I know this is off schedule on a Friday, but since my goal with this blog is to raise awareness of mental illness, to support others dealing with it, and to kick stigma in the face, I really can’t go without mentioning it.
You know what I think?
My illness does not define me. It’s part of me, it always will be, but it is not the boss o’me! And yours isn’t either. I’m gonna fight and I’m gonna laugh, and I’m gonna spell words wrong because it’s funny to me.
I added a frame to my personal Facebook profile picture. I thought about changing the photo to something a little bit less…disturbing. But I did not because the picture is funny, and that’s what I’m going to do, I’m going to flip my bird at bipolar and live my life the way I do.
I will make myself look ridiculous for the funny. Heck, I’ll hurt myself slightly for some quality slapstick.
Do you know how strong you are because you got out of bed this morning? Because you face each day the best you can and you keep going and you find beauty and laugh because there are goats? (That may just be me.)
You are a warrior, a lion, a superhero, whatever image speaks to you.
I am going to continue to laugh at pretty much everything, talk to people in my real life, and write this blog, it helps me and I hope others find something they can use here too.
Anyway, that’s about it. Be strong and when you feel overwhelmed, please seek help.
I’m listing some links for you from Mental Health America and NAMI where you can find information, resources, banners, and frames if you are comfortable using them.
Remember –
Hiding is exhausting, fear is debilitating, and shame is just plain bullshit.
How hard can it be, I asked, ducking the objects all my writer friends are currently lobbing at me.
I’ve written poetry all my life, articles like these sorts of things, autobiographical scribblings, narratives based on real events, but never a book with real dialog, pacing, something approaching a point. I’m very excited!
My fear, because if I didn’t have doubt and fear it wouldn’t be me, is that I’ll discover I’m awful at it, like, not where my skills could be polished no, just flat out Jr. High School kid who uses fancy words they saw on British T.V. and overwrought, sledgehammer to the head symbolism except I’m not 13 I’m 51, and that would be so very sad. It would crush me like the bolder of Sisyphus crashing down on his frail limbs while he raised is horror-stricken visage to the heavens above and shouted: “Why have you forsaken me!”
Like that.
This started because I had a waking dream so terrifying, I truly thought I losing my mind and may in fact die. I wrote it up, the whole thing had to be split into three parts, and prepared to publish it here when I realized it really isn’t appropriate for my blog, it’s not what I’m trying to do. So, I decided to write it up as a short story.
Then I realized that I’ve had many nightmares and D.T. dreams that could make really good scary stories if I can pull it off. (D.T. is “delirium tremens” and is the result of excessive drinking that affects the body in quite horrible ways. If you have them, call a doctor, because you need help, my friend. It’s not worth a story.)
I have come up with five that I can flesh out. I’m thinking an anthology. I’m designing the cover in my head and practicing what I’ll say on my book tour.
I laugh, but honestly, if any of my writing was going to make me money, it would be that. I write this blog to give back and because I enjoy it. I wrote Life Songs for my heart, and because it fills me, I believe my royalties total about 50 bucks at this point. To commemorate my first royalties ever, I bought a human phalanx, probably from a man based on the size, and made a necklace out of it. It has a locket that contains a few words from one of my poems. I have never made jewelry before and probably never will again, but it means the world to me, so I don’t care that it’s amateurish. I love it beyond measure.
Forever resting on my heart. Also, it’s legal to buy human bones in the U.S.
Now, it would not hurt my feelings if Life Songs suddenly sold thousands of copies, but I didn’t write it for that. And this blog has a specific mission statement, and there is no way to monetize it. My necklace is just for me, no one else would understand it without a long story. In fairness, most everything with me involves a long story so this blog won’t be done any time soon.
The other book I’m working on, which is decidedly not fiction, is going to be a great deal of work and research and talking to doctors and digging through some hard things from my past. I have no idea when that one could possibly be done, and no idea how it will be received. It will be another that I write for me, and for people with mental illness, and then who knows. Maybe it will hit a chord, maybe it will wither away. But I’m prepared for either.
But scary short stories? Now that could work. And that will be so much fun to write, I think. It feels good to start something new, something I’ve never done. It feels good to stretch myself and get out of my comfort zone. And it feels indescribably amazing to be able to do what I love.
Because the reality is that from getting Life Songs out, to publishing twice a week here, my serious book and my scary stories, to the paintings and jewelry and all creative work, none of this, not one thing, would be happening if I were still drinking. Nothing would have gotten done.
All of these heart-filling accomplishments would be another regret waiting to happen.
So, here’s to sobriety and all it can bring us. Here’s to all the stories it can tell.
What do you want to do, what would fill your heart and help you rise like Phoenix from the flames of turmoil to fly mighty Pegasus to the waiting arms of Zeus?
That, that right there. I really hope I don’t write like that.
Here’s a number for you if you are still drinking too much and need help.
National Helpline
SAMHSA’s National Helpline is a free, confidential, 24/7, 365-day-a-year treatment referral and information service (in English and Spanish) for individuals and families facing mental and/or substance use disorders. https://www.samhsa.gov/find-help/national-helpline
I love travel, I can’t recommend it highly enough. Experiencing new things, food, cultures, meeting new people, getting out of my comfort zone, all of these things.
I am an advocate for travel, and I recommend not doing a tour, especially in Great Britain, for example, where everyone speaks English, even the Scottish. No really, they do.
This has nothing to do with that, I just love this picture.
Europe is dead easy, and you’ll get more out of it without a tour guide telling you where you can go and for how long. A friend informed me, much to my shock and horror, that their tour allowed only an hour for Paris. Paris! That is a crime against nature, is what that is.
So, my husband and I don’t do tours. We don’t do itineraries either; we have a basic idea of what we want to see, but that can always change. We generally fly by the seat of our pants. When I travel alone, I do the same.
Here’s the thing though, travel will never be perfect. Every vacation includes some bother. We have missed a few trains in Egypt, because we could not begin to read the ticket. On a train in Poland the lights sparked and crooked doors between the cars would close without warning and trap us. We have been stuck driving up mountain roads in Ireland barely large enough for our right hand drive car and, oh look at that, it’s a two way road! And we both got bronchial infections in India.
At the time, these things were unpleasant. Now they make the best stories.
The main advice I give to people who are traveling for the first time is, part of it will not be fun. There is no such thing as a “perfect vacation.”
Also, if at all possible, travel in the off season. This is the Charles Bridge in Prague. It does not look like this in the summer time.
Maybe it’s better with a tour group, I’ve no idea. But let me tell you this.
If you are on a tour, you are missing out on one of the main reasons to travel because the people you meet are paid to be nice to you. You are not getting a real taste of the culture.
Let me give you an example.
My husband and I were in Egypt during Ramadan, 2004.
It happened that Ramadan ended in November that year, so we went to a shop and bought Christmas presents to take home. We spent around $200 USD, which to the young man working there was a lot of money. He was so happy he closed his shop and invited us back to his home.
When we got to the apartment complex, a tiny boy, just barely walking, saw us and was about to explode with excitement. He said “Hi!” and we said “Hi!” and he waved his arms at his sides like a play-pretend bird and made a sound like a balloon deflating. He ran with us the rest of the way to the stairs saying Hi! and giggling like a little Muppet.
When we got to the young man’s apartment his sisters prepared tea and Ramadan cookies for us. We sat and chatted and enjoyed the cookies and company.
Now, would that ever in a million years happen with a tour?
No.
I have so many stories like this. So many beautiful moments that would simply have been missed.
Egyptian cat says “marhabaan.”
And sure, there were awful moments too, and when they happened, I scowled and vowed to never travel again. San Francisco is enough for me, dammit!
But I get home and tell all the stories and everyone laughs and then I’m planning my next trip a week or so later.
Next should be Thailand. I will give the elephants a bath!
And enjoy the stunning antiquities, delicious food, and amazing culture, of course.
But mostly elephants.
By the way – Please don’t ride the elephants. Don’t pay for places where people can ride elephants. It’s not good for them so please don’t give these places your money.
There are so many good tools to use for self-care, like painting, hiking, meditation, cooking. These are all wonderful. They focus the mind on a single activity, put issues on a temporary time out, and provide goals to reach. I enjoy all of these minus the cooking. My husband keeps me alive with foodstuffs.
I want to focus on one particular tool, journaling. I have kept a diary (called a journal when you’re over 19 maybe 20, not sure why) since I was eight years old. I have many volumes of hand-scribbled books, with covers of puffy stickers to unicorns to Celtic designs.
I leaf through the pages and find the traumas I survived, some of which I don’t remember, many that I do, and I shake my head that I am still alive. There are joys I can relive, and little treasures I stuck between the pages. Some of them take me to a time and place, others had a meaning that is long lost. Whatever it was, younger me loved it enough to tuck it away, so I leave it where it rests.
See, it is your most private sanctuary, it is yours to express yourself however makes sense to you. Record the events of the day. Write your dreams. Draw pictures, watercolor, tuck things inside that are meaningful to you.
Can’t draw? Can’t paint? So what! Does the act of drawing or painting or whatever make you happy?
Do you see that picture right there? The blonde lady with floating bubbles and what appears to either be a yellow aura or she’s standing in front of a blinding light bulb? The one pained by someone who has apparently never seen a human body before? I painted that! That’s my painting! And it is objectively horrible! But I love it. I love coming into my studio, gathering my brushes, putting up a canvas and playing artist. It’s living a dream for me. It just makes me happy, and that’s enough.
What about you? Do you give yourself permission to play?
If a unicorn journal made you smile, would you buy it?
There is a truism I have found in life. People tend to restrict themselves with “I can’t because”…I’m an adult, I’m a professional, it would be stupid…I respectfully disagree.
Here’s the thing…I have a very large collection of a certain mouthless white kitty (I don’t want to get sued.) I get annoyed if someone refers to her as “it.” I have only one drawer left in a 6 drawer chest for clothes. I’m 50.
She makes me happy, and that’s enough.
So please, go out and do something that makes you happy. If you are in a depression this will seem Herculean, but if you can, walk to the sidewalk. Then another day to the end of the block. And celebrate each accomplishment. You are awesome! You did it!
If you can’t, truly can’t, then find a pen and some paper, and try to spell out what you feel. It really does help.
Or paint a picture like my malformed bubble lady, which I did while deep in the bowels of a pit. Because now it makes me laugh, it makes me happy.
appears to either be a yellow aura or she’s standing in front of a blinding light bulb? The one pained by someone who has apparently never seen a human body before? I painted that! That’s my painting! And it is objectively horrible! But I love it. I love coming into my studio, gathering my brushes, putting up a canvas and playing artist. It’s living a dream for me. It just makes me happy, and that’s enough.
Nightmares and Laughter 