouth, wiping away the evidence of his insatiable thirst. As if that could erase all of what had been seen.

"I fear dying an obedient lap dog. I fear being trapped in a cage for eternity."

Was he what Ghostface feared most? A starved ratling scrabbling around in desperate search of its next fleeting morsel? Stuck forever at the mercy of his God ...? Even if it was so, the Grave Walker persisted with ludicrous devotion, returning time and again. Was it from some twisted sense of care? A foolish idea Robin thought rather stupid. Or was it to jeer at him? Somehow that was worse. No. No. Not you too. Robin hated it. He hated this vulnerability, this clarity that stripped away the blur he had mulled in over the centuries, all of it lost the moment his vision crossed that woeful mask. He loathed how intimately aware he was of his own sharp, cypress gaze softening — dissolving, like the last vestiges of daylight spilling into a tranquil, sun-kissed lake calm enough to reflect the abyss of Ghostface's hollow eyes.

━ 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑩𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇.

Ah yes, that had been the last, delicately placed attempt at pity that broke his demeanor; the absurdity to grant him such kindness. To act as though he was merely a pitiable, pathetic welp — a fragile thing deserving of mercy! To want … mercy for him. Over and over. In and out. Ruthlessly he sought to reclaim the dignity that had been stripped away by her impudence, plunging cold steel into her delicate form until his arm had begun to ache and strain from the motion. Each stab was a vicious attempt to get the maiden to take back the foolish words that had ignited all of this chaos; to let his mind forget about what he was.

But she never yielded.

Haruko just … watched him without any fear in those navy gems she called eyes; even dulled by the veil of death she held a gaze that seemed to pierce through the last sparks of his soul, as if challenging him to reconsider the depths of his madness. Haruko had died hours ago; that much was evident in the rigid chill of her body, still he found himself consumed by a twisted compulsion to continue, to savage what remained of her until — wintry brows suddenly furrowed downward as a wave of frustration crashed over him once he turned back to the corpse, horror momentarily gripping his heart once he found the her already half lost to the Entity's spindling legs dragging it deeper and deeper into the dirt.

Confusion clouded Robin’s features as he gawked at the woman's death mask, taking note how the once-familiar contours of her visage had been nearly obliterated by the devastation he had wrought upon her. How could it be then, amidst the horror he had inflicted, that Lady Kovacs' spirit still seemed to weep? He could hear it. Echoes of soft whimpers drew his gaze to the stark canyons of her bronze skin where the blood had retreated, leaving traces of a raw flesh in their wake. Long, winding rivulets of skin emerged from the red-stained landscape, each one carved its mournful path along the curve of her body. But his ascending gaze found no storming clouds above, nor even the faintest sign of rain falling from the oppressive gray heavens.

It was as if the very notion of tears was foreign, something he was incapable of understanding let alone feeling; so instead he could only stare bewilderedly at the droplets falling onto her face.

"I … "

Too many words were fighting along his tongue, yet as soon as his mouth opened to allow their freedom, a wave of nausea surged through him and twisted his stomach in a vicious knot of protest. The Sin Eater was practically trembling in his spot, paralyzed by his own weakness. Each breath now a struggle as he fought against the tremors that threatened to overtake him. By now Haruko's beautiful face had shed away and curled those pretty lips back, and Robin was unable to rip his gaze away from the worm cleansed smile before him. And equally helpless was he to stop the constant repetitions of Haruko's deep voice in his head. Suddenly, fueled by a surge of rage and desperation, he propelled himself to his feet, fists clenched at his sides as he spat his fury at the lifeless form under him. “Shut up! I’m in no mood!”

Up came his boot to crash down onto her body, snapping bones and squelching in the torn insides now out. Eventually her cadaver was shattered enough that it disappeared entirely into the Entity to leave the two ghostly figures alone amidst the destructive scene that had been left behind. A hat thrown, once neatly tucked and braided hair now a waterfall of soft glistening snow; and Robin's furious tears streaming down his cheeks as he collapsed back down onto his knees and squeezed his hair in frustration, his stare flickered around him, as if he were pleading with an unseen audience for understanding, "Just, everyone shut up! — I need to think."

Each tear clung to the gentle curve of his lashes, each one settling and shimmering like dew kissed pearls upon lily petals. With a heart pounding in trepidation, Robin turned his gaze upwards, his eyes searching for answers, for comfort, for anything to make sense of the havoc swirling around him. Now along with Haruko's words he also wrestled with the disbelief of Danny’s presence; the thought of his friend returning felt surreal, surely it just an apparition born from the depths of his fractured psyche. A cruel trick, a twisted jest played by his own fraying mind. Why ever would they return to him? Let alone stay after seeing such a revolting display of despair. Of something so dreadfully human. He couldn't envision a reason for them to stay. Kindness wasn't something he was given. Mercy was not something he was given. So, just as the weight of his misery threatened to crush him, Robin's voice finally emerged — a whisper, shaky as a newborn fawn, crossed his trembling mouth:

"A-Are you real … ?"

[queer-as-used-by-tolkien]

Hello from the random oc questions tabby kitten!!💙

Pick five of your character's most influential milestones (moving away from home, a first kiss, a death, etc.). Why and how did these milestones affect your character?

Ooh, thanks for asking!! This is a tough one.

I’m gonna go with my Commander just because I’m not sure I have five milestones for anyone else! 

1. Tiffany Soulstrider’s lifelong dream (potentially Dream with a capital D) was to go to Orr and help her father help Trahearne do his Wyld Hunt. When she was about eighteen (long after her father had died) she was finally ready to go, but then it turned out that she has a - a sort of condition. She’s kind of allergic to dragon minions. Dragon corruption, really. And I don’t mean she’ll sneeze if she gets too close, I mean she’ll feel intense pain. It gets worse the closer she gets. At melee range she loses fine motor control. She tried and tried to overcome it, she spent months doing nothing but attacking Risen, becoming incapacitated, and depending on her ranger companion to save her, but she just couldn’t. Eventually she was forced to give up, and this was seriously mentally debilitating to her - imagine if, say, Trahearne, kept trying at his Wyld Hunt and was finally forced to concede defeat. And then, somehow, go on living. Tiffany Soulstrider was devastated. I’m not even sure how she got back to Divinity’s Reach, where she was drawn into a conflict with the centaurs and, without anything else to do, joined the Seraph.

2. Meeting Trahearne. This ties into the last one; Tiffany Solestrider had managed to find a purpose in life by joining the Vigil, but she wasn’t doing what she wanted to be doing. Trahearne showed up at Claw Island, and after Tiffany gave him a very cold reception (he reminded her too strongly of her dream she’d left behind) he managed to get through to her and take her to the Pale Tree, who sent her into a vision where she learned that she was physically capable of setting foot in corrupted Orr. This changed her completely into a joyful, hopeful, determined, dedicated and loyal friend of Trahearne’s, so when he granted her the rank of Commander she adopted it as her name.

3. Trahearne’s death, hard on the heels (if not the cause of) Tiffany Commander’s realization that the reason she was allergic to dragon magic was becauseshe was part-sylvari, which was also the driving force behind seventy-five percent of the rest of her life. And then she couldn’t even share it with Trahearne. That’s when she resigned from the Pact.

4. Her own death. She’d been through a lot of trauma in the Mordremoth Disaster, and she’d lost her way and really, she was ready to die. She was absolutely ready. But then she lost her name and purpose and, in the finding them, she actually found them. She remembered who she was and who she was supposed to be and who Trahearne had taught her to be. She came back full of fire and fury and reclaimed her title as Commander and slew the God of War.

5. The death of Kralkatorrik. Just because she’d reclaimed herself from the trauma of the Mordremoth disaster didn’t mean she ever fully recovered from Trahearne’s death and the subsequent loneliness. But first one thing and then another told her - hey - what you went through was awful and nobody should have to go through that. Even Kralkatorrik said it. “I only hope you never have to kill what you love.” Tiffany Commander was finally able to understand that it was horrible what she’d been through, and that even Kralkatorrik, Elder Dragon of Fury, understood and called it what it was.

I may have gone a little in-depth there, but hey! Good question! Great way to outline a character! Again, thanks for asking!

[a-woman-apart]

Hope

Remember, if you are having thoughts of hurting yourself, please get help.

Crisis Text (U.S.): 741 741

National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

You know what I said a couple weeks ago about waiting a couple of weeks before you make a Drastic, Negative, Irreversible Decision?

Well, I have confirmed evidence that it is true. It sounds cliché as hell, but when you are staring down a dark tunnel you really cannot see the light at the end of it. It feels like the pain will never end, and that nothing will ever be different. This is definitely a lie, because things will get better.

They will, because you are going to make them better.

How?

Well, first of all, you need to realize that depression is not just caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain. Even if that is true, that chemical imbalance can be exacerbated by external circumstances. I am talking about real people, places, or things that generally contribute to your feelings of despair.

Here’s a list of questions to ask yourself.

·        Are you in a romantic relationship that is sexually, physically, or emotionally abusive?

·        Have you experienced childhood trauma?

·        Are most of the people in your circle people who belittle, undermine, pressure, and/or demean you?

·        Are you in a codependent relationship with a family member or significant other?

·        Do you work at a job that has become unsatisfying, unfulfilling, or unbearable?

·        Are you under lots of pressure to perform academically?

·        Are you homeless, living in poverty, facing financial insecurity, or living paycheck to paycheck?

·        Do you live in a war zone or a country where your basic safety and freedoms are constantly threatened?

·        Do you have a chronic physical illness in addition to your mental illness?

·        Do you spend most of your time alone and/or feel that you cannot depend on other people?

·        Do you feel that you have to perform or put on a show in order for others to respect your needs, wants, or desires? (This includes having to pretend to be cis or straight in order to be respected or cared for)

·        Do you base your self-worth on your money or achievements, only to have that self-worth come crashing down when you ask yourself “what’s next?”

·        Are you afraid that others will “discover” that you are a fraud and do not deserve the status or position that you have?

·        Do you constantly feel bored or unchallenged, like you are simply moving through the motions of life with no purpose or meaning?

I am aware that the author Johann Hari is a controversial figure, but so much changed for me when I read his book, “Lost Connections”. He looked at causes of depression—some of the things I just mentioned—and possible cures. These cures were not based primarily in treating patients with medicine. Lots of people claim that Hari discouraged or undermined the use of antidepressants in his book, but that was not the interpretation that I got.

My understanding is that he posited that the medicine is kind of a “jump-start” for the brain. I have experienced severe bipolar depression before. I was listless, monosyllabic, barely able to get out of bed or take care of my daily hygiene. I was under the care of my parents. The medicine did not “cure” me, but it gave me enough motivation to begin attending groups, psychiatrist appointments, and therapy sessions.

For most people, medicine is a part of a holistic treatment plan. In my case, it isn’t even the primary ingredient—especially since I no longer take antidepressants at all (A/N: I stopped under the supervision of a psychiatrist; never, never, never stop taking antidepressants or any other psychiatric medication cold turkey).

You see, once I got my manic symptoms under control with mood stabilizers, I thought I was in the clear, but I started to experience symptoms of depression again. However, this was the “good”, or “high-functioning” kind of depression. When you’re “high-functioning”, you can go through the day wishing you could die but you’re still alert, efficient, and outwardly cheerful. Unfortunately, this “less debilitating” depression kills more people. When you are in this state, if your goal is to die, you often have the energy and motivation to follow through. It is extremely isolating because most often, you have created the perfect illusion that everything is fine, and so others often don’t think to reach out to you to make sure you are okay. You also have created walls that you yourself may struggle to break through.

I knew that I wasn’t okay, so I reached out for help. My experience was similar to Johann Hari’s. I was put on antidepressants that would work for a while, and then they would stop, and I would be switched to another.  My weight fluctuated wildly, and I experienced a variety of other unpleasant side effects. I was finally removed permanently from antidepressants when the antidepressant drug, Effexor, contributed to me having a mixed episode (mania + depression), which, like high-functioning depression, carries a high suicide risk. I have written extensively about the horrible withdrawal I experienced from Effexor.

This is not to say that my negative experiences are universal to all. Bipolar depression is often resistant to antidepressants, and most antidepressants carry the risk of pushing us into mania. People with Major Depressive Disorder/Unipolar Depression often respond better to antidepressants. My best friend has been on the same high dosage of an antidepressant for years and it helped to increase his motivation and pull him out of a rut. He, like me, though has attended therapy and changed key things in his life that were keeping him stuck.

My point—after saying all that—is to say that drugs alone won’t solve your problems.

Also, you have a real reason to be depressed.

This is not to say that neurons misfiring in your brain don’t contribute to your depression, or that there is no such thing as a chemical imbalance. However, often there are things in our lives that make us feel small, trapped, or powerless, and these are often things that we can physically point to if we ask ourselves the right questions.

E N V I R O N M E N T A L

One big thing is work. You may work in a job you actually despise because you want to support your family. Most of us spend a third—or more—of our day at some kind of job. Maybe school is your job, and you’re drowning in a sea of assignments and deadlines.

Maybe there is no feasible way to leave that job or school (yet), but Johann Hari gives tips on how to hate it less. You could rearrange your schedule, change departments or majors, request different kinds of work, or otherwise try to find meaning in an outwardly shitty situation.

F I N A N C I A L

If you are in financial trouble, you could begin utilizing your community resources more. This includes getting local or government help with food and bills, but it also involves things like attending free job training and educational workshops or going to your local library so that they can connect you with employment resources. Libraries and colleges also often host hiring events and have bulletin boards where you can see the latest job postings for your area.

You could stop also depending on people financially who belittle you or make you feel guilty for receiving their help. Some people do nothing but give off unproductive energy—it isn’t worth it to receive assistance from these kinds of people, because you will never be able to do enough to pay them back. Even if you pay them back the physical resources, they will constantly try to violate your boundaries by saying, “Look at everything I did for you and you can’t even do X”. Run, do not walk, from these kinds of people.

A B U S E

As for abusive situations, these can be incredibly isolating. Your abuser has probably already driven wedges between you and your friends and family. You can however call the National Domestic Abuse Hotline and get help. If you feel like you are in danger—even if that person has never physically attacked you—you should still call and get help and advice. They can connect you with shelters and other resources. They also provide help for people who are suffering from spiritual abuse, an overlooked but often devastating form of abuse.

You can also call Day One Services and get help if you are dealing with emotional abuse.

I S O L A T I O N

It takes a community. It takes us leaning on each other and working together. The lie is that you do this thing called life alone. You don’t. In disaster zones or war-torn areas, depending on the community can mean the difference between life and death.  

I know many of us don’t live in a disaster zone, but we still need community support. A lot of us don’t have friends—and struggle to make them—but if the Friendship Goal is too lofty, then you should start by just spending more time with people in general. You could start by just sitting in a coffee shop or going to a park and people watching. Or you could try to join online groups where you can speak freely about your hobbies. When it comes to taking the bigger steps, like joining an offline group or volunteering, set the bar super low.

I had been using Meet Up to try to find groups in my area, and I made this absurdly low goal of “attend one Meet Up this year”. Not five, three, or even two. Just one. I was terrified, but I did it. I still haven’t gone to another one, but it was a starting point. It helped my brain see that I could do it. Loneliness and isolation are dangerous; any small action you can take towards reducing those two factors will be incredibly helpful.

P E R S P E C T I V E

Sometimes our issue can be with the way we see the world; Johann Hari described some of these as “Disconnection from meaningful values”. If your fundamental view of the world is that you need to just continually climb the ladder of achievement—hording material wealth along the way— until you die, you lack meaningful values. If you have physical comfort, but your life lacks purpose or meaning, it can feel incredibly bleak. We need to both change our outward circumstances, and our behavior and way of thinking in order to see improvement. We need to stop thinking we deserve less, and instead start cutting out toxic people and working on moving out of toxic environments.

S U M M A R Y

At first, when I dropped out of my university, broke up with my boyfriend, and started planning to quit my job (and leave my overpriced apartment) I felt like I was going to lose my mind. Most therapists and psychiatric professionals would not recommend that someone with a mental health condition make that many changes at once. I overhauled everything within a six-month period, and the stress of it all made me need to go to inpatient. I was very ill physically for a while, lost tons of weight, racked up medical bills, etc.

In the end, though, what do I have? I can say that I am truly happy for the first time in ages. My tears are now happy tears. Everything worked out. I’m going to go to a much smaller, more accessible college for my Bachelor’s. I’m moving in with friends to save money and deal with the loneliness issue. I have a new job that is currently a much better fit than the old one was. My ex and I continue to be close friends, but it did take a period of adjustment. I was in big financial trouble, but now, with support, I am getting back on my feet. I was even able to sell my piano keyboard to make a few more simoleons.

Of course, sometimes I still feel very anxious because This Is A Lot, but my anxiety crisis is over. All these new life events are teaching me something that I severely lacked: flexibility. I am also now more resilient, knowing that having made it through this, I can make it through anything.

You are going to make it, too.

I understand that it is important to make sure you keep an internal locus of control. This means that certain things in your life are your responsibility and yours alone, and that you have power to change those things. You can’t make someone love you, but you can ask that they treat you with kindness, dignity, and respect, and remove yourself from the relationship with them if they do not acknowledge your request.  You can’t singlehandedly change the world, but you can volunteer and do other things that make a difference in your local community. These changes often have a ripple effect that alter the surrounding areas for the better.

It is going to be hard to change your environment, improve your financial situation, and discover your purpose in life. You could think you have it all figured out, and everything can change. If you feel overwhelmed, please reach out for help. Trust me, tons of resources are just a Google search away. If you’re stumped, go to your local library and ask for advice or books on the subject you’re struggling with.

For those of you who can’t leave home, even here on Tumblr there are users who have compiled tons and tons of “master posts” for things like “How to Get a Job”, “How to Be Frugal” or “How to Make Friends.” Even if you can’t make it to your local library, there are often links to databases in the library catalog that have a wealth of information on every subject. I know a huge amount of you struggle with executive dysfunction so starting and completing tasks can be really hard, but there’s posts for that, too. Even if all you do is get out of bed today and eat something instead of laying in bed and constantly scrolling through here, that is a start.

I know this has gotten incredibly wordy, but the point of it all is please, please, PLEASE don’t give up! You really can make positive changes, but it takes time. Don’t throw all the time you might have left away.

[digitalworldposts-blog]

Sadness to Silver-lining (Pt.2)

It is no secret that self-love is entirely necessary to live a happy life. Both internally and externally. The old saying goes something like, “You can’t expect yourself to be able to love someone else, if first you do not love yourself.” That resonated with me years ago, when I understood that I wasn’t going to be capable of happiness and healthiness until I identified that with myself.

 I won’t make this long or boring, however I believe it’s important to talk about traumatic situations and unpack unhealthy extremities in order to raise awareness, as well as work through the healing process of acceptance and forgiveness. I also believe it to be necessary that I unpack the honest truth of what those times in my life felt like. What I am referring to, are my first two relationships. Both of them being almost equally as horrible, traumatizing, threatening and debilitating to function in. 

{In a Nutshell} I met my first boyfriend when I was in High School, at a party. It was actually the summer right after Freshman year and before Sophomore year, I saw him from across the party and we locked eyes accidentally, he then chugged a Brisk water bottle full of Vodka in hopes to look tough and try to impress me (whatever, dumb). A few days later he found me on Twitter and direct messaged me, asking if I remember seeing him at the party, and our conversation began there. That moment in time was a very trivial moment for me looking back, because after that night my life was never entirely the same. We texted and hung out for a few months before we began dating. My first real boyfriend.

 Once we eventually started dating, it was only a month into the relationship and I found out from my ex-best friend that he had cheated on me. Now pause, when I say the term cheating you assume it was a physical altercation, which unbeknownst to me was actually not the case, but instead was texting another girl and sending her highly inappropriate messages and remarks. I remember sitting on my couch with my Dad, watching American Horror Story: Coven and the episode where Stevie Nicks appears and starts playing a song was the very moment I got that text. Which is also ironic because in a a moment, on a night where I felt completely devastated, hurt and confused, that was the same night I discovered Stevie Nicks and Fleetwood Mac, and that relationship is still absolutely beautiful and ever-growing. 

Long story short, I ignorantly forgave him through trail and tribulation of manipulation and he reeled me back in. That was a defining moment for him too, at that moment he knew he could do it again, and knew I was too blind and naive to actually leave (though I had threatened it many times). I was 15 when I met him. I thought I was in love just like everyone when they get their first boyfriend. My parents saw the writing on the wall and they were legitimately scared for my life. Thinking back to it, if I was in their position I would have done the same thing. All my life, my parents have set a prominent example for what True Love looks like. They have been married for almost 27 years and have embedded respect, honestly and ordinance into our family dynamic ever since I can remember. They couldn’t possibly understand why their daughter, who most-definitely knew better, was subjecting herself to so much less. I wish I would’ve listened to them sooner because it is true, your parents do in fact know what’t best for you, despite the efforts of always hoping they’d secretly be wrong. 

Two and a half years went by; replaying that exact same cycle practically on a loop. Cheat. Break up. Manipulate. Forgive. I felt so trapped in the unhappiness of my life, it wasn’t until my mom brought my obvious unhappiness to my attention and asked if I wanted counseling. Of course I responded no. because that would mean something was wrong with me? What if someone looks at me differently? Wrong. Wrong. The stigma against asking for help made its mark and controlled my decision. It wasn’t until a few days later I realized she was right, and I wanted help. I wanted to know why I felt this way. I began going to a therapist. I had one session with her and I felt like I had completely and instantly shed layers upon layers of skin off. She helped me recognize the problem in less than an hour. One time. I left her office feeling empowered but also foolish. How could I have let someone so horrific control my life for so long? I left her office and broke up with him for good. It was reviving to say the least.

Around 5 months later, summer before my Freshman year at Ball State, I met this kid who was a mutual friend of my cousins. I had no interest in him whatsoever, but we kept running into him and seeing him places and eventually we started hanging out. It was very slow and subtle, and then very much all at once. There wasn’t really an in-between, at one point I just had no idea what was going on or how we had gotten there. I had absolutely zero interest in anything serious and I made that clear. But he seemed so normal at first, and we were just friends. Like i said, life happened and all of a sudden we’re practically dating. I’m a little thrown off at first because I’m thinking “Okay, well I’m a year older than him, I’m about to go to college, is this the right situation for me to be in?” My parents weren’t a huge fan, so their opinion weighed on mine too, just not enough. I unfortunately kept dating him and found myself in a very awful situation. I was with someone who was not only completely immature, insecure, possessive, jealous, controlling and threatening. And I had no idea how to get out of it. I stayed in that relationship the majority of my first semester, and as you can probably guess it was a very rough time in my life. Pushing people out of my life, angry all the time, one turns into two when it comes to jealousy and insecurity, and I was failing multiple classes. I tried breaking up with him for over 3 months straight. He would drive to Muncie. He would show up. Call me so many times my phone would freeze. And worst of all, threaten me day in and day out that if I ever left, he would have to kill himself because there would just be no will for him to live anymore. This manipulation kept me in this relationship much longer than I should’ve ever been. I felt so guilty and helpless, as if his entire life was in my hands and the outcome would be based off the decisions I made. I had realized I attracted nearly the exact same person into my life and he was going to have me if it was the last thing he had, he was going to do and say whatever he needed to in order to keep me where he wanted me. I felt undeniably trapped and miserable for months, countless times where he would literally say he was doing it and make me think he was dead, turn off his phone and location and be completely untraceable, as I’m in Muncie and he is in Fort Wayne. Countless times where I had to walk to the stadium as a freshman on a college campus to get my car and drive an hour and a half north in the middle of the night just to see if he was alive or not. He knew what to say and how to say it to make me do things I wouldn’t normally do. Looking back I can see now how dysfunctional and psychotic it really was, all of it. 

It wasn’t until one day when he was trying to get ahold of me, frantically and demandingly, I declined everything that came my way and turned to Facebook. Needed to go somewhere via the Internet where I could forget about my life for a little bit, because who doesn’t love a good Tasty video am i right? As I opened Facebook, the first thing on my timeline was a video posted by a Facebook Campaign called OneLove, the video was called Love Labyrinth. I watched and learned {literally}. My eyes were opened to new depths that I had never seen before. To this day, I solemnly praise this organization for redirecting my life and educating me in the most prominent way possible. I would be a completely different person today, had I not gotten on Facebook and clicked on the link that brought me to this Youtube video. Give it a watch. If you suffer from any sort of relationship trauma, emotional, mental or physical abuse, please watch at your own risk. It can be very emotionally telling and truthful.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_r72v3LA44

[pennyforyourblog-blog]

Thanksgiving

Call me old-fashioned, but you’d be wrong. I love hand-written journals as much as the next person, but honestly isn’t there something more efficient about typing? Perhaps I’d document my life more effectively if it didn’t take so long to get it all on paper. I don’t allocate enough time to myself in that way. I write occasionally and never make a habit of it; I get absorbed in the day-to-day. I’ve come to an impasse. I desperately need therapy. That’s not readily available, however, and I simply cannot do nothing. Perhaps regularly and thoughtfully articulating what I’m feeling, and committing more time to listening to myself will be an adequate, albeit temporary, substitute.

The events that transpired on Thanksgiving weigh heavily on my heart and mind. Do you know the story of the frog in the boiling pot? The anecdotal tale is an unfortunate one. Imagine a frog resting in a pot of cool water. Someone’s just turned the stove on, and the water gradually warms. The frog, rather than wasting energy hopping from the pot, instead decides to allocate its energy to adapt to the warmer water. By the time the water grows too warm to adapt to, the frog has already expelled the energy required to exit. Unable to escape, the poor creature perishes.

My family, collectively and as individuals, have slowly been raising the temperature. I kept asking myself “Why do you subject yourself to this treatment? Why don’t you simply leave? Surely you did nothing to warrant this,”. I continually tried to make it work. I thought if I could just learn to enjoy the scalding water, all would be well. I so badly wanted unconditional love, I allowed the mistreatment to continue. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. Being excluded is an awful thing, and it does often drive the victim to try all the harder to be included. This often just perpetuates and exacerbates the issue. What an awful cycle.

I do sometimes like to imagine myself holding the child that endured this into adulthood. I imagine myself smoothing her hair, and kissing her temple. I wish I could tell the small girl who couldn’t understand it all that it wasn’t her fault. That she is worthy of love, though not a soul at the time did. She was absolutely deserving of love. Rather, the people she loved so fiercely despite the way they treated her were unworthy.

I remember that little girl wondering why her cousins and half-sisters met so often with the whole family, and why she and her brother weren’t invited. I remember the moment she realized her family would be missing her high school graduation for a weekend at a cabin they owned; although it was her graduation weekend, she also wasn’t invited to stay at said cabin. I remember when she went to brunch one Sunday and happened upon her family having their meal in the banquet room. I remember that little girl looking around the room as Christmas presents were distributed, and realizing she had only a card and a paste, clearance necklace. Some relatives had so many gifts, she could not even see their person. When she became embarrassed and hurt, she was lectured about maturity and being ungrateful. Unfortunately, the list is far from complete.

This little girl began to reclaim her happiness. It wasn’t a straightforward journey and involved a lot of pain. However, she worried less about what they thought and began to do as she wished instead. Christmas 2016, she traveled to Datil, New Mexico. Her aunt, Lisa, was furious and called her to leave aggressive voicemails. The trip itself wasn’t great, and that winter was a difficult time for her. She’d lost her job, her health, and her boyfriend cheated on her. It was a lot to deal with, and in comparison, her aunt being angry was of little consequence. Call it a rebirth, but that little girl shed other people’s expectations, molted and grew, and became the woman I am today.

Carrie Fisher died on December 27th. It was unexpected and devastating. She was and still is a hero of mine. I took to Facebook to share my grief. Lisa’s husband, Joe, commented. It wasn’t to comfort me or empathize. No, he felt it was an appropriate time to demand I contact Lisa and explain my behavior. Can you imagine demanding a woman you barely know, to do something under a post about bereavement? This entitled behavior “adults” exhibited in the family initiated the chasm between they and I. I use quotations here to emphasize the them-and-us mentality they have towards the eldest cousins. While adults in our own right, we were treated as children.

It was an easy decision to remove all family members from my Facebook. I also elected to ignore my uncle’s demand until I was ready to speak with Lisa about the holidays. We intermittently spoke throughout the year. I updated her on my health progress, job search, and mental capacities. Anxiety and depression can be quite debilitating. They don’t believe in mental disorders. How silly to think this important organ is exempt from illness, while any other can be afflicted with many. I do believe she tried to be understanding, but at the end of the day, her internalized views overpowered her love for me.

I’m still trying to understand what happened just days ago. It’s like trying to remember a car accident. There are snippets, select words, and phrases I can recall. Some of the exchange is lost to me. Like with a lot of trauma, the core incident won’t ever be forgotten.

I don’t believe Seth ever understood my apprehension when it came to family events. He’d seen firsthand how awful my mother could be. But my dad’s side seemed normal. Coming from such a loving and welcoming family, I don’t think he had the capacity to truly understand. Unable to deprive him of the opportunity to see his family, we decided to try and go to all three events. We started at his aunt’s home and enjoyed it. I’d been anxious throughout the morning, and dreading 2/3 of the day. That soon past, and I had hope for the rest of the day.

We arrived an hour or so after Lisa had said food would be served. I knew this and resolved myself to eating at my mom’s later. Although I was hungry and was sure Seth was too, I made no indication of this. While most families on Thanksgiving would never let a mouth go unfed, no matter how late their arrival, I knew better.

Lisa made this clear as she tupperwared the leftovers around me, “I hope you’re eating at your mom’s later.”

I confirmed this and continued to answer my grandparents’ usually inquiries about my life. I received the down-low on the cooking crisis: a dish that set off the fire alarm. Light and small conversations, just how the Hanson’s like.

“Did you eat at Seth’s Family’s?” Grandpa Denny inquired kindly.

“We snacked, but haven’t eaten yet. That’s okay, we’ll be eating shortly at my mom’s.”

My answer, of course, didn’t matter. My grandparents are kind people. They understand that Thanksgiving is a day about family and full-bellies. It was unacceptable to them that I wouldn’t have a full meal until 6 pm. I don’t recall who said what to who, but soon it became clear that Lisa was angrily pulling things out of the fridge to make us a plate.

“It’s no big deal,” I tried once again to nip this in the bud.

Of course, she misconstrued this and growled: “No, it is a big deal.”

She continued speaking, and although I don’t remember her exact words, it dawned on me that she thought I’d demanded a plate. That I’d told her, essentially, that coming late and adding to her workload by asking for food was not a big deal. I do feel that given the circumstances, even if that’s what I had done, it shouldn’t have escalated as far as it did. It was doubly concerning that her perception of what was happening wasn’t even correct. I was being accused of something I hadn’t even done.

“I find it very rude that you show up late and demand food like this. I felt the need to say that,” She finished her verbal attack by throwing paper plates our way.

I was stunned, and tears brimmed. This is something I detest about myself. When I’m hurt, or yelled at, I cannot help but cry. Especially when I know it’s unjust. I can’t breathe and it’s terribly embarrassing. It makes me feel weak. People often say it invalidates any argument I present. Somehow, being emotional detracts from the validity of what I say.

“I feel the need to leave then,” I collected my sweater and made quick work of making my way to the door.

“Of course, you do,” she retorted.

I wish she had just let me leave. I wish she had simply started talking after I excused myself and realized her mistake. Instead, she trailed behind me. She demanded I stop. I told her adults make decisions for themselves, and I was making the decision to leave. My dad followed too, and both overcame me just outside the front door. She demanded I act like an adult and needed to calm down. My dad was kinder and instructed me to breathe. Like I said, I often forget when I’m upset.

The conversation continued. Or rather, her demands continued. She demanded I not swear. She demanded I stay. She demanded I become calm. All the while, she refused to let go of me. I protested this several times, and she refused to oblige. It did become clear to her that it wasn’t me who had asked. It didn’t matter. I was set on leaving, and I think she knew I’d never return. Her mistake had cost her a lot.

When hurt, people do funny things. She was probably hurt I was late. She was probably hurt that she didn’t get much help, and never does. She probably hurts often, and a lot. I recognize this and would be her most likely champion in this fight. Her beliefs and rigid traditions would never allow her to recognize this. Instead, she took her frustrations out on the easiest target.

To regain control, she finally exclaimed: “Get off my property!”

I obliged. It was, after all, what I’d been trying to do all the while. My dad called me, and I refused to slow down or look about. I was locked out of our car until Seth came with the keys. My dad approached me, and Seth was there moments after. Seth clasped my hand and my dad surprised me.

“She was wrong,” he said so matter-of-factly.

I informed him of my feelings. I intended to cut ties. I intended to omit my presence from future family gatherings. I’d be made to feel unwelcome for too long, and this was too much to forgive. They’d be excluded from my wedding, and wouldn’t be involved with any potential children. They refused to acknowledge how lonely they made me feel constantly, and while they decided things like my graduation weren’t important enough to attend, they were now investing in me to be the first to wed and provide them with the things they were so looking forward to.

He remained calm. He validated my feelings of exclusion. He was surprisingly helpful. He let me talk, and did what he could to offer advice. The things he suggested weren’t worthless, but they weren’t relevant. While “don’t make definite decisions while upset” is a solid tidbit, deciding to cut ties wasn’t a split-decision. I’ve been mulling this over since I was young. I’ve been sitting in the boiling water for too long. If I don’t leap now, I’ll die. There isn’t anything to further deliberate.

Perhaps to some, a yelling match between niece and aunt about leftovers seems silly. It would be a strange thing to emancipate one’s family over. It’s just another temperature shift in an otherwise inhospitable environment. It was no worse than any of the other things that transpired. It just happened to be the last thing.

I wonder if I’m being overdramatic. I do not understand why I’m expected to tolerate such great abuse, only to be called too emotional when I react. I think given the circumstances, I’m acting very appropriately. Yet, my mother teased me for it. She’s mocked me since and tried to invalidate what I was feeling.

“It’s always something with you,” she flippantly remarked.

My aunt’s reaction was the same.

She said to both me and Seth several times during the exchange “Everybody has their problems.”

She appears to be under the impression that I believe my burdens outweigh all others. Often, my mother has the same perception of me. Managing my illnesses involves a high level of self-care, and unapologetically doing what I need to feel my best. I think their generation misconstrues that as being selfish and narcissistic.

I think what’s truly narcissistic is displacing your own failings and expectations onto another person, and becoming frustrated when they don’t do what you expect.

As it stands, I keep feeling the need to reach out to her. I suppose I’m hoping for a reconciliation and fairy-tale ending. I understand that won’t happen. I’m still uncertain about to what extent I’ll interact with the family. The idea of never seeing my grandparents again is too much. I do understand seeing them will require meetings outside of the holidays they usually visit for. I also know it’ll require discussing what happened, and rebuffing them imploring me to reconsider.

Perhaps I’ve just leaped from one pot to another. Perhaps I’ll never be free.

[yes-dal456]

Meeting My Mother

My husband and I arrived in Los Angeles on Sunday, April 30th as Give an Hour prepared to host the first ever Global Summit on Mental Health Culture Change. We partnered with Los Angeles County to build and implement a powerful three-day series of events designed to engage, educate and inspire. Give an Hour’s public health initiative, the Campaign to Change Direction (http://ift.tt/1w3WZMM), served as the inspiration and the opportunity for the Summit.

The Summit was a tremendous success. And then it was time to meet my mother.

My father was a veteran of WWII who lied about his age to join the Navy after Pearl Harbor. Like many combat veterans, he came home with post-traumatic stress – though no one knew what that was at the time. He returned to Los Angeles after the war, met and married my mother, had my three older brothers and decided to move his young family to the San Joaquin Valley in central California.

Exactly what happened next is hard to know. My mother gave birth to me shortly before the move. Perhaps it was the combination of removing her from her support system in Los Angeles and a severe case of postpartum depression that lead to the psychotic break that would shatter her life and our family.

So there we were – the WWII veteran, three little boys, a baby girl… and my psychotic mother. She was later diagnosed with schizophrenia – but that matters less than the impact her condition had on her and us. For the next eight years my dad tried to find help for her. But in rural California during the 1960s there was little help for people with my mother’s condition – especially for people from working class families.

My parents divorced when I was eight and my mother returned to live with her family in Los Angeles. They blamed my father – as if he had caused her mental illness – but they would soon find out that they couldn’t do much to help her either. As the years passed, we saw my mother less and less. None of us had any interest. My brothers seemed angry at her – probably because they felt abandoned – though that was never discussed. And I was afraid of her. She wore strange clothes and talked about aliens and god and space ships. Visits were awkward and uncomfortable. And although my brothers told me that she took good care of me when I was a baby, I have no memory of feeling anything toward her other than fear and embarrassment.

Unfortunately, there was more trauma to come during my childhood. After my parents divorced, my father married a very kind woman – but her daughter died in a car crash two years later and they divorced soon after. I lost my brother David to a drowning accident when I was 15 and my step-brother from my father’s third marriage died from a rare illness six months later. Our family had so much pain to deal with – I think we were all relieved that my mother was no longer in our lives. I stopped hearing from her, except for the card I received out of the blue when I graduated from high school. I didn’t respond.

I went to college and moved east for graduate school. I became a psychologist, married, had two beautiful daughters of my own, divorced and 12 years ago, founded the nonprofit organization Give an Hour. By harnessing mental health professionals all over the country, Give an Hour has provided over 220,000 hours of free mental health care to those who serve and their families. In 2015, Give an Hour launched the Campaign to Change Direction to change the culture of mental health so that all in need receive the treatment and support they deserve.

Until six years ago, I had no interest in finding my mother. I never spoke about her and most people probably assumed that, like my father, my mother had died early in my life. I can’t really take credit for wanting to find her either. In 2010, I married a wonderful man who offered to help if I wanted to look for her. It was Randy’s offer – and his love for me – that lead to the discovery of my mother in a nursing home in Glendale California in the fall of 2014.

We tried to visit my mom soon after we located her. We reached out to the nursing home and sent cards, flowers and pictures to help prepare her for the visit. It is impossible to imagine how painful it must have been for her to lose her mind and then her four children – through no fault of her own. She had developed a chronic, relentless, debilitating disorder and eventually fell through the cracks in society. And then, 43 years later, her daughter showed up for a visit.

That first attempt to see my mother went poorly and was extremely upsetting. She was agitated and overwhelmed and couldn’t tolerate the visit. She didn’t want us in her room. So we stood in the doorway – trying to talk to her – until we realized that she just wanted to be left alone. I remember going back to the hotel that night – crying for her, for me and for my family.

I didn’t give up. I continued to send cards, flowers and pictures. Soon after that first visit, my mother fell and broke her leg. Thankfully, the nursing home called me and even though we live in Washington DC, we were able to help coordinate her care. At least I could do that.

As we prepared to go back to Los Angeles for the Global Summit, I decided to try again. And for reasons that I don’t fully understand, this visit was completely different. I called Marjory, the caring hospital administrator who looks out for my mom, to let her know that we were coming. Marjory told my mother who seemed pleased about the upcoming visit. She even agreed when Marjory suggested that it might be a good idea to bring two chairs into her room so that we could sit down.

Juanita Mae Van Dahlen is 89 years old. She looks like any homeless woman you might see in any city. She is missing all of her front teeth and was recovering from a nasty rash that left her with blisters on her hands and face. None of this surprised me. I knew what to expect – but it was still difficult to see. She has lived a brutally hard life with many years on the street and little care for her physical or emotional health until recently.

What was shocking was how engaged she was – how kind, how interested, how smart and how funny. She loved seeing pictures of her granddaughters and hearing about their interests and activities. And she had no signs of dementia – surprising me several times by accurately recalling events from the first eight years of my life as well as details from the last visit we ever had when I was 13.

My mother also shows the signs of a long life lived with mental illness. Her speech is mechanical and her use of words and phrases idiosyncratic. Her emotional range is limited and she is understandably interpersonally cautious. She avoided all possible uncomfortable topics and never mentioned my brothers or her lost life. But she tolerated our presence and seemed to genuinely enjoy our visit. Most importantly to me, my mother wasn’t afraid of us – and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid of her.

It’s hard to explain what meeting my mother felt like. It was wonderful, terrible, happy and painful. I think the most overwhelming feeling I had – and have – is regret. My mother didn’t deserve this fate. She was a loving wife and mother who cared deeply for her family. She was a cub scout mom who drove her three little boys around Los Angeles in an old beat-up jeep. She didn’t ask for the illness that destroyed her life. It wasn’t fair that she lost us. It wasn’t fair that we lost her.

But I am also thankful and hopeful. I am thankful for all of the individuals and organizations that are working with us to change our culture. I am thankful for all of the people who are working to find cures for these devastating mental illnesses. I am thankful for the kindness and care that my mother is receiving and I am grateful that for the rest of her life, we will be able to help her. And someday, we will change the culture so that people like my mother receive the care and dignity they deserve.

As we were getting ready to leave, Randy stood up and asked if he could shake my mother’s hand. She gently said “no” and I suspect that she was embarrassed by the ugly blisters – or maybe she couldn’t tolerate being touched. Then she said, “maybe you can take something home from me to your girls.” She wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to say to them and asked for our thoughts. I offered that we could tell them that she loved seeing their pictures and learning about them - and that she is happy that they are doing well. My mother nodded and said “Yes, that would be very good.” And so we did.

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[imreviewblog]

Meeting My Mother

My husband and I arrived in Los Angeles on Sunday, April 30th as Give an Hour prepared to host the first ever Global Summit on Mental Health Culture Change. We partnered with Los Angeles County to build and implement a powerful three-day series of events designed to engage, educate and inspire. Give an Hour’s public health initiative, the Campaign to Change Direction (http://bit.ly/1CyzMHT), served as the inspiration and the opportunity for the Summit.

The Summit was a tremendous success. And then it was time to meet my mother.

My father was a veteran of WWII who lied about his age to join the Navy after Pearl Harbor. Like many combat veterans, he came home with post-traumatic stress – though no one knew what that was at the time. He returned to Los Angeles after the war, met and married my mother, had my three older brothers and decided to move his young family to the San Joaquin Valley in central California.

Exactly what happened next is hard to know. My mother gave birth to me shortly before the move. Perhaps it was the combination of removing her from her support system in Los Angeles and a severe case of postpartum depression that lead to the psychotic break that would shatter her life and our family.

So there we were – the WWII veteran, three little boys, a baby girl… and my psychotic mother. She was later diagnosed with schizophrenia – but that matters less than the impact her condition had on her and us. For the next eight years my dad tried to find help for her. But in rural California during the 1960s there was little help for people with my mother’s condition – especially for people from working class families.

My parents divorced when I was eight and my mother returned to live with her family in Los Angeles. They blamed my father – as if he had caused her mental illness – but they would soon find out that they couldn’t do much to help her either. As the years passed, we saw my mother less and less. None of us had any interest. My brothers seemed angry at her – probably because they felt abandoned – though that was never discussed. And I was afraid of her. She wore strange clothes and talked about aliens and god and space ships. Visits were awkward and uncomfortable. And although my brothers told me that she took good care of me when I was a baby, I have no memory of feeling anything toward her other than fear and embarrassment.

Unfortunately, there was more trauma to come during my childhood. After my parents divorced, my father married a very kind woman – but her daughter died in a car crash two years later and they divorced soon after. I lost my brother David to a drowning accident when I was 15 and my step-brother from my father’s third marriage died from a rare illness six months later. Our family had so much pain to deal with – I think we were all relieved that my mother was no longer in our lives. I stopped hearing from her, except for the card I received out of the blue when I graduated from high school. I didn’t respond.

I went to college and moved east for graduate school. I became a psychologist, married, had two beautiful daughters of my own, divorced and 12 years ago, founded the nonprofit organization Give an Hour. By harnessing mental health professionals all over the country, Give an Hour has provided over 220,000 hours of free mental health care to those who serve and their families. In 2015, Give an Hour launched the Campaign to Change Direction to change the culture of mental health so that all in need receive the treatment and support they deserve.

Until six years ago, I had no interest in finding my mother. I never spoke about her and most people probably assumed that, like my father, my mother had died early in my life. I can’t really take credit for wanting to find her either. In 2010, I married a wonderful man who offered to help if I wanted to look for her. It was Randy’s offer – and his love for me – that lead to the discovery of my mother in a nursing home in Glendale California in the fall of 2014.

We tried to visit my mom soon after we located her. We reached out to the nursing home and sent cards, flowers and pictures to help prepare her for the visit. It is impossible to imagine how painful it must have been for her to lose her mind and then her four children – through no fault of her own. She had developed a chronic, relentless, debilitating disorder and eventually fell through the cracks in society. And then, 43 years later, her daughter showed up for a visit.

That first attempt to see my mother went poorly and was extremely upsetting. She was agitated and overwhelmed and couldn’t tolerate the visit. She didn’t want us in her room. So we stood in the doorway – trying to talk to her – until we realized that she just wanted to be left alone. I remember going back to the hotel that night – crying for her, for me and for my family.

I didn’t give up. I continued to send cards, flowers and pictures. Soon after that first visit, my mother fell and broke her leg. Thankfully, the nursing home called me and even though we live in Washington DC, we were able to help coordinate her care. At least I could do that.

As we prepared to go back to Los Angeles for the Global Summit, I decided to try again. And for reasons that I don’t fully understand, this visit was completely different. I called Marjory, the caring hospital administrator who looks out for my mom, to let her know that we were coming. Marjory told my mother who seemed pleased about the upcoming visit. She even agreed when Marjory suggested that it might be a good idea to bring two chairs into her room so that we could sit down.

Juanita Mae Van Dahlen is 89 years old. She looks like any homeless woman you might see in any city. She is missing all of her front teeth and was recovering from a nasty rash that left her with blisters on her hands and face. None of this surprised me. I knew what to expect – but it was still difficult to see. She has lived a brutally hard life with many years on the street and little care for her physical or emotional health until recently.

What was shocking was how engaged she was – how kind, how interested, how smart and how funny. She loved seeing pictures of her granddaughters and hearing about their interests and activities. And she had no signs of dementia – surprising me several times by accurately recalling events from the first eight years of my life as well as details from the last visit we ever had when I was 13.

My mother also shows the signs of a long life lived with mental illness. Her speech is mechanical and her use of words and phrases idiosyncratic. Her emotional range is limited and she is understandably interpersonally cautious. She avoided all possible uncomfortable topics and never mentioned my brothers or her lost life. But she tolerated our presence and seemed to genuinely enjoy our visit. Most importantly to me, my mother wasn’t afraid of us – and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid of her.

It’s hard to explain what meeting my mother felt like. It was wonderful, terrible, happy and painful. I think the most overwhelming feeling I had – and have – is regret. My mother didn’t deserve this fate. She was a loving wife and mother who cared deeply for her family. She was a cub scout mom who drove her three little boys around Los Angeles in an old beat-up jeep. She didn’t ask for the illness that destroyed her life. It wasn’t fair that she lost us. It wasn’t fair that we lost her.

But I am also thankful and hopeful. I am thankful for all of the individuals and organizations that are working with us to change our culture. I am thankful for all of the people who are working to find cures for these devastating mental illnesses. I am thankful for the kindness and care that my mother is receiving and I am grateful that for the rest of her life, we will be able to help her. And someday, we will change the culture so that people like my mother receive the care and dignity they deserve.

As we were getting ready to leave, Randy stood up and asked if he could shake my mother’s hand. She gently said “no” and I suspect that she was embarrassed by the ugly blisters – or maybe she couldn’t tolerate being touched. Then she said, “maybe you can take something home from me to your girls.” She wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to say to them and asked for our thoughts. I offered that we could tell them that she loved seeing their pictures and learning about them - and that she is happy that they are doing well. My mother nodded and said “Yes, that would be very good.” And so we did.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from Healthy Living - The Huffington Post http://huff.to/2qZzBF9

[coupsyboopsy]

Rant that I need to get out. You don’t have to read. 

My mother is getting out of hand. I know that having younger siblings would mean that I would have to see them get away with stuff I didn’t. But she was so nip-picky when I was a kid and now (at 26) about things when it comes to me but not them? That’s not the problem though.

She tells me that I live in the past (when I try really hard to let things go despite my anxiety constantly reminding me of that time 15 years ago I said something that I shouldn’t have and I hope that that person doesn’t remember it when I agonize over it at least once a week) when she literally throws shit in my face all the time. Like last night, my brother was doing something math related and made a simple mistake. I teased him and was like “Come on, man, that was simple math. No wonder you’re struggling in math--” He laughed and hit me (playfully) and said something about how I suck at math. 

My mother says “said the girl who dropped a class.”

First of all, my brother having a D in math is because he doesn’t do his homework. I dropped a class because I was going to fail it if I didn’t because I had a mental breakdown that almost broke me down. I wasn’t getting out of bed. I wasn’t eating. I was just sleeping because I couldn’t face the world. I went to get help for it because I thought that I would try that before driving myself off a mountain, thank you very much. 

My dropping a class was a two-week decision that I cried over to my therapist and to my best friends. It was a REALLY hard decision for me to do that. 

This is why I am terrified to tell my mom that I am dropping out of graduate school. I told her I hate the program and that it makes me miserable and it makes my anxiety/panic and depression (clinically diagnosed mood disorders, not just issues that come and go normally, real and legit mental illnesses, each with a diagnosis and medication) completely unmanageable. I have been rediagnosed with PTSD because of unresolved trauma in my past and the way that mom has invalidated everything I have been through this semester. I was told that bipolar disorder was an option for me to be assessed on (which, ultimately, as of now, it is believed that I don’t have bipolar disorder even if I show signs of it--that’s where the PTSD came back in). My mom said that “bipolar is the new shrink fad, everyone has bipolar now.” 

I’ve grown up with this but it’s the times that I needed it the most that my mom makes me feel foolish for having emotions and reacting to comments that she doesn’t see as triggering but make me go from 0 to 100 real quick because she’s attacking everything I’m experiencing and telling me I’m just dramatic and sensitive. Oh, but she loves to tell me when I actually fight for myself (because no one else ever will), that I shouldn’t be yelling and get worked up because it’s “bad for my anxiety.” Bitch, fuck you, you don’t know shit about my anxiety and what I go through. You only fucking care NOW because your precious little baby favorite kid may be diagnosed with severe anxiety. NOW IT IS ON HER RADAR AS A LEGIT THING WHEN A THE KID THAT’S BEEN IN HER LIFE THREE YEARS HAS IT BUT HER DAUGHTER OF 26 NEVER HAD IT AND DIDN’T NEED MEDICATION FOR IT. 

Yeah. 

Then she gets passive aggressive and is just “I can never do anything right for you. Guess that’s what I get for giving you a good life.” OH MY GOD THE RICHEST OF PEOPLE HAVE MENTAL ILLNESSES TOO IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MY LIFE?! I fight back because I’m tired of being attacked??????? And feeling like everything hard thing I deal with is peanuts compared to her hard life growing up. I know had it hard and my childhood wasn’t like hers in the terms of physical abuse. Emotional abuse and mental abuse are just as devastating, and real as the physical abuse. Telling your kid at the ripe age of 16 that driving into a wall sounds like a good idea because her kid is driving her crazy is NOT normal. It’s not comforting. Telling your daughter that was raped only months before that you think she’s overreacting and it was just a bad decision she made and regretted because it was the first time she had sex (or her first kiss) and it wasn’t really rape is NOT OKAY. It’s humiliating, it’s shaming, it’s devastating, it’s debilitating, it’s abuse. 

If it weren’t for my brothers, I would have walked out and never come back into her life again. It’s an option again, honestly. I’m so tired of being made to feel small, shameful, worthless, disgusting, like my life doesn’t have any point anymore because of a person. 

The reason that sparked all of this is that in my final paper in the class I hated the most this semester, and got a C on WOO, my professor made a note that she said she knew I had a hard semester and that I did well despite everything going on, that she hoped I have a good summer, that she hoped to see me next semester. My god damn professor seems more understanding of my fucking mental state knowing nothing except that I got help and that I’m working through stuff to get a diagnosis and that I’m taking medicine. My professor that I dropped the class talked to me about it and said that he could tell I was struggling last semester and even more this semester, and that he’s glad that I made a healthy and mature choice to drop the class. 

My professors care more about my mental state than my own mother.

[viralhottopics]

31 celebrities who smashed the stigma surrounding mental illness in 2016.

It may not seem like that big of a deal when a celebrity speaks up about their experiences with mental illness. But it is.

Throughout 2016, dozens of actors, authors, artists, and athletes trailblazers we’re used to seeing smiling on red carpets or snagging gold medals on TV shared the personal battles they’ve faced behind closed doors. It was a groundbreaking year.

It levels the playing field,” Aaron Harvey says of the many public figures who chose to speak up. Harvey is the founder of Intrusive Thoughts, a group set on humanizing those living with mental illness. Suddenly, you realize the same struggles that you have might be the same struggles that someone you really idolize have. And that [makes it] OK.”

The stigma surrounding mental illness is taking lives. Many millions of people living with conditions like depression and anxiety are shamed into believing there’s something inherently wrong with them that they’re weak, for instance, or even dangerous to others. They suffer in silence because of it.

When a person with a platform becomes a face others can relate to, it becomes a little bit easier for someone else to follow in their footsteps, talk to someone, and get the help they need. Speaking up can save a life.

Here are 31 celebrities who spoke out in 2016 some of them for the first time about their experiences living with a mental illness:

1. Actress Kristen Bell wrote about why you can’t trust all of your thoughts when you’re battling depression.

“For me, depression is not sadness. Its not having a bad day and needing a hug. It gave me a complete and utter sense of isolation and loneliness. Its debilitation was all-consuming, and it shut down my mental circuit board. I felt worthless, like I had nothing to offer, like I was a failure. Now, after seeking help, I can see that those thoughts, of course, couldnt have been more wrong.” Kristen Bell, on living with depression

2. Singer Selena Gomez reminded us that you never really know what’s going on in someone else’s head.

“I had to stop. ‘Cause I had everything, and I was absolutely broken inside. And I kept it all together enough to where I would never let you down, but I kept it too much together, to where I let myself down. I don’t want to see your bodies on Instagram, I want to see what’s in here. [puts hand on heart] I’m not trying to get validation, nor do I need it anymore. … If you are broken, you dont have to stay broken.” Selena Gomez, on living with anxiety and depression

3. Musical artist Kid Cudi got candid about the limitations that living with a mental illness put on his own life.

“My anxiety and depression have ruled my life for as long as I can remember and I never leave the house because of it. I can’t make new friends because of it. I don’t trust anyone because of it and Im tired of being held back in my life. I deserve to have peace. I deserve to be happy and smiling. Why not me?” Kid Cudi, on living with anxiety and depression

4. Actor Wentworth Miller opened up about becoming the butt of a body-shaming joke amid his struggle to survive.

“Now, when I see that image of me in my red t-shirt, a rare smile on my face, I am reminded of my struggle. My endurance and my perseverance in the face of all kinds of demons. Some within. Some without. Like a dandelion up through the pavement, I persist.” Wentworth Miller, on living with depression

5. Actress Hayden Panettiere shared with fans that they might be seeing less of her because, first and foremost, she needed to prioritize getting well.

The postpartum depression I have been experiencing has impacted every aspect of my life. Rather than stay stuck due to unhealthy coping mechanisms, I have chosen to take time to reflect holistically on my health and life. Wish me luck!” Hayden Panettiere, on living with postpartum depression

6. Singer Zayn Malik penned an essay on why he had to cancel performances due to severe anxiety.

“The thing is, I love performing. I love the buzz. I dont want to do any other job. Thats why my anxiety is so upsetting and difficult to explain. Its this thing that swells up and blocks out your rational thought processes. Even when you know you want to do something, know that it will be good for you, that youll enjoy it when youre doing it, the anxiety is telling you a different story. Its a constant battle within yourself.” Zayn Malik, on living with anxiety

7. Artist Lady Gaga revealed a secret about her own battles at an event benefitting young homeless teens in New York.

“My own trauma in my life has helped me to understand the trauma of others. I told the kids today that I suffer from a mental illness. I suffer from PTSD. I’ve never told that to anyone before, so here we are.” Lady Gaga, on living with post-traumatic stress disorder

8. NFL wide receiver Brandon Marshall explained why organizing with one another not hiding away is crucial for those living with a mental illness.

I thought, How many others are out there suffering? I tell people all the time, you know, where were at in [the mental health] community is where the cancer and HIV community was 20, 25 years ago. So we have to galvanize this community. Brandon Marshall, on living with borderline personality disorder

9. Actress Rachel Bloom showed us why we shouldn’t let stereotypes about medication dictate whether we should get the proper help we need.

“I had gone to therapists, but for the first time I sought out a psychiatrist. In his office I finally felt safe. I told him everything. Each session improved my life. He diagnosed me with low-grade depression and put me on a small amount of Prozac. Theres a stereotype (I had believed) that antidepressants numb you out; that didnt happen to me.” Rachel Bloom, on living with depression

10. Musical artist Justin Vernon of Bon Iver got real about what a panic attack can actually feel like.

It was like: Oh my god, my chest is caving in, what the f**k is going on? I dont like talking about it, but I feel its important to talk about it, so that other people who experience it dont feel its just happening to them. Justin Vernon, on living with panic attacks and depression

11. Singer Demi Lovato pointed out the importance of consistently staying on top of your health for the long haul.

“Its not something where you see a therapist once or you see your psychiatrist once, its something you maintain to make sure that you want to live with mental illness. You have to take care of yourself. Demi Lovato, on living with bipolar disorder

12. Actress Lena Dunham opened up about how anxiety affects her day-to-day routines.

Ive always been anxious, but I havent been the kind of anxious that makes you run 10 miles a day and make a lot of calls on your BlackBerry. Im the kind of anxious that makes you like, Im not going to be able to come out tonight, tomorrow night, or maybe for the next 67 nights. Lena Dunham, on living with anxiety

13. NFL guard Brandon Brooks discussed the difference between game-day jitters and the type of anxiety he experiences.

I wanted to get to the bottom of whats going on. Basically, I found out recently that I have an anxiety condition. What I mean by anxiety condition [is] not nervousness or fear of the game. … I have, like, an obsession with the game. Its an unhealthy obsession right now and Im working with team doctors to get everything straightened out and getting the help that I need and things like that. Brandon Brooks, on living with anxiety

14. Actress Evan Rachel Wood spoke out about how our world’s tendency to overlook or dismiss certain groups can complicate a person’s mental health.

“For so long, I was ashamed. Youre dealing with the shame that the world has imposed upon you, and then on top of that, the shame of identifying that way. Youre totally looked down upon in and out of the LGBT community. A good way to combat that and the stereotypes is to be vocal.” Evan Rachel Wood, on living with depression and coming out as bisexual

15. Actress Cara Delevingne got real about her early struggles living with a sense of hopelessness.

“I’m very good at repressing emotion and seeming fine. As a kid I felt like I had to be good and I had to be strong because my mum wasn’t. So, when it got to being a teenager and all the hormones and the pressure and wanting to do well at school for my parents, not for me I had a mental breakdown. I was suicidal. I couldn’t deal with it any more. I realized how lucky and privileged I was, but all I wanted to do was die.” Cara Delevingne, on living with depression

16. Comedian Patton Oswalt laid out the difference between living with depression and surviving the devastation of losing a loved one.

Depression is more seductive. Its tool is: Wouldnt it be way more comfortable to stay inside and not deal with people? Grief is an attack on life. Its not a seducer. Its an ambush or worse. It stands right out there and says: The minute you try something, Im waiting for you. Patton Oswalt, on living with depression and the grief brought on by his wife’s death

17. Singer Kesha opened up about what led her to a rehab program focused on treating eating disorders.

“I felt like part of my job was to be as skinny as possible and, to make that happen, I had been abusing my body. I just wasn’t giving it the energy it needed to keep me healthy and strong.” Kesha, on living with an eating disorder

18. Author John Green wrote about the dangers of romanticizing mental illness.

“Mental illness is stigmatized, but it is also romanticized. If you google the phrase ‘all artists are,’ the first suggestion is ‘mad.’ We hear that genius is next to insanity. … Of course, there are kernels of truth here: Many artists and storytellers do live with mental illness. But many dont. And what I want to say today, I guess, is that you can be sane and be an artist, and also that if you are sick, getting help although it is hard and exhausting and inexcusably difficult to access will not make you less of an artist.” John Green, on living with depression

19. Musical artist Halsley discussed her attempt at suicide as a teenager.

I had tried to kill myself. I was an adolescent; I didnt know what I was doing. Because I was 17, I was still in a childrens ward. Which was terrifying. I was in there with 9-year-olds who had tried to kill themselves. Halsley, on living with bipolar disorder, and once staying in a psychiatric hospital

20. Prince Harry addressed the problem with assuming people who seemingly have their lives in order aren’t struggling with an invisible issue.

You know, I really regret not ever talking about it. … A lot of people think if youve got a job, if youve got financial security, if youve got a family, youve got a house, all that sort of stuff everyone seems to think that is all you need and you are absolutely fine to deal with stuff. Prince Harry, on living with grief after his mother’s death

21. Actress Rowan Blanchard explained why living with a mental illness can be a learning opportunity.

“I learned this year that happiness and sadness are not mutually exclusive. They can exist within me at the same time in the same moment. While also becoming more forgiving of myself and my emotions, I became more forgiving of others, specifically other teenagers.” Rowan Blanchard, on living with depression

22. Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps spoke candidly about why even gold medals couldn’t truly make him happy.

I went in with no self-confidence, no self-love. I think the biggest thing was, I thought of myself as just a swimmer, and nobody else. … I was lost, pushing a lot people out of my life people that I wanted and needed in my life. I was running and escaping from whatever it was I was running from. Michael Phelps, on living with mental illness

23. Actress Jenifer Lewis talked about how the AIDS epidemic led her to realize she needed help.

“Sometimes I suspected that something was not quite right. Especially during the time when the AIDS epidemic was at its height and my grief was pretty much out of control. No one was talking about bipolar disorder and mental illness back then. I had lost so many friends and loved ones. My spiral into depression was overwhelming; I could not function. Thats when I couldnt ignore the fact that something was wrong anymore. Jenifer Lewis, on living with bipolar disorder

24. Singer Adele highlighted why not each form of mental illness manifests the same way in every person.

“My knowledge of postpartum [depression] or post-natal, as we call it in England is that you dont want to be with your child; youre worried you might hurt your child; youre worried you werent doing a good job. But I was obsessed with my child. I felt very inadequate; I felt like Id made the worst decision of my life. … It can come in many different forms.” Adele, on living with postpartum depression

25. Actor Jared Padalecki launched a new “I Am Enough” campaign, selling shirts to support initiatives that fight depression and self-harm.

I am enough. And you are enough. … I know I can keep fighting and I know that Im trying to love myself, but sometimes you feel like youre not enough. So this message is helping me kind of understand that I am enough just the way I was made. Jared Padalecki, on living with depression

26. Actress Amanda Seyfried nailed why we should be treating mental illness just as seriously as any other disease or condition.

“Im on [antidepressant] Lexapro, and Ill never get off of it. Ive been on it since I was 19, so 11 years. Im on the lowest dose. I dont see the point of getting off of it. Whether its placebo or not, I dont want to risk it. And what are you fighting against? Just the stigma of using a tool? A mental illness is a thing that people cast in a different category [from other illnesses], but I dont think it is. It should be taken as seriously as anything else.” Amanda Seyfried, on living with anxiety and depression

27. Musical artist Keke Palmer opened up about how her own mental illness postponed the release of a new album.

I stopped trying all together because I allowed people to make me believe that being an artist meant having big budget music videos and big record producers backing you. When in reality, all being an artist means is to be fearless in your creative pursuits. My anxiety, caused by the habit of unconsciously holding my breath, coupled with the stress of my personal life at that time created a lot of hard years of depression for me. Keke Palmer, on living with anxiety

28. Actress Catherine Zeta-Jones said she’s in a good place right now, thanks to identifying her struggle and finding the help that was right for her.

“Finding out that it was called something was the best thing that ever happened to me! The fact that there was a name for my emotions and that a professional could talk me through my symptoms was very liberating. There are amazing highs and very low lows. My goal is to be consistently in the middle. Im in a very good place right now.” Catherine Zeta-Jones, on living with bipolar disorder

29. Actor Devon Murray used World Mental Health Day to share his own ups and downs with fans on Twitter.

“I’ve been battling depression in silence for ten years and only recently spoke about it and [it] has made a huge difference. I had suicidal thoughts this year and that was the kick up the arse that I needed! Open up, talk to people. If you suspect a friend or family member is suffering in silence [reach out] to them. Let them know you care.” Devon Murray, on living with depression

30. Musical artist Jade Thirlwall discussed a dark time in her life that looked picture-perfect from afar.

“My periods stopped and things were getting out of control, but I don’t think I really cared about what was happening to me. I felt so depressed at the time that I just wanted to waste away and disappear. … It should have been a really happy time my career was successful, ‘Black Magic’ was doing well, and we were traveling and performing. On the surface I was happy, but inside I felt broken.” Jade Thirlwall, on battling anorexia

31. Musician Ellie Goulding explained how her panic attacks often came at the worst possible times.

“I was skeptical [of going to therapy] at first, because Id never had therapy, but not being able to leave the house was so debilitating. And this was when my career was really taking off. My surroundings would trigger a panic attack, so I couldnt go to the studio unless I was lying down in the car with a pillow over my face. I used to beat myself up about it.” Ellie Goulding, on living with anxiety and facing panic attacks

Many celebrities have helped bring the conversation around mental health into the mainstream. But it’s on us to make the real change happen.

While its amazing to have celebrities out there blazing trails and introducing a radical new transparency,” Harvey notes, “the most important thing is that individual sufferers communicate with their everyday connections. If we really want to make an impact on stigma, it cant just be a headline.”

If you need help, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1800273TALK (8255). If you want to learn more about mental illness, visit the National Alliance on Mental Health.

Read more: http://u.pw/2oCny2M

from 31 celebrities who smashed the stigma surrounding mental illness in 2016.