#i actually took a class about addiction counseling at the community college

[frillyheathen]

Any time I look up stuff about the small rural, right-wing town I grew up in, there's always a lot of people from Big Liberal City being like, "Lol never go there, it's just meth, poverty, and Trump supporters."

Like, okay. So we both agree that there issues, but you're ignoring the fact that people live there. Local tribes have important cultural landmarks there. A lot of people can't afford to leave there. Children are continuing to be born there. Dismissing and degrading poor rural towns doesn't actually help anyone or fix anything.

Anyway, shoutout to my hometown's public library and community college for being important benchmarks of the community and providing safe spaces for queer people. And I encourage everyone to take a look around and see what they can do to help their community, even in small ways.

yall have got to be more normal about Southern people and I'm not kidding. enough of the Sweet Home Alabama incest jokes, enough of the idea that all Southerners are bigots and rednecks, and enough of the idea that the South has bad food. shut up about "trailer trash" and our accents and our hobbies!

do yall know how fucking nauseating it is to hear people only bring up my state to make jokes about people in poverty and incestuous relationships? how much shame I feel that I wasn't born up north like the Good Queers and Good Leftists with all the Civilised Folk with actual houses instead of small cramped trailers that have paper thin walls that I know won't protect me in a bad enough storm?

do yall know how frustrating it is to be trans in a place that wants to kill you and whenever you bring it up to people they say "well just move out" instead of sympathizing with you or offering help?

do yall understand how alienating it is to see huge masterposts of queer and mental health resources but none of them are in your state because theyre all up north? and nobody seems to want to fix this glaring issue because "they're all hicks anyways"

Southern people deserve better. we deserve to be taken seriously and given a voice in the queer community and the mental health space and leftist talks in general.

[keiratheraven]

Bentley 8 Squad: Forgive and Heal

(I dedicated this post for this October AKA Mental Health Awareness month)

Every member of the Bentley 8 Squad has a dark past. All of them were problematic in their late teen or early young adult years.

Angela Pleasant (Bentley Queen). The miss “perfect”. She was a queen bee, cheerleader captain, honor student, and the girl squad leader. Her parents (Daniel and Mary-Sue Pleasant) put pressure on her to be the flawless daughter. She dedicated herself to become “The Perfect Princess”, but actually she thinks she’ll never be good enough. But she didn’t tell anyone about her battle with Bulimia, and no one believed her when she said there’s something wrong with her body. Everyone just said it’s just bad cramps, nothing more. Then she was diagnosed with Endometriosis at age 19. Although she was surrounded by many people, No one understands her pain and struggles. She's pursuing a master's degree in psychology from Sim State and has the ambition to become a psychologist, but her conditions keep restraining her.

Lilith Pleasant (Bentley Gothic). The black sheep of the family. Daniel and Mary-Sue favored Angela over her and abused her. They didn’t teach her to talk, walk, and use the toilet. They blamed her for everything. They liked to and slap and yell at her. She and Angela also hated each other and they’re always fighting every day. One time, Lilith ran away from their house because she couldn’t take it anymore. But eventually, the police found her and took her home. Since then, Daniel and Mary-Sue treat her better and Angela apologized to her, but later on, she was diagnosed with Type 1 Bipolar Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder. She pours all her emotions into arts and music, then took the art major at Sim State because her dream is to become a rock singer and illustrator at once. But her fluctuating moods and her addiction to self-harm make her questioning the future.

Dustin Broke (Bentley Rogue). The delinquent criminal. The death of his father and the way he died made him mad at the world. He took over his late father’s position as the man of the house and eventually became a criminal to support his family. But his mother became an alcoholic who liked to beat him up and throw an open bottle of alcohol at him. He also has substance abuse after he became a drug dealer. One time when he was in his college dorm at Foxbury, he sent Gordon King into boiling rage after he told him that he spent the drug-selling money for gambling besides his tuition, and Gordon beat the shit out of him mindlessly. Because of his drug addiction, he was diagnosed with Mild Schizophrenia. Sometimes, he thinks he’s already wasted. He doesn’t get enough sleep every night and always looking at the ceiling while he lies on the bed.

Dirk Dreamer (Bentley Brain). The genius, nerdy guy. He always put a good effort to do well in his life. He was an honor student in high school. But the death of his mother really shocked him, and his grades took a downfall. Eventually, he rose to make his late mother proud and his grades back to the top. Although he was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes at age 16, he keeps studying hard and he got a scholarship to Sims University Medical School. He became the assistant lecturer of Dr. Worthington. But, not everyone admires him. The son of Dr. Worthington named Dr. Mark punched him hard when he was alone after finishing a class. He said that Dirk will never take over his place as a devoted medical student in their faculty because his father kept comparing him with Dirk. Dirk keeps it to himself and he never told Dr. Worthington. Although he wants to become a psychiatrist to recover his beloved seven friends, He almost gave up as a doctor because of his illness. He muses about it every night when he's alone because he has to act as a strong, resilient young doctor in front of everyone.

Ophelia Nigmos (Bentley Flower). The mysterious and anxious girl who was desperate for a family. Her parents died when she was ten, and she was raised by an (allegedly) murderer aunt. She was haunted by many ghosts in her near-graveyard house, and Aunt Olive wasn’t the nicest person to be around with. She liked to scold her over the smallest things. She was cold and indifferent to her. One time, she humiliated Ophelia in front of her high school. Many people looked at them, but Ophelia couldn’t do anything to hide the shame. It caused her to have Anxiety and Paranoid personality disorders. Because of this, Ophelia is always anxious when she has to talk in front of many people, so she dreamed to become a novelist and songwriter. Eventually, Aunt Olive died when she was attending La Fiesta Tech. Ophelia mourned her death, but the wounds that Olive gave to her aren’t easy to forget.

Puck Summerdream (Bentley Fancy). The lucky fairy guy who was adopted by loving parents and also a kid sister. He didn’t want to get involved with Capp-Monty feuds in Veronaville and always be kind to them. He also had a crush on Hermia Capp, who became his girlfriend after they kissed for the first time at Puck’s party. But Mercutio Monty didn’t like it and got mad at them. The next day, he beat Puck's ass and took his money at the schoolyard. "That’s for stealing my girlfriend", he said. Puck hid his feelings and cried when he got home. Later on, he attended Academie Le Tour with Hermia. He took double majors: music and mathematics cause his dream is to become a classical musician. But, a tragedy struck. Hermia got shot in a mass shooting and died when she was buying heart medications for Puck. Puck fell into a Major Depression, and his heart condition got worse. Years have passed, but he couldn’t forget her despite many women want him.

Ripp Grunt (Bentley Clown). The tragic hyperactive joker. His mother died when he was eleven, and he was raised by the disciplined-yet-abusive General Buzz Grunt. Buzz liked to punch him when he didn’t obey him, and his brother, Tank Grunt, used him as his punching bag. One time, Tank threatened him to tell Buzz about Ripp’s bisexuality just because Tank didn’t like that Ripp partnered with his crush, Anna, at the school lab. But Ripp never showed his real feelings, except for Ophelia and Johnny. He smiled, joked, and laughed a lot, but actually, deep down he’s crying. He cries a lot and is also tortured by loneliness when he’s alone, but he keeps hiding his feelings by “The Funny Guy” mask. Despite the abuse of his father and brother, Ripp has the talent to entertain others by acting, singing, and play the guitar, so he took the drama major at Britechester. He suffers from ADHD, and gastritis caused by the longtime stress of the abuse. He misses his mom so much and always musing about her.

Johnny Smith (Bentley Leader). The carefree green guy. He was happy. Being the “normal” family in “abnormal” alien descent made him proud of his heritage. Despite having green skin, Johnny was so confident. He’s a sporty jock guy who likes to exercise, play soccer or basketball. He tried so hard to fit in at his high school and every surrounding. His neighbors see him no differently, except Buzz and Tank Grunt. He and Tank always fighting with each other in high school, but it didn’t affect Johnny’s happy life. Then, one night changed everything. When he was 18 and attending as a freshman at La Fiesta Tech, he got attacked by nine people and stabbed on his abdomen due to a hate crime against alien sims. When his blood ran down, the culprits threw him into the smelly and filthy dumpster. He fell into a coma, but luckily for him to have alien blood, he recovered very quickly and regained consciousness after five days. But since then, he has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. He got Minor Depression and having suicidal thoughts as well.

However, everything gets better when all of them get together. They’re having medical treatments for their mental and physical condition, counseling, and group therapies. They’re completing each other and have special bonds. Their stories might be different, but that’s what makes them united besides their love for Bentley cars. Together, they learn to be stronger, nicer, wiser and be a better person. They also want to recover from their past traumas through medications and strong friendships.

In the end, they learn to let go and forgive everything in their pasts. They realized it’s useless to blame themselves, and everything happens for a reason. Because the past doesn’t define who they are. Trauma might be hard, but eventually, they have to face them instead of avoiding them. That’s the meaning of growing up, healing the wounded souls, and moving on. They never stopped chasing their dreams despite their disabilities and keep supporting each other just like a real family.

And it was an early fall in Bridgeport, Sim City. At the anniversary of their establishment of Bentley 8 and Im-perfection community, they decided to go to a resort. They had some fun there. Angela made grilled salmon and cheesesteak for their lunch. Johnny and Dirk played soccer. Meanwhile, Ripp, Dustin, Ophelia, Lilith, and Puck roasted some marshmallows. When they are together, They’re creating memories because tomorrow is never guaranteed. But, no matter what happens tomorrow, they are grateful to still have each other.

"The past can't haunt me if I don't let it

Live and learn and never forget it

Whoa, gotta learn to let it go

Learn to let go, learn to let go

Learn to let go" - Kesha, 2017

[missmentelle]

Do you have any advice for person that has a ba in psychology and what they can do With that degree for a career. I’m completely lost I’m what I want to do but I’ve always like psych

Hey! There are actually a lot of things you can do with a psych degree, and it can be a good starting-off point for a variety of careers. Psychology is a very versatile field, and there are a lot of different ways that you can apply your knowledge. Keep in mind, though, that some of these careers may require that you go back for additional schooling:

Therapist/counselor. Probably the most obvious career choice for someone with a psych degree is to become some sort of therapist or counselor. There are a lot of possible fields you can go into - mental health counseling, addictions counselling, marriage and family counseling, etc - but all of them require that you go back to school for a master’s degree. Therapists may work for a larger entity, like a hospital or mental health clinic, or they may be self-employed and run their own private practice. Many do a mix of both. 

Clinical Psychologist. Clinical psychologists hold a PhD in psychology, and have very flexible careers in this field. They may see a caseload of patients, perform formal assessments and diagnoses of patients for hospitals or courts, work within the prison system, conduct psychological research or teach classes in psychology at a university, among various other career paths. 

Research. If you enjoyed the research component of your psych degree, you can become a research assistant or lab manager without further education. Research assistants work under the guidance of a supervisor - typically a professor - and may conduct experiments, prepare research materials, analyze results and assist with the preparation of research papers. 

Psychiatrist. If psychiatric medication and serious mental illness is something you are interested in, you can consider looking into psychiatry as a profession. Like psychologists, psychiatrists work in a broad range of settings. They tend to do less talk therapy and more diagnosis and prescription-writing, although that can vary. This career path requires a medical degree, and an additional few years of specialized training in psychiatry. 

Psychometrist. Psychometrists work as assistants to psychologists or psychiatrists - they conduct standardized assessments with patients and score the tests, though they are not allowed to interpret the results. Requirements vary by region - in some areas, you can become one with a bachelor’s degree, though other areas may require a master’s. 

Human Resources. If working with mental health patients is not your calling, you can make a great career for yourself in human resources - these are the people who handle hiring, firing and all interpersonal and sensitive issues at a company. Many people in HR come from a psych background, and it’s a good career path for people with psych degrees who want to work in the private sector. 

Guidance Counseling. If working with youth is your calling, you could consider becoming a guidance counselor - these are the people who do everything from helping suicidal and abused kids to sending out reminders about college scholarship applications. In most areas, you will need a master’s degree or second degree in education for this. 

Social Worker. If social justice is a passion of yours, you could look toward going into social work. This is another flexible career path - you can work with the homeless, abused children, the elderly, the severely disabled, and everyone in between. There are entry-level case management and youth worker jobs available to people with Bachelor’s degrees, but to become a licensed social worker, you will need to return to school for a BSW or MSW. 

Statistician. If the math and statistics part of your degree appealed to you, you can go to work as a statistician. They work everywhere from private companies to public entities like the census bureau. You should be able to get started in an entry-level position with a Psych degree if you took some intermediate statistics courses in college - otherwise, you may need to return to school for further training. 

Law. Psychology degrees can be a great stepping stone for going on to law school. There are a lot of legal issues that concern psychological state and mental health, and a lot of exciting developments in legal protections for the mentally ill. You’ll need to write the LSAT and apply to law school, or look into Paralegal training. 

Marketing and Advertising. Modern advertising involves a lot of psychology - in fact, at this point, it’s mostly psychology. There are a lot of companies modernizing how they approach advertising, and if you have experience with social media and statistics and psych, you can get your foot in the door. 

Grant Writing or Technical Writing. If writing papers and research proposals was something you found exciting in undergrad, you can do that for a living. Research requires grants in order to fund it, and those grants require lengthy written applications - learning to write those applications is a very valuable skill, and it’s something that a psych degree holder can get into. 

Public Policy. Working in government and politics is a very viable career for people with psychology degrees. A psych degree shows you have an understanding of people and an ability to write and communicate ideas clearly. Those are skill sets that you can easily transfer to working for a government ministry or non-governmental agency like a non-profit. 

Teaching. Many people who enjoy the developmental and social aspects of psychology may find that teaching is a good career path for them. Teaching requires quite a bit of psychology - you’ll need to keep up-to-date on new teaching methods and recognize students with untreated learning issues in the classroom. Becoming a teacher typically requires returning to school for an education degree or master’s in education.

Early Childhood Education. If you liked the very early stages of developmental psych - babies, toddlers and young children - early childhood education might be a good fit for you. Again, you’ll need to know how to create a stimulating environment that is appropriate for the child, and spot potential developmental delays that can be addressed. It is often possible to start in this career track with a Bachelor’s, but further training is possible. 

When you’re trying to think of a career, start thinking about what you want your day-to-day experience to be like. Do you want to work with the mentally ill? Children? Adults? Do you want to work at a desk or go out into the field? Do you do better in a predictable or unpredictable work environment? How much structure do you need in your day to day life? Think of some possible careers, and talk to people who actually do those jobs - what is their average day like? What are the challenges they didn’t expect? What do they love about it?

And remember, above all, that you are not locked into the first thing you choose. You may start one career and find that it’s not for you at all. That’s okay. You have a lot of time to explore and find a path that’s right for you. 

Best of luck to you!

Miss Mentelle

[talesfromthefreezerinmymind]

The Adventure of the Accidental Client

On this day in 1859 (May 22) Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the creator of Sherlock Holmes, was born.  

May is also Mental Health Awareness month. 

What do these two things have in common? For me, quite a lot. I’ll start this story in early 2012.

At that time I was a freshman at Maryville College, in my second semester of majoring in graphic design. I was completely miserable.

Why was I miserable, exactly? Well…

 I had no friends (turns out, I had never learned how to make them)

 I doubted that graphic design was the career for me (Imposter Syndrome vibes)

 I was homesick (even though I went home every single weekend)

I phoned my parents every night and told them about my day. During one such call, my dad told me about a show on Netflix that he’d started watching: Sherlock. It was made by some of the same people that made another favorite of ours, Doctor Who. I was intrigued, and had plenty of time on my hands, so I thought I’d give it a try.

If you know nothing of Sherlock Holmes (as I did when I first started watching the show), he’s a famous English detective residing in 221B Baker Street created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson solves mysteries in the late 1800s and early 1900s. But for Sherlock, the adventures are set in the modern day. Over the course of a week or so, I watched the whole first season. Normally I’m slow to warm up to things, but I was instantly hooked.

I kept watching the show. I read interviews with the cast and crew. I found a fan-run website with all sorts of lovely info. I discovered Tumblr and all the fandom madness that lives there. The second season had already premiered in the UK, and I dredged up info on it (and spoiled it for myself). I started reading the original novels and short stories that the show was based on. I read everything Sherlock Holmes in about 5 months. And then started reading it over again.

Sherlock had found me at just the right moment. I was unusually lonely. I was unusually bored. I saw myself in John Watson; a directionless man in need of a purpose. A deeply loyal man, without a friend to adhere to. I saw myself in Sherlock Holmes; a man whose mind is always running, who loves feeling clever and in control. A man for whom feeling like an outsider is normal, though not always welcome. In the words of John Watson, “I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers are irresistibility drained.” I was a lounger, an idler, and London had found me.

The Sherlock Holmes stories rekindled my love of reading, which had been dormant for a few years, and sparked a much more serious interest in writing. There was just something about how Doyle went from unknown medical man to literary giant that grabbed my attention. He started in one world and ended up in another. It got me thinking that perhaps though I began in graphic design, I could end up somewhere else: a published author myself. So I wrote more. And I read more. I changed my major in the Spring of 2013 to English with a concentration in Creative Writing (Oh, and I transferred to UT in the fall of 2012. I had to get away from Maryville. Fresh start. Sorta). In 2015, right after graduating UT, I joined an organization called the Society of Children's Books Writers and Illustrators. Long story short, in April 2016 I signed the contract for Roof Octopus, my first picture book.

Sadly, though, writing doesn’t pay much when you’re first starting out so I really did need a backup career for the moment. Fall 2015 I enrolled at Pellissippi State Community College (backtracking, I know, per the usual order of things) and began earning an associate’s in graphic design.

Though by this point I was far removed from my freshman year at Maryville, I still felt all the loneliness and failure that I had felt then (and I was still fanatical about Sherlock; third season came out in 2014). Honestly, I had been feeling watered-down versions of those emotions since my junior year of high school (that’s another story for another time). Plus, there was something else that I was carrying that was growing heavier over time: an addiction to daydreaming.

An addiction to daydreaming? Is that even possible? Well, it is possible. It even has a fancy name: Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder (MDD). It’s when a person’s habit of daydreaming is so obsessive that it interferes with everyday life. I would describe it like there’s a TV on in my head all day. It places my favorite shows, lots of reruns but new stuff, too. Your daydreams are like movies that you write and direct and star in and you can’t get enough. Part of the time they are white noise and I can ignore it. But more often than not, all I want to do is sit and watch. I have trouble focusing on what I’m reading or writing. I zone out super easily while listening to music or podcasts. I have trouble falling asleep for my mind not “turning off”. I zone out in class, at meetings, at church, and in groups of people when no one is talking directly to me. I daydream while driving and running and showering and cleaning and swimming and biking and just walking through my house. I’ve been struggling to focus while writing all this out; I’d rather daydream about writing this than actually do it. (Fun Fact: A big part of my daydreaming is I like to talk aloud while I’m doing it if I’m alone. On second thought, that’s probably more of an embarrassing fact than fun…)

People with MDD aren’t crazy; they don’t hear voices in their head or think people are around who really aren't there. They are fully aware that their daydream worlds aren’t real. But for some people MDD is so severe that they don’t leave their homes for days; they stay in and daydream their life away. Luckily, my MDD is not that severe. Often MDD is used as a coping mechanism. Even though I’ve never experience trauma like some people have, I still really crave an escape from life and all the emotions brought on by it.

I had never heard of Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder until one day in the summer of 2016; I googled for ways to quit daydreaming and stuff about MDD was in the results. Up to this point I’d slowly been growing tired of my daydreaming. I’d always had an active imagination. Played pretend a lot as a kid, had imaginary friends. But in college it started to get out of hand. Particularly falling asleep was a struggle, or if I woke up super early, falling back asleep. It took me ages sometimes to write a paper or read through something. However, I had so much time on my hands that it didn’t really matter how much I procrastinated. (While at UT and Pellissippi, I still didn’t try to make friends.) I didn’t talk too much to anyone about how much I hated college. About how alone I was. I’m a Christian, but I didn’t pray about any of it. I didn’t talk about all the ways that I felt like a failure. I bottled it all up inside, because that’s what Sherlock did. Sherlock was a loner, who was never a failure. Emotions were for other people. He was too smart for them. Sherlock never seemed to let loneliness get to him, and I wasn’t going to let it either.

Anyway, the more I learned about MDD the more I was convinced that I had it. The most important thing that I learned about MDD was that people who struggled with it could get help. Therapy and medication (like antidepressants) had helped other people get control of their life once again. In the back of my mind, I began to wonder: I had been using MDD to help cope with life, but now did I need help coping with MDD? Nevertheless, true to my never-bare-my-soul nature, I shared these discoveries and questions with absolutely no one.

I kept on keeping on. Finished a year at Pellissippi (still worried about whether or not I could make it as a graphic designer). Signed that book contract. Stayed close (as close as you can be without spilling your guts) to my friends at home, who I usually had to make an effort to see (something I really missed from the good old days pre-college). Tried (and failed) not to freak out as some of those friends got married and/or moved off. Who needs friends anyway, right? They’ll just ditch you eventually; no one’s as loyal as John Watson. I daydreamed too much. I wrote and wrote. I worked at Cove Lake State Park in the summer. I started a second year at Pellissippi.

Then one night in December 2016, I stayed the night at my Nannie’s. After I went to bed, I, per usual, had a horrible time falling sleep. I laid awake for hours, but eventually drifted off.

The next day when I came home, my mom asked me if I had slept well.

That was all the provoking that I needed. I broke down and cried. I told her that I could hardly ever sleep because my mind would not turn off. My daydreaming had become too much. Once it had been my rescue, my escape from everyday life, but now I felt like I was going mad.

My parents talked it over together and decided that I should see someone professional. My mom made me an appointment at a counseling office. On December 20, 2016, I had my first meeting with my therapist.

It was rather surreal. In the first season of Sherlock, John sees a therapist because he’s trying to deal with returning home from war. In January 2017, just mere weeks after my first appointment, the fourth season of Sherlock aired. In in the first episode, Sherlock (spoiler) himself pays a visit to John’s therapist. Sherlock actually needs help and he’s actually asking for. And I had just done the same thing. Life is funny like that sometimes.

Over the last 3+ years my therapist has helped me understand a lot about myself. Anxiety has been present in my life for several years now. Talking to people I don’t know, and even people that I do know, often gives me some level of anxiety. I’m always worrying if I sound weird or dumb or boring. I never know what to talk about. Therapy has helped me build up my confidence so it’s much easier for me to talk to others now. Am I still an introvert? Oh, yes. Can I carry on a conversation with someone I just meet? Yeah. Do I always want to? No, not really. But I’m much more willing to try it now.    

I’ve always hated change, good or bad. Watching friends grow up and reach life milestones (marriage, kids, dream job) all while I changed majors, changed jobs, and had little luck in the dating realm was (and still is) rough. Therapy has helped me be a little more okay with changes in my life. I’m not so scared of the future as I once was.  

I prefer to keep to myself. I’m a perfectionist and a control freak. I hate asking for help. I always feel like an oddball, even among my close friends. I love feeling clever. I hate feeling like a failure. I hate change.

I am Sherlock Holmes.

Therapy keeps me in check. Keeps from going over the edge. Helps me understand myself, the world around me, and those in it. It helps me become a better version of myself.

Therapy is my John Watson.  

I don’t know what would have happened to me had I not discovered Sherlock when I did. I do believe that God knows exactly what types of things would catch my attention (i.e. mysteries and best friend adventures) and perhaps that’s why and how things turned out the way they did. He is the Great Author, after all. I am thankful that He loved me even through the times that I was not a fan of myself, running and hiding from everyone, including Him.

I’ve told this story today because (1) I love telling stories. It’s why I write. It’s why I read. Heck, it’s why I’m addicted to daydreaming. Yep, I still daydream quite a lot, but I feel in control of it now. I’ve been taking an antidepressant for about two years now and that has helped with the daydreaming and my overall mood, too. I’ve also told this story today because (2) stories can save us. Sherlock Holmes saved me. I was a lounger, an idler, who wandered into 221B Baker Street in need of a mystery solved. What was happening to Lucy Branam? Can she be saved? Sherlock was just the detective for the job.

Happy 161st birthday, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Thank you for writing.

[nickpostsjournalism]

Too Juul for School

Vaping may have addicted an entirely new generation to nicotine products, studies show, and the government and school systems acted too slowly to prevent it. While cigarette usage amongst teenagers has declined in recent few years, this dip corresponds to a far greater increase in the use of e-cigarettes, as middle and high schools in America are struggling to adapt to their surge in popularity.

“When I was a freshman in high school people were already ripping box mods[a highly customizable vape] in the courtyards, the cafeteria,” says Violet Asuncion, a Cognitive Behavior Education Specialist working for Elevate Education says.  “Shit, I was too. Nobody in the administration had any idea what they were, I think they thought it was a party trick. When they finally figured out they all had nicotine in them there was a collective, “Oh, crap.”

A long way from her native island of Kauai, she teaches at schools all throughout New York and New Jersey. Most of them have only begun to crack down on the problem; then again, Juul, which refers to both the name of the company and their flagship device that made vaping popular, cool, and most importantly, easy, didn’t explode onto the mainstream until 2017. A Juul is an e-cigarette that is indistinguishable from a flash drive at a distance; they’re sleek, black, and cheap by comparison to many of their competitors. By the end of 2017, more Juuls were being sold than any other kind of e-cigarette. A year later, their sales further increased by almost 800%. And, according to a Truth Initiative study, teenagers are sixteen times more likely to use Juuls than the older demographics the company claims to be marketing to.

        -Photo courtesy of Portland Press Herald.

“The drug education curriculum in schools is generally outdated,” Asuncion says.

“It can be hard for pediatricians and all doctors to keep up with the latest e-cigarettes,” says Dr. Susan Walley, a pediatrician at the University of Alabama at Birmingham. “Honestly, it’s only become huge in the last two years, and the average doctor that has been practicing for 20, 30, 40 years may not know anything about.” Despite pushes for more screening in pediatric care for e-cigarette usage, doctors are not always aware enough of the problem to understand how to find it. Many teenagers do not even think of Juuls as e-cigarettes at all.

“I was asking a teenager if they used e-cigarettes or if they vaped, and they said no,” says Walley. “ However, as she continued the checkup, she became suspicious after learning about their use of other substances such as alcohol and marijuana. “I followed up and I said, ‘I know I asked you about vape, but do you use Juul?’ and the person was like, ‘Oh, yeah, I use Juul.’”

Even school administrations and teachers who understand the problem will struggle to prevent usage of Juuls within the walls of their classrooms. “I know a guy who uses his Juul constantly in class,” says Christopher Waldt, an engineering student at Stevens Institute of Technology. “It fits in the palm of hand so I’ll watch him lift it to his mouth and hit it dozens of times in a lecture.”

Raj Kittusamy, a sophomore at New York University, began Juuling during his senior year of high school. “It was a very, very stressful environment… basically, it took the edge off,” he says. “People would literally sit in class and charge their Juul off of their computers and hit it when the teacher wasn’t looking. But in high school it was a fad, now it’s almost part of the landscape; most people you know probably do it, you go to a party, there’s no way there isn’t at least five, 10 Juuls there.”

This isn’t just a difference caused by moving schools from high school in San Diego to New York  with a stronger smoking culture; the Truth Initiative study found in 2018 that 9.7% of 15-17 year olds had used Juuls before. Remember, that’s only one of dozens of other, similar products on the market. This is partly due to their efforts to market themselves as a safer alternative to traditional cigarettes, such as Juul’s “Make the Switch” ad campaign.

However, more frequently, Juul users go on to smoke cigarettes themselves. Teenagers surveyed by Truth were four times more likely to be smoking cigarettes within 18 months. Kittusamy is one example of this trend; he began buying traditional smokes after entering college. So are Asuncion and Waldt. The truth is that Juul is not a smoking cessation device, but a perpetuator of a vicious cycle that keeps users addicted.

“I see a lot of adult smokers, and I want adult smokers to quit,” says Walley. “But we cannot as physicians and as a medical community recommend things that don’t work.” Not only did she write the American Academy of Pediatrics’ policy statement on Juul usage, she does her own research and practices medicine at her university’s hospital. According to Walley, smokers who use Juul with the intent to quit smoking are actually 26% less likely to quit. “No e-cigarette company has filed a claim to make their product a smoking cessation device, like a medically approved device. Despite companies, including Juul, marketing themselves as a way to quit smoking, none of them have gone through the official channels to do so.”

Clearly Juul constitutes a public health danger. Juul is under investigation by the FDA to determine whether they intentionally marketed their product to underaged users, and in 2018 the FDA publicly acknowledged “the epidemic of e-cigarette usage among teenagers,” but their recognition of the problem may have come too late. Current regulations are not doing enough to prevent proliferation of Juuls and other e-cigarettes, and one FDA measure known as the Deeming Rule, enacted in 2016, was hamstrung before it could take full effect.

With the new rule, the FDA extended its regulatory authority over all e-cigarette products, not just traditional smoking products. “The Deeming Rule requires companies to submit to the FDA a briefing that explains what its product is and what the possible public health impacts are before they hit the market,” Walley explains. “But the deadline for companies to submit these briefings was pushed all the way back to 2022, and a lot of the legislation that was supposed to accompany the Deeming Rule has been delayed. So what we’re seeing is that a lot of companies aren’t submitting anything.”

Other measures intended to curb vape usage include the Tobacco 21 campaign, which, as the name implies, is primarily an attempt to keep Juuls out of high schools by raising the minimum age for buying tobacco products to 21. Many younger students begin to vape because of an older friend, according to Walley, such as an 18 year old who is still in high school passing it to a freshman, for example. Flavored e-juices, such as Mango or Crème brûlée, are another major draw for young users that many states and counties around America have begun to outlaw.

Mateo de Camargo Hanley, an NYU freshman, is one of the Juul users who agrees with this measure. He smokes and vapes daily, and is glad that most Juul pod flavors in New York—where the state is in the process of outlawing all e-juice flavors besides menthol—because, as he says, “I’m addicted… if they’re not around I can’t be a Juul fiend anymore.” A Juul fiend is a common term to refer to people who use any Juul in their vicinity whenever they have the opportunity. “It’s a really good thing that they’re going away because Juul is such a good company for marketing to younger audiences. I heard they’re trying to expand into India and China big time, which I think is fucking scary.”

Schools are also trying to do what they can to fight back. In schools in and around New York, “the approach they’re taking is very offensive, not in that they’re trying to offend people but they’re on the offensive,” says Asuncion. “They’re on the attack against this problem and it’s not working.”

For example, she says, “They have a lot more security guards stationed near bathrooms, they put up signs that are 50/50 between telling kids not to vape in school and the dangers of nicotine addiction. They’re integrating Juul a lot more into their D.A.R.E. programs, and also trying to make it so you can get fined for getting caught using them.”

“Maybe the fine thing will work out, get the parents involved and make them deal with the kids. Maybe you could solve it with super strict bag checks—not that I’m advocating for anything I’ve just mentioned, but this is what you’d have to do. As far as policy changes go, the changes should be more focused on effective drug counselling in schools and I think more effort should be put into opening up an honest conversation about tobacco use. But right now I still have to talk to kids about vaping in my class every few days.”

“While we’re on the subject, let me refill my vape,” she says, and turns towards her desk for a moment to add e-juice to her SMOK Nord, a popular alternative to Juul. “I feel like such a hypocrite sometimes, teaching these kids.”

[a-woman-apart]

The Death of a Timeline

I think there is a point in each person’s life where all the challenges, insecurities, and denial, coalesces and rises to the surface in the form of a soul-stopping crisis. For some people, this may only happen once, but most of us will experience it multiple times and under varying conditions. Whether we are thrown into uncertainty by the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, or “hitting rock-bottom” in our addiction, we all reach a point where the current conditions of our lives become so unbearable that immediate action is required. Whether that action comes in choosing whether to go to rehab for our gambling habit, to go to counseling for our family dysfunction, or to flee an abusive relationship, we know that it all amounts to the same dilemma; change or stay the same.

I used to think that the primary changes I needed to make in my life were external. I looked forward to milestones such as obtaining a decent job, finishing community college, and moving into my own apartment. I would feel happy—maybe even proud of myself—for a little while, but then I would shift the goal posts. Suddenly, it became essential to get a better job, to make more money, to obtain an even higher level of education. These things were supposed to bring me economic and emotional security, and at one point I would “arrive.” I would have everything I needed and finally be able to sit back and say, “Hey look, Ma, I made it.”

There was one problem. I knew, cognitively, that there was no such thing as “making it.” Maslow’s hierarchy of needs posits that once our “basic needs” are satisfied, we can move towards “self-actualization”. My boyfriend thinks that that is all bullshit, and I finally agree. What even is “self-actualization?” Is that a term that has a concrete definition? Is it the same for everyone?

I always knew that Linkin Park was right when they said, “the journey’s more important than the end or the start” and that Mark Manson was right when he emphasized relationships over academic and career advancement. At the end of a person’s life, they never say, “I wish I had worked more. I wish I had made more money.” Instead, they almost always talk about family relationships and friendships, and regret not spending more time with loved ones or not making amends to people they hurt. They regret not taking more risks and spending more time enjoying life.

It’s easy to think of an “existential crisis” as a first world problem. Beyond basic survival, we all want purpose and meaning. In my case, I realized that my values were jacked up. I already knew that, but I needed to be faced with a crisis to compel me to do something serious about it. The more I was achieving academically and workwise the less satisfied and the more stressed I was beginning to feel. The constant strain of trying to be perfect, to “make things perfect” and to atone for the “sin” of spending 5 years of my life enmeshed in my mental illness, was overwhelming. My mind knew that I was reaching the breaking point, and it sent out a warning bell so loud that it shook me to my core. My anxiety became all-encompassing. It was saying, “You can’t ignore me now. You’re headed for danger. Abort the mission.”

So, I withdrew from summer classes. I started going to a Bipolar Support Group. I got my psychiatrist to change my medication. In other words, I adjusted some things, and I took a step back. I evaluated my situation again, and I decided to drop out of the university as well.

Dropping out was one of the most difficult decisions I ever had to make, but also one of the best. I had had what I thought was a fail-proof plan for completing my credits and securing the transfer. My financial aid, grants, and scholarships were in place. I had gone to orientation and spoken to my advisor and other staff at length to make sure I would be able to attend in the fall. I had gone on a tour of the facilities. I knew where I would be taking classes. I even got my advisor to sign a waiver so that I could attend a specific class. Everything was ready. All I had to do was attend.

It hasn’t been easy trying to embrace that decision without still going, “well, what now?” I already have a tentative plan to finish my COREs (the ones I did not finish over the summer) in the Spring 2020 semester. I have thought about “side hustles” to make a little extra money. I have thought about switching majors and instead just studying medical coding and billing or some other “hot field” so that I can get a better job with less time spent studying.

I have been trying to hurriedly move on, without mourning the loss of what could have been. I am forcing myself to acknowledge that this was “the death of a timeline” (for all you sci-fi nerds out there). I will never get to see what might have happened if I had persisted in school, despite freshly coming off a relapse. I might have succeeded. I might have failed. The important thing is not to get caught up in what might have been, but to mourn the loss and accept it. Accept the death of “what might’ve been.”

Acceptance is something that I have appreciated theoretically but have never practiced in my own life. I am prone to either wallow in past regret or agonize over future decisions. I cannot sit with myself and be at peace. I have known this about myself for a long time, have chided myself for my catastrophizing, black-and-white-thinking, and hesitancy to be open and authentic, but I have also embraced maladaptive coping strategies because they were what I had been using since childhood. My perfectionism is just a mask I use to hide how lonely, hurt, and vulnerable I regularly feel.

As I said before, if the “five factor model of personality” is at all accurate, then our personality traits are rather fixed. I will never be an optimist. However, I can change my behavior and how I respond to certain events and triggers. My partner is an extravert and I am an introvert. While I may find it difficult to join him at certain events, I can utilize coping skills so that I have a more positive experience. I may have a tendency to think the worst of a situation. If trying to think of the situation as positive is too difficult, I can at least reframe to say, “well, everything could end up going just fine.” Allowing myself to see another option can keep me from becoming myopic in my outlook.

Reframing is also great for someone who may be in a job or life situation that they dislike. It can be difficult to find meaning in boring or frustrating circumstances, but if we simply try to find something about our situation that could benefit other people who are important to us, or we allow ourselves to begin to see the situation as temporary rather than something we simply “must” endure indefinitely, we are able to gain a better perspective.

I have a new priority, now. I have people who love me so much and are negatively affected by the harsh way that I treat myself. My partner has been especially affected by my habits. I keep projecting my insecurities on to him, thinking that he sees me as how I see myself: annoying, overly talkative, needy, neurotic, etc. He has expressed the opposite, but the real problem comes in when he must repeatedly reassure me of his feelings for me. Then, at least part of my fear—that I’m needy—has just been fulfilled. Suddenly he is performing more emotional labor that he really should be, and I am in the meanwhile feeling less and less reassured. So, what do I do? I shrink. I hold things back. I retype texts. Never in any of this do I feel like I am less loved, but I am slowly forming a wedge that doesn’t belong there—all because I’m afraid he thinks ill of me and wants to leave. He doesn’t, but I am subconsciously attempting to drive him away.

This is a digression, but I have always felt that there was “something” that was keeping me from being secure in the relationship. I searched online, I read about aromanticism, I asked people I knew about what made their relationships work. I asked, “how do you know if your partner is the right person?” So many people said, “You just know.” That was too vague and inconsistent for me. My mom told me, “Let God choose for you”, which is quite impractical because I’m an atheist.

In my searching, I discovered that there is no “right person”, there is no such thing as “the One” unless you are talking about Neo from the Matrix, and there is no “perfect relationship.” That should have been enough, but it wasn’t. I am ashamed to say that I scrutinized my partner, I scrutinized myself. I obsessed.

When I was researching “pure O” OCD, I came across a little excerpt on a type of OCD I had never heard of: Relationship Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (ROCD) and it fit me perfectly. I haven’t brought this up with my partner because it is a little fresh, but…yeah. It described everything I have been feeling for years. The “obsession” comes in the form of constantly evaluating your partner, including small flaws, and obsessively seeking out relationship advice (thinks of all the relationship and advice podcasts I listen to) and yet never quite feeling reassured. You have a pervasive sense that you are with the “wrong” partner, no matter who you are with.

I think, along with the mixed mania/anxiety relapse, this revelation confirmed for me that I have a lot more work to do internally than I do on the outside. It is true that my only current clinical diagnosis is schizoaffective bipolar type. It is possible that I do not meet the full criteria for the other diagnoses I identify with, such as Generalized Anxiety Disorder and ROCD. Also, though, my psychiatrists at my low wage clinic have not been listening to me about my diagnosis in the slightest. Any time I bring up different diagnoses I am fully ignored. I understand that they do not have the same resources as a clinic for “rich” clients, but the experience is still extremely frustrating. The only thing I can do at this point is bring up these issues in therapy, and then request that my psychiatrist(s) look over my therapist’s notes so that they can come to an informed conclusion.

I am going to need to “go deeper” in therapy. I have had my therapist for over 2 years, and I still have not told her I am bisexual. We really have not discussed sex-related things at all, and the prude in me would like to largely keep it that way. However, my reasons were wrong. I had both convinced myself that my bisexual identity was not an important part of my therapy, and I had convinced myself that my therapist—who is African and Christian—would respond negatively to my revelation. The truth is, though, I do not know how she will react, and either way, she has a responsibility to be professional. Also, do I really believe she has no LGBTQ+ clients, when queer people are overrepresented in populations receiving mental health care?

It was so different with my first therapist. I started crying in the first session, I told her I was bi within a few more, and when I graduated the treatment, I felt great for a long time. My current therapist is excellent, but for some reason I feel like progress has been very slow. I think this is because I doubled down on my old maladaptive coping strategies the more pressure I felt from work and school. I probably backslid a bit, because instead of being open, or being able to cry and just feel my real feelings, I stuffed them down as deeply as I could. Also, being in therapy once a week was more ideal, because my mood varies greatly over the course of 2-3 weeks. There were so many times when I’d be in therapy and I was like, “Yeah, this terrible mental or physical health crisis happened, but I’m happy again!” but there was so much we weren’t processing through.

I might need to find a therapist who I can meet with more consistently, but I have become rejected by so many because of my schizoaffecive bipolar type diagnosis. So many will have “bipolar I / bipolar II” listed in what they treat, some even have schizophrenia but they shy way from my disorder. What is so frustrating, is that I think bipolar I with psychotic features (my previous diagnosis) described me perfectly fine, but this one doctor at one of the hospitals I was at changed it. I believe he is wrong, but I cannot get it changed back.

Anyway, that is not important. The important thing is, I really have some work to do on myself. Diagnosis or not, I clearly fit the criteria for some of those issues, and I can still work with my current therapist to deal with them. Sure, there are simple things we do, like challenging negative thoughts, reframing situations, finding evidence to refute false beliefs, etc. However, I want to go for the Big Problems, like how do you dismantle a perfectionistic schema? If some of my problematic personality traits really are fixed, then how do I learn to be graceful to myself and live my best life despite having them? How can I push my fears aside and just fully embrace and be committed to my partner? Will it always feel like a struggle to love and accept myself?

At first, I could just put off progress. Now, it really is a matter of life and death. For the first time, I am not wanting to give up on life entirely when plans fall apart. I am taking a step back, because I know that progress is not always linear. We aren’t always on the up and up. What goes up, must come down. There is no eternal crescendo. You need to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Live.

There is hope for us all.

[the-record-columns]

Sept. 13, 2017: Columns

Class of '67 and my friend Marie...

     Marie Cashion Ray

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

Elsewhere in this edition of The Record is a blurb reminding anyone in the Wilkes Central High School Class of 1967 that there is still time to make plans to come to our reunion, Saturday, September 23, 7:00 pm, at the Stone Center in North Wilkesboro. It continues with a note to call Marie at 336-782-3093 for complete information.

That would be Marie Cashion Ray, one of my oldest and dearest friends.

Marie was born just a few days after me up on Hinshaw Street in North Wilkesboro. We played together, went to school together, and have stayed in touch all our lives. Her mother, Ardena Spicer, was like another mother to me her entire life, and, I say with great authority, that I know I was her favorite of all the Hinshaw kids she so ably helped raise to adulthood.

In any game where we had to choose sides, Marie was almost always on my side. She would pick me, or I would pick her and that always kept either of us from being the dreaded, “..last one chosen.” As noted, we were almost always on the same side, but you could count on Marie to take care of herself when it came right down to it.

To that end, the story that follows tells it all. It was 1962, we were I the 8th grade, old enough to be changing classes like big kids. Most of our teachers were 100+ years old it seemed, until Freida Matthews came along. Fresh from Appalachian State Teachers College, she was (and is) beautiful, and every boy in the 7th and 8th grades was in love. I mention Freida just because she is every good thing you could ever ask for in a person, and that always bears repeating.

Today's story, however, centers around Mrs. Nell Helms and science class. Somehow, I had gotten a handful of rubber bands and, during science class, I had been shooting them at Marie every time Mrs. Helms turned to the blackboard. By the time the bell rang to change classes, Marie had had enough, rose from her seat about three persons ahead of me, and, I one swift move, swung the shoulder bag she was carrying like a weapon at me. 

Wham.

She got me solid on the side of the head. Marie smiled, and Mrs. Helms didn't see a thing. It wasn't like I didn't deserve it, so I said nothing and simply shook my head and started down the hall to my next class. A moment later, I felt a warm tickle on my neck, and, when I rubbed it, my hand was bloodied.

Yes, the buckle on the shoulder bag had cut me behind the ear and I was bleeding like a stuck pig. There I was, one of the Great Unwashed from Hinshaw Street bleeding everywhere, and because I got hit by a girl—litttle skinny Marie at that. I thought I was going to die. I had no choice but to tell my next teacher, Roy Furr, about the incident and he took me to the Emergency Room at the hospital. There, I saw one of the kindest men I ever came to know, Dr. Robert E. Lewis, a surgeon who began to clean the cut and stitch it up. When he asked how I got hurt, I confessed that I got hit by a girl with a pocketbook. Mercifully, Dr. Lewis had pity on a young boys pride, and didn't laugh out loud. I did, however, take a lot of ribbing by the others of The Great Unwashed about being put in the hospital “...by a girl.” In no time the cut had healed and it was forgotten To my memory, I have never had another disagreement with Marie of any kind--after, all, I now know what could happen to me.

Once warned, as they say.

As an adult, Marie ran a frame shop called The Stitchery in North Wilkesboro for a number of years. It was an amazing place to visit, and gave the term full-service a whole new meaning. You could have something framed, buy needlepoint supplies of all kinds, have coffee, a sweet roll, get marriage counseling, legal advice, psychiatric help, and she would let you use the restroom.

Some years ago, she moved to Forsyth County, but has now returned to Wilkes and lives in the very house she grew up in on Hinshaw Street.

I say a heartfelt welcome home to Marie and George, and look forward to seeing them at the reunion.

  Healthy Coping

By LAURA WELBORN

The goal is to grow so strong on the inside that nothing on the outside can affect you without your conscious permission.

When you find yourself facing a disheartening reality, your first reaction might be to deny the situation, or to avoid dealing with it altogether.  But by doing so you’re inadvertently holding on even tighter to the pain that you wish to let go of—you’re, in effect, sealing it up inside you.

When you face struggles with an attitude of openness—open to the painful feelings and emotions you have—you find out that it’s not comfortable, but you can still be fine and you can still step forward.  Openness means you don’t instantly decide that you know this is only going to be a horrible experience—it means you admit that you don’t really know what the next step will be like, and you’d like to understand the whole truth of the matter. It’s a learning stance, instead of one that assumes the worst.  How we cope becomes a defining moment -  it’s when…

 A task is harder than you expected it to be — Instead of running from a daunting and overwhelming task, you can accept it and see what it’s like to feel uncomfortable and overwhelmed, and still take action anyway.  

 An interaction with someone you love angers or frustrates you — Instead of lashing out at a loved one when you’re upset with them, you can sit quietly with your difficult feelings and just be open to what it’s like to feel them.  And then, once you’ve had a moment to breathe, you can see what it’s like to deal compassionately with someone you love who you’re also upset with.  To try to understand them instead of just judging them at their worst.

 Unhealthy cravings overwhelm you out of nowhere — You may be inclined to indulge in unhealthy cravings like alcohol and sweets for comfort when you’re feeling stressed out.  But you can sit with these feelings and be open to them instead, and then gradually build positive daily rituals for coping in healthier ways—taking walks, meditating, talking with someone about your feelings, journaling, etc…

You are forced to deal with a loved one’s death — When someone you love passes away, the grief and sense of loss can seem overwhelming.  And at that point, it’s incredibly easy to give in to unhealthy, “quick-fix” ways of alleviating the pain.  But you have to force yourself to do the opposite—to give yourself compassion, to sit with the powerfully difficult thoughts and feelings you have, and to open your mind to what lies ahead.  Gradually it becomes evident that death isn’t just an ending, but also a beginning. Because while you have lost someone special, this ending, like all losses, is a moment of reinvention. Although sad, their passing forces you to reinvent your life, and in this reinvention is an opportunity to experience beauty in new, unseen ways and places.  Marc and Angel Hack Life blog 

So often this is how substance abuse/misuse starts - by trying to avoid situations that are painful. The substance we choose helps “numb the pain” and enables us to avoid facing the pain.  No one I know wants to be in pain, and openly deal with it.  We tend to want to give it time to go away and when we do we push the pain to the back of our brain- which then sits and waits until we are least able to deal with it before it goes to the front of our brain.  

The old saying “Can’t go around it, must go through it” comes to mind and the longer we try to go around it the more painful it becomes.  Children are really good about dealing with things until they feel it’s not ok to talk about it, then it goes deep and stays there.  AA has a practice of talking in front of the group about their “story” of addiction.  We can learn from this practice as we “own’ our stories and face our tragedies so that it doesn’t stay hidden but out in the open.  So I ask you “what’s in your life that you are avoiding?” 

So, where's the beef? Maybe in a Palestinian tunnel

By EARL COX

Special to The Record

Why are Palestinians smuggling cows through the tunnels that connect Gaza with Egypt?  Reportedly the Palestinians need these cows for religious purposes such as the Muslim festival, which just ended on Sept. 5, called Eid al-Adha or Festival of Sacrifice. They claim the cows supplied by Israel do not meet their criteria for height and weight. The question begs to be asked, “Aren’t there any Palestinian cattle farmers?” Surely there must be but perhaps they are too busy manufacturing bombs or building more terror tunnels. Too harsh a statement? The facts say otherwise.

Israel has always acted in good-faith in seeking peace with the Palestinians. Remember the unilateral move by Israel to evict and forecfully expel more than 10,000 Israelis from their homes in the Gaza Strip in order to give this land to the Palestinians - land that rightfully belonged to Israel just as Texas rightfully belongs to the United States? These vacated Israeli communities were constantly referred to by the media as “settlements.” To our Western minds the term “settlement” conjures up images of trailers and outhouses, barren land and camels however nothing could be further from the truth. Israeli "settlements” are actually thriving communities with beautiful homes and gardens.  They have functioning municipal governments with elected officials, sound infrastructures such as paved roads, hospitals, banks, shopping, community centers, schools and thriving businesses to include agriculture, greenhouses, animal husbandry, vineyards, orchards, and technological centers to name only a few. The Gaza “settlements” even had million dollar beachfront homes and all were gifted to the Palestinians back in 2005 in what became known as the “Gaza Disengagement.”

From the “settlements” of Gush Katif and Neve Dekalim, the Palestinians were handed approximately 380 highly productive, largely organic farms that produced luscious fruits, vegetables and flowers to export. Livestock, including cattle, were also raised. The World Bank, along with a small number of private donors, purchased these farms and turned them over, fully functioning and fully intact, to the Palestinians. So what did the Palestinians do with them? They demolished the buildings and dismantled the greenhouses — reportedly using the metal in their Kassam rocket industry.

The AP reported that “more then 3,000 greenhouses costing the World Bank and private donors approximately $14 million were completely stripped and totally destroyed.” These greenhouses and farms were to have been part of the economic foundation for the Palestinians to build their own viable economy. However, instead of choosing growth and prosperity, they chose war, terrorism and destruction. This took place back in 2005 and nothing has changed since.

The media has brainwashed the world into believing that Israel is responsible for Palestinian poverty. In truth, the Palestinians are victims of their own leaders. The people are afraid to speak out as the cost for doing so may be too high - it may cost their lives.

Palestinians have learned well how to harness the power of the media to influence public opinion. In preparation for past religious festivals there were media reports showing mature cows compressed into tiny circular metal cages bent so that their noses touch their tails, or bound with chains and ropes around their legs and hooks through their noses, being dragged along tunnel passages. These images could have been staged for the media in an attempt to demonstrate the desperation of the Palestinian people because Israel is supposedly denying them suitable cows to use in the fulfillment of their religious demands. This is absurd.

The following quote appeared in a World Bank report out of Washington, DC.

“Most of our work here focuses on the twin pre-conditions for the establishment of a viable Palestinian State: sustainable economic growth and robust institutions of state and civil society,” said Mariam Sherman, World Bank Country Director for West Bank and Gaza. “We must not forget, however, that it is the resilience of Palestinian society that makes these long-term goals achievable. Therefore, programs designed to preserve valuable social and human capital in the short-term are critical to the state-building effort.”

What’s really happened, though? More than a decade after the Gaza Disengagement, where is the “economic growth and the robust institutions of (Palestinian) state and civil society” upon which the World Bank was banking? Perhaps they have fallen victim to the “greenhouse effect” — which, when translated, means “a bunch of hot air.”

The Palestinians have never truly wanted to build a viable state of their own living peacefully next to the State of Israel. What they want is the total and complete destruction of Israel and her people, and the world seems not to notice. They blow the hot air, and we inhale it like a sweet fragrance knowing full well that it stinks, or we look the other way and pretend all is well.

So, where’s the beef? Ask the hordes of Palestinians who dismantled the thriving farms and greenhouses of Gush Katif and Neve Dekalim. They were handed, on a silver platter, the tools and foundation upon which to build a solid, self-sustaining economy just as the World Bank said needed to happen. But, instead of putting their hands to the plow and the sickle they put their hands to the bullets and the bombs - and nothing has changed.

Friday Afternoons

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

Friday afternoons are always exciting to me. It’s the time of the week when the whims of life become empowered.

Due to my travels and location story development work, I am seldom in the office on Fridays. Sometimes however I am, and on a Friday not so long ago that is exactly where I found myself.

Allow me to set the scene. In the grand room,the back wall has a black backdrop with lights. On one side of the room,there is a comfortable gold couch circa 1980’s and on the opposite side, an easel with adequate paint, brushes and new canvas for anyone who feels creative. There is also a sitting area with two chairs, a center table, small Zen garden, and lamp.  

Meredith is at the easel working on her second painting of the day. Summer is on the couch with lyrics to a new song she has written, Emma is sitting on a stool beside the sofa with a guitar in hand. Producer Jared is directing with good feedback and capturing some video of the activity.

While I was doing a bit of work in my office, I left the door open so that I could hear the progression. I looked in a few times, but I could hear that things were going nicely. Over the course of three hours, I witnessed something wonderful. Two paintings were finished. The lyrics of a heartfelt song about being grateful for people while they are still around, come to life with rhythmic vocals and nicely balanced guitar notes.

I am fortunate to be around a lot of talented people. I have had the opportunity to visit with and interview some of the most talented individuals in the Carolinas.

I remember visiting Cheraw, S.C., during the Dizzy Gillespie Jazz Festival, and it seemed like every venue in the entire town had a talented Jazz group performing, each one as dynamic as the other. I have learned much about our historical and current Jazz scene in the Carolinas.

Lonnie Davis is the President of the Jazz Arts Initiative, based in Charlotte. Her husband Ocie Davis is the artistic director for the organization. The dedication to high standards for education and performance opportunities for great Jazz musicians is impressive.

I don’t think I will ever forget the first time I went to the Pop Ferguson Blues Festival in Lenoir, N.C. I was taken by the authentic talent of Pop and the incredible talent of those that performed during the festival. Pop said, “you can make Blues out of a personal thing, it’s according to how you feel, Blues is low down gutbucket stuff.”

Tim Eaton owns the Legendary Studio East in Charlotte, back in the day it was the producer, he has introduced me to some of our music legends. I recall doing a series of recordings at the studio; I noticed that the mic I was using was a U-47 Telefunken, to say that’s a good mic would be a significant understatement. Johnny Cash, James Brown and many others had used the same U-47 that I was using. Yes, I think that is cool as well.

The talented stage performers, actors, and filmmakers in the Carolinas are creative, hardworking and committed to producing something heartfelt and spectacular.

Okay, It’s true, I love Fridays and the whims that come with it, and now I’m off to see another show.  

[rainforestdawn]

Ang pt 2

I spent the summer of 2014 trying to process that Easter’s events. I couldn’t decide how I felt about it all, and that scared me. I identified with her ex-spouse. I knew what infidelity could do to a person. How difficult coming back from that is. I had spoken briefly about it with him, after they had separated. It old him to pop by for coffee and we’d chat further on the subject. That never happened. I, myself, could have taken those same actions, given the mix of intoxicants found in their family home. I mean, I don’t think I’m capable of violence, but, influenced heavily by other things who knows. I felt sorry for them.

Much of that summer was a drunken blur. Days at the beach (like, 10 hrs each day), and evening with a bottle of Reisling wine. My husband refused to listen anymore on the subject. I had no one to turn to, and I couldn’t keep it all to myself, it needed to come out. So it started coming out to anyone who would listen. Our core group of friends watched me. Struggling with coming to terms of what I gave her children in that short time, and how I felt about the whole thing. They were going through the same thing, each in their own ways. But when I self destruct, I do so in smashing fashion.

I waited, all summer, with multiple reminders. My husband didn’t once look into counseling for himself. I don’t know if he thought I was bluffing, or if he was just accepting that he was tired of having me around and dealing with me and my emotions.

As August came to an end, I was resigned. I made a plan to leave, and told him this. I also informed my family, who would need to take over the care of my Grandmother. She refused to stay in the house if I wasn’t there. I felt broken, and like I had failed her. I was so disappointed in myself. I love her more than I care for my own mother. She’s my favorite family member. I wanted to take care of her. I wanted my children to be close with her too. The family took one month to get things sorted, then showed up with a U-Haul, packed her up, and the house was emptier. I waited until the end of October to leave, making costumes for my boys. Making a plan for what I was going to do.

Leaving was one of the most difficult things I will ever have done in my entire life. Due to complications in our relationship, I was ineligible for Social Support Services. No income assistance, rental assistance, or child care subsidy. The meant, I left with a bag of clothing, a few token personal items, my cell phone, and my vehicle. I had to leave my kids with him. He had a good income, and a stable home, and could keep them in a school they were comfortable in. It was better for them if they stayed, rather than come with me and learn what poverty could be. I hated myself. I cried the entire way to where I was going. A 4 hour drive.

I arrived at my destination, and spent at least three days crying and dealing with shell shock. Then, I started. Wrote a resume for myself, started researching ways I could get a living income that would enable me to live an independent life. I got a job, and I enrolled in Community College, getting a student loan. This allowed my to live independently.

School suited me. I thoroughly enjoy learning. I’m passionate about knowledge, and curios about everything. I settled into routine. And when I was comfortable. I moved out of my friend’s and into a home not far away with 2 roommates.

When I had first arrived, I had adventured. It had been about 14 years since I had dated. And even before, I didn’t date much at all because I’m a long term partner seeker. I knew what I didn’t want in a partner. I wasn’t even sure anyone would find me attractive enough to date. I had basically forgotten how it all worked. So, I tried a number of people on for size. Men. Women. I started to get an idea of what I was looking for. And I was discovering that I was desirable. One of the texts I had discovered on my husband’s phone said “I’m just not attracted to her anymore”. It had devastated me. Dating was helping me actually see that I am a genuinely attractive woman, with a lot to offer.

I visited my kids once a month, at the very least, two if I had enough hours to manage the expense. The house actually echoed, whenever I visited them. Each time I left, I had to pull over to have a good cry before driving the rest of the way. My heart felt like it was torn out, each time I hugged them good-bye. A giant piece of me was missing. Leaving this void that ached so much, sometimes it’s was difficult to get up in the day.

As time went on, I began to find myself. Instead of identifying my self by my children and spouse, I actually discovered who I was. I mostly liked what I saw, what I found. With each discovery, I began to realize, my relationship with my spouse was NOT normal. I finally had to admit, that I had survived 13 years in an abusive marriage.

After a while, I moved into my own apartment. A big step for me, as I’ve never had my own place before, and I managed to snag the apartment of my dreams. My own sanctuary where I didn’t HAVE to talk, smile, or be generally approachable. I was often silent, listening to music, keeping myself busy with school work and projects. I knew my end goal was to graduate as a certified professional, and I didn’t want anything to go awry, so I stayed out of trouble. I didn’t actually have friends in the area, other than the one I had stayed with. And I don’t make friends easily, all the friends I had made while I was married had been people my spouse had chosen. He chose them because he was attracted to them. Any friend I had slept with my husband. Making actual friends was a very difficult thing for me to do.

And then, June hit. It had been a year since the loss of her. I was in class, and my kids called me (something which they knew they shouldn’t do between the hours of class, unless it was very important). When I answered, they said the police had been there looking for me. Puzzled, this was on my mind until I was able to visit again. The police we’re looking for me to serve me. I had been subpoenaed. When I returned to my apartment after that visit, the man I had been seeing, left me. While I knew he wouldn’t be a long-term partner, he filled the need I felt to be wanted. The combination of being lonely, and scared, led me to relapse. I spent a weekend in a cocaine induced haze, after actively seeking it out. And I knew I needed help. 

I researched a lot of businesses and companies and service providers in my local area, and selected one that I thought would fill my needs. I was satisfied with my choice when I was given weekly sessions with a one on one who specialized in recovery and dealing with trauma. After I was able to dish the entire story of what my marriage was like, losing my friend, being with her children, and what my life was like then, they had a clear picture of what was going on, and why I needed help. I was terrified I would slip into addiction and never see my kids again. My counselor could barely comprehend my story, and, after my story, looked at me in wonder as to how I was still alive. We identified some goals, and immediate details that needed to be addressed, and got to it. 

With their help, I was able to attend a debriefing session with the Crown Council (basically the ppl who were laying charges). When I had first opened my subpoena, I was mystified and in disbelief, that my name was on the same document that said “First Degree Murder”.  Having survived the debriefing, I would need to prepare to testify.

The end of the summer came, and i was subpoenaed twice more with the second bringing with it, the final solidified date of the trial. I was to spend my birthday, in October, in court. The summer’s end brought with it the end of classes and the beginning of Practicum (workplace development, basically training in the workplace I was in school for). I had had to book off an entire week (they couldn’t pin down an exact day, so recommended I take the week off), from my Practicum, ensuring I had my hands full doing the assignments in the weeks surrounding it to make up for it. 

My counselor and I did as much prep work as we could, going over what I was going to say, and how I might feel, and coping strategies. Each time we had brought the topic up in our sessions, I had a panic attack. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t sit still, and had tears in my eyes. My speech frantic and unhinged. I actually had a couple of weeks where I had multiple sessions to ease this terror as much as possible, before I had to face it. 

Just after I had been debriefed by the Constable who was assigned the case, he had asked me if I wanted to send a message to the perpetrator. I agreed, and he taped it on a voice recorder. I had asked the accused to do the right thing, and own up to his offence, so the kids would be spared going to court, and so on. It was brought up in a session. This is what I recalled and what lead to me discovering why I felt so scared. I felt guilty. I knew how the accused felt, and I felt I could have helped them. I felt guilty that I wasn’t a better friend. And I felt guilty that I was going in to testify against someone I still considered my friend. These feeling lead me to apply for a testimony via video. I had been denied, despite a fully written explanation to the judge of the state this impending trial was doing to me. I testified, looking at the accused, my friend, right in the eye, less than 10 feet away from me. During trial, the Crown Council was responsible for any expenses incurred by the people they brought in to build their case. I had been put up in a hotel, and had my mother attend with me for support.

When I got back to my apartment, I lost it. The weekend itself is a blank. I woke up naked in my bed, with friction burns, bruises and deep muscle sore spots all over my body. I don’t know what happened. And I had to finish out my Practicum. I survived the last four weeks of my schooling, and successfully completed my Collegiate training. I spent a full week in bed. I barely ate anything, I didn’t bathe, and my vehicle was accumulating parking tickets on the street outside. With no other options left, and unable to function on my own, I returned to my kids. I gave up on myself. I moved back in with my spouse. No one else would help me, and I had no savings to speak of.

With my kids’ care reverting to me as a Stay at Home parent, I had a routine to keep me aware of self care. I took a month to focus on this, self care. treating my body kindly, being gentler with myself when I remembered things, nourishing properly, pampering myself.

My experience with those events was over. After my testimony, the accused pled guilty to second degree murder, and issued an statement of apology.

I had told myself, I was going to try to make a life for myself until I had wrapped the whole thing up. I was useless to anyone as an employee or otherwise. I was falling apart easier and easier. I gave myself until I got word about the findings of the trial, to process everything so I could let it go and move on. When the plea came in, I was relieved. But I was still lost. And I had to admit, I just wasn’t sure how to move on.

After months of counseling, I wrote the convicted a letter. I explained how the whole experience had dominated my life for two years, how I was still trying to recover from it, how it changed me. I told them I was sorry. I hated testifying. My faith in the judicial system was broken. She had all the proper paperwork, and had taken all the legally recommended precautions. None of it stopped her murder. And because of this, many more people were affected. Despite everything, I still considered the convicted my friend. I forgave them for their actions, but I didn’t condone them. I still felt like it could have been me, under similar stressful circumstances. I told them how I wished things could have been. I told them about my involvement with their kids. And, I admitted my feelings of guilt for not telling the kids about their parents when they were with me.

It took me multiple years, to realize, I was ashamed that I had not told the kids about their parents when they asked me. It makes my heart ache. It brings tears to my eyes, even now. I wish, now, that I had told them. They deserved to hear it from someone who loved them. But, at the time, I thought professionals would be more ideal than me. Like I wasn’t qualified. I see now, that I was. But I’m also able to forgive myself for it.

It still hurts, and leaves me mystified when I think of it all.

I never did send the letter. But writing it, brought relief, and the ability to close that chapter with finality.