#feel like I’m a Zoloft commercial

[muchemoaboutnothing]

x

[weirdpersonifiedpills]

I need zoloft lore. Where did the silly come from.

Also, adderall being a squirrel is funny to me bc that means it's highly likely meth is also a squirrel. Ah yes strung-out squirrel spending 3 hours sorting good acorns

He gives me trust fund nepotism vibes, but not in the “I’m an entitled brat” way, more in the “I know I kinda got special treatment but I’m still gonna do my best with the opportunities I was lucky enough to receive” way, but that’s more of a personal headcanon than anything. He gets lighthearted flack from the other meds for getting in on recommendation.

(Doodle of Zoloft with the Zoloft Blob from those old commercials‼️)

Zoloft was approved in the US on December 30th of 1991 on recommendation from the FDA Psychopharmacological Drugs Advisory Committee, which, funny enough, had convened regarding Prozac on September 20th of that same year, their vote exonerating Prozac and letting his parent company Eli Lilly off the hook for the controversies that had been going on.

Similar to how Prozac is related to the antihistamines, Zoloft is related to the antipsychotics (distantly) and the norepinephrine reuptake inhibitors (parent compound). His parent drug was tametraline, but side effects caused its development to be stopped in 1979, which allowed sertraline to be developed from it. Zoloft and Celexa actually have a very similar creation, both being developed from an NRI drug that either showed or was likely to show concerning side effects that halted its development and meant it never hit the market, allowing it to be turned into an SSRI. (Technically tametraline is norepinephrine-dopamine reuptake inhibitor but given a lot of NRIs weakly act on other neurotransmitters, it’s close enough).

They’ve got super thick fur, I designed him with that because when I was on Zoloft all I did was sweat constantly and feel overheated lol, but depending on what I end up personifying the NRIs as (which I need to decide because there’s a bunch I wanna draw) it’ll probably make sense family wise as well.

The way Pfizer chose to market Zoloft lead to an upset between companies. Zoloft hit the US market in 1992, (the same year as Paxil) and had been on the European market as early as 1990 (Paxil had been on the UK market as Seroxat since 1991). Once again, similar to how Celexa was developed and released later than some of the other SSRIs, Zoloft was as well, and Pfizer knew this. To counteract this fact, Pfizer took to advertising Zoloft as “cleaner” than the other SSRIs (mainly Prozac and Paxil, the two biggest SSRIs). Despite not having much, if any, clinically relevant research on their side, the constant pushing of the idea that Zoloft was somehow safer and cleaner helped make it a worthy contender in the market space. Technically Zoloft was the first “enantiomerically pure SSRI drug to hit the market” so that’s probably where that came from. The parent companies of these meds responded to each other as they all fought for dominance on the market. Zoloft was Prozac’s other closest competitor aside from Zoloft. It was only when Lilly realized Prozac had an advantageously long half life that wouldn’t cause nearly as severe discontinuation syndrome that they were able to shake the other two meds off of Prozac’s tail.

(This should say 1992 not 1993 oopsie)

Prozac would’ve met Zoloft first, as they both had launched in other countries before Paxil did, however, Zoloft is closer to Celexa and Lexapro than they are to Prozac and Paxil, who bonded over shared struggles that Zoloft didn’t have. Celexa and Lexapro had a lot more in common with him, both age, experience, and personality wise, and him and Celexa were seen as the “backing chorus” to Prozac and Paxil, the two biggest SSRIs. Zoloft was considerably younger than Prozac and a bit younger than Paxil when he hit the US market.

Zoloft kept his nose squeaky clean compared to Prozac and Paxil, with Prozac’s prime being entangled with controversies about him as a medication (80’s-early 2000’s) and Paxil’s parent company GSK getting into plenty of hot water by withholding and suppressing unfavorable data on Paxil, among other things regarding the medication (early 2000’s to mid 2010’s).

Honestly, Zoloft has a very standard history compared to Prozac, and even to Paxil. They were wrapped up in the same black box warning issues of the early 2000’s, but so was every other antidepressant at the time. Zoloft experienced the blowback from Prozac’s controversies like the other SSRIs did, but still looked up to him as a leader and role model all the same. I remember being surprised to learn that Paxil was the other big SSRI back in the day because it seems like literally everyone I meet is on Zoloft. I’ve got friends on it, my sister is on it, a bunch of her friends are on it, and if I’m talking to someone about antidepressants, there tends to be a good chance they’re on Zoloft as well, even I’ve taken Zoloft. He’s a good guy, he’s the “and Brian” of the group honestly, just an all around decent dude who leaves the drama to the other crazies of his class. They do their job and do it well, he’s soft spoken compared to the high-energy personalities of Celexa, Lexapro, and Paxil, and it’s one of his strengths. He’s empathetic and emotionally intelligent, able to provide comfort as well as confidence that he’s able to protect whoever needs it. They were also the second SSRI and third overall med that I officially designed, he has a special place in my heart 🩵🤍

(Art by @/craftzombie on Instagram who I’ve commissioned to draw all of my medication designs)

Edit- yes meth is a squirrel as well, one day I will sit down and design a meth squirrel 🐿️

[amandaray-nature-vs-nurture]

Take a Mosey on Down the Diagnosis Trail

Was I depressed? How depressed? Was it “clinical” or “seasonal” or “major”? From what I remember, at first I was clinically depressed. Sprinkle some Zoloft on it.

I didn’t like taking the Zoloft and whatever else I was prescribed; didn’t like the notion of having to take pills to be “normal”. As I know now, that is not an uncommon sentiment. I am pretty sure I was diagnosed within those same few years as having some anxiety disorder, but it was not an “official” diagnosis at first. I remember going back and forth with trying to accept this diagnosis and take my medication when I was supposed to. I had access to the internet back then, but it wasn’t like it is now. Not for most of us, anyway. We didn’t think of searching for things online and definitely couldn’t just type a vague idea in the web address bar and get anything other than an error message. Back then, free AOL CD’s were everywhere by the thousands and I began collecting them by the pounds in my bag and would just hide them in random places all over any house or place of business I found myself at.

Within the same year of being released after my first committal, my sister got arrested after snitching on her own damn self and my mom and I moved to a one road, one grocery store, no red-light town. We lived in an itty-bitty house, my window looking out onto a massive lot for semi-trucks to back up and turn around in (at least, that’s all they ever did right there) at the cotton factory. I could jump out of my window and be in said lot before I even completed taking a single step. There were adventures to be had there many intoxicated nights (one more serious than the rest), of the infinite types of adventures that would have resulted in death in most other instances. I’m lucky to be alive. “Lucky” doesn’t even begin to describe it. I hear stories about young women or men just being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or making risky decisions, and not making it out alive -- and I feel like absolute shit knowing that I dodged so many bullets and they did not.

So, as I was saying, my mom and I lived in this house -- just us -- and things steadily devolved. Meaning: there was absolutely zero psychiatric care during that time. Loads and loads of self-medication, and lots of Live LiveJournal-ing (I have tried to recover the account, to no avail). Our house was the house for getting fucked up. It makes my heart palpitate and my guts twist to write this, so I am lucky (there’s that word again) that this is not a story detailing many of the happenings of that wretched place, or any of the wretched places that came after. This house is where my addict tendencies became known to me in a way, and where I developed an eating disorder.

I was never diagnosed with an eating disorder, but my best friend at the time Meghan and I would see who could go the longest without eating while taking fists full of diet pills (I always gravitated toward Metabolife) that we’d stolen up the street. We lived for the Pro-Ana sites/blogs that were around back then and used their tips and tricks and thin-spiration images daily. We ended up purging together after eating anything. We’d drink hot water and punch each other in the gut after jumping around for a while. We were competitive regarding things like who could get the next bone to be more pronounced, and how much we were able to purge vs how much we ate/drank, clothing size, weight, measurements, our side-effect symptoms of whatever we were taking or doing or just the whole mess in general, who bruised easier, who cut the most, the deepest -- who cut the most fucked up saying into which area of skin and using what -- and even our stools (speaks incredible volumes about your diet).

Meghan and I were extremely codependent. I spent those years with her cycling through an infinite amount of possible diagnoses, but I was never helped in any way. I remember a few episodes of psychosis or mania or whatever it was that are mixed with significant chunks of amnesia in my memory. When I think back on the few close friendships I had as an undiagnosed and untreated (or wrongly diagnosed and wrongly treated) person, I imagine that to the people who found themselves stuck in my orbit -- the people who found themselves hypnotized by my incredible vulnerability mixed with utter recklessness and abandon… it must have been awful for them. Especially when they eventually snapped out of their trance and saw what was happening to them because of my disastrous and dangerous ways. My willingness to go as low as one could imagine, at the blink of an eye. I annihilated souls one at a time -- but, for the very clear record, they were always willing participants. I never forced anyone’s hand. Maybe I obliterated the very essence of people, but by that point, they all chose their fates to be intertwined with my own.

In that itty-bitty house next to the cotton factory, my mom ended up abandoning me with a guy I had been dating for a couple of weeks, at most, and his mother ended up taking me in. I only have a few solid memories of that traumatic experience, as well as for the years that ensued at Robert’s house. I lived there, hurting myself in secret and having panic attacks and floating through the world only kind of remembering getting from one year to the next. There was more self-medicating and spiraling. Some cock fights. What I am saying is, there were a whole lot of years that I went untreated.

The next diagnosis that I remember is a Bipolar Disorder diagnosis. I have no idea if I was allegedly Bipolar I or II, but there were other diagnoses such as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Generalized Anxiety, Panic Disorder, and PTSD. Everyone uses OCD so loosely, “Omg, I know; I’m (or someone else they know is) so OCD about…” That, or they think that everything I do is going to be immaculate and organized;  perfect. They don’t talk about the intrusive thoughts or the weird obsessions that no one can know about or the compulsive rituals we do that often have nothing to do with anything but if they don’t get done, something awful will happen and it will be all our fault. I remember when I was young I had the literal Fear of God in me. I was obsessed with death and Heaven and Hell. Thought about it all the time. I was told that God heard our thoughts and that he could always see us. Every night when I would lay down to go to bed, I forced myself to think of every single possible infraction I made that day and to beg God’s forgiveness for it while clutching my Precious Moments Bible. I lost a lot of sleep due to this and so it became increasingly more difficult to stay awake each night. I would pinch and scratch and slap myself to stay awake and beg for forgiveness. At some point I also began praying for the health and safety of every single family member I could think of and then for the health and safety of every person I could recall in my memory from being out and about during the day. I spent entire nights probing my memories for every possible soul who needed my prayers in order to be safe. I had to cycle through them, imagining God cupping his hand down around their home like a shield to keep bad guys from breaking in and to keep fires from happening or violent weather or someone from inside the home from hurting them or aliens from abducting and probing them (Fire in the Sky ruined my life that extra layer) or just whatever else my mind could come up with to be terrified of happening. I had to do this, and I had to do it as many times as humanly possible every night. I would, of course, pass out sometimes. I’d awake with a jolt and grab for my Bible. But, wait… what if it is upside down?! I would think. Surely there are crosses and other things within this Bible that would only invite evil and ensure my spot in Hell if inverted?!  And so I would get up, turn the light on, and check. Getting out of bed every time I was unsure whether or not the Bible was facing the correct way was exhausting -- more exhausting than this whole thing already was. I came up with a solution: tie a cord from the string on my light to the rail of my daybed. That barely lasted a night because I was convinced -- despite the cord being nowhere near slack enough -- that the shit would get wrapped around my neck and kill me (and I would likely die with an inverted Bible in my hands, before I could finish my prayers). Solution? Super-glue a penny into the top left corner inside the front cover of the Bible so that I could just feel in the dark which way the hateful thing was facing. Problem solved (still have the thing).

The next diagnosis I had was Bipolar with Rapid Cycling (maybe some of the readers can see where this is going at this point). Also, the PTSD was bumped up to C (complex)-PTSD. I was put on mood stabilizers, lithium, some new anti-psychotic that was promoted as something else through the commercials on television and anxiety medications. I was in my early twenties at this time. Maybe mid. No later than mid. I had lost my mind after the death of a loved one and uprooted my life with Aidyn to move to Savannah at the petitioning of a couple I had met while I worked at Taco Mac. The wife worked there with me, and the husband came up to see her a few times. He was a tattoo artist and had found work in Savannah. They had outed themselves as swingers to me and requested my presence in their bed more than once. Oh, and they were also the most intensely religious people I’d ever met in real life. I was told that I’d have a job in the tattoo shop so I talked a coworker, Christine, into going down there with me to scout an apartment and “interview” at the shop. Fast forward to meeting my husband and a while with him, having Shane -- There’s a whole lot of dirty and dangerous detail in there, with another couple of stints in hospitals, and a whole lot of Ambien being used for everything but sleeping before this point, but they’re not important to this story.

I have just brushed over something here that is a big issue: skin picking. Excoriation. That has been a daily habit ever since I can remember. I think I have glossed over it so far now because it is not an issue which we are currently dealing with and focused on, but it has gotten so bad on a number of occasions that we couldn’t even go in public. That is not specifically my thing and so I am not very familiar with it, but I do have access to some of the memories we have about it. 

After a couple of stays in jail and yet another hospital stay, I had the diagnosis of Schizoaffective Bipolar Disorder with Psychotic episodes. That one got me to the medications I am currently taking. All of my previous diagnoses still stand. I hit one of my bottoms during this time. There’s a whole lot more that I don’t remember than I do.

A few more stays in jail and a few years of sobriety later, and I had a diagnosis of DID. Dissociative Identity Disorder. I am still navigating that one. I’ve definitely been back forth and all around with this. I have mapped out a timeline of sorts in a journal, and it’s astounding how much sense this diagnosis makes. Finally: A diagnosis that actually fits all the way around. It is still quite alarming, and I am still trying to establish good communication between alters within my inner world and be more okay with referring to us as us or we or a system. We know now that the path we took could have never led us anywhere but here. We understand that only due to our most recent move to a place where we are safe with the kids, were we able to come forward and be known.

DID is a disorder rooted in trauma, and usually only makes itself known after the system has moved away from the direct influence or vicinity of the family member, caregiver, or other person (or people) who make it unsafe for parts of the system to be known. They were birthed by severe trauma and have existed for strictly covert missions to protect the other parts. Walls of amnesia are typically built up around the fractured pieces of personalities (this is always done at a young age -- usually sometime before seven to nine years old -- before personalities integrate into one personality), and stay up and operational in order to keep awareness of the trauma from reaching certain parts. When there’s no longer present and persistent perceived danger, these alters are often left with not knowing what to do with themselves and questioning their own validity and justification for living in an environment where no one needs to be protected. They have been operating within the system for so long in their own way of doing so, and the reactions of parts and systems to no longer being actively life-saving vary widely. They will reach out knowingly or not, and sometimes a system will even break down. 

My story is not atypical. It is a classic story of a journey down Diagnosis Trail through the mental healthcare system. The average amount of time for people to get to a correct diagnosis of DID is seven years after initially becoming a patient  within the mental healthcare system. Finding professionals who are willing to diagnose and treat dissociative disorders is a challenge, because despite the presence of the diagnostic criteria in the DSM-5 and clear cut texts on the treatment of DID, there are many people out there who have so little experience and knowledge of our disorder that they don’t “believe” in it.

This was my diagnosis journey, made intelligible and digestible as I could manage. I know that I touched on several different stories, and I definitely had to skip over so many significant times that came up as I was writing. I mean, I summed up multiple years at a time with just a couple of sentences, some of the time without even one actual meaningful memory to go with them. That’s what this blog is going to be for, in part; though, most of the details of my life are going to be published in my Memoirs. Thank you for reading and feel free to email me with or comment below any questions, comments, or concerns. 

[myonlybasket]

Background.

The beginning.  How’d we get here?

Really, the beginning was 2012, when I started taking medication.  Or maybe 2011, when I started therapy and got Baby’s First Diagnosis.  Or maybe one of the other hundred mile markers on the way from being an anxious child to being an adult with treatment-resistant recurring major depressive disorder (comorbid with generalized anxiety disorder and panic disorder).

When I was a kid, I didn’t know why I got really, really sad sometimes.  I didn’t understand why everything was scary.  I didn’t know that the amount of time I spent catastrophizing and thinking about death was abnormal.  I just knew how I felt.

I don’t remember learning about anxiety and depression.  I remember understanding that a loved one started taking medication after a slew of terrible deaths occurred in their life.  I was around 7, I think.  I’d seen commercials for the medication.  I don’t remember learning about feelings in guidance classes in elementary school.  I don’t remember anxiety or depression being discussed in middle school health class (though I do remember finding schizophrenia in the glossary and thinking it was funny).  It definitely wasn’t covered in 9th grade health class.  There were anti-bullying and anti-drug assemblies in high school, but I don’t remember anti-suicide assemblies or mental wellness assemblies or even social emotional learning.

To be fair, anxiety and depression have robbed me of many memories.  There are photos of me at events in high school that I cannot conjure any memory of.  My high school graduation is an absolute blank spot.  I remember being sweaty.  If not for the photos, I wouldn’t remember a thing.

I don’t remember when I was able to label my experience.  It wasn’t a moment of realization, but a slow dawning that this condition I’d heard of matched what I was going through.  It was increased access to the internet and the world and realizing that how I felt and behaved wasn’t how everyone felt and behaved.  When I could finally admit that I needed help, I knew a medical professional who could help--my mom.

I don’t remember asking my mom to ask our primary care physician to recommend a counselor, but I know that I did.  He recommended an older woman, who put her glasses on to write and took them off to look at me and talk to me, who had hair like Farrah Fawcett; I liked her, and I can still remember what her office smelled like.

Therapy didn’t help the depression much, especially once I went to college, where my social skills were lacking and my social energy was missing entirely, and my dad was diagnosed with brain cancer.  So when I realized that therapy wasn’t going to cut it, I told mom and she went with me to the doctor.

I remember hoping the meds would work, but then two months later when nothing had really changed, I’d call my doc again to get my dosage adjusted or the meds changed.  Every two months for so long, but there were a lot of dosages and a lot of classes of drug to try.  Sometimes it was longer than two months, because I had gotten my hopes up and it took a little longer to admit I wasn’t improving; sometimes it was shorter, because the side effects were unbearable and/or dangerous.

Zoloft. Effexor XR. Abilify. Pristiq ER. Clonidine. Trazodone. Prozac. Wellbutrin XL. klonopin.  Each of these was titrated up or down to try to find a sweet spot.  When I felt the meds weren’t working, I talked to my doctor.  The first psychiatrist I went to (recommended by my insurance) told me that giving up caffeine would solve my problems; I was a college kid and that wasn’t going to happen.  The second psychiatrist I went to (recommended by a friend) for four months before my insurance informed us they were not in-network and saddled us with a huge bill.  The third psychiatrist I saw (I found them on my insurance’s website) was helpful; they were the second tier of my copay so it was about $130 per appointment and I stopped going for a while and my PCP took over.  Then about a year ago, I got on my own insurance and started going back to the third place, where I am now.

I gave up on therapy during college because the therapist I’d been assigned was not a good match for me at all.  But once I left, I knew places I could go for help. I started at a place my insurance recommended when I moved home to student teach.  Then that therapist moved.  Then I had another recommended to me by a social worker, and I’ve been with her for four years now (our 4 year anniversary was a few days ago).

TL;DR: I was lost last year.  I was seeing all of my doctors regularly, taking my meds exactly as prescribed, trying to take care of my health as well as I could under the circumstances.  Eventually I reached a point where I was on several medications for anxiety and depression and my PCP, therapist, and psychiatrist all separately advised me that the bottom line was not working harder on wellness: the bottom line was that the stress from my job was going to eat me alive and that the next treatment step needed to be getting out of that environment.

So I tried to ride out the summer staying employed as long as I could.  At some point my therapist lightly suggested that I consider taking the year off from teaching.  That seemed ridiculous.  I had only applied for one job and gotten an interview. But the interview confirmed a hard truth: it was a position I was absolutely made for, but I was not at the right point in my life to take it.  So I toyed with the idea of taking the year off.

Eventually the other shoe dropped and I left my job.  It was incredibly difficult.  I’m a teacher and I’d been with my school for three years.  There were kids I was not ready to leave.  There were coworkers who I’d miss.  There would be people I’d be letting down.  I didn’t know how to tell my family.

But the people who were close to me could see what was becoming of me, and they understood and supported me.

Now I begin a new path.  I could be a whole new person in two months.

Stay tuned.

[loverikajeann]

MAT and “recovery” ?

WARNING: I type my thoughts, I don’t necessarily think about grammar or consider spelling...it’s my blog and you’re welcome to have a read just be prepared for the random nonsense. 

-scribblings that only make sense to me I suppose (shrugs)-

Wow. This topic or question rather has been on my mind very single day since I have considered myself to be “CLEAN” . Holy shit I swear this is such a HARD subject for MEEEEEEEE! Maybe because I have relapsed so many times that I question myself if I'm even worth giving it another try? You know what though I can already tell that this route is going to be a lot more successful than any of the other paths I have taken...hey that’s a GREAT idea let me start there!!! THE PATHS THAT I HAVE TAKEN AND FAILED!!!

ok so of course I have done the traditional detox for the week or so and then go into the sober living for the remainder of that time I really didn’t feel as though I was progressing at all. I was constantly reminded that only less than five percent of the class would be successful really, and the rest of us were bound for a relapse. It’s as though they said “ You have wasted your time because you will most likely return sooner or later, but feel proud of yourself because you at least realize and acknowledge that you have an addiction” 

So what did I do? I was sent home with about seven or eight medications...took them like I was supposed to...and little by little I began to abuse them as well. I also started taking KRATUM which let me tell you is practically an OPIATE but it wasn’t controlled..it wasn’t prescribed and sooner rather than later I also abused that, and sooner rather than later I relapsed. Did the whole traditional detox...sober living thirty day program and was again sent home with seven to eight medications to take...and I feel like these meds were absolute BULLSHIT. I mean gabapentin for nerve pain I wasn’t really experiencing. Then muscle relaxer that made me sleepy. Antipsychotic medications to help me “sleep” and it was some pretty heavy shit like Seroquel which I heard can be addictive in itself, and easily abused. Then Buspar for generalized anxiety which I ahve to agree I did feel here and there but I was supposed to take this on a daily basis. And finally Zoloft, which I have to admit was the only medication in my opinion that i felt I truly needed. You know I ended up relapsing again and ended up at the same place for the third and very last time. There was a conference during my last stay at the rehab in where the speaker talked about Suboxone and how they were the miracle drug due to the help of detox as well as the extreme amount of not functioning at all, he made it seem as though anyway. But I looked aroumd the room and said to him “Most of us get used to driving in much worse substances; Heroin, Meth or even worse like Fentanyl and we could drive “JUST FINE!” , anyway all of  began my questioning of what their specific strategy was at this place and pretty much all of the REHAB facilities in southern california and then it came to me like a lightning bolt of IDK something spectacular...you see they dont want to send you home on SUBOXONE because it truly is a FUCKING MIRACLE DRUG!! They’d have this drug that you can honestly take as long as you need it and AS LONG as you do not abuse it. It covers the SAME receptors of any opiate which means it is in the same drug class however it acts THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE in the BRAIN! Meaning it BLOCKS those receptors, you do NOT get a HIGH Or a EUPHORIA effect ( i know sucks, but trust me it’s an important part fo your recovery) and becuase it does the OPPOSITE of what an opiate would do...it fools your brain into thinking that you got your “fix” sort of speak so you dont have any cravings...did you hear me?! YOU DONT HAVE CRAVINGS! you can go about your life and function like a regular adult...work, do family stuff...be NORMAL!! And with the guidance of your doctor, you will slowly be tapered down,. It is a very slow process but it’s done carefully and as long and you and your doc are on the same page you will YOU WILL be successful. MY doctor described it as a “soft landing” it took years for your brain to get “Smashed” like the egg in the commercial, and so it’s going to take years for it to repair. Dr. A described it as a DEEP wound like breaking a femur bone for example...it can’t be repaired in the amount of time of a one week detox right? Or how about thirty days in physical therapy? Doesn’t make semse does it? Well addiction created a big wound like I said, and instead of taking seven or eight meds that I truly dont need like muscle relaxers I am HAPPY TO ANNOUNCE MY CURRENT TREATMENT (thanks to Dr.A) 

ok so....I checked into an ER hospital where they were already expecting me (yes I know VIP treatment is quite nice) I was given subozone after they dii a quick assesment of my current insanity stage and detoxing I had to do. I was sent home with about two weeks worth of SUBS, I take one in the AM and one again in the PM. I was required to enter an outpatient program at the hopsital in Arrowhead, which I think it abosolutely perfect becae we actively participate in our recovery...we do ZOOM meetings twice a week with our counselor. Ok you know know those meds they have you take at a rehab? Like HVRC? Well once you are sent home after a few hours at the ER, not you dont stay over night at all. I got sent hone with just the suboxone. Yes those first few days well the first week even was hell. I was in a lot of pain and I couldnt even move it took me over 24 hours to take a piss, three days or so to even put anything in my mouth! But no meds other than the SUBOXONE! And eventually, I woke up just like you genuinely HAPPY MAN. No cravings at all...not thoughts of using. I focus on the task at hand, I enjoy the day I’m presented with by god. Dr. Avalos said I will be weaned off once I let him know I’m ready meaning this is where I feel mentally strong, physically capable and have the support I need from my family members. And as long as I have NOT been abusing my script meaning not taking more than what I need to and so on, it should be a decent landing. Ofcourse he did say it would not be easy or a piece of cake...there will be some changes in my mood and all of that because yeah who likes going through med changes at all right, but it wont be impossible and like he said as long as I feel strong enough and I am honest about that then I got this! Obviously like anyother opiates he did say you shouldn’t discontinue taking without consulting because yeah it won’t be pretty meaning same detox s/sx do apply as if you were detoxing from any other opiate. So it was simple, just follow the doctors instructions, complete the 90 day outpatient program, get a sponsor and attend NA meetings, work the steps adn eventually be of service. And this time around I am happy to say that it’s WORKING, And thank god that at least if its the whole “Just for Today” speech, I can most def say that “Just for Today: I don’t have to use, I don’t have to get sick, I dont have to lie or cheat or steal..I can enjoy my day freely surrounded by the people who love me and those I love the nost as well.”

-Erika Valdez

[bbbbbimbo]

Personal

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so lonely and the only reason I’m expending the energy to type this up and “post” it, is to pretend I’m talking to someone and because every therapist says journaling helps. I miss my boy and I feel like I don’t even have anyone else to miss. All of my friends and I have grown apart. Not due to any one’s mistake but just, time and distance. And while I know that happens, that doesn't make it any less lonely. I feel like I’m impossible to make friends with otherwise, I suppose today's trigger is that it’s Christmas and I signed up for the secret Santa thing at work, which means someone got my name, but I didn’t get a gift. It’s a petty thing, but it’s like... it’s tiny but like “wow I really don’t mean SHIT to whoever that was! “ that’s painful. 

The person I got I only worked with maybe three times at that point and I still got him wine and a high-quality face mask! All I know is that’s he’s a boujee pretty boy and I still got him something. Other people got their secret Santa gifts as well as regular gifts from people. Like... I suppose i’m just bland at work and don’t have a personality. I try my best to check up on everyone, ask if they need help, let them know they’re appreciated, commend them when shit is hitting the fan and they’re keeping it together. I guess that’s not as important as other things. 

To top it off, I haven’t had my meds for months and I’m making poverty wages, and my mother WON’T keep up with figuring out why I was kicked off of her insurance. So I have no access to medicine or therapy. The also time I had an episode I sent out 10, literally ten intake requests and calls and I haven't gotten any response from any sliding scale, university or free clinics.  Fitting that I start to spiral on Christmas day. 

How am I supposed to save any money making MAYBE $250 a week? A MetroCard for the month is already half that. This is why I'm looking at dancing, I know it's not consistent. But I'd rather make $100 dollars a day dancing for myself than standing up for someone else's business, making poverty wages because me holding up their business doesn't mean enough. NTM, I'm not for the bullshit I have to put up with from customers and coworkers alike. 

I'm sick of being depressed. I wish I could go to sleep for 8 hours and not need to go right back to bed right after fucking breakfast. I would love to just tell myself to do something and do it. I hate depression I hate that I can;t make mistake without wanting to die, I hate that the man I love has to take care of me when he has his own trauma to handle and I'm so busted and broken and annoying that I can barely handle it and it literally makes me want to kill myself. Why should he have to deal with me when he could EASILY have some healthy go-lucky hiker, who like to write all day and help him fulfill his dreams.  I want to give him everything. He’s saved my life and showed me what it means when someone puts you first and really puts your first! With no motive. Not for any other reason than he wants to see me blossom into health and happiness. He does everything for me. He puts up with me which is %90 bullshit and I just want him to see that the woman he loves can be ...not useless and can have a good time without and anxiety attack fucking it up and him mentioning another woman or like watching trap porn or something throwing her into basically paralyzed terror.  I HATE being that way! I just want to give him happiness and health and good food and a spacious bedroom and healthy solitude and a nice bathroom and the ability to relax and enjoy himself without being judged or ANYthing. 

I haven’t been able to be alone with his fmaily for fucking years, that shit paralyzes me. for many reasons but one of them is that i can;t talk i never know what to say to anybody and my body frezzes and i;m going through 70 million possibilities in my head, 7000 different greetings and responses to their greeting and 

 And... I would love to be a happy-go-lucky hiker. I love hiking and I love writing and I feel like a fucking Zoloft commercial. But I hate the things I love. Nothing gives me joy anymore other than thinking of not being in these dead-end circumstances that I don't know how to fix or can't find the tools to fix or I don't know how to use the tools or... I don't know. I can only imagine being free of this fucking burden. Like, I can imagine me, being free of this or at least having it handled and like... being okay with waking up every day. I know I don't have it as bad as some people, obviously. and it takes everything I have to remember This isn't me being ungrateful or forgetting my blessings. This overweight annoying ass person who sleeps in and lets trash fester in her room and watches youtube all day and Instagram and sits around and doesn't sing or write or draw or talk to people or laugh is NOT ME and I don't know how to get her back or find her and I don't know who can help me get her back 

I don't know what to do. I can't lose weight, I can't afford more classes so I can land a better job to better my lifestyle. I can't get therapy. I can't get medication. I can't clean my room. I can't move out of my mom's house. and I'm getting sicker and sicker and I'm fucking ready to let it go. 

[swimminupstream-blog]

Disorder

By the age of thirteen I was diagnosed with clinical depression, and to be honest with you my only understanding of it beforehand had something to do with the strange Zoloft commercials I'd see repeated on the television. A sad egg moping around town with a lackluster for life always accompanied by a little storm cloud that he eventually couldn't be bothered by it's presence. I didn't understand why they came to the conclusion that they did, especially when I was prescribed that sad little egg and it made my existence seem so silly. I would sit deep in thought for days just wondering how certain life ending scenarios would pan out depending on where I was and what the settings allowed. I replayed the feeling of fatal impact in my mind to the point where I lusted after the end and wasn't even sure why. After my prescription bottle was empty I didn't bother to refill it, nor did I feel safe taking any others either.

A few months after I turned nineteen I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder--PTSD for short. Although after more honesty behind closed doors and a couple nights stay for suicide watch and they'd renamed my chaos two years later. I found a deep hole of depression so seemingly inescapable that I'd find moments of time blacked out and unavailable in my memory. I had friends and partners come into contact with me, but it was an imposter. I'm told it stems from early childhood trauma; they called it Dissociative Identity Disorder, and once I was aware it seemed to swallow me whole. I felt weak--my mind like a fragile mirror shattered to pieces so young that it compensated for it by allowing me to "check out" when triggered to do so.

Before I tell you what led to the chain reaction of my mental state, rest assured I've learned to dance on most days with my little storm cloud as well, and just like the little egg, I couldn't be bothered.

[whereisbizzy]

Zoloft and unofficial diagnoses

Took my first dose of Zoloft today. It’s weird, in my twenties, I was put on lots of different SSRIs - Prozac, Effexor, Lexapro, Wellbutrin, there might be another one in there. I was never given Zoloft for whatever reason, but I did want it. Not because of any rational reason. I just liked the commercials. There’s a sad little rock bouncing around that doesn’t take joy in anything because he’s depressed. Then it takes Zoloft and starts to feel better, bouncing a bit higher, maybe a little smile. I thought that was the cutest thing ever, but nobody prescribed it. Well, I’m on it now. Took it about an hour ago and now I’m pumping, where it will not pass into the breastmilk, I’m told. Psychiatrists are weird, aren’t they? I spent a half hour filling out forms electronically while she sat and made phone calls. Then we talked about my type of depression - am I sad, or anxious, do I have physical symptoms, am I sleeping, that sort of thing. If you’ve ever been to therapy you’ve seen these forms. It’s like the SATs for your mood. You can figure out what they’re getting at if you’re somewhat fluent in psychology. I can spot the bipolar questionnaire immediately, but I also have the DSM IV and V because I like diagnosing my friends and family. That’s the diagnostic manual for mental disorders, and totally worth the price if you’re a fucking weirdo like me. And no, I’m not in the mental health field.

[nezlifestudios]

People say life teaches you lessons. But I like to say it teaches you to avoid things moving forward. . That’s the truth isn’t it? It’s something I kept wondering over and over again every time I felt this overwhelming WHY ME feeling. Like these things don’t happen to normal people lol. And it was this viscous repetitive cycle of anger, resentment, depression and pain. And I couldn’t break it. I would envision the sad egg from the Zoloft commercial following me and raining all over my head. Reread the last sentence. Because visualization is powerful. And a huge key to healing. How was I going to heal if I just kept seeing myself in a depression commercial 😩😩🤣🤣!! . Hindsight... . But while you’re in the thick of it, and I know what it’s like, you can use all the help you can get. You need your toolbox stacked to the nines for this journey. And I’m telling you it’s going to be ok. There are a lot of us here for you even though we may not seem like we are. And here are a few tips to nudge you along when things get dark: - take 5 minutes and write yourself some posi notes on post its. Post these randomly around your house. The fridge, bathroom mirror, your phone screen saver is a must at this time. Just little reminders that you are loved and important. - ACTIVITY. find one and do it. Art. Puzzles. Gardening. Walking. Whatever. Do something everyday no matter how insignificant or painful or boring. - Journaling. It will help. This is probably on of the most cathartic things to do right here. Take some time each morning to jot down some thoughts. -Talk. Find someone to talk to. Seek help. It’s important you seek help from a professional if you’re experiencing symptoms of depression. There are sooo many resources out there. . . . Do you guys have something you have done that helps get you through tough times? I’d love to hear it. It might help someone else!! Thanks!!! . . . #virginiabeachartists #virginiabeachart #757artist #757art #acrylicpouring #acrylicpainting #acrylicart #acrylicpourart #acrylicpour #fluidart #fluidartist #jewelry #acrylicpourjewelry #suicideprevention #mentalhealthawareness (at Virginia Beach, Virginia) https://www.instagram.com/nezlifestudios/p/BvTuHBWDyJX/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=hi8mejeftsmc

[hmhteen]

Happy Book Birthday to DEFINITIONS OF INDEFINABLE THINGS by Whitney Taylor!

This is a contemporary romance about Reggie and Snake, two teens dealing with depression who meet while refilling their medications. They fall for one another, but complications arise when Reggie finds out that Snake’s ex-girlfriend is pregnant with his baby. Can their relationship survive the struggles of depression and the birth of Snake’s baby with another girl?

Read an excerpt of DEFINITIONS OF INDEFINABLE THINGS BELOW!

***

CHAPTER one

Nothing made me want to get hit by a bus more than Tuesday night happy pill (see: Zoloft) runs. After a lengthy car ride with my mother, who spent all ten minutes singing a God-awful Christian melody and praying for the state of my wayward soul, I’d have to physically restrain my hands to keep myself from shoving the door open and rolling out onto the highway. Sometimes I prayed, too. That a piano would fall from the sky and crush my miserable, suburban existence. Or that God would set CVS on fire to spare me from having to choose between Mickey Mouse and Flintstones gummy vitamins. Since I was, quite unfortunately, still alive, I took it that God couldn’t hear me over my mother’s off-key rendition of “Amazing Grace.” Or maybe he just didn’t bother noticing the pitiful lives of Flashburn inhabitants at all.

    Once we made it inside CVS, my mother always played this super annoying game of Find the Most Lame Thing and Force It on Reggie. She used to do this to my brother, Frankie, when she took him clothes shopping. Which probably explains why he turned out to be a sweater-vest-wearing, pleated-pants-enthusiast youth pastor five hundred miles away.

    “Regina, look at this little notebook,” she exclaimed right on cue, lifting up a composition journal with a cartoon duck on the front. “This would be perfect for you to journal in.”

    I rolled my eyes. “Great idea, Karen. I’ll write about how much I hate baby ducks inside a baby duck. It’ll be one giant eff you to ducks everywhere.”

    “Don’t call me Karen,” she scolded. “You know I don’t like that. And don’t insinuate curse words.”

    “Fine. I’ll just say it outright next time.”

    She adjusted her cat-eye glasses and sighed. “I just thought it would be nice for you to have a journal so you can start writing your feelings down like Dr. Rachelle advised.”

    “What would be nice is if you and Dr. Rachelle stopped forcing activities on me like there’s actually a chance in—” She raised both brows in a warning. “Hades, that I’ll enjoy it.”

    “We just want you to be happy, sweetheart.”

    There was a difference between being happy and being distracted, but I knew Karen wouldn’t understand. And picking one of our signature back-and-forths (see: screaming matches) in the middle of the school supplies aisle seemed a bit melodramatic.

    Somehow, I was able to break away from Karen with minimal objection. I was halfway through the store before she could call my name from the creams and ointment aisle, but when she did, it was something like, “Reggie, do you still have that pesky rash on your backside?”

    I didn’t respond. Needless to say, her fascination regarding the condition of my ass went unsatisfied. Set on autopilot, I ended up at the back of the store where the pharmacist was rearranging cases on a shelf. When she saw me, she smiled politely and moved to the counter.

    “I’m here for a refill,” I recited. “Reggie Mason. Zoloft.”

    She glanced at a sheet of paper. “Birthdate?”

    “January ninth.”

    “Okay, that will be ready in about eight to ten minutes if you would like to wait around. Sorry for the delay. We’ve had an influx of orders with it being allergy season.”

    “That’s all right. Thanks.”

    I’d started scanning for a place to sit when some guy practically shoved me to the side. “Excuse me, prescription refill for Prozac. Last name Eliot,” he said to the pharmacist.

    She nodded, marking the paper. “Birthdate?”

    “December twelfth.”

    “That will be ten minutes if you would like to wait.”

    He turned and caught a glimpse of my vengeful stare. Brown hair hung loosely in front of his eyes, toppling over his ears. He had this stupid, diamond-shaped tattoo on the left side of his neck that looked like it was done by one of those wannabe tattoo artists who work from their garage and use bum needles that give people bacterial infections. His grungy THE RENEGADE DYSTOPIA band T-shirt crept out from behind his acid-washed jacket.

    “That band sucks,” I mumbled just as he was about to walk away.

    He stopped directly in front of me. “Interesting observation,” he responded; his raspy voice sounded like he was recovering from a nasty cold. “I find that their irreverence toward the norms of modern age grunge culture is kind of their appeal.”

    “Maybe to people who are so desperate to be original that they’re actually more banal than everyone else.”

    He glanced down at the shirt with the stupid band. “You’re right,” he said, sliding his arms out of the jacket.

    “What are you doing?”

    He lifted the shirt over his head, exposing a white T-shirt underneath it. “The band is shit. I mean, they sing the same lyric eight times in a row and call it a song. It’s pathetic.”

    “Then why were you wearing the shirt?”

    “I guess to send a message.”

    “The message being?”

    “I like shit music and need a pretentiously opinionated emo girl leaning against a rack of laxatives to help me with my taste.”

    Dulcolax (see: terrible first impression) caught my eye the second I dared take a look behind my head. “Your taste in music should be the least of your worries,” I said, crossing my arms across my black sweater as if to declare the laxative display my territory. At least it wasn’t feminine products. That could have gotten awkward. “Prozac is the worst antidepressant on the market. I couldn’t fall asleep for days when I was on it.”

    “Don’t forget the dizziness,” he added. “I tripped in the shower and about busted my head on the toilet. They don’t show you that on the commercials.”

    “Nope. Not unless the sun was beaming through your window or you were on a bike.”

    “Man,” he said, snapping his fingers. “The one time I don’t ride a bike in the shower.”

    He was staring at me with a weirdly attractive grin on his face, and I felt like telling him to screw off. But there was a slight anger in his snarled mouth, like he disdained convention and flirty conversations...

***

Like what you read and want more? Buy DEFINITIONS OF INDEFINABLE THINGS today by clicking the links below. 

Amazon Barnes & Noble Books-a-MillionHudson IndieBound Powell’s

[hamilficsfordays]

New Beginning—Chapter Six: Manipulation

Disclaimer: I don’t know Lin, nor do I know any of his friends or family.

Also posted on Ao3

Summary: The plan to have Alexa return is finally put into motion.

Rating: M for language, mentions of cutting/self-harming

Words: 4824

Askbox / Masterlist / Chapter Five / Chapter Seven

Later that same evening, Lin was in his office with a blank document open on his computer.

Vanessa was stood behind him, hands on his shoulders, carefully feeding him instructions.

“You’re going to write a letter expressing your heartfelt thoughts on the situation. But it has to be sad.”

“You want it to be sad?”

She nodded. “It needs to be sadder than an animal adoption commercial. Then you’re going to read it during curtain call one night to the Hamilton audience. Whoever runs social media for the show will film it and put it online. It’ll make people sympathetic. That’s just what we need them to be when we anonymously send those documents to the press. That sympathy will turn into public outcry at the first sight of injustice. Nothing puts self-entitled bitches like Janine on their ass faster than a group of execs forcing her to handle angry donors who are demanding answers.”

“You really think that’ll work?”

“Trust me.” she kissed his cheek. “Put your heart and soul into this and she’ll be back here in no time.”

For a while, Lin hesitated to write anything. He could think of plenty of things that he wanted to write, but nothing seemed to want to come out. Everything was second guessed. Would it be sincere enough? Would it gain sympathy? Most of all: would it get her back?

Eventually, he gave up on trying to appeal to others. He wrote exactly what he was feeling; the pain, the frustration, the heartache.

He printed it out before heading to bed in the hope it would be just enough to get the job done.

-

At curtain call the following night, Lin bowed with his cast before pulling a paper out of his sleeve.

“If I could just have another minute of your time,” he asked of the crowd, applause dying down.

He opened the paper, beginning to read aloud. Behind him, the cast knew of his intentions and was eager to show their support. In the audience, cell phones were pulled out, eagerly awaiting what came next.

“I wanted to take time this evening to talk about how incredibly grateful I am to work alongside a tremendous cast every night. I truly believe that they push me further every day. They’re my family away from home.” he paused for just a moment, looking back at the cast who encouraged him to continue.

“While I’m so grateful for my family here, I know my family at home gets no standing ovation at the end of each night for being who they are, though they totally deserve it.”

The crowd chuckled at the notion.

“My amazing wife works hard day in and day out, pushing herself every day for me and our two kids—truly the best of wives and best of women.”

There was applause.

“My son Sebastian inspires me every day with his views of the world around us. He is truly a reminder that the greatest thing we can honor is the child in all of us.”

More applause.

“My daughter,” his voice cracked as he choked back tears, the audience erupting in applause. “One of the smartest, most incredible people I’ve ever met. Her strength, her passion is above all else. I look to her for ways to better myself each and every day. She has—” he paused, unable to hold back tears. The audience applauded again, Renee stepping in to finish the note for him. She continued.

“She has been and continues to be the most astonishing source of hope since my wife and I brought her into our lives less than a month ago. Recently, she was pulled rather abruptly from our lives for extenuating circumstances, but that doesn’t change how prominently she’s affected me or my family. I only hope that wherever she is at this very moment, she knows how much my wife and I love and miss her.”

Renee was brought to tears this time.

“I would not be standing before you today—that is to say, Hamilton would not exist without my family.”

More applause. The audience was on their feet, Lin smiling through his tears as Renee continued.

“If I could ask you to do anything this evening, it would be to go hug your loved ones, tell them that they’re loved and appreciated. I certainly know I’m going to do the same.”

More applause erupted as the cast headed off-stage. Lin changed out of his costume and prepared to head outside and sign autographs at the stage door. On his way out, he received multiple texts from Vanessa who commended him on his work.

[It’s already all over twitter. I’ve never seen so many crying emojis. You nailed it.]

[If everything goes right, this should be national news by tomorrow morning.]

They were both up early the next morning. Lin was feeding Sebastian in the kitchen while Vanessa was in the living room, dressed for work, changing the channel from one news outlet to the other. Several of them were fixated on last night’s events, just as Vanessa had expected.

“It’s working!” She called out. “I’m almost kind of upset that the public is so easily manipulated! What’s going to happen on election day next year?”

“Did you hear back from Claudia yet?” he prompted changing the concerning subject. “Isn’t that the next step in this plan?”

“She hasn’t gotten ahold of me ye—” As if on command, her phone rang. It was Claudia, likely with news regarding their situation. She moved to Lin’s side, putting the call on speaker so they both could hear.

“Claudia? What happened?”

“¡Ay Dios Mio! I got it!” she exclaimed. “I have a bag full of everything that was in her shredder.”

“Perfect! Bring it here tonight and we can start putting things together.”

As she hung up the phone, she caught the slightest glimpse of a smile on Lin’s face.

“I know you work tonight, but when you get back, you’re gonna have to help us sort through all of that shredded paper.”

“I miss her.” he seemed rather distracted as he wiped the remaining food off of Sebastian’s face.

“It’s only a matter of time before she’s back.” V pointed out. “I’m surprised that you’re not more excited.”

“I wonder what she’s doing right now.”

“She probably heard about your speech and is in tears like everyone else.”

-

“If you take a medication, please line up at the door.”

Hamilton biography in hand, Alexa stood in line by the med clinic and waited to receive her medication. Her usual pediatric dosage of Zoloft typically kept most of her symptoms of depression, anxiety, and PTSD at bay, but lately, it wouldn’t be enough.

When she reached the door, she swiftly hid the pill behind her teeth, swallowing the cup of water that came after. They checked her mouth to confirm it was gone, before moving along to the next person.

Once she was back in the main hall, she pretended to cough, placing the pill in her hand so it could be carefully thrown out when no one was looking.

In hindsight, it wasn’t the brightest idea to not be taking her meds. She’d been voluntarily doing it since her return to the orphanage; though she couldn’t keep any pills down during her stay in the hospital anyway.

She felt more on edge, that was for sure, but at the moment it was the only way she could protest her current situation. She almost hoped to snap, putting the people who had sent her back into the system through hell. That, and losing her mind enough to not remember how badly she missed Lin would be the best case scenario.

She approached an empty table and began quietly trying to read the Hamilton biography. The book was hidden under the table to avoid another page-tearing incident.

The noise from the TV at the end of the hall distracted her, however, as it was especially loud that morning. She got up, headed toward the group huddled around the tv to complain.

“Could you turn that shit down?” she demanded, glancing at the screen. “No want wants to hear your—”

Her sentence was cut short, her words suddenly missing at the sight of Lin, onstage in his final costume, on the screen.

“My daughter…“

His speech was moving, something she had come to expect from Lin. As Renee finished the speech, some of the others surrounding the tv screen turned to look at her. She realized her mouth was hanging open in disbelief.

His words sounded so final. It almost felt like he knew something that she didn’t know.

Like maybe there actually was a chance she would never see him again.

The thought haunted her as she rushed to Claudia’s office upstairs, only to discover that she wasn’t there.

“Alexa… you’re not allowed to be up here.” Instead, she was greeted by Janine, who was stepping out of her office.

“I need to speak to my case manager,” Alexa demanded. “It’s an emergency.”

“Well, she’s not here today.” Janine attempted to move her back toward the stairs.

“Probably desperately trying to find a new job.”

“New job? What new job?”

��That’s none of your concern. Why don’t you head back downstairs?”

“I want to speak to someone about my case with the Miranda family.” the teen stood her ground. She was determined to not be moved until she got answers.

“That case has been nullified.”

“Wait, what? According to Claudia it was still being reviewed—”

“If you’d like, I can have someone discuss your options for aging out. It’s unlikely that another foster family will be looking to take you in at your age.”

“You can’t just tell me the case has been nullified and not explain why! I deserve to know what’s happening—”

“I appreciate your admiration, but I’m afraid it’s irrelevant. The Miranda household has been deemed unfit for foster care children. Now if you’ll just head back downstairs—”

“But you can’t do this! They were the nicest people I’ve ever—”

“Miss Jordan, if you don’t move back downstairs, I’m going to have to call the authorities.”

Being black in America was difficult enough without the police getting involved to make a bad situation worse. Alexa seceded, frustrated, feeling tears well up in her eyes as she headed downstairs. She angrily wiped them away.

In a way, this felt expected, like just another day of the foster care system letting her down. She was supposed to be used to this feeling, but somehow it hurt ten times as bad in this case.

She negated heading back to the large room with everyone else, instead of ducking into a corner at the bottom of the staircase.

Her heart was pounding as she sunk to the floor and tried to catch her breath.

The anxiety attack was coming on faster than she could handle. Her meds typically slowed things down when she got too panicked, but without them, she couldn’t handle what was coming next.

This was it.

She’d never see him again.

She didn’t even really get to say goodbye.

For the first time since her return to the orphanage, she felt alone.

Not just in the system, but in this world.

There was an impulse driving her that she couldn’t control without meds.

It drove her back to her bed, where hidden somewhere in her dresser was a half-full package of plastic shaving razors. She pulled one out, snapping the plastic at the top and pulling a small blade out with ease.

It wasn’t her first time trying this.

The blade was unused, making it easy to cut through her skin.

Both of her forearms were covered in open wounds before the door to the room burst open, a female, middle-aged staff member coming inside.

“You know you’re not allowed to be here during the daytime—What are you doing?!”

Alexa could feel her cheeks turning red, her shame rising as the woman caught sight of all the blood.

-

That night, Claudia, Vanessa, and Lin were sat on the floor of his office going through the thousands of shredded pieces of paper in the hope of finding Alexa’s documents and putting them back together.

They slaved over Chinese takeout, working through the night. As pages started piecing together, Vanessa began to notice a negative pattern.

“Wow… there’s a lot of questionable shit in here.” She pulled some of the half-pages out. “Public funding being put toward hotel stays in Miami, the rent on a penthouse in the financial district… not to mention there are documents shredded from the files of other kids. I honestly wish we were able to sue this woman… there’s enough here to put her away for a long time.”

“Let’s focus on getting what we need.” Lin reminded her. “Alexa is the most important part of this. If we can cost Janine her job after the fact—”

“It’s a bonus.” Vanessa finished.

Hours passed. It was an ungodly hour in the morning before Claudia began to raise concerns.

“Aye, there’s so much here. I’m worried we won’t have everything we need in time.”

“We’re going to need all night at this rate. This is more than I expected.”

“I haven’t found a single document with her name on it.” Whether it be from exhaustion, lack of progress or both, Lin seemed defeated. “What if this was all for nothing?”

“This was not all for nothing.” V took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “We’re gonna fix this, okay? Trust me.”

“You haven’t even entertained the possibility that this won’t work.” he insisted. “It might not.”

“That sounds like a waste of time. Lin, we’ve been together for ten years. Have I ever been wrong about this kind of thing?”

“Not really.”

“Exactly. Please trust me on this.” she kissed him. “I’m confident everything will work out.”

-

By sunrise, they’d put all of the pieces together. They made copies of the once-shredded pages with plans to expose them by the end of the day.

“Shouldn’t we just give it to them now?” Lin questioned as Claudia left that morning. “Most morning shows are on until noon. We could get the news out now and by the end of the day, everyone will know.”

“What, so they can squeeze the story between back-to-school fashion shows and the latest superfood?” Vanessa compiled the copies, stapling each set together and sliding them each into a manila envelope. “No one will take it seriously if it’s morning news. Anyone who watches the morning news is either up at five am on their way to work and too tired to care, or willfully unemployed and watching mid-morning. This needs to be evening news. Then they’ll be all over it. People tend to be annoyed after a long day at work and a frustrating commute home. They’ll be more likely to get angry about something like this.”

“That sounds manipulative.” he pointed out.

“Of course it is. I’m a lawyer. This entire plan works because the public is so easily manipulated. Why do you think I told you to make your speech so emotional?”

Lin was quiet for a moment.

“It’s been a long night. You should get some rest. I can call my mom and ask her to look after Sebastian. I’m going to get ready for work.”

“I should take Tobillo for a walk first.”

“Okay.” She kissed his forehead. “I love you.”

-

At one, Vanessa headed out for a lunch break claiming to be meeting a client. Instead, she took the train up to midtown to deliver a few copies of their records. First to NBC News, then Fox, ABC, CNN and New York 1. At each location, she refused to give a name. She left the documents with a receptionist who would inevitably hand them off to someone else.

By the time she’d returned to the office around four, the news was already beginning to break. There were a few online articles that had gained traction on social media, only scratching the surface of the whole story. By the time she’d gotten home around six, every evening news show had latched on.

“Coming up tonight, potential corruption within the foster care system here in New York City. Why one particular family who recently had a foster child unjustifiably removed from their home has been told to Wait For It in regards to their return, only to find out that the case they were in the middle of had been nullified.”

“I hope you’re ready for an egregious amount of bad puns based on Hamilton lyrics.” she told Lin, who was quietly watching the tv from the loveseat.

The news led to an outcry on social media, where the hashtag #givebacktheirgirl sparked public outrage over the incident. Just as Vanessa had predicted, people were upset by the news and had plans to fight back. Protests began downtown near the orphanage. As the movement gained more traction, some of the organization’s private donors began to express their displeasure with the situation.

When Janine headed into her office the next morning, she was greeted by Jonathan Daley, the owner of the organization.

“Mr. Daley,” she stopped short on the way to her office. “I didn’t expect to see you, sir—”

“Ms. Bryan, we need to speak immediately.” He opened the door to her office for her, stepping inside. “This is not good.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

Jonathan took Janine’s usual seat behind her own desk, leaving Janine to sit on the other side of her desk like a guest in her own office. His suit was worth more than any item of clothing she owned, and he wore that fact rather well.

“We’ve received several calls from benefactors who are furious with the news of our history with the Miranda family. When I attempted to examine the case for more details, I was told the case had been nullified by you. Why is that?”

“I—I don’t—”

“The information released by the media included copies of clearly shredded documents from that girl’s file. What explanation do you have for that?”

“Sir, it was that case manager, Claudia. She shredded the documents to—”

“I don’t care who’s fault it is. You need to fix this.” He stood up, heading towards the door. “So far, this has all been traced back to you which means it’s your responsibility to take care of it. If we lose even a single donor because of this, it’ll be on you.”

“What do you expect me to do?!”

“Keep the public outcry to a minimum. If that means pulling her out of that pediatric psych ward and putting her back with the Miranda family, do it. Honestly, I don’t see why you didn’t do that in the first place.”

“I was trying to save us money by keeping enough children in the system—”

“Saving money?” he stopped just short of leaving, turning back to her. “The money we’ll lose if donors start backing out will be a hundred times what we’re making by keeping one person here. Still think that you’re helping us?”

Janine was silent.

“Fix it. Immediately.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

-

This wasn’t Alexa’s first time in a pediatric psych ward.

As per usual, she was one of the least fucked up people there.

They’d stuck her in a room with a fourteen-year-old white girl who was anorexic, constantly staring at herself in the mirror over the sink. Her blue hospital gown gave the slightest impression that she was bigger than she was, which was not very big.

“You’re like, ninety pounds Alyssa, stop fucking staring at yourself. It’s not gonna make you any thinner.”

The girl turned to glare at her, still in bed in the middle of the day, before refocusing on herself in the mirror.

Alexa sighed, rubbing her eyes. There were bandages wrapped each of her forearms that she always managed to forget about until the skin under the bandages itched and she couldn’t reach it.

A boy that was about their age popped his head into the open door.

“Why is rape illegal?!” he demanded before a nurse pulled him back.

“Oh, that’s nice.” Alexa rolled her eyes. “Just the friendly reminder I needed on top of this shitty situation.”

“Girls, lunch is here. Come eat.” Another nurse peeked her head.

“I can’t eat, I’m like three hundred pounds!” Alyssa insisted.

“Alyssa, do you need to see a doctor?” the nurse reminded her. Defeated, Alyssa headed out of the room and down the hall toward the dining room.

“Can I please not sit next to that kid who set his parents on fire again?” Alexa asked the nurse on her way out. “He always stares at me like I’m his next victim.”

“If he touches you, let one of our nurses know.” she reminded the teen.

She grabbed her tray and sat at the table beside the fire kid. As per usual, he glared at her without a word.

Her discharge couldn’t come fast enough.

-

“I’m so glad you two could meet on such short notice.”

The next day, Janine had managed to get both Vanessa and Lin into her office. They sat beside one another on the other side of her desk, quiet, listening.

“I believe there’s been some kind of misunderstanding here. I think we got off on the wrong foot. There was an accidental nullification of your file that I take complete responsibility for. I’m willing to have Alexa returned to your household. As long as you comply with your case manager and there are no other incidents, you should be able to keep her through the duration of the year and then decide if you’d like to adopt or not. Just a few Hamilton tickets and a promise not to sue and she’s all yours.” Janine put on her best fake smile, hoping she had them convinced.

The looks on their faces, however, said otherwise.

“You and I both know that the higher ups here are putting pressure on you to make this disappear.” Vanessa leaned forward, metaphorically going in for the kill. “Your donors are threatening to back out and that would put you out of a job, Janine. A lawsuit would drag this out for another year or two. How about you give Alexa back, you don’t get any Hamilton tickets, and you pray that I don’t go through with that lawsuit.”

Lin smiled wide for the first time in a long time, fist-bumping his wife for her successful intimidation.

“Fine.”

“Oh, and Claudia keeps her job and stays assigned to this case,” she added. “If you’re not going to get fired, she definitely shouldn’t be.”

“Agreed.” Janine nodded once. “Talk to Claudia, but you should be able to get her back after she’s released from the hospital the day after tomorrow.”

Their smiles faded.

“Wasn’t she released from the hospital like a week ago?” he questioned.

“It’s a minimum three day stay for self-harming behavior. There was an incident two days ago.”

“Which you’ll be disclosing to us in full, of course.” Vanessa clarified.

“That’s not my job. Talk to Claudia. She knows more about this than I do.”

The couple glanced at each other briefly.

“Is she in today?”

-

“I was going to tell you, pending your meeting with Janine went well. I’m assuming it did.”

They had relocated to Claudia’s office shortly afterward.

“She won’t be bothering any of us anymore,” Vanessa confirmed.

“What happened to Alexa?” Lin wasted no time moving back to the topic at hand. “Is she okay?”

“She is now, yes. She’ll have to be held in the hospital until Friday. One of our staff caught her with a blade and her arms had open wounds, so they considered it an act to self-harm and admitted her to a pediatric psych ward.”

Lin felt the breath in his lungs leave all at once.

“Why would she do that? She never did that when she was with us.”

“She has a history of self-harming,” Claudia reminded him. “… but it typically only occurred under abusive care. This was probably part of a reaction to not being around you two anymore—that is, assuming you treated her as well as she claimed.”

Lin instinctively reached out for Vanessa’s hand, squeezing it for support.

“You’ll still be able to see her on Friday,” she assured them. “I would keep a watchful eye on her behavior if you can, though. If she does or says anything that seems out of character to you, let me know. As long as we communicate, something like this should never have to happen again.”

-

By Friday, Alexa’s method of getting rid of her meds (harder at the hospital though not impossible), had proven to be a bad idea. Her anxiety was through the roof, and every time another patient screamed, which happened relatively often, she was rather disturbed by the sound.

At the announcement of her discharge, she had never been more excited to see Claudia and be on the other side.

Claudia greeted her outside the psych ward with a smile.

“How are you feeling?”

“Not saying that I’m looking forward to the orphanage, but anything is better than that.”

“You’re not going back there,” Claudia informed her, gesturing to the bag of Alexa’s things in her hand. “Come with me.”

Curious, Alexa followed her down to the lobby of the mental health center.

In the lobby, Lin was trying to contain his excitement as he waited for Claudia to return. Every time one of the elevator doors opened, he glanced over eagerly only to find someone else.

Finally there she was; Alexa by her side. There were huge bags under her eyes and bandages wrapped around each of her forearms, but he’d never been so happy to see her.

He watched as she caught sight of him, nearly sprinting in his direction.

She practically jumped into his arms. He caught her without hesitation, kissing the top of her head.

“Oh my god, what the fuck?! I thought I would never see you again! What are you doing—” she paused, stepping back. “Please tell me you’re here for me and not someone else.”

He laughed. “Yes, I’m here for you. You’re coming back to the heights with us.”

She hugged him again. “Oh my god… you scared me so much! What was with that speech you made?! It sounded like you knew you’d lost me! It scared the shit out of me!”

“Believe it or not, it actually helped get you back. Sorry for scaring you, though.”

Claudia carefully handed him the bag of her things.

“Take care of her.” she reminded him.

“Okay, first thing’s first, I’m going to take you out for lunch,” Lin announced once they’d left the hospital. “Anywhere you want to go. Vanessa won’t be home until later, and my mom is watching Sebastian, so we’ve got the afternoon to ourselves.”

“We should probably go pick up a prescription first,” she confessed. “There’s a slight chance that I’ve been tossing my meds since I left you guys.”

Lin sighed.

“Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad. I’m glad you told me right away. Meds first, food second. Then when we get home, we should probably give you a new set of bandages.” he directed to her forearms.

“Yeah…” she glanced down at her arms. “Things kind of got fucked up when you left.”

“It’s okay if things get fucked up.” he reminded her. “Just as long as you’re ready to fix them. That starts with taking your meds every day.”

She nodded. “I can agree to that.”

[notsoluckyho]

So it’s Xmas time again... I honestly detest this time of year for so many reasons bah humbug but honestly I think our whole generation is more scroogy than the last- probably due to disenchantment of commercialism celebrations and rightly so.

Some years, I’m determined to make Xmas palletable (and last year, I did well! But also I was on Zoloft.) Other years, such as this year, I choose to live in stubborn denial that the holidays are upon us by reproachfully ignoring the tinsel and bells shoved down my throat and up my ass. I say, “fuck my family’s elitist Xmas party and their $50 gift requesite” and pretend it’s just another 25th that means nothing. None of us are even Christian.

But then the day rolls around and it’s painfully obvious that it’s not just another 25th. If everybody in the world is thinking about the same thing at the same time, does that -if only briefly- change the entire world? If I step outside on Xmas day with no one near me, can I look into the sky and feel that air itself is different from the intense concentration of festive thought?

Then it starts to suffocate me, I can smoke all day and drink all night, but I still can’t breathe, the fumes are toxic. And someone who isn’t who I want to hear tells me that Xmas is about family and love despite the over-commercialization and overwhelming expectations. And then I wonder, how can I still be alive when I haven’t inhaled in so long?

If this time forces me to consider my priorities, family and love nears the top, but I’m sitting in this black hole. I have the love that is near me but that I hold at arms length. But the love I need is a phone call, 13.5 hours, and a hemisphere away. What kind of love is that? It feels like it couldn’t be less real at a time like this, with the buzzing holiday air and me in my black hole. You know, black holes aren’t made for coming back from.

[inb4vaughn]

Are One Length Irons For You?

Bryson DeChambeau is the game’s biggest one length irons proponent.

Editor’s Note: Now that former U.S. Amateur champion and Top 20 PGA Tour player Bryson DeChambeau has played his way onto the 2018 Ryder Cup team, his well-documented success with Cobra Golf’s one length irons will get plenty of fresh exposure in golf media. That’s why we’ve decided to revisit the following feature from 2017 in which Golf Tips contributor Ken Van Vechten gets fitted for one length irons — and comes away with some interesting conclusions.

With every club company chasing the grail of long, longer, longest, Cobra has veered off on an alternate path toward that end. Though not the first commercial venture to try, the company’s F7 ONE one length irons – in both cast and forged – marks an outside-the-box move for one of the game’s bigger names.

“One length is for any player seeking a simplified way of swinging the golf club,” explains Mike Hearne, custom fitting coordinator for Cobra. “One length offers fewer variables – same ball position, same distance from the ball. By eliminating these variables it allows the golfer to swing in a more consistent posture, which leads to more centered strikes and better mis-hits.”

Cobra took a cue from a common lament – “Why can’t all my irons be like my 7?” – outfitting each KING F7 ONE and KING Forged ONE iron with a 7-iron-length shaft. If this sounds familiar, it’s a set-up strategy that PGA Tour player and former NCAA and U.S. Amateur champion Bryson DeChambeau has employed for a number of years. This strategy led him to several Tour wins in 2018, into serious contention for the FedEx Cup (ultimately won by Justin Rose), and a berth on Ryder Cup Team U.S.A. for 2018.

So, back to my initial trepidation: A 4-iron and a wedge outfitted with a mid-iron shaft: Sure, why not, ain’t nothing bad gonna come of that.

ONE LENGTH IRONS AND YARDAGE SPACING

The obvious head-scratcher is gapping, the sequential yardage spacing as we go from one end of the bag to the other. That was my concern, assuming prior to testing – as is a common perception in the market – I’d have an assem-blage of short longs and long shorts.

DeChambeau checks out his stats.

Distance is the result of a number of factors, working in concert: Shaft length and weight (effectively swing speed), launch angle and spin rates; how the shaft, clubhead and clubface react to the strike; and, so importantly, where the hell we strike the ball on the clubface. All else equal, longer clubs can be moved at a higher rate of speed. What they might not do is produce longer shots. It’s all about how energy is transferred to the ball via the club courtesy of the swing. That is (partially) why a slower-swinging player can hit a 5-wood farther than a standard-lofted driver. Flip it around, and 9-iron with a longer shaft is likely to produce juiced up results.

“I don’t think the advertising is wrong,” says Nick Sherburne, founder of Club Champion, an independent, nationwide network of any-and-all-brands fitting studios, of Cobra’s intent. “One swing plane, one swing, shorter long irons for better control; those are the key selling points. But there are gotchas. There might be gapping issues for some customers, a dual spacing problem on either side [of the mid-irons]. And you have to adapt, there is a learning curve, and for some there won’t be instant success.”

ONE LENGTH IRONS ADJUSTMENT

Cobra acknowledges there could be an adjustment period, and that you can’t ignore the basic tenets of science. But it believes in the formula that a shorter-shafted long-iron struck more consistently – “on the screws,” something most of us do far more often at one end of the bag than the other – by a properly engineered head won’t lead to the ball flight equivalent of a wounded quail. To make sure short irons still behave like they should, Cobra had to tinker to make sure when an 8-iron went down range it did so within reason. (Cobra still has a lineup of F7s and other models in standard progression; this is an option, not a my way/highway mandate.)

After a recent session with Cobra at its SoCal HQ, I’m sold, to a large extent. The testing protocol involves x swings with 5-, 7- and 9-irons – the cast version for me – with the usual fitting-session tweaks of lie angle, shaft and the like, and I hit them alongside my gamers, Callaway Apex CF 16s. I play ProjectX PXi 6.0 (stiff) shafts; the Cobras were outfitted with KBS Tour FLT stiff shafts.

Launch and spin rates varied, but all were within optimal parameters. Sidespin was draw-biased, on par for the two longest clubs in each set but significantly higher with the Cobra 9-iron (as was the launch angle). Dispersion, however, was tighter with the Cobras, due in large measure to flattening, over the course of the fitting process, the lie angle two degrees from standard, eliminating heel-grab.  (And that serves as a useful reminder that golf swings, even clubs, are not static, unchanging things. When fitted for my Callaways last year — as outlined in a previous article here — the dispersion was so tight that at times you could put a blanket over my shots. I’ve noticed more leftward misses of late so it is time to re-check my needs relative to lie angle.)

THE ONE LENGTH IRONS: THE NUMBERS

The following data shows peak yardage and ballspeed on the left, and average yardage and ball speed on the right.

The takeaway in all of this is I gain yardage, on average if not every shot, with the same-length Cobras. The most striking result is the consistency, notably with the longest iron.

Loft differential between my 5-iron and the F7 is inconsequential – one degree stronger for the latter. The F7 is also nearly an inch shorter, yet ball speed was up across the board on lower swing speed, and there was far less variability between shots – total yardage and ball speed – best to worst. Callaway has one of the hottest faces in the game, something I see when the planets and I align and I launch a 195-yard 5-iron, but that day, under those testing conditions, the shorter club was giving me a more efficient strike, a fact that also was born out by the impact marks on the clubfaces, as well.

At the other extreme, the 7-iron-shafted 9-iron, despite higher absolute and average ball speed, didn’t produce PED-like yardages.

“Head shapes and lofts are identical, in ONE length vs. variable length,” Hearne explains. “The big difference is the headweight and the CG [center of gravity]/inertia properties of the heads. We add weight to the lower-number irons, to increase ball speed, and they have a lower CG and higher inertia in ONE length. Then we do the opposite in the higher-number irons, taking weight out and raising the CG.”

On the mental side of things, I don’t put a ton of thought into the processes that occur between pulling a club and figuring out if I was goat or GOAT with that specific shot. Good or bad, that’s me. I’m not so fidgety that looking down and seeing a long iron sitting rather near the middle of my stance is going to throw me off, so I didn’t feel adjustment angst. I have friends who in that situation would reach for the Zoloft.

None of this is end-all science or a statistically significant data set applicable to the general populace, and it certainly isn’t religious doctrine cast down from on high; it’s one avid recreational player’s experience. I found setting up across the three same-length clubs to be automatic, refreshingly uniform. However, it wasn’t exactly a burden setting up to my clubs. Your mileage may vary. If I had to choose a side, why not have a single stance and posture if you are getting the results you need? And that, ultimately, is proven over time, in the course of play.

It’s golf, it’s personal – one size does not fit all. But ONE will fit some just fine.

www.cobragolf.com

This story was updated on September 26, 2018

The post Are One Length Irons For You? appeared first on Golf Tips Magazine.

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[not-a-fever-dream]

The Passion of Julien Baker

I was thinking what quote to pull out of Julien’s interview with GQ. But fuck that, I’m just putting all of the things I love about that interview here. I’ve said this before and I’ll keep saying this. She has one of the most fascinating minds I’ve ever encountered. I’m so drawn to people with that level of emotional maturity. They seem like such cool people to have amazing conversations with.

The thing about music is that it gives voice and names to anguish and also addresses how to comfort it. And so—that’s why it’s amazing when I see older people at the shows, or people that are grown who bring their kids. Because for a lot of my musical career, there was a very narrow window of people who enjoyed our music. It was like, ages 16 to 25 at a cool punk bar or at a house show. So if a 60-year-old man comes up to me and says, “I really related a lot to your music?” It shows you what a powerful thing music is, then. Because we have so little in common [outside of it].

I think that to try to sit down and write a song with the foregone conclusion of “this will be a relatable song, I’m going to pick a human emotion and write about it and make it relatable,” that will end up artificial-sounding and people will be able to identify that it is fabricated. But there’s a way that you can write reality leaving enough space—not making it ambiguous in a pretentious way—but ambiguous enough that another person can insert themself in the story. I like that mutability.

I talk about this all the time, but one of my friends said this to me one time and it changed my world. I was like, “I feel like I just talk about my feelings—there’s so much going on and all I do is talk about my feelings.” And he said, “Art has to be a little selfish to be honest.” Because you live inside the realm of your own brain. So all I can do is offer you my accurate and truly represented experience. It’s almost a questionnaire, like, “Have you ever felt this way?” Which sounds like a Zoloft commercial. Have you ever felt….sad? Have you ever felt…..alone?

[About Good News] So before that song I try to exclusively say, “This song is about thinking about you ruin everything and then finding out that that is a lie. And I feel different about that now.” And I think just taking the time to say, my perspective on these songs changed, does the dual function of giving credence to the reality of the emotion, but regards it as impermanent and able to be manipulated. Also just trying to write with the provision of hope. It’s weird.

[willowbg-consumption]

Day 12: January 27th, 2018

Today was super exciting! Just kidding, it’s actually been one of my more boring days. I kinda feel like today is a throw away day but I still lived it so here we go. 

My eating habits were kind of all over the place today. I woke up this morning and groggily said to myself that I needed “motivation juice”, so I put on clothes and walked over to Starbucks and paid $6 for a soy smoked butterscotch latte that honestly just tasted like a latte in my opinion. I got home and was hungry, so I decided to eat the tortilla chips I bought yesterday and some kinda stale Peachie-os that I bought from work awhile ago, while I drank my latte. I don’t even know why they were stale because the bag was sealed, but it is what it is. Additionally, I felt a headache coming on, which is part of the reason why I wanted “motivation juice”, so I took 2 tylenol. A few hours later, I had to head off to work, but I snuck a few more pieces of candy in my mouth along with my Zoloft before I left. I’ve learned though this blog that work is a dangerous place for me because I tend to buy most of my food from there. Today, I didn’t buy anything, but I did have food from work. My coworker made me a cheese quesadilla and gave me some ice cream from work. I also had some cherry coke from our fountain machine. Lots of dairy for a lactose intolerant person, guess I’ll be suffering in the near future. I guess my food and beverage consumption can be labelled as economy due to the money I spent on the latte and the lack of money that I spent on the other food and beverage items. 

I honestly spent a lot more time watching TV than anything today. This is mostly because I had to work on designing my business cards for text and image and I didn’t want to be listening to music for like 6 hours. I first watched 2 episodes of 60 Days In, which is on A&E and is about these people who volunteer to spend 60 days in jail to see how the conditions are like and how they can be improved. I’m a sucker for cop and jail shows, so once I saw what it was about, I was drawn in instantaneously. I also watched an episode of America’s Next Top Model because I have a strange addiction to reality television shows, even if they are dumb and don’t matter in the long run. After those three hours, I switched from my cable TV streaming app to Hulu, which my dad pays for (thanks, dad). The only drawback to Hulu is that it has commercials, unlike my cable streaming app, but it has better shows so it’s something that I have to deal with. A friend had told me about the show This is Us, to which he described as “sad” when I asked him what genre it is. I decided to give it a try. This kind of show is usually not my cup of tea, but I seem to like it. So far I’m two episodes in and will probably continue to watch it through the 2 seasons that are available on Hulu. It is pretty sad, but I would recommend it. My television consumption would be labelled culture because the shows that I watch, albeit mostly crappy television, is something that I like to watch and can be used to characterize me.

Like I said above, I didn’t really have a lot of time to listen to music today. However, that doesn’t mean I didn’t listen to any. On my way to Starbucks, I listened to my “Consumption Playlist” on Spotify. It has some really good jams on it, I can’t help but listen to it. While waiting for the bus to get to work I also decided to try listening to a new band. See, one of the two of the new songs I am obsessed with is by a band called AJR. I’ve heard two of their other songs before, and since I liked a total of three of their songs I figured I might as well give their entire repertoire a try. They’re honestly not that bad, Some of their songs can get a little too ‘Pop-y’, and there are definitely some song I prefer over others. I will probably listen to them more in the future though, especially because I need new music to listen to. As I write this blog post, I am listening to Jon Bellion because most of his songs are slower, and I don’t like to listen to loud and heavy music late at night. His voice is very soothing. You can probably guess what label this will fall under due to it being something that I constantly write about. This music consumption would be considered culture, because it is something that I enjoy listening to. 

I didn’t get a Snapple Fact or a new word today, so I’m just going to provide you with a strange Giraffe fact, because Giraffes are amazing. 

Hey, did you know that Giraffes only sleep 10 minutes to up to 2 hours a day? HOW DO THEY SURVIVE? If that’s the amount of sleep I got in a day every day, you all better stay out of my way because I would be cranky. Also, they sleep standing up. Giraffes are the best creatures. Arguably better than humans. 

Goodnight!

[fishermariawo]

Two Final (and Favorite) Adaptogens: Rhodiola Rosea and Bacopa Monnieri

I’ve taken up the subject of adaptogens over the last several weeks, and today I’m wrapping it up with two of my favorites: Rhodiola rosea and Bacopa monnieri.

Primal aficionados from way back will know that I’m a big fan of Rhodiola rosea. It’s an integral component of one of the original Primal Blueprint supplements, Primal Calm. It’s a formula I put together for my own needs and eventually decided to offer in the supplement line. (That seems to be how I come up with things, I suppose….) I’ve written in the past about stress being one of the issues I’m still working on in my Primal life, and adaptogens have been a useful tool I’ve employed. Living with an ancestral template doesn’t preclude being scientifically resourceful. 

But let’s dig into these final two players….

The Details on This Duo 

Throughout my adaptogenic posts, I’ve made a point of dwelling briefly on the key elements and life cycle of each herb. Personally, I’m always hesitant using (or, indeed, recommending an herb or supplement that I’m not intimately familiar with. Knowing the ins and outs of the herb itself helps you know how to source the good stuff and how to minimize the footprint of that supplement wherever possible.

Rhodiola Rosea

No doubt reflecting its rich history of therapeutic use, Rhodiola rosea (rhodiola) goes by many names, including golden root and Arctic root. A perennial plant with red, pink or yellow flowers, rhodiola likes the barren tundra of northern latitudes and high altitudes best. It’s these kind of extreme growing conditions that seem to make a lot of adaptogens just so darn potent.

While Rhodiola Rosea is now grown in many of the colder parts of the world, including Canada, Alaska and Greenland, not all Rhodiola is created equal. This hardy herb is native to Siberia, and it appears that this is where it may traditionally have attained the highest concentration of therapeutic active ingredients. These healing ingredients are numerous and include an estimated 140 compounds isolated from both the roots and rhizome of the plant.

Bacopa Monnieri

As with many of the adaptogens I’ve already covered, Bacopa monnieri (bacopa) has been in therapeutic circulation in Ayurvedic circles for centuries. More recently, Western soothsayers have caught on to bacopa’s abilities as a powerful nootropic and analgesic.

Bacopa’s favorite haunts are a far cry from the windswept barrens of the north, instead preferring to grow in the wetlands of subtropical locales across the world. It’s a perennial, creeping herb that grows vigorously in a range of aquatic biomes, making it a popular aquarium plant. 

Because bacopa is now native to much of the world’s wetlands, sourcing high quality extracts and supplements of the stuff isn’t going to be overly difficult. Bacopa is loaded with bacosides, the active chemical compounds that enable its adaptogenic impacts.

The Science on Rhodiola Rosea and Bacopa Monnieri

While there’s no shortage of research surrounding these two adaptogens, it’s worthwhile approaching any findings with a grain of salt. As with many emerging (in Western spheres, at least) subjects of interest in the literature, it often takes some time before a sufficiently broad spectrum of data is available to make any lasting assumptions about their efficacy. That being said, a lot of the preliminary research is very promising indeed.

Rhodiola Rosea

Arguably, rhodiola’s greatest claim to fame is its ability to alleviate stress (unsurprising, given its status as an adaptogen) and elevate mood via complex pathways that act on central biogenic amines and beta-endorphins. This, along with rhodiola’s neuroprotective, nootropic and antidepressive effects, is precisely why it’s an integral component in my Primal Calm formula.

But the rhodiola research is something of a minefield, riddled with studies confounded by small sample sizes, lack of placebo controls, and sometimes insignificant differences between treatment and control groups. That being said, most of the research is overwhelmingly in favor of rhodiola as a powerful therapeutic herb. This is one I have the most experience with, and I can say firsthand how the vast majority of these benefits have played out for me and others. That said, I’m all for more research on the matter.

Here’s the quick and dirty on what’s been unearthed so far.

Mental Health and Mood

A 2015 study published in the Journal of Phytotherapy Research sought to determine the impact of rhodiola on self-reported anxiety, stress, cognition, and a host of other mental parameters. Eighty subjects were divided into either a twice-daily commercial formula (containing 200 mg rhodiola) group or a control group. Compared to the controls, the rhodiola group showed notable improvements in mood and significant reductions in anxiety, stress, anger, confusion and depression after 14 days.

While the study presents a nice foray into the potential of rhodiola for treating any number of mental maladies, it’s important to note that supplements like the one used in the study are often loaded with nasty fillers. Why they feel the need to put titanium dioxide and several other strange ingredients is beyond me. Also worth noting is the short duration of the study and the fact that it wasn’t placebo controlled, but the study proponents seemed to think the results were still significant.

Getting down to specifics, there’s a fair amount of debate on whether rhodiola can provide a decent treatment for depression. Studies in mice indicate that injection of salidroside, one of rhodiola’s more notable active ingredients, can exert a strong antidepressant effect along with alleviating anxiety and enhancing fear memory. A small 12-week trial examining the effect of rhodiola on humans, on the other hand, suggested that the adaptogen was less effective than sertraline (the generic version of Zoloft) in treating major depressive disorder. Perhaps if the participants had been given a stronger dose or an extract higher in salidroside, however, the results would have been more favorable. (For those of you who have applied Primal Calm toward depression therapy, I’d be interested in hearing your experience on this.)

Physical and Mental Fatigue

Rumor has it that rhodiola may be a useful adaptogen to have on hand for times of both physical and mental fatigue. And what better people to test this hypothesis on than nursing students doing shift work? A 2014 study examined the effect of 364 mg rhodiola at the beginning of the student’s shift and again within the following four hours of shift work over a 42 day period. Somewhat surprisingly, the proponents found that rhodiola, compared with the placebo, actually worsened fatigue, mysteriously noting that the results should be interpreted with caution. Perhaps by alleviating the stress those students were under the rhodiola allowed them to relax and gain a heightened awareness of their levels of fatigue? One can only speculate. I’ve never made a point of using it for this kind of purpose, so I can’t speak to the point personally. Again, perhaps others of you can.

However, another study performed a meta-analysis of over 206 articles relating to rhodiola, with 11 of those specific to physical and mental fatigue. Two of six trials examining physical fatigue in healthy subjects found rhodiola to be effective, as did three out of five studies investigating its impact on mental fatigue. Not overwhelming odds, but there’s enough to suggest a connection and stimulate further research.

Exercise Performance and Recovery

While the research on rhodiola and physical fatigue is a trifle disappointing, findings relating to the effect of rhodiola on endurance and exercise performance are anything but. 

A 2003 study examined the effects of oral rhodiola supplementation on exhaustive swimming in rats. Impressively, 50 mg/kg rhodiola extract was able to prolong the duration of exhaustive swimming by a substantive 25%, both in comparison with Rhodiola crenulata extract and controls. The R. rosea extract also activated synthesis of ATP in skeletal muscle mitochondria and encouraged faster recovery after intensive exercise. 

Two small studies on humans have produced similarly promising results. A 4-week trial on 14 trained male athletes showed that rhodiola supplementation reduced lactate concentrations along with lowering certain markers of skeletal muscle damage during exhaustive exercise.

A slightly larger study compared rhodiola supplementation (200 mg rhodiola plus 500 mg starch) to a placebo of straight starch. Over the course of several different trials involving limb movement speed, aural and visual reaction time, knee extensions and endurance exercise, researchers found that rhodiola intake significantly increased time to exhaustion and elevated pulmonary ventilation during exercise. The take-away? “Acute Rhodiola rosea intake can improve endurance exercise capacity in young healthy volunteers.” This purpose, along with mitigating mental stress, has been closer to my personal use of the adaptogen.

Bacopa Monnieri Memory and Cognition

Bacopa earned its hallowed status in the Ayurvedic world largely on its purported ability to improve memory and elevate cognitive function. If three centuries of anecdotal evidence is anything to go by, bacopa (aka brahmi) is a nootropic force to be reckoned with. But what does science say about the matter?

As usual, the jury is still out on this one. A 2002 study tested the effects of bacopa on various memory functions in 76 participants ages 40 and 65. Aside from a reported improvement in new information retention, other memory variables were unaffected by long-term bacopa supplementation.

At the other end of the spectrum, a similar study with a larger group of older Australians found that bacopa supplementation over the course of three months significantly improved verbal learning, memory acquisition, and delayed recalls. Given that this was a larger, more recent study, I’m more inclined to give credence to the results of this study, but clearly there’s a need for more research on the topic.

In the cognition arena, things are a little less contested. A 2014 meta-analysis that included 437 subjects across 9 studies indicated that bacopa can improve cognition and decrease choice reaction time. That could be all the edge you need to win your favorite gameshow.

Finally, another meta-analysis published in 2016, found that across five studies bacopa demonstrated significant improvements in language behavior and a number of memory sub-domains. 

Pain

Beyond clarity of mind, bacopa shows a decent amount of potential in the analgesic arena. A 2013 literature review noted that “Bacopa monnieri, a renowned ayurvedic medicine has a strong antidepressant effect and significant antinociceptive effect, which is comparable to the effect of morphine via adenosinergic, opioidergic, and adrenergic mechanisms. BM has been also reported to be effective in neuropathic pains.”

This could make bacopa an effective augmentation to conventional morphine pain relief for certain applications (a pain specialist would be able to speak to specific conditions more than I can here), with the added benefit that it appears to alleviate some of the side effects associated with chronic opiate use. For those who live with chronic pain and depend on conventional pain meds (especially opiates) even after healthy lifestyle adjustments, it might be worth a talk with your doctor.

Drilling down into the specific studies, the findings appear no less promising. A paper that examined the effect of bacopa extract on neuropathic pain found that it increased pain thresholds and reduced hyper-sensitivity. Other tests on animals echo these findings, with bacopa providing an opioid-type pain relief without the withdrawal symptoms associated with the likes or morphine.

Neurodegeneration

Given bacopa’s role as a nootropic, it’s not overly surprising to discover that it may also be an effective natural treatment for neurodegenerative diseases. A 2013 study that compared the neuroprotective abilities of bacopa to donepezil, a common prescription treatment for Alzheimer’s, found that bacopa was at least as capable as the pharmaceutical in many respects, making it a potentially powerful drug in the treatment of certain neurodegenerative diseases.

Another study published this year showed that bacopa administration “was seen to protect the cholinergic neurons and reduce anticholinesterase activity comparable to donepezil, rivastigmine, and galantamine.” Researchers found that bacopa promoted free radical scavenging and helped to protect cells in the prefrontal cortex, hippocampus, and other areas of the brain. 

What Are the Contraindications?

Over the course of these adaptogenic articles, I’ve had a hard time tracking down anything overly damning in terms of side effects or contraindications. There’s a reason for that: adaptogens are generalists by nature, alleviating stress throughout the body—but in so doing bypassing many of the side effects associated with condition-specific drugs and treatments.

With that said, there are times when you should use these herbs carefully or not at all. And, the usual disclaimer—consult your physician before beginning any new supplement regimen (but you know this already). Here’s a quick look at dosage effects and complications associated with rhodiola and bacopa.

Rhodiola Rosea

Lab tests indicate that reaching toxicity levels from rhodiola supplementation would be very difficult indeed, with a 70kg man needing around 235,000 mg rhodiola to knock himself flat. Given typical doses range between 200 and 600 mg per day, it’s fair to say that you needn’t worry overmuch.

As far as side effects go, it’s a slippery slope. Keep in mind that individual reactions vary. Based on anecdotal hearsay, small doses of rhodiola can produce energizing effects while large doses may send you in the other direction, making one relaxed or drowsy. The reason behind this may be due to the opioid-type effect rhodiola exerts on the brain, elevating mood and concentration and even increasing caffeine metabolism.

This in turn can make people who are anxious or high-strung feel jittery or overstimulated, particularly if they’ve made the mistake of also knocking back a cup of coffee that morning. The drowsy effects may come about due to the depletion of those same neurotransmitters, caused by overdosing on rhodiola and hence overloading the receptors.

As such, those who consume a lot of caffeine or suffer from bipolar disorder should probably steer clear of rhodiola. 

I also make a point of saying pregnant or nursing women should avoid adaptogens.

Bacopa Monnieri

Bacopa side effects are slightly more straightforward: mild nausea, upset stomach and diarrhea are uncommon but possible—probably if you’re taking too high a dose or too frequently. Studies in rats have indicated that bacopa supplementation at high doses can result in lowered fertility, but whether this applies to humans or not is anyone’s guess.

It’s important to note that bacopa is contraindicated if you’re taking thyroid medications, antidepressants, or sedatives. And, again, avoid if you’re pregnant or nursing. 

What to Look for in a Supplement

As always, choosing quality over quantity is always a wise move when you’re in the market for adaptogens. Find out where the adaptogen in question grows best, what active ingredients it should contain in sufficient concentrations, and how it’s been processed and packaged.

For rhodiola supplements, seek out products that contain 2 to 3% rosavin and at least 0.8% salidrosides. (This generally reflects the formula used in scientific trials.) A lower dosage of well-sourced, potent rhodiola can work for most people (100 grams does it for me), but if you have particular needs that suggest a higher dosage might be better, increase slowly with a maximum of 400 mg/day if it sits well with you. As always,

Similar advice applies to bacopa, however the origin doesn’t matter quite as much. Try to source organic bacopa supplements where possible, and only buy those that are packaged in light-resistant containers. It seems 300 mg/day appears to be the “sweet spot” for bacopa supplementation, but once again play it safe and start with a low dosage and work your way up. Everyone’s tolerance is different. Less can be more. 

This wraps up my foray into adaptogens for a while. Thanks for stopping by today. Let me know if you have follow-up questions or other adaptogens you’d like to see covered down the road. Take care.