I am the light you tried to strangle, the light you tried to stifle in your chokehold.
But my light bled all over the pages of your book, your preconceived narratives, your filthy words and your attempts to bring terror back into the blank space of my eyes.
Who am I?
I’ll tell you who I am.
I birthed revolution in my bones like the many women that came before me.
I ignited flames beneath my skin, using the fiery spirits of women who walked beside me
as matches; we breathed fire into each other’s hearts until the world could see us and from the ashes we were reborn.
Who am I?
I’ll tell you who I am.
I am the fear in your hatred, the pain that you tried to use to violate my sacred spaces, rip me apart until I was nothing,
but I knew I would always be something, somebody, and now I am.
I am layers and layers of the love and power that act as your kryptonite,
and with the words and actions of all those who rose with me, I’ll build an impenetrable wall.
Who am I?
I am the thing that nightmarish people have nightmares about,
wake up sweating about, thinking about —
their furrowed brows tense with self-doubt —
wondering if I and the other warriors I march with could ever come back to life.
Who am I?
I am the restless rebel you tried to bury,
the one you tried to pull out by the root and eradicate when she began to grow from the seed.
Who am I?
I’ll tell you who I am.
I am the girl you left for dead thinking she’d always fall and never rise again.
I am the girl you cut with your razor blade wrath, the girl you thought would never fight back.
I am the girl you underestimated, the woman you tormented, the child whose shackles you tightened.
Who am I?
I think you already know –
I think you understand.
I am the prisoner you tried to cage, the little girl you made afraid –
I am the woman who never gave up, the one who exposed your charade —
Who am I?
I am everything and anything that you will stand againstto try to regain control.
For every source of darkness, there is a bleeding soul,
one that shines so brightly that the entire war zone becomes illuminated.
I am the truth, your karma, the revolt —
I am the resistance, the pieces you tried to keep shattered, coming back together again.
I emerge quietly, but I resound loudly —reverberate through your skin.
My power was never yours, and it was never yours to take.
“Leaving is so hard because your confidence is destroyed. You feel trapped.”
-Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk to you about some common misconceptions about domestic violence. Sit tight. These myths and truths will help to dispel some of the things that you might have been told.
1. Myth: Domestic abuse is a “family matter” and the community should not interfere.
Fact: Domestic abuse is against the law making it everyone’s business.
2. Myth: Domestic abuse affects only a small percentage of the population.
Fact: One-third of American women report being physically or sexually abused by a partner.
3. Myth: Only men abuse women.
Fact: Statistics show that 85% of domestic abuse victims are women and 95% of perpetrators are men. However, men are abused by women also. And the rate of Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender communities are at the same rate as heterosexual relationships.
4. Myth: Only low-income families and minorities experience domestic abuse.
Fact: Domestic abuse in every area of society. Most previously recorded statistics are skewed due to the numbers coming from public agencies, city hospitals, police departments, social service agencies, and the courts.
5. Myth: Abusers are violent in all their relationships.
Fact: Most abusers are only abusive to a targeted intimate partner. Some abusers are successful in their professions and are very charming. And this is how they maintain power and control. This was how my ex-husband introduced himself. In front of people, he appealed to many. It was once we were not in front of people that the abuse occurred.
6. Myth: Domestic abuse is caused by mental illness.
Fact: Personality disorders, mental illness, poor impulse control, and generational abuse do not cause domestic abuse. Even in cases where a particular mental illness may cause a person to be abusive, the abuse is not specifically targeted at one person but to everyone around during the episode.
7. Myth: Domestic abuse is caused by drugs and alcohol use.
Fact: Where drugs and alcohol are often associated with domestic abuse, they do not cause the violence. My ex-husband never used drugs and alcohol. He was just mean and very controlling.
8. Myth: Abusers are violent because they cannot control their anger and frustration.
Fact: Abusers use anger as an excuse to rationalize or blame their abusive behavior: anger is not a cause of abuse; it is a conscious choice made by them. I was always told that “I was the cause of his anger.” So, in some way, I was made responsible for his behavior. When in actuality, he is responsible for his own behavior.
9. Myth: Therapy will stop the violence. If he/she goes to therapy, it will be safe at home.
Fact: Referral of a batter to is one of the strongest predictors that a victim will return to violence. However, research on the effectiveness of treatment for batters are inconclusive. What is known is that there’s a 50% drop out rate in these programs by those who do enroll.
10. Myth: Boys in violent homes will grow up to be battered and girls will be victims.
Fact: Not all children who grow up in homes where there is domestic abuse are directly abused or grow up to become victims or abusers. It is important to note that children from homes where domestic violence abuse occurs are at greater risk for all of these outcomes than children from homes where there is no violence.
11. Myth: Even if he/she is violent, it is better for the children to have both parents. Children aren’t negatively affected by domestic abuse unless they are actually abused.
Fact: Witnessing violence as a child is associated with adult reports of depression, trauma-related symptoms and low self-esteem among women, and trauma-related symptoms among men. Child witnesses of domestic abuse on average exhibit more aggressive and antisocial behaviors, fearful and inhibited behaviors, anxiety, depression, trauma symptoms, temperament problems, and lower social competence, than children who do not witness such violence. Youth who witness domestic abuse are more likely to attempt suicide, abuse drugs, and alcohol, run away from home, commit other delinquent behavior, engage in teenage prostitution, and commit sexual assault crimes (https://law.arizona.edu/sites/default/files/myths_and_realities_of_domestic_abuse.pdf, 2003).
I hope that you’ve been able to put some of these myths to rest. From someone who has gone through domestic violence, my perpetrator never though that he was doing anything wrong. And when I presented the need for therapy I was told, “I don’t need to go to therapy because you are the problem.” When the actual problem was that he didn’t want to look at the reality of his own actions and behaviors. And he continues to be that way. Keep reading and stay safe!
Affirmation: I forgive myself for believing I have to stay in the relationship until the person changes.
“I had gotten to the point where I was suicidal every day for six straight years…On that day, I made a choice. The choice to live, the choice to get better for me.”
-Justin
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away. Today, I want to tell you about a couple more suicide awareness and prevention groups. I wish I could cover them all. Unfortunately, there are just way too many. Please familiarize yourself and those you love and are affected.
Stop Soldier Suicide
This is the only national nonprofit focused on solving the issue of suicide among U.S. veterans and service members. They have an aggressive goal of reducing the suicide rate by 40% by 2030. Veterans are at a 58% higher risk of suicide than those who haven’t served.
Other statistics about veteran suicide:
· 6,407 veteran suicides in 2022.
· 22 consecutive years with 6000+ veteran suicides.
· 140K+ veterans have died by suicide since 2001.
· Second leading cause of death in veterans under age 45.
· The rate of veteran firearm suicide has increased by 65%.
· The suicide rate among veterans ages 18-34 has more than doubled.
· Western states have experienced the greatest increase in veteran suicide rate, increasing by 55%.
· 31% Depending on branch, up to 31% of service members develop PTSD after returning from combat.
· 7x the rated of suicide for veterans in the LGBTQ+ community is up 7x higher that for non-LGBTQ+ veterans.
The organization’s impact on veteran suicide.
· 90%+ of our most at-risk clients completed a crisis response plan in 2023, giving them tools and resources to cope in moments of crisis.
· 73% of clients experienced a decrease in thoughts of suicide over the course of treatment.
· 92% of clients who were meaningfully engaged in our care showed some improvement in mental wellbeing by the end of treatment (www.stopsoldiersuicide.org, 2025).
The Trevor Project
The Trevor Project was founded in August 1998 by the creators, James Lecesne, Peggy Rajski, and Randy Stone, of the Academy Award-winning short film “Trevor.” The film was about a gay teen who attempted suicide. The filmmakers then established a crisis hotline for LGBTQ+ youth after realizing that there was not a resource available. They have since expanded services to include text and chat support and resources for parents, schools and others seeking support for LGBTQ+ support (https://obamawhitehouse.archives.gov, 2025).
Crisis Services: Providing counseling support services for LGBTQ+ young people 24/7 all year around.
Peer Support: Providing an affirming international community for LGBTQ+ youth.
Advocacy: Working to change hearts, minds, and laws in support of LGBTQ+ lives.
Research: We conduct research studies to equip policymakers and other LGBTQ+ youth providing professionals.
The Mission
To end suicide among LGBTQ+ youth by providing crisis support, suicide prevention resources, and educational programs (www.thetrevorproject.org, 2025).
Thanks again for reading. The more education and resources we can provide each other with, the better the outcomes for us all. Please pass this information along to anyone who could benefit. I am one of those who suicide has affected my life in epic proportions. I am also one who continues to fight for understanding and compassion in a world that is lacking.
Affirmation: I am not alone, and others care about me.
“Grit your teeth and let it hurt. Don’t deny it. Don’t be overwhelmed by it. It will not last forever.”
-Harold Kushner
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Keeping in line with suicide awareness, I thought I would talk about a couple of groups that reflect awareness and prevention. There are so many groups out there that stay along these same lines. And I wish that I could spotlight them all.
To Write Love On Her Arms
This group is a nonprofit group dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury, and suicide. Jamie Tworkowski set out only to help a friend and to tell her story. When he met Renee Yohe, she was struggling with addiction, self-injury, and suicidal thoughts. He wrote about spending five days with her prior to her entering a treatment facility. And he began selling t-shirts to help fund her treatment by posting them on Myspace. Soon people from all over the world began contacting him and telling him about their struggles and heartbreaks. And in 2007, TWLOHA became an official organization.
Here are some numbers associated with their organization:
· 210,000 messages from individuals in over 100 countries.
· 3.8 million miles have been traveled to meet people in their communities.
It is an online community that began in 2013, when Amy Bleuel created it to honor her father, who died by suicide. The organization centers around mental health awareness and suicide prevention. The World Health Organization (WHO) reports a 25% increase in anxiety and depression during the first year of COVID-19. That combined with the nation’s political instability characterized by protectionism and unilateralism has led to strained international relations. And the stress funnels down to our families and personal stories.
The semicolon represents a continuance of life where a period could have easily ended the story. There have currently been over 89,000 assessments completed. 5,336 journal entries shared. And have provided direct support to 214 individuals. Semicolon badges in Apex Legends and Call of Duty has reached over 1.3 million gamers and additionally 50 new chapters. And 84% of Project Semicolon members report that the organization has saved with lives in times of crisis (www.projectsemicolon.com, 2025).
Mission Statement
Our mission is to empower individuals with mental health experiences to embrace their journey and recognize that their story is far from over.
I hope that you can take something from this information. Please take what you can use and leave the rest. And please pass along the information to someone who can benefit. Even if that someone is you. Keep smiling! And do not be afraid to reach out for help.
Affirmation: There are other ways to end my pain, even if I cannot see them right now.
“Our country is grappling with a youth mental health crisis, and it is particularly pronounced for LGBTQ+ youth.”
-Ronita Nath
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away. Today, keeping in line with the topic of suicide, I want to discuss suicide in the LGBTQ+ community.
The prevalence of suicide in the LGBTQ+ community is nothing new. The risk for suicide attempts and suicidal ideation can be 3 to 6 times greater for lesbian, gay and bisexual adults according to the National Institutes of Health. But there are also other statistics to keep in mind.
In 2024, 39% of LGBTQ+ youth considered attempting suicide according to The Trevor Project’s national survey. 1 in 10 of LGBTQ+ youth attempted suicide in the past year. And LGBTQ+ youth are more than four times likely to attempt compared to heterosexual youth. I can tell you that personally, I’ve been suicidal many times because of rejection from my family as a lesbian woman.
Transgender and Nonbinary identified individuals are at an even higher rate of suicide. And almost half seriously considered suicide in the past year. In 2022, 80% of transgender people had considered suicide and 40% had attempted. These statistics while staggering are not surprising. These demographic struggles are way more than they should be with little compassion from society.
Bisexual identified individuals are 1.5 times more likely to report thoughts and attempts compared to gay and lesbian individuals. And 2.98 times more likely to have a suicide-related event compared to heterosexuals according to a 2022 study. And the LGBTQ+ youth of color report higher rates of suicidal ideation and attempts compared to white peers (www.therevorproject.org, 2025). And there are several contributing factors such as:
· Discrimination and Prejudice:discrimination, harassment and violence due to sexual orientation or gender identity increases the risk of suicide.
· Lack of Support Systems: Limited social support from family, peers and community exacerbates the mental health challenges.
· Mental Health Disparities: LGBTQ+ individuals are more likely to experience depression and may face barriers to accessing mental health services (https://mhanational.org, 2025).
For someone who is a member of the LGBTQ+ community, I can tell you that I’ve considered suicide many times. The rejection from family and friends are sometimes more than I can bare. And having worked with someone in therapy many years ago, who was not sensitive to the needs of someone in these communities, there was little progress made. Mainly, because I couldn’t trust her. And she was extremely judgmental.
Since collaborating with coach for almost a decade, I can tell you that I have been able to fully accept the fact that I’m gay, despite my family’s disapproval. And then the religious communities also seem to greet us with bible verses telling how many ways we are going to hell. We all know that “choosing” to be gay is such an easier way of life. There the secret is out.
With the current political administration taking away the rights and freedoms that the Stonewall riots stood against, and the lack of funding for suicide hotlines for LGBTQ+ youth, these rates will only climb. Our families, friends, churches, and government should be ashamed of standing by people who are ok with the policies set in place. We are the same as we ever were. We just wear rainbows now.
There are those beautiful allies out there who remain the strength and backbone of our continual fight for equality. We are youth, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, husband, and wives who just want to be recognized as equals in the eyes of the law. But where reputations and political agendas are from the far right, we must be even more solidified as a community. If someone is for rights with some and not others, I have no room for them in my life. But it’s taken me years to come to this conclusion.
Is it lonely? At times, yes. However, I want people in my life who not only support me but also my friends. The suicide hotline is something that our community not only wants but needs. Many of us have non-supporting families and mine is no different. But I do have a place to live currently. But that does not constitute me putting up with homophobia or fragile masculinity and femininity.
The very few “true” friends I have, understand that being gay is not a “choice.” It’s who I am. And if that’s too much for someone to manage, that’s just too damn bad. To my fellow allies and community members, keep up the good fight. We must take up the original Pride flag are carry on. I love our colors. And I’m proud to call myself a member of the LGBTQ+ community.
Keep smiling. Keep shining. Knowing you can always count on me, for sure. That’s what friends are for. We are seen. And we are heard. And….WE ARE FABULOUS! Thanks for reading. Take what you can use and leave the rest.
Affirmation: I am proud of myself and will continue to strive to do well.
“Real heroes don’t wear capes. Real superheroes wear uniforms and badges and stethoscopes! Real superheroes are members of our military, law enforcement, and first responders. Pretend superheroes wear capes.”
-Dean Cain
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negativity energy, go away. Today, I want to talk about first responder suicide. This is another group that seems to be looked over when discussing this topic. Having worked in the EMS field, I can tell you that sometimes I saw things that continue to haunt me to this day.
Individuals, who have also worked in the field, have told me, “they just left work at work.” And it was simple. In that case, “Congrats! You are the winner! And you were much stronger mentally, I guess.” But in my situation, I was trapped in a domestic violence situation where emotional abuse was normal. So, working myself to death while experiencing trauma in both my private and professional life, my mind was so overloaded that I developed PTSD from both situations.
Maybe it was the 7-year-old who was hit by a drunk driver and left for dead. Maybe it was the car wreck where sister and boyfriend we both killed. And older sister’s face was ripped off in the wreck. Maybe it was the murder that left a body with half a head from a shotgun blast. Maybe it was the screaming mother, who I had to tell that her child was dead. Maybe it was the mother on Mother’s Day that was told that her law enforcement son was killed in a drunk driving accident. Maybe it was the woman who was ejected from a vehicle after falling asleep behind the wheel, whose legs were pinned behind her head. Maybe it was the suicide scenes. Maybe it was putting a child in a body bag in front of a mother. Maybe it was the person hit by a train where chunks of meat were the only thing that remained. Maybe it was the disabled individual in a wheelchair who was raped by her cousin. Maybe it was the woman who was cut from ear to ear, because she was cheating on her boyfriend with a white man. Maybe it was working hard on a grandmother, in front of the family, begging for us to save her when we couldn’t. Maybe it was the male body that was found in a house that had been dead for several days. And the only way the neighbors knew something was wrong was because they smelled him through the walls. Maybe it was the little girl who innocently climbed up in her daddy’s pickup truck only to find a loaded gun and accidentally pulled the trigger leaving one of the bullets lodged in her brain. Maybe it was the little boy who was handed to a good Samaritan from inside his father’s eighteen-wheeler, only for the truck to explode because the jaws of life were not available. Maybe it was the car wreck where I had to sit in the dead passenger’s lap to work on the dying driver. Maybe it was the mother who died from a seizure and her little girl was left in the home alone for over 8 hours before the body was found. Maybe it’s the smells of decaying bodies that I continue to smell almost 30 years later. Maybe it was telling my boss that I was having flashbacks from a gruesome scene only to be told, “If you can’t handle it, pick a different profession. Maybe it’s the incessant scenes that I continue to replay beyond my control with questions about if we did enough. Maybe, Maybe, Maybe.
In the time that I worked, I saw enough trauma to last me a lifetime. There was no one to talk to about anything. Like I was told that there would be. Getting shifts covered was more important than the safety and well-being of employees. And somehow, sexual harassment and a near rape by a co-worker was viewed as though I brought it on myself. And eventually, trying to survive by living in my car and attempting to distance myself from the domestic violence situation led me to a level of depression and despair that was somehow new to me. I was forced to keep unethical secrets which was “normalized behavior.”
A lot of people that I worked with were dealing with problems through narcotic diversion, sex with random partners, alcohol and drugs were seen as “off-day or working” coping skills. And the level of compassion for another human being “hitting the skids” to a level that was disturbing. There was not just one reason that I was having suicidal thoughts. But I had nowhere to turn for help that was “safe.” And the work environment was just as toxic.
Life said, “Here are the pieces. Figure it out.” And I tried to bury them so far down that I never wanted to revisit those fears and feelings again. For a long while, I was able to do just that. But when you have unresolved trauma there’s only one thing that you can be sure of, it will surface again. And almost 20 years later it would come forth vigorously. And it almost killed me.
First responders include police officers, firefighters, paramedics, EMTs, and telecommunicators. Due to the unique occupational stressors, the risk for mental health issues and suicide are at a much higher rates of depression, PTSD, suicidal ideations, and behaviors (www.cdc.gov, 2021). And due to consistent exposure to traumatic events can impact the brain’s ability to process the experiences.
The Impact on Mental Health:
· PTSD, depression, and anxiety: first responders are at a significantly higher risk of developing these.
· Cognitive Issues: Trauma can lead to difficulties with memory, attention, planning, problem solving, which can affect daily functioning and relationships.
· Secondary Traumatic Stress (STS) and Vicarious Trauma (VT): first responders can experience emotional and/or psychological distress from observing or hearing about the trauma of others. And can lead to the symptoms of emotional numbness, irritability, sleep disturbances, and physical complaints.
· Burnout and Compassion Fatigue: Demanding nature of the job and frequent exposure to suffering can lead to emotional exhaustion and reduce capacity for empathy (https//extension.usu.edu, 2025).
It has been said too many times, “Well you chose the profession.” And to that I respond, “Yes, I did. Who else would’ve done it? You?!” And then, of course, the sound of crickets followed. To this day I can say that I loved working in the field of EMS. But my brain took a beating. The trauma of the event doesn’t happen at that exact moment. It creeps. And if you are running back-to-back traumatic calls, then the brain never has a chance to recover. Also, when therapeutic help is seen as shameful or weak, this further ostracizes the employee to thinking that there is no way out. There are those “trauma junkies” as they are called that seem to enjoy the trauma. However, from working with those types of individuals, I have found that there is also a higher rate of alcohol and drug use.
Reducing the stigma will only happen when senior management are supportive of mental health efforts to keep all employees safe. And in the environment where I worked, the stigma couldn’t have been any stronger. People were allowed to work an extreme amount hours without sleep, which was very dangerous. In fact, an EMT who was in paramedic school, was allowed to work without adequate sleep and he wrecked an ambulance with a patient on board, because he fell asleep at the wheel striking a telephone pole. And sadly, there are currently no federal laws that regulate this. This problem is still left up to the digression of private companies.
A national organization known as the National Association of Emergency Medical Technicians have issued guidelines for managing fatigue in EMS personnel. This sets guidelines such as limiting shifts to less than 24 hours in duration and providing access to caffeine to help counteract fatigue. And offering naps. However, I can tell you that the only “nap” I was offered was during the time it took for a red light to change to green. And there is a recognized concern about EMS worker fatigue for both workers and the public. Research also shows that more than half of EMS workers report severe mental and physical fatigue, poor sleep quality, and inadequate recovery between shifts (www.ems.gov, 2019).
I can only hope that those entities that have an ambulance or some other type of EMS service abides by this. However, I can almost guarantee that senior administrators are more concerned with the dollar amount that is acquired at the end of the month. Because the low pay rate of EMS workers makes the individual “a dime a dozen.” And they will just be replaced if they can’t handle the stress. And this attitude combined with the difficult nature of the job is why I would still consider this working environment dangerous for the worker, as well as patients.
If you are or know someone in this profession, it is imperative that you and they both know the importance of “healthy” self-care. Asking for help is not a weakness. It’s the personal responsibility of the employee and the companies that employ them. Please make use of services that are provided. Thanks for reading! Stay safe.
“The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.”
-Douglas McArthur
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negativity energy, go away. Today, I want to discuss veteran suicide. I know that this topic has seemed to get old and fast. However, I believe that the more we talk about the harshness of life, the more the stigmas will begin to disappear.
In 2022, the most recent year for the current data, 6,407 veterans and 41,484 nonveteran adults died by suicide. The rate among veterans was 34.7 per 100,000 compared to 17.1 per 100,000 for nonveterans. Since 2005, veteran suicide has risen faster than any other group. And these rates are unacceptable.
The veterans who died by suicide in that year, 40% were under the care of the Veterans Health Administration. Among those patients, who were also diagnosed with a mental health disorder or substance abuse disorder, there were 56.4 per 100,000, which was twice the rate of those without a diagnosis. And among 1,548 veterans who died by suicide 64% were diagnosed with depression, 43% had an anxiety disorder, 40% had PTSD, and 32% had an alcohol use disorder. However, the highest suicide rates were associated with veterans who had sedative use disorder which include benzodiazepines, barbiturates, and opiates (www.rand.org, 2025). And the stigma about mental health in the military further increase this problem.
Aspects of Veteran Mental Health stigma:
· Fear of judgment and perception: Veterans worry about how seeking help will affect all areas of their lives and especially on career repercussions.
· Military culture: The “warrior ethos” which emphasizes self-reliance and stoicism create barriers to seeking help.
· Loss of security clearance: Some fear that seeking mental health treatment will lead to revocation of security clearances.
· Impact on treatment: stigmas can lead to untreated mental health conditions, substance abuse and increased risk of suicide.
· Self-stigma: Veterans may internalize negative societal views about mental health which can lead to shame, self-blame, and more reluctance to seek help (https://oxfordtreatment.com, 2025).
As an advocate for medical cannabis, I believe that our veterans should be given an ounce of cannabis the minute their feet hit US soil upon returning from active duty. As I personally deal with PTSD, there is not another medication on the planet that can bring me relief like cannabis can. And it’s such a safer alternative to alcohol, opiates, and benzodiazepine medications.
Currently, the Safe Healing Act, which was introduced on February 4, 2025, is designed to prohibit the Secretary of Veterans Affairs from denying a veteran benefit administered by the Secretary by reason of the veteran participating in a State-approved marijuana program and other purposes. But unfortunately, there is only a 3% chance of being enacted (www.govtrack.us, 2025). And I consider this utterly ridiculous. There is an unmistakable problem with veteran suicide. It appears Big Pharma is still in the way of progress. I wonder how many people who oppose this bill must suffer, daily, with the horrible effects of PTSD, anxiety, and chronic pain that “Big Pharma” can’t seem to help?
Our returning soldiers are faced with horrors that no one understands until they’ve been there. And though I have never served our country, I can tell you that the above-mentioned mental health disorders have also almost taken my life many times. The symptoms are horrific in nature. Put chronic pain in the mix and suicide often seems like the only answer to have a break, though it be permanent, for even a moment of peace.
Veterans, in my eyes, should be held to the utmost respect. They should be the highest paid employees before professional athletes. And we as a country should make sure that the best treatment is available to them for the rest of their lives. Some have paid the price of their lives on the battlefield. And a high percentage of others pay with their lives when they return home. But instead of treating them like the heroes like they are, they are often discarded by the government that they so proudly serve.
Is cannabis the only answer? Not at all. However, while they find the modality that works for them, I think that cannabis could lighten the load and make their futures seem a little brighter. Discarding them along with all the judgmental stigmas only adds to the problem. And until this is rectified, we will continue to lose those beautiful people who are willing, at any moment, to lay down their lives for our freedoms. Shame on the United States of America for treating them like that!
I know reading this is not easy. But we as a nation must stand up for these individuals who continue to pay the price every time, they open their eyes. Let’s get past the “reefer madness” ignorance and allow our veterans the opportunity to extend their lives at home. A special thanks and salute to one of my favorite veterans who I’ll call Joe. Thanks for reading! And God Bless America!
“Be careful because cyberspace is a two way street those that hunt and stalk and troll can also become the hunted by those that they harass and attack. Cyberspace has a definite dark side.”
Don Holbrook
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away. Today, I want to talk about another reason that people are committing suicide. It’s the inevitable factor of cyberbullying.
Cyberbullying is bullying with the use of digital technologies. Research consistently indicates that there is a strong correlation between being a victim of cyberbullying and increased suicidal ideations. In fact, once study showed that students who are subjected to cyberbullying are 4 times as likely to commit suicide. And a major increase occurred during the COVID-19 pandemic). Another study found that cyber bullying increases suicidal thoughts by 14.5% and suicide attempts by 8.7%. The limitations are since there is usually not just one factor that contribute to suicide (www.nih.gov, 2025).
I can tell you that as an 8th grader adult bullied me where I was supposed to be safe, at school. And though there was no cyberbullying at the time, due to lack of access to the internet, I quickly began having suicidal ideations that have plagued me ever since. When you’re a child, bullying is such a violation and betrayal. And for me there was no way out. So, I had to fight the best way I knew how. Sometimes it was quiet while escaping within my mind. And sometimes, it was through pure aggression. Sadly, aggression was the only thing to make it all stop even for a moment. But the colossal damage had already been done.
That year of bullying set the precedence for how my life would turn out. I lost all confidence in myself and my abilities. My self-worth was destroyed. And I turned to the only thing that seemed to accept me no matter what my condition. It was addiction. By the time I started high school, I was a full-blown addict of drugs, alcohol, self-harm and eating disorders. And at almost 50 years old, I continue to struggle with them.
I learned that no one was a “safe” person. I learned that if anyone were going to protect me, it would have to be me. I learned that taking the first shot at someone was the safest way to live. I also concluded that no one that I saw as an “underdog” would ever have to fight their own battle again if I were there. I asked for help but was denied. And when I did, the abuse only got worse.
Cyberbullying takes on a whole new level of abuse. And the damage can be irreparable. It’s said and done by people who don’t have to look at you in the face. And typically, most people wouldn’t have the balls to say those same things if done in person. Since our national politics are so unstable, I would venture to say that the amount of cyberbullying would increase significantly. Below are a couple of the cases that I wanted to show you about. There is no way to list them all.
Megan Meier’s Case (2006): a 13-year-old American girl who committed suicide after being bullied on MySpace. The bullying was orchestrated by an adult neighbor, Lori Drew, posing as a teenage boy. The adult was the mother of a classmate. The mother was found guilty of cyberbullying in 2009. However, the conviction was later overturned.
Texas Child Suicide (2023): A child in Texas died by suicide during an online game due to alleged cyberbullying. The suspect lived in Michigan who eventually plead guilty to crimes related to aiding suicide and harassment causing death (www.nbcnews.com, 2023).
In the world that we live in, it is imperative for us parents to pay close attention as possible to what our kids are doing and with whom they are interacting. I do not live under the delusion that it is possible to know everything. I am not God. The only thing I know to do is to regularly talk to my children about the dangers of cyberbullying. And that just because someone is on your “friends list,” doesn’t mean that they are really friends. And that predators disguised as heaven will often put you through hell. And even with that knowledge, I know that I can’t protect every facet of their lives. The very essence of a predator is to go undetected. And to operate in the shadows, often in plain sight.
I hope that you have gained useful information on this topic. I continue to learn each time I blog. And maybe, it’s bringing some type of comfort as I look at these difficult topics. I write thinking, “What can I do to help other parents?” And then, BOOM! Another blog appears. Thanks for reading! As always, take what you can use and leave the rest. Keep smiling. And stay informed.
Affirmation: I forgive myself for believing when I’m bullied it’s my fault because I let it happen, or I was in the wrong place, or I should have known better.
“When you feel like giving up, just remember why you held on for so long.”
-Hayley Williams
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk about some myths regarding the topic of suicide. I was first exposed to suicide at the age of thirteen. One of my friends and classmate committed suicide when we were in the eighth grade. As a child, how do you manage that? I can tell you that among all of the major events in my life that has changed me in some way, the day that I lost my friend to suicide will always rank high on my list. I think, though, that the biggest impact for me was how our teachers and school administrators dealt with the situation.
I grew up in the 1980’s when child and adolescent mental health was rarely recognized. And, honestly, my generation was sort of left with the attitude of “figure it out yourself.” Situations that left gaping wounds were merely glossed over. And so, me and other friends and classmates turned to a life of addiction and suicide. As a teen who was being abused daily by a teacher, and the complete lack of protection from the adults, I was forced to just “figure it out.” I did it in total “self-preservation mode.” The behaviors that I developed were not healthy, but they were there when no one else was.
In the 35 years since my friend’s suicide, I have lost a lot more friends. And sadly, I have built walls all throughout my life that continue to help me through my pain. The one thing that has seemed to resonate through the years is how religion constantly attacks those who have been through the most. And I grew up being marinated in the ideology that suicide was “selfish,” “a sin,” “immediate condemnation to hell,” “the easy way out” and the most “self-centered” act known to man.
A lot of the “indoctrinating messages” I was raised to believe, life made me realize how very untrue and damaging they are and will continue to be. I have been on all sides of suicide. And from a personal standpoint, those beliefs couldn’t be any farther from the truth. Below are a few common myths regarding suicide.
Myth 1: Talking about suicide increases the chance a person will act on it.
Fact: Talking about suicide can reduce rather than increase suicidal ideations. It improves mental health related outcomes and increases the likelihood that someone will seek treatment.
Myth 2: People who talk about suicide are just seeking attention.
Fact: People that die from suicide have often told someone about not wanting to live anymore. And it’s always important to take it seriously. In my own family, these statements have rung true. Or most often, those statements are ignored.
Myth 3: Suicide can’t be prevented.
Fact: Suicide is preventable but unpredictable. Most people have experienced intense emotional pain, hopelessness and a negative view on life and the future. Suicide is a product of genes, mental illnesses and environmental risk factors. Intervention can and does save lives.
Myth 4: People who take their own lives are selfish, cowardly or weak.
Fact: People don’t die of suicide by choice. The emotional pain that they experience makes it difficult to consider different views. Have you ever turned a gun on yourself? I have.
Myth 5: Teenagers and college students are the most at risk of suicide.
Fact: Suicide rates for that age group is below the national average. The age groups with the highest rate of suicide in the U.S. are women 45-64 and men 75 and older. Suicide is a problem among all ages and groups.
Myth 6: Barriers on bridges, safe firearm storage and other actions that reduce access to lethal methods of suicide don’t work.
Fact: Limiting access to lethal means of harm is one of the most straightforward strategies to decrease the chances of suicide.
Myth 7: Suicide always occurs without warning.
Fact: There are almost always warning signs before a suicide attempt.
Myth 8: Talk therapy and medications don’t work.
Fact: Treatment can and does work. I don’t agree with big pharma for many reasons. I guess, though, “life over limb.” Lives are saved with both therapy and medication. Therapy has saved my life for many years now. But finding the right one to work with can be taxing. Most people who are in the helping profession do help rather than harm (mayoclinichealthsystem.org, 2025).
Myth 9: You have to be mentally ill to think about suicide.
Fact: 1 in 5 people have thought about suicide at some time in their life. Not all people who die by suicide have mental illnesses at the time they die.
Myth 10: People who are suicidal want to die.
Fact: The majority of people feeling suicidal do not actually want to die; they just want the situation they’re in or the way they’re feeling to stop.
Myth 11: Most suicides happen in the winter months.
Fact: Suicide is complex and not just related to seasons or the climate. Suicide is more common in the spring and a noticeable peak on New Year’s Day.
Myth 12: You can’t ask someone if they’re suicidal.
Fact: Evidence shows that asking someone if they’re suicidal could protect them (Samaritans.org, 2025).
Myth 13: Strong faith prevents suicidal thoughts.
Fact: Many deeply religious figures including biblical figures have experienced suicidal thoughts. The misconception that strong faith eradicates mental despair is false. Faith doesn’t guarantee protection from difficult emotions and struggles.
Myth 14: Suicide indicates a lack or abandonment of faith.
Fact: Suicidal ideation is viewed from different perspectives. Suicide does not inherently mean that someone has abandoned their faith.
Myth 15: Fear of religious repercussions is a sufficient deterrent for suicide.
Fact: For some maybe the fear of divine punishment can be a factor. However, many faith communities emphasize grace and forgiveness, even for those who die by suicide. And personally, I have rarely seen grace and forgiveness on this topic.
Myth 16: Religion or faith alone is enough to prevent suicide.
Fact: Studies show inconsistent findings regarding the protective effect of religious affiliation on suicide risk. It is crucial to understand that faith alone is not a guarantee against suicide and should not replace professional mental health interventions when needed (https://pmc.ncbi.nim.nih.gov, 2025).
I hope at the very least that some of the myths regarding suicide have been explained. My own personal suicidal feelings have been dismissed the majority of my life. And no amount of “bible beating” has ever helped. It has only made things much worse than they already are. And some of the statements made disguised as “help” by family members, are not help. The statements are just toxic. Saying that you have “x” amount of years living and never considered suicide isn’t helpful. Please don’t play therapist when you’re not one.
Put harmful judgments in the trash where they belong. Love and appreciate those that you love. Because it can all change in an instant. Quit making “their” suicidal feelings about “you.” Because it’s not. And always remember, “Just because someone has a smile on their face doesn’t mean that they’re not suicidal.” Thanks for reading! As always, take what you can use and leave the rest.
Affirmation: I am overcoming depression one step at a time.
“This life. This night. Your story. Your hope. It matters. All of it matters.”
-Jamie Tworkowski
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Thank God, we have made it through most of the hottest months of the year. September is another sticky, humidity filled month before the beginning of the cool down. September is also Suicide Awareness and Prevention Month. I know, it’s another upbeat topic. I think that the topic of suicide shouldn’t be taboo. It’s an unfortunate dark part of nearly every culture. And, yes, it has also affected my life in many ways which I’ll share.
Suicide has always been referred to as “the easy way out,” “selfish action,” a “total disregard for friends and family,” and the most hurtful “a sin.” And it’s really easy for people to throw out opinions that help no one when they are struggling. That is minimizing their pain and abuse.
Having been not only a patient in the mental health system for the majority of my life, and working in the mental health field as a professional, I have also seen and been on most sides of this problem. People are so quick to judge what they don’t understand. And, sadly, suicide is a topic that tends to be discussed in judgment versus with compassion.
I have been chronically suicidal since I was a teenager. I was being abused and put on display for others to see for an entire year in school. I was also locked in a closet in that same room while being verbally abused in any way imaginable. I tried to tell adults about what was going on. However, I was made to feel like it was my fault. This helped the teacher to further perpetrate her abuse. My parents also made me apologize to her for comments that I made to her. But as their child, I was not protected by them or the administration. I was in a difficult situation without the possibility of brighter days ahead for the future.
My suicidal feelings got the best of me one day at school when I took forty aspirin. I had no idea, at that time, that it wouldn’t work. But the thought of continuing one more day at the hands and mouth of s purely evil woman was more than I could deal with. My parents were called and made aware. Nothing was ever done. I was never provided with any kind of help. Maybe it was the “standard” of the late 1980s. I was not given the emotional support to sort out my trauma.
What I did begin doing was self-harm. I had no idea what it all meant, at that time. But I knew that it made things better even if for just the moment. As I’ve stated about my family’s dysfunctional dynamics, I was told just to make it through the year and everything would be fine. It wasn’t. Yes, the abuse ended. But I was not fine.
By my freshman year in high school, I was “balls to the wall” in addiction. Addiction that presented itself in drugs, alcohol, eating disorders and self-harm. The strongest addiction being self-harm. And 35 years later, it continues.
The depression, anxiety and suicidal ideations never subsided as I was told. One day I finally told my mother that had I had access to a weapon, I was going to kill myself. Instead of offering help, of any kind, I was met with anger and told that I was being selfish. My thoughts were anything but selfish. I was hurting in ways that no one knew. And no one seemed to care. So, I suffered in silence for many years.
As a child/teenager when traumatic events occur, your mind goes directly to self-preservation. You do whatever you can to either tolerate the darkness or end the pain. Meanwhile, the trauma of life continued at a level that no one is capable of dealing with alone. My next real relationship was abuse that lasted 14 years. And again, I felt trapped.
If you don’t understand the concept of Pavlov’s dogs, then you don’t understand what it’s like to be held mentally captive while the world sees your situation with an easy out. And the sad part about it, is that they think that you deserve everything you get because you don’t just leave. My parents attributed all of the chaos of that relationship as being something that religion could fix. So, we got involved in church. If anything, the abuse got much worse because now his weapon was a Bible that he read and used as justification that I should be “submissive” to his every demands. Mentally, I was trapped again without any way out. And my self-harm was not about survival. It was about making the pain end.
I would reach a mental breaking point and would stand out in the front yard where we lived and pointed a gun at my chest and pulled the trigger. The strange part was that I seemed to be witnessing rather than taking an active role. I watched that whole event as a spectator. I don’t expect you to understand the power of dissociation. Most people, in fact, are very ignorant about it. Again, I was met with anger from my mother. She kept saying, “Hush! Hush! Do you want to go back to Pine Grove?” That is the local mental health facility. And at that moment all I needed was compassion. But again, I faced anger and judgment. I wasn’t trying to “take the easy way out” or be “selfish.” I just wanted the pain to end. And everyone seemed to lose sight of that reality but me.
The bullet went into my shoulder only a few inches from my heart. And even hospital staff treated me as though I was taking up space much better suited for someone else. Self-harm became a way of life for me. It’s been there when people should’ve been there. But self-harm doesn’t always mean “suicide attempt.” And this is a very sore subject among family members. But I sit as an outcast by my family who want nothing more than the family name to not be tainted by abnormality. They acknowledge that bad things happen. But they just want it to disappear and to quit bringing shame to the family name and instead just move on with life. But the biggest factor, is that they don’t want to be perceived as “parental failures.” It’s still all about the reputation of the family.
People that is not how trauma works. And saying, “We just didn’t know how to help you” is “shit”of an excuse. I was a child when it began. You were in the position to help protect your daughter and you didn’t. Remember, the part of the story where I said, “Just make it out of the 8th grade and everything will be better.” It’s 35 years later and it’s not better. It has crippled me as an adult. And has stolen my hopes and dreams. And I still deal with suicidal ideations on a daily basis. Those never went away either. So, I guess feeling like a “burden” to those who say that they love me but treat me as such will forever be the unhealthy narrative. I’ve asked them to do therapy to help with our relationship. But again, it’s of no importance. And the unspoken belief that I’m unworthy continues.
I wrote this blog to say this, “Quit making someone’s struggle with suicidal thoughts and actions be all about you. You are not helping anything. You only make it worse.” Simply say to them, “Your thoughts and beliefs are valid. Let’s find some compassionate help that will help you thrive. Throwing Bible verses in their face is not helpful. Telling them that they will go to hell is not helpful. They are already living in an emotional hell.
This is not rocket science! Just don’t be an asshole as a rule of thumb. I have been in the position of being the last one to talk to a person moments before they completed suicide. I can tell you this, “I’m not mad at that person. I don’t condemn their actions. I don’t say, “Well I guess they’re in hell now. How selfish of them.” I simply say, “I hate that they were in so much pain that nothing anyone said could break through the cloud of despair.”
Until you’ve been in that position, you have no idea how strong emotions and thoughts are. And if the person felt like they had exhausted all of their means of trying to end the pain in an acceptable fashion, then they see no other way out. Judgmental comments about, “well, they didn’t seek out every source of help” is you seeing in from your perspective only. If you can’t see it from their perspective, you’re one of the lucky ones. Thanks for reading! Take what you can use and leave the rest.
“The National Institute on Drug Abuse states, “The brain of a chronic toluene abuser is smaller compared to someone with no history of inhalant abuse.”
-Neil Rosenberg, M.D., NIDA Research Report
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negativity energy, go away. Today, I want to discuss something that many teenagers experiment with, inhalants. Abusing inhalants isn’t a new thing. As it was very popular 35 years ago. And when you’re a kid without access to money, getting “high” is just a short walk away to the family utility shed. I’ll give you some facts. And then I’ll tell my story.
First, let me describe what “huffing” is even though it’s self-explanatory. Huffing is the act of inhaling chemical vapors from common household products to get high. And it’s a dangerous form of substance abuse. Even though it might seem less risky, huffing can be even more dangerous with potentially severe and fatal consequences (https://evokewellnessoh.com, 2024).
The primary chemical in many dusters is HFC-134a, which act as propellant and refrigerant. Inhaling duster fumes can be dangerous. It can lead to serious side effects such as liver problems, breathing problems and death. Duster and other inhalants aren’t considered control substances and can be bought most anywhere.
Air dusters also contain other ingredients such as:
· Difluoroethane can cause heart issues and loss of consciousness.
· Nitrous Oxide can cause dizziness, vomiting and nausea.
· Alkyl Nitrites can cause increased heart rate or vomiting.
· Butane can affect the heart leading to sudden death.
· Propane which can cause convulsions and loss of consciousness.
Other possible side effects are:
· heart irregularities
· unconsciousness
· irritation of the nose, throat, and lungs
· coughing
· difficulty breathing
· shortness of breath
· irregular pulse
· palpitations
· inadequate circulation
· abnormal kidney function
· frostbite of the nasal cavity
· breakdown of muscle tissue
· liver damage
· suffocation due to displacement of air inside the lungs
· coma
· convulsions
· brain or nerve damage
· bone marrow damage
· choking on vomit after using an inhalant
· sudden sniffing death, which is when a person dies suddenly after breathing in an inhalant due to cardiac arrest (https://medicalnewstoday.com, 2025).
Over a fifteen-year period, teens in the US abused more than 3,400 products through inhalation. The age range was from 6 to over 50 years old. Teen boys accounted for 73.5% of cases. Of those with known outcomes from emergency room visits, 208 died and more than 1,000 experienced life-threatening or permanent disabilities (www.poison.org, 2025).
· More than 22.98 million Americans have abused inhalants at least once in their lifetime.
· And over the past two decades, less than 1% of individuals aged 12 and older report past year use in 2023.
· Inhalants are typically used by younger adolescents, with 4% 8th graders having used in the last year. The peak age is 14 years old.
· Inhalant abuse is less common in adults but does occur, especially among those with access to chemicals (https://www2.courtinfor.ca.gov, 2025).
· Only 25% of inhalant abusers tested in emergency rooms had no effects. Most had serious effects or died (www.poison.org, 2025).
Toluene is a chemical found in common products including nail polish, paint thinners, adhesives. It is also used to aid in the production of benzene, other chemicals, pharmaceuticals, and dyes. Toluene can also be found in printing inks, varnishes, lacquers, and some types of glues (www.OSHA.gov, 2025).
Another product that is popular among teens, which can be bought at any “head shop” is “whip-its.” It is nitrous oxide which cuts off oxygen to the brain, creating a euphoric high that lowers mental and physical pain. And it is used to make whipped cream. Using nitrous for recreational purposes is illegal. And you can be fined or jailed for violating inhalant laws (www.webmd.com, 2025). Lock me up!
I’ll be the first to admit that “huffing” was always one of my favorite ways to get “high.” Second, only to pills. It began when I started sniffing White Out. I would cover the page with it and then roll it up and start sniffing the fumes. Same thing went for gasoline. I would put a little on a rag when I filled up with gas. And then held it to my nose and inhaled deeply. All while I was driving. I know. Safety scores are totally negative. And for many years I would quit. Always heavily involved in other types of addictions.
Once the stress of my life engulfed me while I was in undergraduate and beginning graduate school, I would start huffing again. And I found my “main squeeze” in computer duster. Mainly, because it was much cheaper than other things. I was in therapy at the time. And the stress of life and the ever-hovering PTSD symptoms had me huffing every chance I got, especially after therapy. And one day I had left therapy, grabbed my can of duster from underneath the seat and started huffing as fast as I could to get the “incorrect” EMDR effects out of my brain. And when the chemicals hit, they hit hard. Suddenly, I couldn’t figure out how to work my steering wheel. I ran up on the curb and over corrected and spun across four lanes of traffic. Luckily, there were no cars coming. I sit for a second and realized that everything was ok. Still much higher than I should’ve been to drive, I cranked my Honda CRV and headed in the direction of a potential future employer. But during my stupor I forgot to look for vehicles coming from the right as I was about to make a left turn. And the next thing I remember is hearing the horrible sound of glass breaking and a loud boom. My luck had just run out. I had inadvertently pulled out into the back wheels of an eighteen-wheeler. And for a split second I thought, “Wow! This is it. Jesus, I’m on the way!” The next thing I remember is feeling intense pain but unsure where. An ambulance picked me up from the scene. What I didn’t realize at the time was that the eighteen-wheeler had gone over the top of the cab and crashed it in. Nevertheless, I was terrified that I would be getting a DUI. But there was no way to test for an aerosol. So, I vowed to keep my mouth shut. They did do a toxicology test, but an aerosol is from the lungs not the blood. And I would live with battle wounds. I vowed to never touch that stuff again. But I would always carry that little behavior not as a first choice. But still a choice I would always have for private viewing. I thought that I was finally scared of addiction and the dark forces that surround it.
After many of doing without it while engaging in self-harm, illicit drugs, and alcohol, I would begin again while living in Texas for a couple of years. But this time, it was spray paint. They both get you “high,” however, duster can give you a very panicky “high.” If it do it too much, it becomes downright scary. To this day, I still deal with huffing. I know that it’s typically done in teenage years. But that’s when one of my biggest traumas occur day after day. And in many ways, I am still that same rebellious and very hurt teen.
If you know of someone who is “huffing,” help them stop NOW! Because years later they will look up and realize they’re an adult who’s still “huffing,” if not dead. It might seem harmless, but it’s not. I hope some of this educational material will bring more attention to a very common problem with inhalants. Thanks for reading! Take what you can use and leave the rest.
“Always remember, if you have been diagnosed with PTSD, it is not a sign of weakness; rather, if is proof of your strength, because you have survived!”
-Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to take time out from celebrating Pride, to give light to National PTSD Awareness Day. This one hit hard as I’ve lived with PTSD longer than I’ve lived without it. And there are so many of us who don’t make it to the other end of the tunnel. It’s an incredibly dark place to wake up to and go to sleep with every night.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) dates back to ancient civilizations and military conflicts. Terms used early on included “combat-related stress,” “shellshock,” “combat fatigue,” and “railway spine.” In the 1800s and early 1900s, the “talking cure: was popularized by Sigmund Freud and introduced in medical literature. And the treatment went from psychoanalysis to electric shock treatment. By the 1950s, the treatments had become more humane. However, now people would not admit to any traumatic symptoms due to the stigma. So, group therapy and psychotropic medications were introduced (blackbearrehab.com, 2025).
In the 1970s Vietnam veterans began experiencing a lot of psychological problems that persisted even after returning home. And survivors of domestic abuse were also included. In the 1980s, PTSD was officially recognized as a mental health problem. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders adopted the diagnosis where it has remained (blackbearrehab.com, 2025).
PTSD is a developed from a traumatic event. C- PTSD when a traumatic event continues for months and years or multiple events occur. The intrusive thoughts, flashbacks, insomnia, avoidance, memory problems, detachment from friends and family, feeling emotionally numb, hyper startle, irritability, trouble concentrating, impulsive behavior, paranoia, severe anxiety, nightmares, suicidal ideations and actions and uncontrollable thoughts about the event. And over time, these symptoms completely devour who you once were (MayoClinic.org, 2025).
I know that PTSD is typically related to soldiers. I am here to tell you that I never went into the military. But the PTSD that I deal with, as a result of domestic violence, grabbed hold of me and has never let go. It has completely stripped me of everything that I used to enjoy. I don’t care about relationships. I question people about their intentions, even if they’re pure and good. I’m constantly waiting for the next shoe to drop. I don’t have typical reactions to being scared. I could see a moth out, of the corner of my peripheral vision, and then jump and scream like Jeffery Dahmer was staring at me and about to take the first bite. I face the stigmas of both friends and family mainly due to a lack of understanding. However, the reasearch information is everywhere. Sometimes others just need to their own leg work. I have come to realize that instead of trying to find out how PTSD affects someone that you love, it’s “the easy way out” to just to be dismissive, embarrassed and judgmental instead. The attitude is “just change X behavior.” Without having a solution, the resounding message of “just make it go away” further ostracizes the person that you say you care about. And so the anticipated glimmer of hope dissipates further isolating the individual. And sadly, can lead to suicide.
PTSD is not about you, it’s about them. It’s just a diagnosis until it’s “you” that experiences it every day. It has taken me down to the point of putting a gun in my mouth. And because living in the abuse was so severe, I actually pulled the trigger after pointing the gun at my torso. It missed my heart by only a few centimeters. Nothing was messed up to the point of needing surgery. But self-harm is something that I’ve dealt with since I was a 13-year-old child. And I had no idea how to deal with all the overwhelming emotions of abuse. In that cold, dark closet where I began to self-harm, and as maladaptive as the behavior is, it worked. It was the only thing that worked to bring me back to complete balance. But the problem is that it became a true addiction issue that I continue to struggle with. And before you ask, yes I’ve done a lot of therapy. It’s not that the therapy doesn’t. It’s that the addiction is that strong.
PTSD is a true injury on the brain. The brain’s job is to help you survive in any way possible. So, we reach for anything to help calm the barrage of intrusive thoughts, memories, smells and sounds. And once it’s been damaged through a traumatic event, it creates a “work around” solution. What typically works? Self-harm and substance abuse creates almost instant comfort. You don’t have to wait for 6-8 weeks to reach your therapeutic dose efficacy to begin working. It’s an immediate fix that some of have to use just to stay alive.
Cannabis was recommended when all other “Big Pharma” medications failed. And it has saved my life on a daily basis ever since. Cannabis seems to put a cloud over my brain saying, “Settle just for a moment.” And for that moment, I can take a break from the constant paranoia and overstimulation of a brain that wanted to do nothing more than survive. And that, is my battlefield. It wasn’t in Iraq, Afghanistan or Vietnam. My battlefield is everywhere I go. I fear people and social situations in a way that most cannot understand.
It literally takes me about a week in advance to start prepping to leave my house just to go to pick up medications,that I,unfortunately have to take. But I don’t take anymore psych meds. I was extremely sick, coming off all the meds that I had been begging for over two years to be tapered off. And I got tired of waiting, so I did it myself. I don’t advise this way because it was a really miserable process. However, I was at a point of desperation. And now about 6 months later, I feel like a new human being after the toxic feeling of all the medications. All of my true feelings and emotions have awakened, and I really like feeling somewhat comfortable at times.
My personal opinion is that anyone returning home from the active duty should be handed an ounce of weed the minute they step off the plane to do with as they wish. And it would be perfectly ok if they gave it away. That’s like paying it forward in “Weed-O-Nomics.” As it stands, soldiers come home from a war that never ends. And they are committing suicide at a rate of 22 soldiers a day. And that is less than unacceptable.
As the topic of cannabis continues to circulate among social circles and national politics, I hope that veterans from our military will step out against the shame that is felt from social stigmas. And reach for the plant that can “help take the gun out of your mouth.” Cannabis doesn’t cure PTSD because it wasn’t the one who caused it. But it does make things much more tolerable.
Thanks for reading! Happy Pride everyone!
Affirmation: I am resilient and capable of healing.
“What mental health needs is more sunlight, more candor, and more unashamed conversation.”
-Glenn Close
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Today is the first day of the month of May, which is also Mental Health Awareness Month. And unfortunately, the topic of mental health is often skirted or disregarded as something that isn’t acknowledged because of the “shame factor.” However, it is not a topic to be ashamed about. Mental health is such an integral part of being human and is something that must be discussed.
What are the issues surrounding the topic of mental health? Well, part of the problem involves societal stigmas, fear of judgment, and a lack of understanding. And the stigma usually surrounds negative stereotypes, incorrect information and cultural beliefs or a sign of personal failure. Give me a second to go a little more in depth about these issues.
1. Lack of Understanding-most people have little knowledge about mental health conditions which can lead to misconceptions and fear. And this includes immediate family, friends, co-workers, medical personnel and acquaintances. I have tried in my own ways to educate people about mental illness, as my daily living has revolved around the mental health system for the majority of my life. But no matter how much you try to explain things to people, they just can’t seem to let go of old ideas and opinions.
2. Negative stereotypes-Thanks to social media, mental illness is portrait in the media that mental illness is considered a sign of weakness, dangerous or violent. This further solidifies negative attitudes. While some of this is true regarding violent individuals, the majority of us are not dangerous people. And religious affiliation can also be another source of negative stereotypes. You wouldn’t believe some of the nasty and fearful looks that I get from simply wearing a baseball cap about PTSD. Sometimes I get asked, “What branch of the military were you in?” I simply tell them, “I didn’t serve our country. I developed PTSD because I’ve been abused for a large majority of my life. So, technically, I’ve been fighting a war my entire life.” They usually silently turn around and back away. Some have asked, “Why do you tell people?” And my answer is always, “Because I’m not ashamed of having a mental illness. It is what it is. And I’m not responsible for other’s ignorance. I simply state the true facts and give the shame back to where it belongs.
3. Fear of judgment-many people fear judgment for their mental illness. One thing you have to understand is that people are usually their own worst critic. So, your judgment will never be as potent and the person with the mental illness. In my case, telling someone that I have Multiple Personality Disorder makes people retract, mainly because their only source of reference is through Hollywood. And we all know that Hollywood never really tells a story accurately. It induces the “fear factor” in most people. And when I speak this truth, most people are also taken aback because I’m so forth coming with my own struggles. You might notice my quirkiness at times. However, you would never know when my other parts switch out unless you are around me and I explain who they are and their function. I don’t fear judgment from people. I embrace their ignorance and do my best to “stomp out stupidity.”
4. Fear of discrimination-people fear losing jobs, housing or other opportunities due to their condition. Look, I have lived under a cloud of discrimination since the day I was born. I’m gay. I have a mental illness. And I love to smoke weed. But I’m also very educated. And somehow when you are “out and proud” that automatically puts a label on you. And well, that’s their problem not mine. Even within my own family, I face discrimination. And when I speak about mental health topics, I’m revered as not being nearly as intelligent as others. Even though I have a master’s degree in counseling psychology which qualifies me to be able to diagnose. Make no mistake, I might’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life, but I am in no way dumb. And I face discrimination head on.
I completely understand that everyone isn’t at the same level of progress with these issues. And it has taken years of therapy to bring me to the point where I am. Mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of. And most people have mental illness in varying degrees. However, a lot of it has never been diagnosed. Individuals hide and suffer in silence because of the shame that they carry regarding this topic. And you absolutely shouldn’t be. Mental health is just as important and maybe more so than physical health. Because poor mental health can also cause physical discomfort.
Embrace what is and be responsible enough to get in therapy. You will be glad you did. Cannabis has increased my quality of life much better than pharmaceuticals. And this is another topic that is shame based. There are those still who are “closeted” cannabis users who also reap the benefits of the plant. And as someone who lived in a closet for many years, I can tell you that no one is meant to be smothered and silenced. Everyone deals with mental illness and fears the repercussion of others differently and at their own pace. I can’t speak for anyone else, but with me, you will always be accepted.
Educate yourself about your own mental illness not based on movies, other people’s subjective opinions, but on the scientific research and real truth. Face your fears and get involved in therapy and do the challenging work that will benefit you overall. And let the opinions of others roll off your back like water on a duck. Their opinions are just that. They are not facts. It is purely unadulterated ignorance. But that can change if they are willing to do so.
If you are an ally on the topic of mental illness but still have questions, we won’t cook you or eat you. Respectfully ask for some clarification. It is a horrible feeling to suffer in silence over half truths and out right lies regarding mental illness. And sadly, I have had friends who refused to go to therapy for those reasons. And they are now dead from suicide. But everyone is entitled to love, care and compassion. And, yes, that also includes you. Thanks for reading! Stay healthy. Stay happy. Keep smiling. And keep reading this blog.
Affirmation: I trust myself to make decisions that align with my values and goals.
“I find it quite ironic that the most dangerous thing about weed is getting caught with it.”
-Bill Murray
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go aways. Okie dokie! Today marks my second favorite time of the year. Yep it’s the month of 420! Not everyone agrees with it. For me though, it has saved my life. To the naysayers, there is absolutely nothing you can tell me negatively that I’ll believe about the plant called cannabis.
Cannabis has been around for forever and ever amen with a lot of negative connotations. My own family still takes issue with the fact that federally it’s still considered illegal. And you can’t really have a conversation about it because some of them are not willing to discuss the science. In a lot of ways vilifying this plant because of the Nancy Reagan 80’s seems to have stuck. I have family members that are earthy, crunchy thinkers in regard to health. And their lives all about healing with fruits, vegetables and herbs. But so am I. I like fruits, vegetables and herbs too. I just smoke my herbs. The side effects are very simple: sleepy, happy and hungry. “Big Pharma” on the other hand are constantly being sued for all of the harmful side effects. No thank you to medications that cause more harm than good. And drinking and driving home is the much safer option?
Over the years cannabis has gotten a horrible name. It’s not because it’s a dangerous drug. In fact, cannabis is one of the healthiest plants available. Our country has now made it a priority to invest money into science and discovering the healing properties. And there are scientific studies proving that cannabis isn’t as bad as once thought.
Unlike alcohol and other harmful drugs, cannabis continues to provide people with life saving medicine as it has for me. It’s healing cannabinoids help with chronic pain, epilepsy, anxiety, multiple sclerosis, PTSD, alzheimer’s disease, chemotherapy induced nausea and vomiting, insomnia, cancer, fighting cancer, inflammatory bowel disease, tourette syndrome, crohn’s disease, depression, HIV/AIDS, muscle spasms, anorexia, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, addiction, inflammation,parkinson’s disease, PTSD, reducing blood pressure, anxiety disorders, stabilizing blood sugar, decreasing overdose rates, opioid dependence, spinal cord injuries, dystonia, dementia, glaucoma, schizophrenia and other medical and psychological problems (ncbi.nlm.nih.gov, 2017).
The days of believing that cannabis is a drug that causes great bodily harm are over. Hallelujah! Now let me point out one thing. Cannabis isn’t for everyone just like certain pharmaceuticals aren’t. And I agree that some people might have some type of addiction issues. However, there is no physical withdrawal that occurs. It is impossible to overdose on cannabis. You might take or use too much, causing intoxication. But that’s not the plant’s fault. If you have a problem with addiction to this, it is a “you” problem not the substance.
I can only speak for myself as one who has a lengthy history of addiction, I have never had a problem with marijuana. The problems have always come back to myself and the maladaptive ways of coping. Buying marijuana off the streets where most of it has come from cartels, it can be sprayed with poisons which increase the effects and dependency. And this is also where a lot of the paranoia stems from. Yes, there are people who complain about paranoia induced by cannabis that is bought from very safe dispensaries. These cases are very minimal on a broad scale. So, marijuana might not fit you as an individual. However,for people like me who continue to reap the benefits of this plant minus the addiction, I can say that it has truly saved my life. And as a result has lowered the amount of suicidal ideations that used to plague me on a daily basis.
The effects of PTSD continue to complicate my life. The overwhelming symptoms are not near what they once were. Cannabis does NOT cure PTSD. It simply helps with the unfriendly symptoms and side effects. I have gone from being on close to fifteen psychiatric “big pharma” medications down to zero. I didn’t see the point of taking Parkinson’s medication for a side effect of the anti-depressant. Not to mention that I wasn’t able to experience emotions in a way to gauge how I was healing. And everything from the waist down was literally dead. If that’s the price you pay for happiness, then I would rather be sad. I still struggle hard sometimes. And that is where working with coach is other beneficial piece to my treatment. If it is not a substance that doesn’t work for you then move on. But don’t demonize this medication for those of us that it helps to ensure survivability. Thanks for reading! Keep moving forward.
“It is irresponsible not to provide the best care we can as a medical community, care that could involve marijuana. We have been terribly and systematically misled for nearly 70 years in the United States, and I apologize for my own role in that.”
“They want to make you suffer. And for you to take your own life. They really are very sadistic people.”
-Anna A., Victim Of 764
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Today, I want to talk about online predator groups. I know that the videos that I’ve chosen have some length to them. However, I strongly encourage you to watch these videos. They are graphic in nature. So, please view them at your own discretion.
Some of these predators use platforms where they begin grooming children in areas that is plentiful with kids, online gaming platforms. One thing to remember is that predatory grooming takes on an infinite number of forms and ideas. And these groups that are preying on our kids are on a continuum. These groups seek to control, hurt, manipulate and kill our children. And the predatory group called 764 is one of the most sinister groups.
764 is an online decentralized and transnational sextortion network that is adjacent to the Order of Nine Angels (O9A), a right-wing Satanist terror network. And after gathering information on this group, they are definitely doing the devil’s work. 764’s online networks coerce children into recording themselves engaging in self-harm, sexually explicit acts and violence. This group consists of violent extremists who seek to normalize the production, sharing and possession of child pornography and gore material to desensitize and corrupt youth toward future acts of violence. The group members gain notoriety by systematically targeting, grooming, and extorting victims. They demand that victims engage in and share media of self-mutilation, sexual acts, harm to animals, acts of random violence, suicide and murder. It’s a way of causing chaos by disrupting society.
764 began with Bradley Cadenhead, a teenager from Stephenville, TX. His behavior began at age 8 while watching online porn. His fascination progressed to a fascination with violent torture pictures, videos and gore. He posted a lot on social media about violence. At age 13, he was put on juvenile probation for discussing shooting up a middle school. He briefly returned to a juvenile facility for violating his probation and he continued routinely watching ultra-violent gore content online. Court records have shown that he refused to participate in counseling sessions, repeatedly left home without permission, assaulted his mother, and ingested dangerous amounts of Tylenol and cough syrup which required hospitalization.
His online activities were also unrestricted. While playing Minecraft online he also met another user who deepened his interest in gore. And this is where he learned to groom children on a sextortion server called “CLT.” He then started a Discord server called 764 after the first three digits of his zip code. He along with dozens of others used the 764 Discord server and Telegram to seek out vulnerable children to victimize. Cadenhead moderated the server, which received countless videos and photographs of extreme violence, animal torture. He also posted “How-to” guides on sexually exploiting and extorting minors online to circulate in their channels. Discord reports that when they first identified hundreds of users, they reported it to law enforcement that year. And in 2021, Discord flagged Cadenhead’s online conduct fifty-eight times for sharing “images of prepubescent females and males engaging in sexual act, or in various nude poses.”
Captain Jeremy Lanier, of the Stephenville Police Department, helped to conduct the forensic analysis on Cadenhead’s devices. He is quoted saying, “This wasn’t run-of-the-mill child porn, this was darker. There was one video of a woman being held down and stabbed. This case was awful. It was the worst stuff I’ve ever looked at in six years of working CSAM.” Once a degree of trust was developed Cadenhead and other extorters threatened to harm families and to release the explicit photographs that had been exchanged. They have also convinced children to strangle their pets and bite the heads off pet hamsters on camera. This particular child was found in a bath one night saying that she was to “turn the water red” as requested. The group members also called her school principal and reported that she tried to murder animals which led to a police investigation by local police.
Richard Densmore also known as “Rabid” became popular in 764 by creating “Sewer” communities on Discord where children were recruited by infiltrating online gaming sites. A quote from Densmore would tell victims to cut themselves by saying, “I have all your information. I own you…You do what I say now kitten.” And he would even convince victims to carve “Rabid,” Sewer,“ and “764” onto their bodies with razors and box cutters. He also would sexually exploit the children (justice.gov, 2025).
“These online groups are some of the most egregious online enticement reports that we’re seeing in terms of what they’re seeing that children are being coerced to do.”
-Fallon McNulty, CyberTipline Director
Since 2021 criminal cases were brought again more than a dozen people linked to these types of groups in the United States, Great Britian, Germany, Romania and Brazil. And the US Department of Justice is pursuing federal grand jury proceedings. The group is connected to Eastern European skinhead group who members were also accused of random acts and killings in Ukraine and Russia. Prosecutors have cited Telegram and Discord as the primary means where 764 members operate. They use the platforms “to desensitize vulnerable populations through sharing extreme gore and child sexual abuse material.” However, dozens of Telegram channels remained active. Discord says that they have been shutting down these types of activities on their platform. Discord also said that they now work closely with the FBI and law enforcement agencies. In 2023 Discord blocked 130 groups and 34, 000 accounts linked to 764.
Instagram accounts linked to the extortion networks were still active at the time of this particular article. Despite the parent group Meta implementing bans on 764 related accounts. SoundCloud hosted self-harm and Satanism related playlists which were also allowed to remain online at the time of this information. Even though they release a statement saying, “We strictly prohibit any content that includes or suggests child sexual abuse or grooming on our platform and uses a combination of human moderation and technological tools to identify and remove infringing content.” Roblox, user-created skins for 764 themed characters with the groups sign with open references were also still available. Minecraft, where 764 members are known to be active, reports that there are several systems for removing harmful content including chat filtering, in-game reporting and parental controls. And has teams that participate in review and moderation. A spokesperson for Microsoft, which owns Minecraft’s development studio, states, “Pon private servers that are unmanaged by Minecraft, we will take action to investigate reported violations. However, 764 members have also managed to evade measures the platforms use to try and ban them.
“There’s a far larger pool of recruits and people interested in child abuse and pedophilia that an obscure Satanist sect,”
-Unknown law enforcement official
The FBI and other agencies are investigating 764 and terrorism because of their close ties with Order of Nine Angles, who long with their Satanist rhetoric are also aligned within militant neo-Nazi circles. They use Swastikas, Nazi memes and other propaganda glorifying homicidal members of white supremacist groups like the Atomwaffen Division which frequently appear in Telegram channels. And the urging of children to cut things into their bodies also resemble O9A rituals.
Bradly Cadenhead did admit to the group’s use of the server to do sextortion of individuals. They reported that sometimes they would do it for money. And sometimes they would do it just to have power over another person. And he also admitted that he had urged users in the server to carve his initial on their bodies as a form of homage. Therefore, many of the participants see him as a type of cult leader. Cadenhead pleaded guilty to all he was charged with and was sentenced to 80 years in prison. He is now 18 years old and currently incarcerated at Estelle State Prison in Huntsville, TX (wired.com, 2024).
I know you might be asking why I sometimes share horribly graphic information? And what I can tell you is this, “If you are grossed out and offended by this topic, good. You need to be. My life has been severely impacted by child predators on more than one occasion. And something that started out innocent progressed into a world full of horrors. We as parents seem to think that predatory people are easy to spot. They are the ones who act, dress and speak in a way that deviates from the societal norms. What I experienced was from people who I had already met. Some baby sat me as a child and were very seemingly genuine people. They were nice and built me up. They told me all the things I wanted to hear. And they gave me gifts so they could get close enough as a “friend” setting me up for their next moves. And then in a very carefully planned fashion, they got me to take the first step towards them and set their predatory trap. Then they very gently reeled me in hook, line and sinker. They were not strangers. They were in my church, schools, sports and anywhere else they can find their prey. Your kids might’ve found a new online friend who seems to be a very genuine person. They might pretend to have benign interests and just want to have a new online gaming friend. Remember that predators blend in not stand out. Standing out brings them unwanted attention and threaten to expose their evils. People, please understand that perpetrators operate in the shadows not the light. The light outshines darkness which makes it very uncomfortable for them to be unnoticed. So, they get their satisfaction from the thrill of the manipulative hunt seeking to kill and destroy your loved one.” And when one goes to prison, there are hundreds upon thousands of perpetrators looking to fill that spot.
I love my children and want them to enjoy their childhoods. However, I’m not ok with sacrificing their safety in order to appease someone’s sick curiosity. I’m not saying to not let your children play games online. What I am telling you is to form an even closer bond by challenging something in their behavior that is burning in your gut. And even if you don’t feel that, talk with them regularly about groups like this. Ask them if any of their “online” friends have reported such people. But above all, if something doesn’t seem right, check it out. Our children don’t even gasp the concept of evil predators like this. And I can tell you, that had this been an avenue that I could’ve gone down as a teen, I would’ve walked right into the woods with a clown for a handful of candy. My parents tried to shield us from most harmful things. But I still wasn’t safe from predators. I was taught to trust people until I couldn’t. And, unfortunately, when I understood that point it was too late. I was already in the grasp of a perpetrator. Thanks for reading!
“I’ve been praying for someone to get me out of there since day one. Where were you all this time? Where were you four months ago?!”
“Nothing is more creative…nor destructive…than a brilliant mind with a purpose.”
-Dan Brown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Wow. I had no idea that I would write about this topic today. And it’s a concept that has haunted me for many years. What is my purpose in life?
Is my purpose to see how many punches I can take and still walk out of the fire alive? Ok. I’ve done that and continued to do that on a daily basis. Is it to conform to societal standards of what “normal” is? That will never be me. Is it to tackle difficult subjects that make people cringe? You’re getting warmer. Well, let me see if I can discern the information that I know without a doubt.
1. I love helping people. Helping people is a burden on your soul. You don’t decide to help people because of a dollar sign. Helping people whether on an ambulance or in an addiction facility has always been my niche. My actions are done because of a calling that I was born to do. If anyone needs help and I can provide it, I will. That is one of the things that my family dynamics impressed upon me.
2. Helping and caring for animals. You also don’t just decide to have compassion for animals. Some people say these things and yet I watch them beat their animals without constraint. My ex-husband has always said that he was an animal lover. That is the farthest thing from the truth. I’ll never forget the screams of my animals when he would take a belt, in the middle of the night, and go beat them. And I was completely powerless to defend them. When I left that horribly abusive situation, my animals were killed. My animals and the other animals that I interact with are my kids. I learned a long time ago, that I could trust animals when I couldn’t humans.
3. Speaking up about difficult topics. I have no problem talking about really difficult topics in society. Sometimes it doesn’t make me the most popular person. And I don’t care. The topics of racism, mental illness, addiction, abuse, medical cannabis, suicide, self-harm, sexual abuse, puberty, predators, LGBTQ+ equality, rape, parenting or any other topic that makes us cringe. What you don’t see is how sometimes I struggle discussing them. Part of that is because of how I was raised. In the deep south, we are taught to not create any waves as it might reflect poorly on the family. And to know our places as children which was to always respect your elders without question. But what if you are a bystander to something that is abusive, and you don’t speak up? That’s what keeps me up at night. The personal information that I blog about that has happened or is currently happening in my life isn’t always pretty. And I realize that I’m not the savior who can swoop in and rescue people. I can, however, do my part as a human being. And, yes, I still worry about things that I cannot control and still become obsessions.
4. Writing is a passion. I began writing out of necessity. When I left my abusive therapist, I felt completely broken. The person I went to for help betrayed me in a way that continues to affect me. And unless you have been abused, you have no idea the hurdles that would have to be overcome to continue moving forward. And the complete disconnect between your emotions and your brain So, I began writing about topics that were affecting me in that moment. And suddenly, I began to get relief even if I hadn’t found the answers that I needed. I finally felt like I had a voice that deserved to be heard. I was tired of remaining quite as I had been expected to do my whole life. That’s when I realized that I wasn’t all those names that I had been called. I was someone who had information and experiences to share in order to help others. I have always felt alone no matter how many people I was around or despite the number of smiles that I put on my face. Blogging itself is a platform to help others in similar situations understand that they are not alone. Had someone just explained to me that my situations were not ok and that millions of people, worldwide, suffer in silence as I have, maybe that sense of loneliness would’ve diminished. However, when it’s happening to you especially all of the manipulation and brainwashing that occurs, you cannot see past the moment. Abuse leaves you questioning everything about the next person and even those in my family. I knew one thing for sure, I could not remain quiet.
5. Humor brings me enjoyment. Humor has always been one of my greatest coping skills. I go through life as a literal thinker. So, if someone has a “Freudian slip” I will laugh myself silly even if that slip up was from myself. Humor a lot of times was used against me to make me a public spectacle. And it was done in a very demeaning way. As a way of life, I learned how to beat someone to the punch on a smartass comment. I always try to see the humor in most situations. And when there is no humor, I will find a way to interject some of my own. This gets me in trouble sometimes because that’s not conforming to those around me. And I’m expected to just let crazy happenings go without acknowledgment. That’s like putting a plastic bag over my head and being expected to breathe when the air is gone. I will always point out the sometimes-ridiculous way a situation looks. And I’ll probably write a note about it in my phone to use at a later date. I’m not right or wrong. It’s just how I operate.
My passion and purpose is to help others understand that just because you have taken the broken road in life doesn’t mean that you still can’t achieve happiness and also help others. I write about a lot of maladaptive behaviors that I continue to struggle with. But I also share my experience, strength and hope with those need that need the validation that they are not inherently bad or unworthy of happiness, love and inclusion. I still struggle with that concept. If you are a human being, you will fail. You will fall. You will be forced to confront your demons head-on. And it will scare the literal shit out of you. You will be forced to look at your part in situations. If you do not, you will remain stuck. You except your responsibility and move on whether or not the others do the same. You are responsible for only your feelings and emotions that are constantly changing. If they don’t except their responsibility, then they will shift the blame back to you. Push that shit out of the way. Hold your head high. And leave those people like a boss. You are worthy. You are loved. And you are enough!
“Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder. Help someone’s soul heal. Walk out of your house like a shepherd.”
“At first, addiction is maintained by pleasure, but the intensity of this pleasure gradually diminishes and the addiction is then maintained by the avoidance of pain.”
-Frank Tallis
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Today I want to talk to you about a topic that is very near and dear to me. The topic is Addiction. I have been on all sides of this issue. I have been an addict that began to struggle early on in my teen years. I eventually went to get my bachelor’s degree in Psychology. Then onto getting my Master’s degree in counseling. And then went on to work in the field of addiction. And I have seen the havoc this problem has caused both in my own family and in other’s as well.
As a thirteen year-old, I was subjected to horrible verbal and emotional abuse at the hands of a teacher. The abuse was absolutely the most stressful time of my life up until that point. I was given a set of rules that I had to follow that was not reciprocated by the adults who set them. I can’t tell you how emotionally and physically trapped I felt sitting in that closet and berated every single day for a year. I was also humiliated in front of my class of peers. I was also sent to the office with disciplinary forms for things that I did not do. That’s not to say that I was completely innocent. I would verbally strike out at that teacher a few times intentionally in order to get in-school suspension just to get a day or two break from her verbal aggression. Knowing now how underdeveloped a child’s brain is in this time period helps me understand the whys and hows of this horrible behavior and how it begins and continues.
My first time using it was during an emotional time that was so chaotic for me. The “perfect storm” had started brewing previously for approximately two years before I ever began. And as it appears, I wasn’t the only teen in my graduating class who would have some of the same struggles. I had suppressed a lot of the memories about my molestation at an early age. I always had a smile on my face and was laughing as much as possible. However, the underpinnings of addiction were looking for a way into my soul. And it would be the disaster that would follow me into my adult years.
In my life, addiction would not begin as a few substances here and there recreationally like some stories. My situation presented itself at a time where I could no longer handle both the wait of depression and ongoing trauma. I felt emotionally that I was trapped and that no one was there for me in any way. So, I took my first opiates and I was in love. I would be in this type of committed relationship for many years to come. I didn’t see the horns and pitchfork that it carried. I saw it as the best friend that always provided relief and was non-judgmental. It was there to comfort me when comfort was not around. And for the moment, the evil words and actions of that teacher would be drowned out even if it was only for an hour.
I have had several people since then say to me, “Why didn’t you tell someone about what was going on?” The truth is I did and no one believed me. I told my principals but my reputation for being a “class clown” was apparently stronger than the actual truth. When the teacher received word that I had told them, nothing was resolved. The abuse only got worse. Eventually not only would I develop a chemical addiction, I would also have a process of addiction by way of self-harm and eating disorders.
When I began self-harming I was, once again, sent to the office only for the object that I had been stuck into my hand to be covered up and sent back to class. Once I got back to class, I was put on display in front of the class and made to feel less than once again. To those that always say that self-harm is “attention seeking” behavior I can tell you this. I never wanted a trophy for the number of scars that I wear on my body today. I wanted the pain to stop. Not every behavior is about a Tik-Tok or Facebook challenge. And it certainly wasn’t for me. Maybe it was a cry for help. However, those cries fell on deaf ears.
I had begun to notice the amount of anger that was building inside of me daily. And I was scared to death of what that might look like if it ever got free. Sitting with those intense emotions might get buried for the moment, but they will surface. And no matter how much you try to further suppress them, they come out on whoever happens to be around when the “straw that breaks the camel’s back” gets laid down. The scars that you can now see are plentiful. But it’s the scars that you can’t see that outnumber the others by a long shot.
I continue to struggle hard with addiction despite a vast knowledge and experience working with other addicts. Addiction isn’t something that you can outthink. And to those that think it’s about “willpower,” consider it “willpower” the next time you struggle with diarrhea. You cannot imagine the hold that it can have on you if you’ve never had that hold on you. And if you can socially drink and use and it doesn’t reach the point of addiction consider yourself lucky. The bad part is that you don’t know if you’ll become addicted until you try it. And I cannot think of a more perfect game of russian roulette to play. A little felt good. And a lot was not enough.
The fact that I have not died of addiction and others have left me in utter bewilderment. And yet I know that there is a bullet with my name on it each time I pull that trigger trying once again to just be comfortable in my own skin. Addiction is so cunning, baffling and powerful in ways that many don’t understand. And I have seen it ravage the lives of people and those they love to a point where my jaw drops. Even with all of that being said, I still don’t have a healthy fear of addiction. And I’m not sure that I ever will.
As a parent, I can only hope that my own children will choose a way that is more healthy even when times are difficult. And that if they are in some way being harmed that they won’t stay quiet and be covered in shame the way that bullies and perpetrators expect them to be. Get help immediately if you see that you or someone you love has an addiction. I have been in therapy for several years now and I still struggle with this horrible thing called addiction. The name just the label that is given to the substance or behavior that presents itself as a caring and compassionate friend that is waiting to cut our throats.
“Recovery is not a race.You don’t have to feel guilty if it takes you longer than you thought it would.”
“I am just a human being trying to make it in a world that is rapidly losing its understanding of being human.”
-John Trudell
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! I want to clarify one thing before I get into the topic for today. This blog is more like an online journal of sorts. I write about things that affect me at this moment. Many topics repeat and that’s perfectly ok. Each thing I write about is in some way me moving forward even if at a snail’s pace. Trauma is not one of those things that you can talk about today and it will be gone tomorrow. Those who have never been in therapy or are from a generation where therapy was not an option don’t get this concept. And truthfully neither did I. Heck, even though I grew up in the 1980’s therapy was only for the lifestyle of the rich and famous. Nevertheless, the trauma still left its mark.
All of this has been a process that doesn’t have a set time limit. And to think that I can process some of these gut wrenching problems on Monday and then on Tuesday be able to say and believe that the hurt and pain won’t resurface is only a pipe dream that leads to disappointment. You have to have a therapist who is compassionate and patient to say the least. And with my coach that is exactly what I got. And the time it takes to find a therapist that is a good fit sometimes involves more trauma. And it certainly did for me. It took me over forty years to become dysfunctional to this extreme. So, to think that all of that can be wiped out with even a few years of intense therapy is very unrealistic.
Today I want to talk about imperfection. The holidays are so incredibly stressful for me as with most people. I think it’s just all of the emotions of being around more people than I’m used to. And when the Frat Pad is in full swing with our crew it can be exhausting. Don’t get me wrong, I love hanging with my boys and friends. However, after all of the holidays are said and done I am completely exhausted. Maybe it’s because when we are all together we are all on such an emotional high that when it’s all over with my mind and body say, “Dana, What the hell were you thinking? You don’t have to do everything to extremes!” For the last several weeks I just can’t seem to get my energy back. I can’t sleep. I have been in a horrible depression.
As a child we don’t really think about the concept of “imperfection.” We go through our little child life learning from our mistakes on a daily basis. And that’s the way it should be. As we grow, socially, emotionally and physically everything begins to change. We begin to form our own view of the world and expectations that we have for ourselves. Maybe it’s just a combination of societal, personal, environmental, and familiar experiences that begin to teach us that ‘perfection” is the only way to be. Not all are affected in a negative way.
My life was affected negatively because of my experiences. When you are very impressionable at a young age simultaneously, your brain is still underdeveloped. You begin to see life for what it is either negatively or positively. If you are exposed like I was to narcissists who only told me that no matter what I did, I would never be good enough, my life began to play out just like that. I learned very quickly that not being perfect meant that my life was not as worthy as others. Little by little this core belief that I was inherently unworthy of good things continued to chip away at me until waking up every day became a punishment rather than a gift. And since the age of 13, I have been chronically suicidal. I still completely disregard dangerous and impulsive behaviors that are very detrimental at the very least.
When I was married to my ex-husband he took my whole feeling of inadequacy and belief that I wasn’t worthy of love, acceptance and compassion to an all time high. Instead of taking the information that I told him about my life to show me everything that I had been missing, he used it as a weapon to have ultimate control over me. Not to mention that he was also nineteen years my senior. I was so naive that I held onto his every word as truth. The “truth” however was that he was and still is a very sick man who was also horribly abused by his father. And to my knowledge was NEVER told that he was loved by him. So, if he wasn’t in control including his perfectionistic ways then he felt completely out of control. And he perpetuated that abuse onto me.
One of his favorite things to tell me was, “I’m not the one with the mental history.” And the fact of the matter is this, he has never gone to see a therapist for any of his issues. His mental illness has just never been diagnosed. It doesn’t not mean that he doesn’t have a mental illness. Therapy also requires a level of rigorous honesty about yourself that he is incapable of being. I will be the first to tell you that therapy isn’t always fun. However, it is necessary regardless how far down the spectrum you may go. When I needed therapy in my teens therapy was not possible. So, even though I began seeing a therapist in 2009 my work didn’t truly begin until about 8 years ago. At the time, I was undiagnosed with a very serious trauma related disorder that not just every professional knows how to treat. It goes way beyond basic depression and anxiety issues. The problem was so much more complex than I had any concept to be able to understand at that time. And let me just point out that any level of depression and anxiety are in their own way completely miserable.
I had a therapist long ago tell me when I was in despair about always making mistakes tell me, “Welcome to the human race.” And I never understood what that meant until years later. I still make a lot of mistakes as a human being. I take as much as I can and I fall. I still get angry and say hurtful things. And I also still go to bed many nights with tears in my eyes. I’m now learning how to embrace my whole self mistakes and all. And I’m trying not to let the opinions of those who bled out on me for crimes I didn’t commit determine my self worth. My imperfection is what classifies me as being “PERFECTLY IMPERFECT.”
“I don’t have to be perfect. All I have to do is show up and enjoy the messy, imperfect and beautiful journey of my life.”
“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal,love leaves a memory no one can steal.”
-Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today marks the 10th anniversary since Sarah died. Recently, I have done some work in therapy about her loss. What I’ve learned is how traumatic events never seem to lose their power. While it’s always been very upsetting to me to live without her. Re-experiencing those moments with the full force of emotions is decapitating my soul. And I truthfully, had no idea that I carried that much emotional exhaustion.
I have been asked before “why do you refer to her as like a God?” To me Sarah wasn’t just a friend. She was so many things to me. But most of all she was my hero. I sought her guidance as a struggling alcoholic/drug addict. But years later and the respect for a seemingly genuine woman progressed to a relationship where I experienced unconditional love and acceptance for no other reason than because I existed. I just needed someone who cared on all levels. And it was her.
I hungered for the peace that she seemed to carry around in her soul. I watched her from all angles and she was the most authentic person I had ever seen. And I was very intrigued. She was the same no matter where she went. Our very close relationship was like a “maternal mentor.” I wanted to learn everything I possibly could about her “road to peace and serenity.” There was a mutual space that we held for each other with the utmost respect. She was my “safe person.”
We spent many hours talking about life and the broken roads we had both taken. And I saw how she had risen. And how I was barely breathing. Over the years she became my “Mr. Miyagi” and my “Yoda.” Every Time I was around her I learned another lesson about life. And it was exactly what I needed. And I flourished. I had begun to rebuild my shattered self-confidence, self-worth, self image and the idea that I was entitled to love, happiness and belongingness just like everyone else.
I continued to struggle with addiction for a while. And Oh the boundaries. Anyone that knew her also knew that she was a boundary setting “queen.” Boundaries were placed before me many, many times. That was just something else that she taught me.
It wasn’t “rules” coming from an authority figure with her. It was simply teaching me about boundaries and standing up when they are tested. And she also taught me about our own boundaries and why we deserve for them to be respected. I realized that my way of thinking was courtesy of generational patterns of insanity. She praised individuality, autonomy and authenticity.
I began to notice that I was changing. My thinking, heart, conscience, was all changing for the better. I needed the stability of someone who was loving and consistent. And I’m sorry but there are just not that many people like that who possess both qualities. And I thanked God everyday for the blessings I received that allowed me to be open enough to experience “love” for the first time since stepping onto the gravel of my broken road.
I had, once again, found that passion for life and the ability to succeed which was lost for many years. I began excelling as a student. And I realized that I was not too dumb to learn. And about the symbolism of the Phoenix in Greek Mythology. The symbol of the camel in 12-step recovery. And about living life on life’s terms. And about her walk with Jesus. And how life is about acceptance even if it’s not the hand that you wanted dealt. The woman I speak of I would’ve laid down my life for. And I still will at the speaking of her name.
And when she died, I’ve been unable to move past my grief. Instead I burned every bridge that I could. And I found dreams and ambitions in the safe confine of isolation slowly withering away. I guess over the years I never saw having to live life without her or her guidance. But here we are. And her absence is more than I can bear.
I exist but I no longer live. I keep chasing the monster that keeps chasing me. Again I am the shell of who I used to be. Shouldn’t her memory and advice propel me past that? Shouldn’t living a life that I know would please her give me the energy to help me carry on? Maybe. But my heart feels none of that. I am paralyzed by fear, grief, loneliness, sadness and debilitating depression. But I do have my memories. I guess sometimes, though, the wounds are just too great.
“The absence of your loved one will lead to a profound wound of their loss that will never completely mend. But they will forever reside in your heart and will remain partially broken.”
-Unknown
***Don’t forget to watch the video at the end!!!***
I wake up, puddle of sweat I have nightmares, and I get back into bed It’s like these voices just keep playing on repeat in the back of my head And I can’t get them to leave me alone Thirty-years old but still hates being alone when I’m home Because that’s when the voices get the loudest Opening up like this is a moment far from my proudest But these demons keep pressin’ me, I swear they’re the foulest But I’ve grown comfortable with their presence, my conscious is calloused My dreams are their playground, my thoughts are their palace I tried to evict them, they returned with more Anxiety isn’t an item you can return at the store I was 10 the first time I had a panic attack Like a punch to the stomach, there’s no planning for that And I didn’t tell anyone because I was too scared about what they’d say And I knew deep down that there was nothing they could do to take it away It was my fight to fight and my battle to face I remember that house I grew up in and how those demons would rattle that place I’d lay awake at night just staring at the ceiling I’ve spent my whole life trying to run from that feeling That feeling of being lonely, that feeling of being lost That feeling of being sick when the lights turn off That feeling of being depressed, that feeling of being anxious That feeling of screaming to God begging Him to take this Only to get silence in return I’d lay in that bed crying, and I’d toss and I’d turn And I turn and I toss to this day The doctors gave me medication, the pastor said pray I tried both, and this anxiety still hasn’t gone away So forgive me if I fantasize about being gone today I’m an actor who got really good at being on today But when I turn off, I go right back into the shadows I’m in the deep-end now, but I started in the shallows And I might just drown myself in these waves Suburbian hell, these homes are all graves Everyone’s coping with something but won’t admit it, they’re all too afraid And these kids are glued to watching me, what do I say? If I’m honest with them, maybe they won’t think highly of me Everything they want me to be is what I’m dying to be But everything I really am is what I’m not trying to be I want them to know that they’re not alone in their struggles I wake up in tears and fall back asleep in those puddles And I don’t ever think I’ll get out of this valley I’m in Terrified that all along God has tallied my sins And if He has, the number must be astronomic My life is a joke, and you keep reading, just pass the comic Because everything you think that I am is far from the truth I wish I could open up to you and just let loose But my vocal cords get tight when the Devil pulls on this noose And then I’m back to keeping everything bottled up inside But he’s not gonna keep me from pulling the throttle back this time He’s not gonna keep me trapped like this I can’t get out of bed, I was never made to act like this I’m packing up my bags, and he can’t stop me from running fast like this I’m not gonna be a slave to these voices of anxiety I’m shoving the Devil back for every time that he lied to me And I’m taking a belt to these demons who whisper despair in my ear And I’m ignoring every naysayer who stands and stares when I’m near I’m moving forward out of this slump I took my bruises, I took my lumps I fell down, but I got right back up So give me a torch, and let’s light that up I’m setting fire to the Devil, and I’m dousing these demons in gasoline Look at you now, now you’re not laughing at me Now who’s the one who’s being tortured and punked? Now who’s the one closing every door that I want? Now who’s the one watching the other burn the ground? Don’t look away from me, you better turn back around I’m not done talking to you now I’m watching your moves I’m on your back, and I’m stalking you, too And when you try to ruin some other kid’s life, I’ll be stoppin’ you, too You took thirty years of my life, and I can’t get that back You told me to end my life, and I nearly got killed for that You took me down, but I bounced right back I was lost then, and I got found like that And everything you told me I wasn’t someone new told me I was And everything you hated in me someone new told me He loves And when you tried to kill me with depression and anxiety He reached in and placed hope deep inside of me So I’m done listening to you and letting you control me I’m announcing it now that the Devil can’t hold me I’m walking away from the old me And I’m demanding a refund on every lie that you sold me You knew I’d find a way out sooner or later And I found my escape in the form of a Savior.
“To become authentic we require a thirst for freedom.”
-Don Mateo Sol
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. I love the smell of burning sage. Mentally it somehow provides a bubble that no one’s negativity can penetrate. Even if only for a moment.
I have been shamed by many entities, friends and family for being a lesbian. I have two superhero children that came out of that relationship with their other mom. And my children have also had that held against them as well. Was that selfish of us to bring children into the world knowing that? No. I believe that God saw that we had two children that were absolutely perfect for the situation. We brought those children into the world loving them and wanting to be parents. We have always told them that families look differently with race and gender differences. And is in no way right or wrong. It just is. I’ve also been asked, “Well, what if they come out as bisexual, gay or heaven forbid in a relationship with another race?” My response has always been, “Then what a great and very diverse family they will have to be a part of.” I have told my boys from the beginning, “I will never hold against you who you love. If you can find someone who truly loves you for who you are and respects you, go for it! I will have a problem if they are abusive buttholes.”
I lost my sanity trying to be what others told me that I should be. And being a part of the LGBTQ+ community oftentimes we are “forced” to make a family outside of our families of origin. Not as a choice but as a necessity. Me and my children have always been seen as less than. We have not been included or have been treated as “sloppy seconds” because of who I loved. And how they were conceived because personal beliefs on the topic.
I have watched people through the presidential election and the horrible crimes of P. Diddy destroy relationships. One thing I’ve learned is that I’m not going to agree with you and you will not agree with me. So, what’s the point of arguing just for the sake of arguing? However, what I have made abundantly clear is that if you see something done that’s illegal or wrong and don’t speak out, then you’re just as guilty. I have learned some very difficult lessons about being scared into silence. My life has been largely influenced by narcissists. And the only title that fits perfectly is “emotional vampires” and “masters of deception.” The narcissist that I was enslaved by always called himself “a local celebrity.” To put it very bluntly, these kind of people are very scary. And cause colossal damage to their victims.
It doesn’t matter if you’re from a small town, politician or celebrity. Wrong is wrong. I can spot a narcissist a mile away. And there is no place in a society that harbors these type of criminals that often operate in the shadows. Just because you don’t see them in this role, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t happen. They are more concerned with their image than your well-being. If you’re operating openly then I have even less respect for those individuals. That just tells me that you’re even more dangerous. The commonality between narcissists is the fact that their egos are much bigger and stands out from others. They feel that they are untouchable. And they also believe that money, popularity, fame and scare tactics keep them safe from others that oppose their stance. They are the “god” of their own universe. I have also had family members that are narcissists. Most don’t change because they don’t see themselves as doing anything wrong. The ones that do change only do so because of “scared straight” tactics. And the only thing you can do is keep your emotional distance.
The abuse, for me, only got worse when the doors were closed. If this doesn’t fit your opinions, then take what you can use and leave the rest. It’s the beauty of living in a “free society.” I speak only MY truth. And pain changes people. I’m not here to coddle anyone’s delicate feelings.
When I was a child, a teacher was allowed to unmercifully abuse me. Yes “ALLOWED!” I spoke with school administrators 20+ years later only to be told that they knew the abuse was going on but they couldn’t do anything about it. Let that sink in for a minute. They knew that a child was being abused and did nothing about it. I fought adults on my own. Not one adult stepped forward and said, “This is wrong! She’s a child and you’re committing crimes!” GUITY! GUILTY! GUILTY!
Granted the science about childhood trauma and its effects on adulthood functionality was in its infancy at the time. Unfortunately, I am only one of millions of adult children who now know the harsh realities of just how deeply abuse can effect someone. In this day and age, ignorance can no longer be used as an excuse. Science is everywhere. And so is the research and studied outcomes of how negatively shaming affects a person’s entire being.
I don’t try and paint life and this world as a beautiful oasis where nothing goes wrong. I don’t tell my kids many specifics about my trauma history. But make no mistake they know who “the mean man” is. And they know about that mean teacher that locked me in a closet. They also know, see and experience what it’s like to watch their mom struggle from the consequences of abuse. And also what can happen to another person when we don’t find a way to heal our own wounds. And if that makes me a bad parent because they are prepared for the difficulties of life, then so be it. I used to have a real complex about having a mental illness that is trauma induced. But then I realized that what I saw when I looked the eyes of my children was that I was raising advocates.
As a parent, my job is to protect my children as much as I possibly can. That does not mean smothering them with my own personal beliefs. We are to teach them how to think. Not what to think. Teach them how to make educated decisions. And sometimes allowing them that freedom is very difficult knowing that there is a great potential for growing pains. We learn through our mistakes or we don’t.
I allow my children to make their own decisions within reason. I tell them, “Here are your choices. Whatever your decision is comes with either positive or negative consequences. Make your decision.” When they come to Camp Frat Pad I tell them both, “If you want to stay up all night that’s fine. But, if you’re a butthole tomorrow you will get in trouble.” Both boys go to bed at a decent hour most of the time. I also allow them to have the freedom to dress and cut or not cut their hair anyway they want. All in an effort to assert their individuality.
That’s a dream that I wished I had been allowed to live. My individuality always seemed to have some type of constraints. I’m not the kind of person that conforms to social “norms.” I am very ok with who I am. And the more you try to force your hand and make me conform, the more I rebel. I will also not be a part of sitting idly by and watching my children be treated differently because they come from a minority family. How can I expect them to stand up for other individuals’s differences if I don’t stand up for them? I have watched many people claim that they’re one way. Then tuck tail and run when it comes to the statement that is not popular among others in their peer group. I’ve watched that many times. And those people will not admit to any wrong doing. They just want only you to change. I don’t need to change that part of me. I have no problem being gay.
I will not ever silence MY truth because of someone else’s uncomfortability ever again. My children are watching me to see if I am who I say I am. And that I am. Nothing more, nothing less. And I make absolutely no apologies for being authentic. Because I can’t be nobody but me!
“If you want to know where to find your contribution to the world, look at your wounds. When you learn how to heal them, teach others.”
“To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make everybody else-means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting; and never stop fighting. Stay true to yourself, yet always be open to learning.” -E.E. Cummings, A Poet’s Advice to Students
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away! Ok that feels much better. This is a blog that I’ve been wanting to write for some time. For the last couple of months, I have been in a depression that has been absolutely debilitating. Maybe it’s been due to the stress of recent surgeries. Or maybe it’s been a combination of that and coming off all of my psych meds. Yes, you heard that correctly. I am now off of my meds and the mood swing has snapped! Run! Right or wrong. I took myself off in a rather drastic way. When I get an idea in my head that I’m going to do something, write it down. It will get done. Now I don’t advise coming off psych meds all at once. However, I wanted it done immediately. So, I put myself through absolute hell. I was so sick physically that coming off heroin would’ve been easier. Nevertheless, It’s finally over. And things mentally and physically have come alive again. And I do mean everything.
I remember looking at myself in a mirror saying, “Well hey you! Where have you been?” I don’t have any problems with the idea of antidepressants or any other type of psychiatric meds. For me, though, I was tired of taking them and constantly having to worry about copays to community mental health providers that I truly didn’t have the extra money to afford. I have also been on the state’s cannabis program for a couple of years with the goal of one day coming off those other meds. I’m just too impatient to go through the slow process of convincing professionals to continue tapering. And being that I’m a “street pharmacist”, I just decided to do it myself. I still struggle with severe insomnia that has somewhat plateaued at the moment. My cannabis spreadsheet is finally complete! Which means that I now tailor my “green meds” to what I need. Instead of also having to factor in traditional meds and their side effects. This might not work for everyone. So, do you boo-boo.
What this has also done is find the backbone that I knew I once had. Antidepressants make you much more tolerant of criticisms and everyday frustrations. Now I just smoke a bowl or do a few dabs and it does the same thing instantly. One thing that I’m constantly having to adjust is medication for pain management. That, in itself, has been quite the adjustment.
Doctors, no matter the issues, are just not willing to help with pain management enough to help keep people comfortable. I didn’t say keep them high or addicted. With “Big Pharma”, though, that’s how they line their pockets.
While living in New Mexico and Texas, my lack of pain management led me straight back to the streets. And that always leads to either jails, rehabs or the grave. There’s just too much Fentanyl out there for my comfort level. I can honestly say that being on the cannabis program previously and now that my addiction issues have not reared their ugly heads in this area of my life. Trust me, when addiction wants to take me, I go seemingly very willingly. In other areas of my life I am still in the grasp of addiction. Regardless, life continues to be brutal. And parenting doesn’t get easier either. It just has new challenges.
In therapy, everything ebbs and flows. Sometimes it’s easier than others. And sometimes you seem to plateau. Recently, I have had my most painful trauma hit me at my weakest point. I was literally awake for five days and crazy as hell. I know what a fabulous time to abandon medication and its requirements. I have always taken the difficult road in life that this time was no different. Dangerous? Probably. To me, doing things safely just takes way too long. And I’m not willing to wait.
I have always been a people pleaser. I have done what others wanted regardless of what I wanted to do. I felt that I have always needed to somehow strive for perfection that could never be attained. I’ve always tried to be for others, losing the vision for who and what I’ve wanted and needed to be. I’ve attempted to be straight knowing full well that I’m not. I have dressed in ways others wanted me to. Acted in ways expected of me. I kept my hair cut in ways to only pacify others. And I lost myself in the process.
I won’t ever say that “coming out” has been an easy process. It’s very different for every person. It’s probably the most difficult process I’ve ever had to go through. And more painful than you can imagine. Think about this for a second. If you wake up in the morning as someone who is sexually “heterosexual”, imagine what you would do if someone told you, “No, you must be gay.” You can try and do your best to be gay. You might even speak the lingo. But in your heart, you have always been straight. You just can’t be gay no matter what you are told or what you are shamed for. So, one day you just stand up and say, “I don’t care what gender you think that I should be with. I’m not nor have I ever been gay!” Imagine how freeing that would feel, for once in your life, to be who you know that you are. If you can’t comprehend a scenario like this then be glad you can’t.
It’s kind of like individuals who don’t understand why the LGBTQ+ community has gay pride celebrations. How many times have I heard the comments like, “Well we(straight) don’t have “straight pride” celebrations.” The Stonewall Riots were not about having “Straight Pride.” They were about the freedom of being a member of the LGBT community without the fear of being arrested. The idea of “straight pride” is ignorant. And you will look stupid trying to argue that point. So don’t get jealous every year when June rolls around and all of the rainbows, glitter, unicorns and individual pride colors come out and the LGBTQ+ communities are beautiful and flamboyant. Be glad that you don’t have a reason to celebrate “Straight Pride.”
I “came out” in my 30’s as gay. This has presented many problems including lost relationships, shunning by family members and loss of jobs. The list goes on and on. And so do the whispers and backbiting. As scared as I was to make that step forward, I did it! And I have NEVER regretted my decision a day since. I finally stood up and proclaimed who I am! People will call you all kinds of names. It’s the ones you answer to that counts!
“Authenticity is the daily practice of letting go of who we think we’re supposed to be and embracing who we are.” -Brene Brown
She has two faces. One face that she shows the world, loved ones, and in public. The smiling one. The happy, friendly, and talkative one. The confident one full of laughter and positivity. The face that everyone is used to.
The second face is the real face. The one she tries not to show anyone. The face behind closed doors, when she’s alone away from the world, in the security of her own emotions that she doesn’t want to show anyone else or have to explain them. It’s exhausting trying to look happy and like nothing is bothering you. The face that stares off at nothing or patterns on the floor or drapes.
The face that cries in the shower, in bed, car rides alone, cries sitting on the couch, or doing things around for house. The sad face that stares back at her in the mirror and looks nothing like she used to be. Well to her anyway. Others say she looks the same. The face that looks strong to the people she knows, but is really just shards of broken glass inside. Yes, the girl that was there for everyone, and strong for others..is now split into two.
Two faces, one broken spirit. She can’t bear the losses. It feels like a chapter of a wonderful book closed never to be open again.
All she has are memories and visions in her head that she plays over and over. Nothing is the same to her. Everything is different. She can’t cope with daily life, her Doctor said. So she writes to help herself, and she has her two faces.
What’s funny is, the sad face is the face worth a thousand words underneath in the depths of complexity. While the happy face full of laughter, love, positiveness, and fun..is a straight shooter.”
“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’”
—Mary Anne Radmacher
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away! I never thought that I would ever see the end to this set of blog posts. With it being such an incredibly difficult topic, I chose to take my time and release anything I needed no matter the pain.
Fast forward to 2012. I eventually underwent a total knee replacement in my thirties. It was the most excruciating pain imaginable. The care I received from my orthopedic surgeon’s nurse practitioner mentally transported me back to the days and specific events associated with my ex-husband. The flashbacks were unsettling. I would be ridiculed for crying again, this time by a medical professional. I vowed to avoid doctors for the rest of my life whenever possible. I wish I could say that I would not be treated that way in the medical community again. However, this has occurred repeatedly.
I was so upset at an urgent care facility that I accidentally wet myself. The practitioner made fun of me yet again. I believe that in various areas of education, when the topic of “transference” is discussed, the idea is often conveyed in a manner that causes students to negate the humanity of themselves and others. They often lose sight of the Hippocratic Oath, which states, “First, do no harm.”
In the United States, from 2003 to 2014, 8.8% of approximately 120,000 suicide victims have chronic pain. And has appeared to increase over time (Petrosky et al.,2018)
Within the last ten to fifteen years, I’ve also had neck surgery, two back surgeries, gall bladder surgery, trigeminal neuralgia known as the “Suicide Disease”, elbow surgery, a hysterectomy, spinal cord stimulator, left knee bone graft where I also had blood clots in both my leg and lungs. Additionally, I experienced COVID-19 several times while simultaneously being dealt another blood clot in my lungs. I now also have asthma as a result of contracting the virus.
Within the past year, the local orthopedic facility has seen me many times. Each time I consulted various practitioners, they consistently informed me that there was nothing wrong with me. But I was determined to be the squeaky wheel until I found help. I was compelled to seek practitioners in a different state. Through my tears, I have persistently sought answers for my pain with the guidance of my dear “coach.” The suicidal ideations have been continual while going through this long, arduous process. A portion of the PTSD I experience is related to these and other situations. And to think, it was entirely preventable. This is one of my favorite quotes that pertains to this very topic is..
“If you don’t heal what hurts, you’ll bleed on those that didn’t cut you.”
-Anonymous
I am also about to undergo my thirteenth knee surgery. It is a revision surgery for knee replacement in which the prosthetic is loosening from the bone. This means that It has to be removed and another one installed. I have received only thirteen of the thirty years that would provide me relief. . I am now absolutely terrified of going through this surgery again. The physical therapy will be challenging, and I will likely cry during every session as well.
Needless to say, pain is a significant trigger for me. It elicits a variety of reactions, both visible and invisible. I have also come to realize that Dissociative Identity Disorder may not respond well to anesthesia either. I have been trapped in a mental prison, and chained to each of my perpetrators. But I must honestly say that it was all an illusion. What I have come to realize through many years of abuse is, “YOU CANNOT, IN ANY WAY, OWN OR POSSESS A CHILD OF GOD!” That was his disillusionment.
“Anyone can hide. Facing up to things, working through them, that’s what makes you strong.” —Sarah Dessen
**And as always, don’t forget to watch the video below!**
“The more you trust your intuition, the more empowered you become, the stronger you become, and the happier you will become.”
-Gisele Bundchen
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away! Ready. Set. Blog! I hope this blog has brought insight and the knowledge that you are not alone. And that just because someone can’t see your emotional wounds doesn’t mean that it’s not there.
While he psychologically manipulated me, I hung on his every word as if it were scripture. I accept full responsibility for all my actions. But the situation seemed to be escalating exponentially. We married four years later. I do not distinctly remember feeling genuinely happy about it. I just thought that marrying was the next logical step. I remember thinking “no wonder people are miserable when they’re married.” Secretly, though, I was terrified that I was making the biggest mistake of my life. And that is exactly what I did. Nevertheless, we were soon legal. I saw flashing signs warning of potential danger ahead. But I was steadfast in my determination to make it all work.
My belief, at that time, was to just to try and love him. I eventually realized that I would never be able to get that close to him. Soon, though, everything was beginning to make sense. His ever-increasing controlling traits were only getting more aggressive. He would call me names. He would humiliate me away from others until it became overtly obvious. I thought, “Why was seeing it all so foreign? I wouldn’t understand for several years later. The reason that it was so foreign was because I had never seen my daddy treat my mom that way. My daddy is one of respectable men in the community. And I never once saw him disrespect my mom even one time. I was looking for a good man just as he had always been. Not one angry word or action had I ever seen.
He made me do things without my consent. Turn on for him, maybe? I was secretly so miserable. He would rape my mind just like he would my body. He belittled me, stalked me, had total control over what I ate. I felt like it was a prison.I was told that I was stupid so many times I no longer feel as sting when I’m degraded. I bought into all this “perfect” life he was selling. Hook, line and sinker. I soon realized that the safest thing to do was to just do whatever he asked to get through the moment. I had become his emotional punching bag. I was also systematically being pulled away from family and friends. He was going to slowly transform me into his image of “perfection.” And no matter what I did, I would never I couldn’t achieve that unattainable goal. When you’re in a relationship with a narcissist, they see theirselves as “The” God of universe. They never see any need for improvement in any way. Because the only one who needs improvement is you. There was absolutely “zero” concern for both my physical and mental wellbeing.
The initial injury compromised the blood supply to the lower portion of my femur. When I begin to regenerate new bone, it would flake off fragments that needed to be surgically removed to ensure proper functionality. Due to my delay in seeking medical attention, the bony structures continued to shred the cartilage, resulting in further damage to the entire joint. That made him very angry.
There were no words of encouragement or empathy. Just incessant berating for something that I couldn’t control. He wasn’t much of a cuddler either. And after 14 years of abuse, neither was I. If he did there were always ulterior motives. I can vividly recall crying when I was out of his sight, as the pain was so intense. The intensity of crying heightened every situation. Until I learned how not to cry. I was never allowed to take mood stabilizers or antidepressants because “what would people think if they found out that his wife was a head case?” To make matters worse, he would get so angry that he took my pains meds and threw them out into the rain. And I was not allowed to retrieve them. My mom was standing right there and witness it all.
I also experienced severe kidney and bladder infections. I had fevers, hematuria, nausea, and vomiting. It was extremely painful. When he finally took me to an urgent care facility, we were informed that I was at a high risk of developing sepsis. He stated in front of the nurse and doctors, “I told her that she needed to be seen sooner, but she did not want to get checked out.” He then said, “I suppose you won’t do that again next time will you?” I accepted responsibility once more while knowing that the real reason for the delay was because I wasn’t being allowed to get the help.
Things were getting scarier by the day. I was stalked, raped, verbally and mentally abused. I knew how to do one thing that had helped me in the past. Mentally just go to some other place. And let someone else fill in to help with this monumental task. I was made fun of anytime I hurt. I was called a hypochondriac. And eventually I was told that my medical needs were too costly, and that I would just have to learn to deal with the pain. Specifically, I still needed more knee surgeries and procedures for simple wellness. And once again I endured pain in every kind of way you can imagine.
In the end, I lacked self-confidence in myself and was completely shattered mentally. It was fortunate that I left on my own. And I did it and came out alive. The abuse and manipulation I endured over the course of 14 years left me with nothing positive. I realized that I had lost “me” in the process. And I still struggle with my daily life. Let’s just say that relationships are not things that I excel in.
I developed an incredibly high tolerance for pain. However, when I reach my limit, I take a sharp left at a “normal” reaction. My traumatic response is instantaneous. I am very apprehensive about visiting doctors. And it terrifies me to think that I could be berated again.
Maybe life isn’t about avoiding the bruises. Maybe it’s about collecting the scars to prove that we showed up for it.”
-Hannah Brencher
**And as always, don’t forget to watch the video below!**
“Triggers are like little psychic explosions that crash through avoidance and bring the dissociated, avoided trauma suddenly, unexpectedly, back into consciousness.”
-Carolyn Spring
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away! Ready. Set. Blog! Get comfortable because you need to finish reading this one. This took a few days to complete this blog. There is still a considerable amount of raw emotion associated with this topic. Okay, I will continue from where I left off.
When I encountered my next predator, I was 17 years old. He was 36 years old. He was nineteen years my senior. I acknowledge that the entire situation was chaotic at that time. Unfortunately, that chaos became the norm. I realized that I became terrified in the idea that when there was not chaos, I was terrified. I was suddenly thrust headfirst into a harsh adult world for which I was unprepared. It was received like a “turd in the punch bowl.”
Living in a small southern city in the “Bible Belt” region of Mississippi entails a unique set of rules. To put it bluntly, “Being gay should never be regarded as an accepted option.” You are expected to graduate from high school. Attend college. Consider marrying someone of the opposite sex. And to pursue careers while raising children.
I had no idea that my life would drastic 360 degree turn. I would endure a 14-year reign of severe and traumatic terror. What I did not realize as a teenager was that predators can take on various forms, each uniquely individualized. I believed he was my “Prince Charming.” However, every day I looked into the eyes the devil. I entered that relationship with a deep sense of commitment. I was also trying to engage in the “heterosexual game.” And I realized that I was different.
In the beginning, he had been a man with a silver tongue. He said all the right things, leading me to believe that he was a good man who genuinely wanted to love me and build a life together. That was undoubtedly the most misleading revelation of the truth. As he stated, “I was roaming the high schools looking for a wife.” Why did I not find that creepy? Since then, I have asked myself that same question every day thereafter. But what was done, was in fact done.
When I was an athlete, you recognize that pain is an essential component of your training regimen. It is an undeniable reality that managing pain is an inherent aspect of life. You consistently challenge your body in ways you never thought possible. Being in an abusive situation is fundamentally different.
In the four years that we dated, I remember thinking, “Something doesn’t seem right.” I couldn’t identify exactly what “it” was at the time. But I soon realized the harsh reality. I began to realize elements of his likewise traumatic past. Living with a very controlling and abusive father I heard his horror stories. And until his father died, I can tell you that there was some part of him that still feared his father. An interesting fact was that prior to going to visit his father I was directed about how to act. I was so uncomfortable each time. I would watch and listen to how they would interact. And the stories that they both told had a lot of similarities. This was just paranoia, right? No. There were reasons to be paranoid and scared. And I was.
“Your gut knows what’s up, even if your brain doesn’t want to admit it.”-
-Anonymous
**And also don’t forget to watch the video below!”
“Living with chronic pain is like trying to get comfortable on a cactus sofa.”
-Sean Mackey, Professor of Pain Medicine at Stanford
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away! Ready. Set. Blog! This is a blog that I’ve needed to write for a really long time. The topic of chronic pain affects every area of my life.
I feel that having both mental and physical pain is too much to ask of a person. I’m not talking about the aches and pains of aging. If that were the type of pain that I experience, I would have no reason to complain. My pain started as a young child with horrific leg pain that would have me in tears. I vividly remember my parents rubbing my legs complimented with a heating pad in order for the tears to stop falling just long enough to fall asleep. And there were no guarantee that I wouldn’t wake up during the night in the same miserable condition. The pediatrician said that the pain was simply “growing pains.” Could this physical pain have been a result of the trauma that I was experiencing? Maybe. Eventually, I would seem to outgrow the leg pains. In the late 1970’s and early 1980’s maybe there were no other answers. And I can accept that. Subconsciously, no one believed me because the depth of my pain couldn’t be seen. However, the mark that was left on the psyche of a small child is one that has left a permanent mental disfigurement.
The next time I remember pain being an issue was as a 13-year-old. The traumatic situations that were occurring left me with horrible headaches. It was at the time that I began having suicidal ideations. The one consistent message coming from my “loud thoughts” was that I wasn’t worthy was unworthy of life. The trauma of that year continues to pound the same messages in my daily life. I just couldn’t see a way out in any direction. It was one agonizing day after another for an entire year. And again, no one believed me. I would also suffer a kneeinjury that I’ve never been about to truly recover from. I’m still dealing with it now in my late forties. When you abuse a child mentally, it’s so easy for them to believe it. To deal with it all, I began “grasping at straws” trying to find 5 minutes of relief. And I did! I found drugs, alcohol, eating disorders and self-harm.
Then I moved into high school. But the previous year continued to torment me. Not only was I caught up in the cycle of addiction, but I was also starting to die from them all. Anyone who says that addiction isn’t painful are lying. It doesn’t matter what type of addiction. It might not seem to hurt in the moment. However, if you are a human being with a conscience, it will hurt at some point. And when it did, I kept using “it” out of guilt and shame. My hopes and dreams were going down the drain. And I had no idea how to make it all stop. I wasn’t my own boss anymore. It was my boss. I would also have another knee surgery, maybe two. And then, I met him…
“Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.”
“When [Jesus] saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd”.
Matthew 9:36
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Now I’m ready! I thought I could finish writing this later. But No, cigar! Now is as good a time as any other.
I keep coach very up to date with my thoughts and close attention with my “parts.” My main protector has been upset for quite a while. She’s willing to try to derail me in any possible way. So, naturally, I wondered why? Like most teenagers, she has once again, began striking out in fear.
I don’t typically do well with guided imagery. In the past, I’ve gotten tickled and would create some type of comedy. I’m always the one in the room when therapists start with creating a scenario like, “walking into the woods and becoming one with your senses.” What do I see? What do I hear? What do I feel? And then I’m the dufus and speaks up by saying, “It was me that stepped in it! I’m sorry for the smell!” And as if that wasn’t enough I would add this one in just for giggles. “Oh No! It’s a tornado in the distance! It’s coming straight for us! Run!” I know it’s silly. Since working with my coach, I haven’t done anything like that. You begin to realize when you take things in perspective. All I know is that I was tired of constantly trying to run away from things that are much bigger than me.
I settle in and begin breathing while coach guides me to facing the pain. My protector had a death grip on that baby. Vowing to protector her at all cost I thought, “Oh boy! Here we go again.” I’m doing my best to stay focused when I heard, “And just imagine that Jesus is standing there.” I froze while watching the interaction in my mind. Jesus spoke up and said, “Bring me the baby.” The protector surprisingly froze and all the angry words leave as soon as they had appeared. She slowly walked to Jesus and hands him the baby. The angry protector doesn’t say or do anything in protest. And for the first time in my life, the baby is calm and falls asleep on Jesus’s shoulder. The protector takes her cue by turning with Jesus’s hand on her shoulder. She too had a calmness that many have been unable to achieve. And she says only in a way that fits her perfectly, “Don’t worry. Jesus has our back!” Jesus then says, “Go ahead. You’ve been waiting for this your entire life, my child. I will provide all the protection that is needed for all of them and you.” I felt calm and reassured that I was making the right decision.
During, “The Passion Of The Christ” diamond painting project, I was told that he would never leave me. And had left me to help in securing my insecurities. And I remembered that I heard something that was said in an earlier encounter, “Me and the father will give you the strength you need.” And I realized that the gift in this encounter was that No one said that it would be easy. Jesus upheld his promise that he was not abandoning, any part of me, no matter the number. And so me and my parts begin the difficult road of healing the most difficult part of our trauma.
It is through these seven gifts–wisdom, understanding, counsel, knowledge, fortitude, piety, and fear of the Lord–that we grow in holiness and are continually reminded of God’s loving presence within us and around us.”
– John 14:26
***Don’t forget to watch the special two videos on the bottom***
“Don’t be afraid to celebrate a promise when kept. In doing so, you’re the potential for a better world.”
-Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Ok, much better. Today I am going to write about a recent occurrence in therapy. Through some recent events, therapy has led in the direction to tackle my core issues about my adoption. Truly I can say that it’s not a day that I have been looking towards with excitement. It is so necessary, in fact, that I still shiver about how painful it will be. For those that don’t know, it is a topic so strong and powerful that the thought of it makes me want to vomit. However, it’s something that has caused a dark cloud to follow me in every facet of my and for the majority of my life. The very mention of the topic causes a retraction that is so instantaneous and powerful, that I don’t feel that I have a weapon in my arsenal strong enough to stand a chance against its negativity.
I have trusted my coach on so many occasions for when it would be the appropriate timing to tackle different traumatic events. But the timing of this one, I would soon realize that no matter when she would decide on that “perfecting timing” it would never be convenient. I have written and spoken about it many times. And most of the time, I do so from my brain instead of my heart. I knew instantly that it would require a level of trust that I struggle to accept. After 8 years of doing therapy with her, I should know and feel that it’s been long enough to tackle the “primal wound.” And I ashamedly still don’t know if I’m ready. I get some specifics about the plan, and I sit with the idea for a few days knowing that coach has never led me astray. And she ALWAYS has my best interest at hand.
A few days went by, and I decided that no matter how scared, I would at least try. Seeing the strength and compassion in her eyes that I felt when I first met her told me that everything would be “ok” despite the agonizing pain. The biggest protector in my “system” of many distinct parts of myself is held by a 13-year-old that would give anyone a run for their money. She has protected me so many times from total annihilation on so many and very distinct levels. And this time would be no different. Once she realized that I had agreed to do the work, she immediately began throwing up roadblocks. The infant part of me is the most ferociously defended of any type of perceived threat. And I told “coach” what has been occurring. This defender is “top notch” at keeping me safe. But will also sabotage things out of fear. Some of her tactics were immensely helpful during traumatic events. However, she is still reactive during peace time. And this causes therapeutic roadblocks that can throw a “monkey wrench” in about any plan.
Coach and I begin the session with some guided imagery that helps me to prepare for the monumental task before us. What I begin to see is that this “protector” is holding hostage the newborn baby part. And she has always been inconsolable. No matter the situation, this little baby is like a an infant with colic. There is nothing that has helped her agonizing cries EVER! There is no amount of compassion that has been able to comfort her. She is non-verbal but her emotions are so uncategorical that I am not able to capture it with words. I am not able to listen to lullabies or tolerate the sound of a baby crying. When the boys were little their cries flew all over me. But at that time, I didn’t know how to do anything but run from the situation. I thought to myself, “How do people deal with a baby crying both inside their heads and as parents. What I didn’t know, at that time, was that “normal” people don’t hear things like that. I wouldn’t understand my pain until I understood the reason for the crying. And then one day the “A-HA” moment happened. She was retracting from the pain that occurred when me and my “birth mom” separated.
When I met my birth mom many years ago, she said to me what I had always feared, “You were an inconvenient then and you still are!” I can’t tell you how bad that hurt. And I still can’t understand how that must’ve felt like for a newborn baby. I could, however, understand what it was like for a 30-year-old adult. It was absolutely the worst pain imaginable. The rejection was like no other situation that I had experienced. And to put that much fear and pain on a little bitty baby was something that I would have to find healing from at some point.
I tried everything I could think of to fill that hole to bring me some level of comfort. I have tried drugs, alcohol, self-harm, relationships and nothing was strong enough. Coach would have the answers. But would I have the courage to step out on faith and take her hand as guidance once more? Not long ago I would speak with a resounding, “NO!” What I didn’t know was how very quickly I would change that lifetime of pain with a different answer.
“Faith consists in believing when it is beyond the power of reason to believe.”
-Voltaire
***Don’t forget to watch the video at the bottom***
“Rescuing one cat won’t change the world but it will change the world for one cat.”
-Unknown
After the death of my sweet little Marley, my aching heart cried out for another cat. I soon brought Coco into my life. But even then, something didn’t sit right with me. I sat with that feeling for about a year stumped me at what it all meant. One day, like a light bulb, it would be revealed that I had a cat shaped hole still in my heart. I thought back to when I had Simba and Nalla and how devasting it was to see and experience the loss while watching the other one go around looking for the missing one and calling her through the meowing. They were littermates and kept each other company when I got busy. I always said that if I ever decided to have cats again, I would make sure and have two. I struggled so hard with the decision because my heart and mind weren’t in complete agreement. Would I, once again, be able to be vulnerable enough to step out and take that chance again? Turns out I did.
Returned to the same veterinary clinic and asked if they had any female kittens that needed a home. I didn’t care about the color or the markings. One of the receptionists said, “I think so.” She called to the back and within minutes a technician brought me the prettiest little calico. When our eyes met instantly I needed her, and she needed me. I was told that her name was Maisie. I said, “Today her name is Tinkerbell (Tink).”
I left the clinic with that sweet baby in my arms. I began to feel the healing of my heart wound. My only concern was how Coco would adjust. They both hissed at one another the rest of the day. By morning they were both peacefully sleeping and seemed to be getting along great. I was told by the clinic that her health was in good shape. But this little girl was walking, crouching and sitting like something was wrong. I panicked thinking, “Please not again!” my heart was beginning to retract. next place I checked was the litter box for anything abnormal other than their regular Tootsie Rolls. There was the most horrid diarrhea that I had ever seen. That was not the sign of a healthy kitty. She would constantly be going back-and-forth to the litterbox. My entire house smelled like I had been cooking a turd casserole. And This went on for a week. I felt so bad for her. She would play and then suddenly curl up into a black, white and orange ball of fur. She had a severe case of intestinal worms. I’m assuming that she had been given dewormer. Gradually, she started getting better.
The girls’ personalities instantly began to blossom. And have been the best of friends ever since. “Tink” has always looked to Coco for guidance on how to be a cat. Some of the instances are quite funny. Just to imagine their “supposed” conversations and I get to have a nice laugh.
Living as a friend, sister, niece, aunt, daughter and mom with a traumatic past isn’t always about being sad or depressed. I try to go through life laughing, as much as possible, when the moment arises. It’s who I am. And it saved my life.
Please continue to read this blog as funny short stories, dialogs, and captions I will post soon.
You met me as an innocent child
If only for a little while
But even a little was too much
Because behind you is where I learned the meaning of
The word…. crutch.
Twist and turn my mind you did
Until that kid ran and hid
But you awakened that angry child
The one who would live life running wild.
Behind you is where the secrets lived
Because I couldn’t hang around to see what you did
She protected me from things I didn’t want to know
She took all the pain and it would show.
Red, purple and eventually white
That’s the colors of her painful stripes
Your evil would once again score
All behind that wooden door. #thispuzzledlife
“So often survivors have had their experiences denied, trivialized, or distorted. Writing is an important avenue for healing because it gives you the opportunity to define your own reality. You can say: This did happen to me. It was that bad. It was the fault & responsibility of the adult. I was—and am—innocent.” The Courage to Heal by Ellen Bass & Laura Davis” ― Ellen Bass, The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse
There are things in my life t;hat I continue to hide under a bush away from the light. Mostly because it’s embarrassing to deal with. The sexual abuse I endured has affected my life in ways that I can’t seem to find words for. In my early 40’s I should be in my sexual prime. But instead I sit here getting nauseous at just discussing the topic. My first sexual experience was around the age of 5 years old which is incredibly too young to know anything about that side of life. It terrified me when it happened not once but several times. I hear their words and can still feel them touching me. I still hear the words whispered in my ear. It all burns so bad in my soul that I can smell my charred remains.
Where this is something that I’ve left covered and protected I’m also not healing in this area of my life. I have run until there’s no where else to run to. It’s time to turn around and face it. Coach has proven herself time and time again that she’s trustworthy of this information. Now it’s my time to allow my trust in her to do it’s job.
Sex for many years has been a taboo topic that most people shy away from unless poking fun. But, even as an adult I was violated aggressively by a person that was supposed to protect and cherish me…….my husband. Instead, however, fear and pain were shown. I allowed him to do things to me that I was against personally and saying, “NO” just made things worse. So, I reluctantly went along as his submissive with total disregard for how I felt.
Me and my alters don’t understand how this process is supposed to feel and be in a loving way uninhibited by young and adult alters who are terrified of being a part of a process that is meant to be one defined by the words “precious and sacred.” I have often said that I “let” people do to me sexually what they wanted. When, in fact, I was saying NO and being told what would happen if I didn’t allow it. So, silently I would lay still hoping and praying that whatever was being done would end quickly.
By the time I met Mel sex to me was a horrible amd very scary word. But, the damage had already been done. The nausea I now couldn’t control which ruined the experience time and time again. The only thing that seemed to save me what the ability to float away. What I did was leave alters in my place further scaring and traumatizing them. No matter how many times I tried this process became automatic. And now one of the most intimate areas of my life has lead to a life of hibernation rather than fulfillment. I didn’t “LET” anyone do anything. They took my pride, self-confidence and humanity. Which leads me to ponder the question, “What would life had been like if No actually meant NO?”
“It doesn’t have a high potential for abuse, and there are very legitimate medical applications. In fact, sometimes Marijuana is the only thing that works… It is irresponsible not to provide the best care we can as a medical community, care that could involve Marijuana. We have been terribly and systematically misled for nearly 70 years in the United States, and I apologize for my own role in that.”
—- Dr. Sanjay Gupta / Neurosurgeon
Where our society and medical professions have advanced from the days of lobotomies, bloodletting, hydrotherapies and many other dehumanizing ways of treating mental illness, many attitudes and stigmas still remain the same. And still, there are those affiliated with religion that seem to think that mental illness is punishment for moral transgressions. And yes, I have also been told that even though trauma induced, my alters are actually demons that do not deserve a voice but should be cast out instead. I chalk a lot of this up to ignorance but still the target was me.
While living in Albuquerque Mel and I would come to realize, unbeknownst to us at the time, the complications that living with a mental illness would entail. I had lived with severe depression and anxiety since childhood which few people from school days realize. Even as a child and teenager I was well liked and was one of the favored clowns much like today. Before we left Mississippi there was very clear evidence that something was definitely wrong. Finally, breaking free of a 14 year abusive relationship just seemed to complicate life more than either of us could’ve ever imagined.
Albuquerque was a place where we could break free from the overly conservative south to have a relationship and family, or so we thought. With each passing day, though, my “quirkiness” would soon take on a life of its own. By the time our oldest, Marshall, was born it was like the flood gates had been opened. We were already seeing a very loyal and trusted therapist. I was now losing time for days and weeks. I was hallucinating and becoming increasingly suicidal and my behavior was becoming more erratic and at times very scary. I had also started becoming very aggressive which led to horrible rages. The scariest part about it all was that I had no memory of these things happening.
The level of trauma that I held within me was now bursting at the seams to a point that I couldn’t contain it. The harder I tried, the more I failed. I was seeing a psychiatrist and had run the gamut of psych meds and their subsequent unpleasant side effects trying to find some combination that could provide me, Mel and our new little baby some relief. I had been given several different diagnoses that never quite seemed to fit. And each time I would have to be hospitalized the re-traumatization just grew in intensity.
I eventually became toxic from all of the meds and was seen in the emergency room because the doctors thought that my kidneys were shutting down or that I might’ve had a stroke. I was admitted to the hospital but the next morning the doctor that came to see me was yet another psychiatrist. Again, it seemed, no one wanted to believe us. I politely told him he could leave and that I was going to leave as well since nothing was being done and the bill was going higher and higher. Mel and I left the hospital completely defeated and our trust in the system that was designed to help was becoming depleted.
Mel would soon begin capturing some of my strange behaviors on video in order to show the doctors exactly what was happening. Doctors and other professionals still didn’t seem to believe us despite the captured evidence. No one believed that it was possible to have these types of behaviors and to not be able to remember doing them. When Mel would show me the videos and tell me other things that I had done, I was appalled. There’s no possible way that I was treating her or our new baby this way. In some instances, after seeing the footage, I would collapse with grief.
After returning to my psychiatrist following the debacle in the hospital he said, “Hey, how about we try the medications again?” I simply replied, “You’re crazier than I am if you think I’m going through that shit again. I almost died from your pharmaceutical poisons.” Psych meds didn’t help they seem to complicate and exacerbate my symptoms but most of the time left me feeling “robotic” and unable to feel anything. That’s when I was put on medical cannabis and it has been a lifesaver every since. Anytime, I’ve had to be hospitalized for mental health issues I ALWAYS refuse the medications unless absolutely necessary like for sleep. The meds have never helped me because most of the time I feel so bad from the side effects of the adjustment period that I’ll just quit taking them. They simply made me a “chemistry experiment.”
For the first time in my life, I was able to have some type of quality of life while we searched endlessly for someone that could treat my complex traumatic past. Cannabis has its limitations just like any other medications. But, for once, something was actually working and “Big Pharma” just couldn’t compete with nature. These days I don’t ask for permission or have the willingness to wait on an already corrupt government and the decisions of the narcissist clown that currently runs the country to tell me when it’s ok to have a quality of life. I just simply do what I have to do to survive the best way I know how and most psych meds are still not a part nor will they ever be a part of that formula ever again.
I have taken much criticism for using cannabis as a medication to treat PTSD. Again, it’s ignorance that seems to fuel these criticisms. Until you have almost from synthetic medications then maybe an alternative way doesn’t seem feasible. Even as a recovering addict I have yet to have a single problem related to addiction with cannabis. Hands down this plant has and is continuing to save my life from some incredibly debilitating symptoms.
For some people cannabis seems to be the only answer. I take a medication that can replace any combination of psych meds. There are those times, though, when symptoms seem to just shoot through the medicinal ceiling of the plant. And this is when I will usually have a backup plan for anxiety meds and sleep meds. Some people mistakenly think that medical cannabis “cures” PTSD. I politely tell them that it’s a medication just like any other medication to treat the paralyzing “symptoms” of the disorder only it’s much safer and works better for me. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have the ability to “unbreak the plate” of the traumas that caused the PTSD to begin with. You still have to do therapy. You still can’t go around the issue to reach a resolution. Painful as it might be the only way for that to happen is to work through it. Cannabis helps with the very frightening flashbacks, migraines, insomnia, anxiety and any other unpleasant symptom that can lead to suicidal thoughts and behaviors. So while the presidential pumpkin and his posse are busy playing politics and searching for the next horrible hairdo. I’ve got therapy and a lifetime of trauma to work through. I and many others don’t have the luxury of being able to wait for them to get finished rolling around in the bed with “Big Pharma” and pass federal legislation so that this medication is legal everywhere. I, not anyone else, will die from my PTSD symptoms unless they’re controlled. Sadly, many people, as well as, returning soldiers have died by their own hand because of lack of access to a medication that can save lives in so many different ways.
I will always back this highly stigmatized and demonized plant that has helped give me some type of quality of life despite some people’s ignorance about the topic. My wife will tell you that being put on the cannabis program has saved my life. And even though functionality still fluctuates heavily sometimes from the disorder itself, it’s still so much better than it could be and has been thanks to a plant called exactly what it is….weed. Cannabis has had such a positive impact on my life that living without it seems inconceivable. And the only side effects I have to worry about these days are sleepy, happy and hungry.
“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength,
while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”
—-Lao Tzu
Lately, there has been a request to identify strength and courage from within myself. And, honestly, the answer is not very easy for me to identify nor to convey. I haven’t written since early April and couldn’t have written if I had wanted to. Sometimes I seem to get lost in my own world not knowing how to get back to the present date and time. The words “strength” and “courage” seem to be ones of perception rather than having a concrete definition that fits most people and situations. Hang in there with me. I promise there is a point.
One of the more difficult things in my life has been to accept compliments. The ones I did get from perpetrators always seemed to have some form of abuse attached to them. Growing up and developing as an athlete I regularly received compliments from my coaches. I not only developed confidence but the discipline and hard work were always worth the effort. I received compliments from my parents, the parents of friends and teammates. When the compliments began to take on a more sinister tone and action from some people, I began to fear the very thing that only years before seemed to propel me into a healthy confidence and feeling of safety. Kind words, in their own way, can now cause instant fear and embarrassment unseen to the naked eye.
You can point out that survival of all the abuse is an example of both strength and courage. However, my stance is simply that I did what I had to do to live. Is this a great example of minimization? Well of course it is. But emotionally this is truly how I feel about my story of survival. So…..to identify examples of each I am forced to look at these things from another angle. I identify these by looking into the heart and eyes of my alters. This has truly been a process that has now led me to a position and attitude of gratitude. Trust me, it has not always been like this. For years I’ve been stuck continuing to try and deny the depth of my mental problems and diagnoses. And what this has led to for my system are feelings of denial and minimization of their strength, courage, bravery and existence of them both individually and as a group. This has led to anger, resentment and a whole lot of unneeded and hurtful chaos from them at times. They have had a general feeling of being unneeded and unwanted after years of wading through a life of blood, sweat, tears and the evilness of others. They have never wanted a war medal but rather just acknowledgement of the abuse and their efforts.
“Confront the dark parts of yourself, and work to banish them with illumination and forgiveness. Your willingness to wrestle with your demons will cause your angels to sing.”
—August Wilson
Me and “my team” or “my guys” as they are commonly referred to are not expendable. These children, teens and adults stepped into some very frightening situations when my mental and physical limits as an individual had been reached. Their actions often times with accurate precision led to self-preservation with the ultimate goal to preserve life. Their strength and courage doesn’t seem to have limits for which I’ll am eternally grateful. Their existence was created out of fear, pain and necessity. Mel will tell you that there have been times when physically and emotionally I shouldn’t have been able to function on any level. But you could also look up and standing before you would be someone who seemed to be functioning almost completely normal. The quest for my education while undergoing abuse, sometimes daily, is a stunning example of this very thing. Now several years later the answers as to how this was even a remote possibility are very clear. My guys stepped in and helped to make sure that my goals were achieved despite always being told that my dreams were nothing more than under achievable pipe dreams. To me, they are a living testimony of strength, courage and bravery that cannot be matched. And maybe my story is changing from one of survival to one about redemption.
“I never said I wanted a ‘happy’ life but an interesting one. From separation and loss, I have learned a lot. I have become strong and resilient, as is the case of almost every human being exposed to life and to the world. We don’t ever know how strong we are until we are forced to bring that hidden strength forward.”
“You’re gonna have to go through hell, worse than any nightmare you’ve ever dreamed.But when it’s over, I know you’ll be the one standing. You know what you have to do. Do it!”
—Coach Duke, Creed
In my blog I repeat several different views about the abuse I went through. It might be from a different angle but repeating will inevitably happen. If this is a problem then read elsewhere because this blog is about MY healing and when I’m struggling or laughing about something worth sharing, that’s exactly what I’ll do.
This is a great therapeutic tool that I developed out of necessity several years ago. At that time, it seemed to be just what I needed that listened and was non-judgmental to whatever problem I would write about. Whatever the issue was, I wanted and searched for my answers to some of my strange behavior at times. I was simply searching for where the “old Dana” went and who in the heck was this “new Dana” in many different pieces that is trying to emerge?
The one part of life that I’m very strong in is protective instincts. This means protecting those I love even if the protection is from me. I can’t say that I love someone and then when the situation calls for this protection I not be willing to do just that. I’ve ended a relationship recently for this very reason and it has been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.
Looking for answers as I’ve always done, I went to the library to see what I can find about a topic that has been bothering me “Bullying at school by teachers.” Most books on this topic usually lead to bullying from other students. But this day, I found a book that would seemingly have some much needed answers and validation that has been lacking. The book is titled, “Teen Torment by Patricia Evans.”
I opened the book to a random page with the title…..
In this passage I found this….”In a culture that overlooks verbal abuse, teens who are tormented by it face difficulties accomplishing developmental tasks such as independence, identity, and career goals. When teachers put them down or rage at them these students lose the confidence to become independent. And one of the long-term consequences of verbal abuse is that it disconnects teens from their emotional self.” Essentially, what happens is that the teen learns how to feel nothing in order to withstand the abuse. “The teen then can’t figure out who they really are versus who they’re told they are. Consequently, they look for their identity outside of themselves making up an image that seems more acceptable since they’ve already been told many times that who they are is not adequate as a human being. They might develop an appearance so that no one really knows what has happened to them as a safety measure. They will go to any lengths to maintain this image which to them seems safe. Instead they end up losing their own interests and talents because all of their thoughts about who they thought they were have been told time and time again that they’re wrong.”
Indicators of Verbal Abuse
Show a noticeable change in behavior
Become isolated and withdrawn
Pull away and refuse to talk
Seem depressed
Cry easily or often
Not have close friends
Have bad dreams
Complain about going to school
Cut classes at school
Refuse to go to school
Throw up before school
Seem to daydream a lot
Have trouble concentrating
Get much lower grade than usual
Seem to have lost enthusiasm for anything
Become self-critical
Hurt themselves, cut themselves, eating disorders and pull their hair
Act aggressively towards siblings, peers or parents
Get angry often
Lash out at others
Get in many fights (Teen Torment, 2003).
When I was abused by this teacher everything that I was being taught, by my parents, about respect of another human being was confusing to say the least. She told me so many negative things about myself as a human being and through negative body image that I was almost guaranteed to sprout the eating disorders anorexia and bulimia that I still struggle with daily after 30 years. I’m tormented by her words and actions daily. I can hear them as clearly as the day she said them. And as sad as it seems, I hold onto my eating disorders and other self-harming behaviors with a death grip because somewhere along the way they were the only part of my life that seemed safe and something I can control. But this “control” is a false control just like addiction to a chemical. It’s also behaviors that pretend to be your friend until you realize that that “safe friend” has taken everything away mainly your sanity. Self-harming behaviors of any kind have negative social implications which have made me a prisoner of my bedroom. Most people don’t want to hear excuses for why you don’t want to eat. They just see it as a disrespectful gesture and will think twice before inviting you again. And God forbid if they happen to see your scars from cutting. They think they’re hanging out with a psychotic monster that has the possibility to lunge at them with a razor blade at the dinner table. My thoughts have always been, “If you only knew what caused these scars to appear, you’d think before judging next time.”
When I finished reading only about 10 pages of information I laid my book down in my lap and began sobbing. Finally, I had found some information that spoke for me what I couldn’t. I saw on those pages validation for that horrible year of abuse with information about what it did to me. I was called all the names and was told that I was stupid and fat among other things that children should never have directed at them by anyone much less from a “safe person” in a position of authority. That year affected me in ways that I still can’t fully understand. This book and it’s passages tend to make me retract from some of the information because of how close to home it all is.
As a teenager, I had much difficulty with emotion regulation. I’m torment by her words and actions of that year. Her negative body image comments have me fearing everything related to the topic. I can still feel the bullets of her malignant words she shot my way directly into my still developing brain. And to her I can say this, “You don’t matter and you never did. I’m succeeding despite what you did.” And for you I have a surprise. What if it’s simply calling you and confronting you about what was done? This kind of discussion needs to be in public where we both feel safe and can speak openly. It could be that simple. Would you listen and deny any wrong doing? Either way a surprise there will be because every day I wake up I’m bruised inside and you are the only one who can heal that wound. Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise?! Maybe that’s the surprise I’m waiting to hear and hold on to. Maybe the surprise is something different. Only I know.
Every single day I choose to work on some type of behavior or action that most people take for granted. As much as I would like to re-gift this “gift” of surviving apparently it was meant for me. And I’ll carry this burden with the hopes that my own children don’t have to taste this type of life and that monsters are just pretend instead of real as I and many others know them. Carrying the trauma of the boys that molested me, my teacher, my ex-husband and his brother, a trusted therapist will end with me. I will either win or die trying because when it comes down to it it’s all about leaving everything you’ve got physically and mentally in the ring, on the field or on the court. Whatever happens my wife and boys will know that I gave everything I had until I couldn’t. I wasn’t coached to give up until I had left it all on the field and could feel proud of my efforts whenever that day comes.
Rocky Balboa talking to Adonis Creed before his first fight….
You’ve never been in front of this many people….that don’t matter.
You’ve never been this far away from home….that doesn’t matter either.
What matters is what you leave in the ring
And what you take back with you is……PRIDE.
And knowing that you did your best and you did it for yourself.
You didn’t do it for me; Not for your friend’s memory but for you.
I can see in your eyes you’re going to do it…..Go Do This Champ!
“It might not seem like it now, but this is more than just a fight.”
—-Adonis Creed, Creed 2
The last couple of weeks have brought some very intense emotional days and nights. I’ve manage to, once again, keep the smiles and laughter present and to hopefully not let on that I have been feeling every emotional strand that holds my psyche together. Sometimes the emotions are not just one but all of them at the same time. The toll, both physically and emotionally, that these intense emotions can take on a body and mind words cannot do justice to try and replicate. The only description that I can find, at this moment, is a slow, creeping death. And these are the times when I begin to question every decision and mistake made in my life including whether staying in Texas is still the best decision.
Lately, the battles with my behavioral addictions has been the ones to seemingly take me over. The battles between my ears are crippling. I’ve battled anxiety and depression for as long as I can remember. Within the last few years depression seems to have intensified so much that I don’t even know the name to give it. And my anxiety has me wondering why I don’t have a cardiac “crash cart” available on a moment’s notice. Also, the fight for every bite of food and the urges of self-harm never stop talking to me.
Coach Nick Kolinsky told our team time after time, “Little things make big things happen.” He was obviously talking about us working as a team. He reminded us that as players if we do our jobs fielding, batting and running individually that we are doing our part to help the “team” as a whole. I’m now much older and his words about working as a team still ring true. The sometimes little irritating therapy assignments are all for one goal…….FUNCTIONALITY. Not only individually but again as a mother and a spouse. And as a well oiled system.
Then there are the times that I get buried in questioning my diagnosis. I’ll still try to find a way out of my condition being true. But within minutes one or more of the symptoms return only to confirm that the diagnosis is, in fact, correct. I think I’ve questioned this diagnosis since the day I was told that I met criteria.
The last few months has been filled with neck surgery, back surgery and very soon a hysterectomy. With all this stress and others my eating disorders thought that it was a perfect time to raise their ugly heads higher and with sometimes an unbearable strength. If I look at this opponent as a whole it becomes too overwhelming to think about challenging its poisonous power. Don’t get me wrong I’ve been struggling for years with this big, smelly beast. Life with ED (eating disorders) has gotten stronger over the years. I know what to expect on each level of starvation. The pain of anorexia and bulimia I cannot explain. But there have been many days lately where just lying in my bed hurt. The dehydration and everything that comes with it like dry mouth, cramping muscles, stomach cramps, nausea, vomiting (there’s no food but there is bile), dry skin, brittle hair, lack of energy and this time it was a good ol’ case of thrush. And along with it the added messages of those who spoke venomous comments to me as a teen and an adult are on some kind of marquee being seen and spoken one after another. I usually lie in my bed crying about having to make simple food decisions. My ex-husband would call this immature, senseless and childish self- loathing. And for a minute I try to pull myself together. My effort would be for nothing when the towering thoughts about how everything about food and body image is bad unless he takes total control to tell me what I can and cannot have to eat. Those painful thoughts and sometimes realistic situations leave me paralyzed not knowing what decision is the “right one” so that I don’t get in trouble. All in the name of “not wanting to have a fat wife.”
“You would be as big as this house, Dana, if you didn’t have someone managing your food for you. You’re just too dumb to make decisions about healthy food, I guess” he would say daily. “Remember this…..” he would say. “I’m not living with a fat woman! Go look at yourself in the mirror and tell me if you can even see what I’m talking about.” I would go to the nearest mirror where I could see down to my knees and look at everything about myself. In my eyes and apparently his too, I looked like the Stay Puffed Marshmallow Man from the original Ghostbusters. I could see how disgusting I looked or at least I better be able to see it. I would again, as I had many times, gone back to where he was waiting and told him, whether I did or not, that I saw the problems areas on my body and that I would fix it.
Obviously, that was another time and another place. But every time I try to put a piece of food in my mouth, I hear those words screaming at me. Day after day and night after night his torture emotionally was more than I could take. I would nod like I understood but I would soon lose what he was saying and me and my brain were elsewhere. Nevertheless, I would do my best to follow food orders and always in sequential order came the secretive self-harm behaviors. The combination of surgeries and trying to deal with the trauma of my eating disorders has been difficult at best.
There have been times when I just needed some cry time. The time again when I lie in my bed cry and hating the things that were done to me. “I don’t want these problems!” Are the words my heart screams as each painful word rolls down my cheek. ” I want everything I fought so hard for and loved so much. ” I wake up every morning pissed off that I have to face another day. I want the road I was already on to be successful academically and professionally. I want my family that I’ve tried so hard to preserve. Divorcing him was the easy part. The frustrating part is facing it all again daily after I’ve survived it once. ” I shouldn’t have to be doing all of this! I didn’t do this to myself! Someone make them pay so there’s some type of justice is sought for all the things done.”
My tears continue to stream down my face as I write this because I do remember so vividly the abuse that happened daily concerning food and body image and how powerful his criticism were and at times still are. Mistakes for me are the “end of the world” and that includes food, body image and food choices. I trust my dear coach despite the pain. I continue to follow her guidance and know that these days are the ones where I have to trust that she’s still taking me down the right path. She hasn’t failed me yet or led me astray in any way. So you see the first quote is right in that this difficult time is more than just a fight. It’s an ongoing war with myself. These days I simply LIVE TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY.
“He who fights and runs away
May live to fight another day;
But he who is battle slain
Can never rise to fight again ”
― Oliver Goldsmith
“Laugh. Laugh as much as you can. Laugh until you cry. Cry until you laugh. Keep doing it even if people are passing you on the street saying, “I can’t tell if that person is laughing or crying, but either way they seem crazy, let’s walk faster.” Emote. It’s okay. It shows you are thinking and feeling.”
― Ellen DeGeneres, Seriously… I’m Kidding
Lately, my life in Texas could be described as “OMG not again!” Yep it has been a wild and crazy roller coaster that hasn’t let me down yet. Most days consist of staying in my bedroom in tears over things I can’t control and mistakes I’ve made. I’m a worrier that will worry for others even when I’m not asked. And being a parent and living away from my wife and kids is just an added layer of worry. I think sometimes, “Holy Hell when will we catch a break?” If my life were a song it would be the screams of a cat whose tail is being smashed in a rusted, squeaky gate. And then out of nowhere the comedy of life presents itself in a way that seems to catch me right before I willingly dive off a cliff.
Recently, I’ve had some comedy that has given me some much needed laughs. I have been asked many times about where my comedy comes from. And honestly, I just keep my eyes and ears open and wait for comedy to happen because it inevitably will occur when we least expect it. I truly think that it has saved my life in many different ways. So, as I usually do, I will share three times that I’ve gotten good laughs recently.
A couple of weeks ago I was sitting on the back porch watching the local wildlife like I usually do. I have seen both predator and prey while usually singing or listening to my favorite Pandora stations. There are squirrels in quantity that appear to be training for the “Limb-to-Limb Olympics” while also working on their dismounts. I have had interactions with opossums, cats, snakes and the laziest frog I have ever encountered. Those are other stories that have their own comedy attached to them.
This particular day was about the squirrels climbing fast up a tree and then a sudden stop. Out of the corner of my eye about 30 feet away I saw a black cat crouched down on the outside of the fence looking into the backyard at the squirrel. I thought to myself, “This is about the dumbest cat I’ve ever seen. He’s crouched down and will run into the fence instead of catching and debilitating the prey which seems to be the focus.” I watch for a few minutes and the cat never moves. So, I think that “cat calling” will definitely get its attention. I start make sounds that sound like mating tomcats. The cat still doesn’t move. By now, I’m thinking that the cat is deaf and if I start walking its way maybe it would see me. I slowly start walking to the fence and had gone about 10 feet when I realized that the black cat that I had been calling was actually a black trash bag that was caught on the fence and blowing in the wind. I couldn’t help laughing so hard that my stomach hurt. I knew that this incident wouldn’t help me in a sanity hearing. I just imagined trying to plea in court by saying, “Your honor I was accidentally “cat calling” a black trash bag because of my eyesight, I promise!”
Then a ride around town and I saw this sign knowing what it was meant to say but the letters were pushed too close together. From a distance it looks like Dairy Queen was adding a new menu item that was called “Dipped Strawberry Buzzard!” I obviously knew what it was meant to say but I had to stop and take a picture because I knew that no one would believe that I saw this in small town Texas. I laughed until tears ran down my cheeks.
The 3rd incident involves me going to Target. I’m constantly trying to go in public in hopes that I will overcome my fears and it never happens. Anyway, I was there right after the store opened thinking that this was the best time to go since there wouldn’t be many people. I got that part right. I keep an eye on everything and everyone with an escape plan close at hand. However, I got sidetracked by looking at some clothes. Out of the corner of my eye I see a figure standing right next to me. I squealed and he jumped. I was seriously thinking that a serial killer had just attacked me. Actually, I was never touched but as far as I was concerned I was already bound and gagged. Me and the gentleman both laughed. I admitted that I watched entirely too many shows involving murders and profiling serial killers like Criminal Minds. But I was pretty sure that I could solve a murder for the FBI on my own. I also told him that I got so scared because I had just been reviewing cases and the statistics were high for serial killers that were found shopping in Target. Seriously, how was I going to justify that one. And that was a good laugh as well.
Life is difficult no doubt. For me, life is extra difficult and a lot of times its for no other reason than I stay stress over things I can’t control. This tumbleweed from New Mexico has learned to ALWAYS keep my eyes and ears open and looking for possible danger. In the meantime, I will continue to look and enjoy the comedy that life hands me. Whether I provide the comedy for someone else or life drops it in my lap, I continue to fight this very difficult life and trying to stay alive. And maybe…just maybe one day I’ll begin to see my own worth and value that coach and other people have seen in me for many years.
“My basic principle is that you don’t make decisions because
they are easy; you don’t make them because they are cheap; you don’t make them
because they’re popular; you make them because they’re right.”
—Heodore Hesburgh
As I count down another 365 days in my life, I also look back on holiday traditions and 2018 as a year of struggles and lessons. Yep, I’m too lazy to write separate blogs about Christmas and New Year’s. Did you catch that or is it just me? Ha! Ha! At this point, I’m just glad that I still have the ability and “want to” to write publicly about my struggles as an individual, family, therapeutically and as a system. Honestly, my first thoughts about the year 2018 all revolve around my middle finger.
In January, I started my new path alone by moving to Texas. The importance of this decision was realized only a couple of months prior. Mel and the kids needed to live in a place that was familiar and where they could regain their own sense of balance and security that I could not help provide in my condition at that time. And I needed answers and healing from my own demons and dark past. Sometimes life gives you a way out but only for a limited amount of time. Our life in New Mexico had finally come to an end complete with two little boys that make our hearts beat. My mental health issues were becoming increasingly dangerous and the toll it had taken on Mel and the boys was almost irreparable damage. If love was all that was needed to “fix” everything that had been damaged there wouldn’t have been a need to leave. Mel and I both saw the need and the importance of me moving somewhere that answers could be found but only with the right practitioner.
I had set my sights on moving to Texas in 2016 but actually taking that step without Mel and the kids wouldn’t happen until January 2018. This was a decision that kept tugging at my heart. I knew it was the right decision but I didn’t have any way of proving that to make the decision easier to make as a couple. It would be one of those Please don’t be the wrong decision! Please don’t be the wrong decision! moments that was so scary I couldn’t put into words. She and I knew that without long term help of some kind I wouldn’t have a relationship with them anyway. I was just dangerously out of control mentally.
By March life would once again be full of new struggles. My 2006 Honda Pilot that I brought with me on my new endeavors would be totaled in an accident. Not knowing the extent of my injuries I would run to the vehicle that hit me to help the driver as I had done many times while working on an ambulance many years earlier. Once the emergency vehicles showed up and I had returned to the opposing side of the highway where my own vehicle turned its last wheel the searing pain in my neck, back and legs would make its way into a form of uncomfortable permanence. The days of having good medical insurance was left in the deserted high mesa of Albuquerque, New Mexico. And now I was just another American leaning on Medicare for help. I would also soon be driving an 18 year old black leather 2000 Pontiac Grand Prix that would come to be known simply as “The Hot Pocket.” Let the frustrations begin!
Learning who I was as an individual is still a process that I continue to learn about every single day. But I was learning since moving here in January that I had a very large trigger that I had never even considered. In Albuquerque we were left most times to fend for ourselves no matter where we looked for answers. When I moved to Texas I was greeted with a large outpouring of love that most would welcome. I, however, was terrified by all the help that was awaiting. I honestly didn’t know and still don’t really know how to receive help without there being a price for it. I suddenly became very triggered and left a stable living situation only to “couch hop” for the next few months until I looked up and I was homeless. This would mean that I didn’t have the privacy and quiet that I longed and hungered for. No one seemed to understand especially me. Being in public and around people all the time seemed to make me feel like I was boiling in hot water. No matter how hard I tried to accept this form of love and acceptance…I just couldn’t.
My mental health issues soon began to show the ugly faces that I had tried to warn other about and all I could think was “Damn, not here. Not to these good people.” But trying to wish them away wouldn’t happen in Texas anymore than it had worked in New Mexico. I knew that this meant one thing….people would get hurt and relationships would be damaged and lost. I couldn’t stop it. I had seen it 100’s of times and nothing good ever came of it. I just knew what it felt like when it was about to happen. All I could hope for was that it wouldn’t be too bad because this time I was alone without Mel and the kids. I prepared my heart for the worst like I had many times. This time would be no different as I would lose the relationships of those that I loved and admired without even trying.
Physically I felt completely beat down. Mentally I was a hot mess and I now doubted whether this move was in fact the right thing to do. The true reason that I moved here, to do therapy with my new coach seemed to be the only thing that still seemed right. I leaned on the many years of lessons that I had learned from Sarah to help me make the decision again about staying in Texas when I wanted to run because it was the right thing to do….and again I stayed. It wasn’t because I had faith that things would get better. I stayed simply because I trusted her and that she never led me in a wrong direction while she was alive.
Therapeutically, I thought moving here and working with “coach” would be an easy thing to do since I was so incredibly excited to be given the chance. I was excited and I knew without a doubt that my decision of working with “coach” was still the right decision. But “easy” was never in the realm of reality. I had a decorated therapeutic past and it didn’t seem to recognize good or bad practitioners. It only recognized “practitioner” and “position of authority” both which scared me to death. I constantly reminded myself that I already trusted her on some level because I moved here to work with her. But instantly trusting even though I was confident in my decision just wasn’t going to happen.
When I looked at my new life the only place that didn’t seem to bring some form of unwanted and unneeded pain was the hour that I spent with coach in session. Most days the money it would require to afford food was always an unknown. I was not willing to forego a therapy session because for that hour I felt safe even if I was shaking with fear for the time I was in there. I would be scared of possible topics I might have to discuss and I fear her position as a therapist but I didn’t fear her as a person and that meant everything to me. I wanted to be heard and my pain validated and the only place that seemed to happen was when I was in a session because I wouldn’t dare open up to others. Life is hard and society can careless how I feel about anything in the present time much less 40+ years of pain and abuse from my past….but she did and still does care.
Coach knows what she’s doing and I have to continue to trust her. She knew that the only way that I would find comfort is through consistency and compassion. I was sloppy seconds of a very abusive therapist but I was looking and hungering for the help that I so desperately needed. And that my aggressive nature had to have a reason. Before long her compassion began to melt my very tough exterior and tears would form and begin to drop from the years of abuse. Except this time my tears brought about more compassion and validation where, at times, tears were seen as a weakness and more abuse seemed to follow.
August 1st started the “intensive” that she and I would have for a month. That month did a lot for me regarding trusting coach and the therapeutic process as a whole. Before this started, though, I vowed to be completely focus, “nose to the grind” and completely secluded. This was no phone calls except immediate family and my coach and no social media except for blogs and remembering friends who have died. Sometimes solitude is all you need to help regain focus on things that are important. Because in solitude you have no one to look at but yourself. Apparently, this is just what I needed because the changes that have occurred within my system are some that I never dreamed possible for a teenager who was simply not heard. The key to her was something along the lines of a forced hug (not literally) to show her that everyone isn’t the same. And allowing her a voice preferably not a screaming one. Yes that teenager is indeed coachable when others have often thought incorrigible.
Fall time for me brings about some pretty horrible memories and anniversaries. At some point, coach responded to a question of mine “being thankful for what I do have” was the answer. I’ve thought about that every since the day that was said. This fall I would finally understand what she was saying. Now that It’s towards the end of December I can say that I put her phrase into practice by being thankful for what I do have this year despite all the struggles:
I made it to Texas where I was met by an awesome group of people.
I was involved in a wreck and injured but I wasn’t killed.
I ended up back in the psych hospital 2 more times but it didn’t hurt anything but my pride.
I ended up homeless but repaired the relationship with my parents.
I had two surgeries because of my wreck but I’m still walking and talking.
My time in Texas has been a struggle in every way. But….I Still Made It To Texas.
I don’t get to see my boys very much but there is Facetime.
I have several addictions that I struggle with but I’m still here struggling.
I never get to see my wife. She was able to be here several days for my surgery.
I don’t get to spend holidays with my family. Making the sacrifice to live in Texas without them helps to ensure I get to spend the rest of my life healthy and happy together as a family.
I just embarrassed myself and my wife because I “flipped my wig” coming out of anesthesia. What a great education in mental illness behaviors the hospital staff got from me free of charge not once but twice.
Difficult decisions were made and tears were shed because it was the right thing to do. Not the easiest thing to do.
I always think about the holidays when I was little and prior to our family’s matriarch, my Nannie’s death. I can remember the smell of the air and the damp fall leaves, our family traditions and how much they still mean to me. I remember my daddy’s Christmas morning breakfast and the year Sarah and Doug sat at our family’s table and had breakfast with us. I also remember how much holidays scared me when I was married to my ex-husband. The day time hours were fake happiness and gifts. And the night times were criticisms about what I had managed to mess up and how dumb I was. Don’t think for a second that he didn’t criticize my appearance on those days too.
Recently, Mel came to Texas because I had back surgery as a result of the wreck in March. This was the first time she and I had spent any significant amount of time since I moved here. The experience was a disaster for both of us at the hospital even with my limited memory. The embarrassment for me personally has been a lot to bare. But the tears we both shed before her ride picked her up to take her back to the airport because we both love each other and miss being a family were the ones that were the heaviest. I asked her again now that it’s been almost a year since moving here, “Do you think we made the right decision?” We both agreed and said, “Yes.” Moving here was the right decision but it didn’t guarantee things being easy and so far that has remained true. This year has been one of many ups, downs, struggles and lessons…..BUT…….WE STILL MADE THE RIGHT DECISION TO MOVE TO TEXAS TO DO THERAPY…..AND WE MADE IT HAPPEN!!!!
“Having a 2-Year-Old is like owning a blender that you don’t have a top for.”
–Jerry Seinfeld
I’ve always said that being a parent is the hardest but most rewarding job on the planet. Our dreams of being coming parents was not easy in any shape, form or fashion. Thank goodness there are companies that now include fertility benefits that makes this dream possible not just for LGBT families but any family that has this same dream. Our dreams were fulfilled and soon much laughter would ensue for us as first time parents.
One of the things that I’ve enjoyed the most is the same kind of humor that I would experience sometimes days or weeks later after a specific event. This is the same way that I’ve also found humor being in the mental health system for many years. The humor might not be seen in the moment but trust me I would see it soon afterwards. Lesbian moms raising two little superhero boys guarantees a wide variety of funny moments daily especially when I’m involved. And there are also those times as a mother when I have come to the realization why some animals eat their young.
As an LGBT couple one of the questions we have been asked many times is, “Who did you choose as the donor?” First of all, the process of finding a donor requires much more than noting the name and look of someone in a lineup. The process is actually much more complicated. It took us approximately 1 year to pick out our initial donor which is not the “donor daddy” as we call him, of the boys. He is completely anonymous which is how we chose him to be. We don’t have a name only a donor number chosen from a nationally well known donor bank as HIPAA also protects their specific information as well. We do, however, know specifics about the donor and his biological family’s health information minus the names. And well….this is as far as I’ll go in talking about this part of the process.
One of the most frequent questions asked specifically about the donor is ethnicity. And after watching our sons single-handedly transform our living room into an obstacle course of different objectives that is only meant for kids no matter how much the adults try to succeed at beating the course I can very confidently say, “THE DONOR IS PART NINJA WARRIOR!!!!!” Both boys have the uncanny ability to jump from the sofa, to the loveseat and then to the coffee table and back while having a loaded nerf gun; shooting zombies and dodging sharks in the ocean (otherwise known as the carpet) while simultaneously avoiding hot lava often times with either me or Mel being the disabled one who was shark bitten and is now hopping around on one leg from our wounds. Yes they do let me use one of their nerf guns which is usually the one that doesn’t work. I inevitably will take heavy fire from both boys only to get frustrated with my guns and just take the nerf bullets out and start throwing them due to mechanical failure. My battle wounds are usually heavy and we both usually end up with many painful red polka dots all over our faces and body from their always “spot on” aim. I have yet to understand why their aim is so good with a nerf gun and the aim for the toilet looks like a drunk with a water hose has been allowed to just have “free time.” With the automatic watering of my eyes after a shot right between the eyes or directly in the nose and a loud squeal from me after another battle wound eruptions of laughter would commence. This was usually followed with a burning question from our 6-year-old Marshall while I’m assessing my wounds, “Momma D can I practice shooting your boobs as target practice until you’re ready to play again?”
When the boys were infants some of the funniest moments were me and “DIAPER TIME.” Mel grew up helping to take care and babysit children, of all ages, on a regular basis. I, however, was always uncomfortable around children and ran when diapers were going to be changed. Being a new mom DID NOT change that like many would think. The saying, “It will all change when it’s your child” was a lie. It might not be someone else’s child’s shitty diaper but it was still a shitty diaper and nothing make that any prettier no matter how much Glade air freshener was sprayed around the topic. I always hated those words, “Dana it’s your diaper turn!” My instant thought was, “Somebody just kill me now!”
There are those people, like Melody, who are just natural mothers in everything they do. I am not nor will I ever be that kind of mom. I’m the one on in the background gagging at just the sight before the wretched smell even has time to enter my nostrils. She would always end up snickering and say, “My God Dana! It’s just a diaper!” “Ummm….yes Mel that is the problem at hand!” She would always try to help in her own special way by finding the nearest spray can of air freshener and spraying it all around the area where the diaper changing would commence. When the sticky tabs of that diaper were forced to release the death grip on the plastic that occasionally helped hold the brown napalm death in its holding area the smell in that area of the house would resemble something like a shitty fruit basket. I would be gagging and would say, “I swear it smells like someone took a gigantic crap in an apple orchard!” Comical doesn’t begin to describe the sight of me attempting such feats. It pretty much looked like a scene out of a YouTube video of father’s gagging while the mother’s are videoing and laughing hysterically.
I knew, though, that every time I got through one diaper that my turn would follow again sometime after Mel took her turn with such ease. So, I tried to get smarter about how I went through this process. I eventually took the time to wear full turnout gear like I was about to face the “Diaper Apocalypse.” I would prepare by covering everything on my face, accept my eyes, with a sweatshirt and holding my breath. I would also have both hands in sterile gloves to protect my skin from possible poop exposure. Having everything I need very near and at my disposal, I take a deep breath and shout, “I’m going in!” I always tried to change the diaper in the time that I was holding my breath but inevitably I would eventually need to breathe. I would try to take very short breaths just until the job was done but some of the jobs seemed like a construction site. Out of desperation, I would try to take an even bigger breath just to try to make it to the end and that’s when it happened. I would start gagging and usually throw up but not without first saying, “Oh my God I taste it! It literally feels like I just ate shit!” I would no doubt look back at Mel saying, “I’m in diaper hell! Help me!!” She trying her best not to wet her own pants from laughter would say, “Dana it’s just a little poop!” I have never been able to adjust to such wretched smells that have come from our little boys.
I am also the parent that when one of the boys gets sick at school rushes off to rescue our little man cub hoping to God that he doesn’t puke in my vehicle. The whole ride home, maybe 3 miles, I would saying, “Please don’t puke! Please don’t puke!” Inevitably when we finally get home the spewing would finally let loose and my own gagging would once again start. This time I’m gagging while trying to keep our puking kid from traipsing through the morning’s breakfast. There is absolutely no possible way I could clean that up without exposing my own breakfast. But as the spouse I am considerate in my own way so I gently place newspaper over the area and block it off with fluorescent cones so no one would step in it. And the soured mess patiently waited all day until Mel got home from work to clean it up.
Potty training is another source of laughter for our family. I understand that it takes time when your child comes to you and says, “Mommy I have poops and need a new DIPA!!!!” In my opinion, if you can say this you are old enough use the toilet. Letting them run around without a diaper never seemed like a good idea to me especially when they take this to mean that they can “free pee” anywhere including my leg while I’m running their bath water. “Son you are NOT a Chihuahua! Pee in the toilet!” is what I said and we all had a good laugh.
Truly, some of the funniest moments we have experienced as parents are the total randomness of both boys in things they say and/or do. Here are a few of those situations.
When Copeland was an infant and Marshall being raised in an electronic world when Copeland would start crying he would ask, “Momma can we put Copeland on the charger so he will stop crying?” No son but we can pretend.
Conversation between Mel and Copeland…..
Copeland: What are you made of mommy?
Mel: Sugar and spice and everything nice….
What are you made of Copey?
Copeland: Plastic
Mel: No sticks and snails and puppy dog tails that’s what little boys are made of.
Copeland: Nooooooooo I don’t have puppy dogs!!!!
Mel: So what are you made of?
Copeland: Rubber
Later Mel tries to ask the question again.
Mel: So what are you made of Copey?
Copeland: Plastic and rubber and Boogers!!! Lot of Boogers, Momma!!!
Marshall being so proud that he lost both of his bottom teeth asked Mel if he could put his picture on Facebook, Instagram and TWEETER. Obviously, Mel and I and the rest of the universe has been saying this all wrong. Death to Twitter.
Marshall and Copeland were having a pillow fight when Marshall was overheard saying, “Pick up your pillow and fight like a man!” Words never heard in THIS lesbian household.
Trying to give our boys the freedom to choose what he would like for meals has been advantageous for both them and us. Sometimes you can get some funny requests. Like recently, Mel asked Copeland what he wanted for breakfast and he instantly said, “Not broccoli-it’s not tasty.” Ok let me just say before it’s assumed that our little boys are being force fed trees for breakfast like miniature brontosaurus’s is not correct. Randomness…remember…randomness. How about a snow cone? When asked what flavor of snow cone he replied “a chicken one!” Now, I have seen chickens with flip-flops but not on snow cones.
Just today I learned that both boys now take pleasure in crossing their pee streams with each other so they can see how they can make an “X.”
Recently, the boys were arguing and then the oldest got “fwapped” by the youngest very unapologetically in the face. Marshall runs to tell on Copeland and says, “Momma, Copeland hit me in the face and touched my eyeball!” As hard as you might try to maintain the “parent face” sometimes with statements like this it just can’t happen.
Copeland decided that he didn’t want to wear his diaper after his nap and took it off and then proceeded to go squat on the hardwood floor in front of his grandfather, who was watching TV, and took a big dump.
Our little family has a complicated life most of the time. Without knowing the obvious our family is just like most raising two children with both being boys. Food groups have expanded from candy, chicken nuggets, boogers and now include a group known as the “hot dog.” Honestly, you don’t even have to speak English as long as you can speak fluent “poop and wiener” you’ll be able to have a conversation with our 3 year-old and 6 year-old. We don’t ever take for granted the laughs because we understand that all that can change on a moment’s notice. The humor is always welcomed for however long it’s willing to stay to give respite from the stress. Mel and I were discussing something about the boys one day and it we just weren’t seeing eye-to-eye on something and the words that changed the whole tone of the conversation were hers, “Well At Least I Didn’t Poop on the Floor.”
“There really are places in the heart that you don’t
“The wound is the place where the light enters you.”
― Rumi
Today was therapy day which was the first session since our big internal revelation about functioning as a team. After some formalities in conversation we start our work with the our internal group all in one place. Our protector stands at the plate with a serious, yet also playful, tone as the one who would take direction for the group. Her blazing stare along with those of her “posse” is enough to cause hesitation and chills with many. She stares at all members with an almost, “I dare you to step out of line” gaze. “Coach” then directs her to address those most ostracized. She reluctantly begins to speak to these nicely as she’s told. When asked what she thought she responds with, “those words tasted like vinegar rolling of my lips.” The therapeutic point was eventually made, understood and internalize later in the session. And yes, we are still chewing on all of that.
The topics that I despise the most is food, eating and body image soon became the topic of conversation. The correlations between this struggle and particular traumas were addressed. And then came the topic about a specific food that I can almost never turn down….SUSHI!!!!! The is an internally approved food but one in particular like to eat sushi like it’s the only “life force” for survival. The protector is explained to about the importance of not being so rigid with food choices and abusive comments. And of course when even internal children are around they pick up on things said by “coach” too. The kids start shouting with excitement, “Chicken nuggets and ketchup packets…HOORAY!” Then statements spoken are, “Can we have sushi tonight? Please!!!” Rolling her eyes she sternly but calmly says, “No.”
We get our assignment for the coming week and I tell “coach” goodbye until next time. I leave there nervous about the teen’s distaste and controlling nature about eating. And our little natives were definitely restless. Over and over I would hear, “Please let me have some sushi!!” “Yea and chicken nuggets and candy too!!!! And Ketchup!!!” I knew that she wouldn’t tolerate much more but the chants would not stop. She tries to stay restrained but frustration leads to her snapping at those chanting, “Stop it! Just stop it! I said No!” The children always seem to be protected from the majority of her abuse and they certainly know this. A certain little 7 year-old says, “Coach says for you to not be an asshole. And you’re being an asshole. I’m going to tell her!” This, thankfully, seems to be the only bad word that he says but he can definitely use it liberally at times. She huffs and puffs like she’s about to blow the house down and says through gritted teeth, “Fine go get some sushi then!” Cheers ring out while she grumbles.
We FINALLY settle on a place for the beloved sushi and make a B-Line for the restaurant. Once there I have a couple of tokes of my medicine with the hope that I can head off the already rising anxiety. I soon start to relax and get out of the car to watch the sushi piece-by-piece going to meet its maker. I quickly notice different people in the restaurant and hope that no one can seem me. Luckily, everyone’s attention seems to be on their own meal or conversation and they don’t notice me. I fix my plate and then sit down at my table. I start indulging in this little momentary slice of heaven. Even when eating completely alone in my room I will start rocking while eating. This doesn’t change when I’m in public. It seems to ease the pain of the entire event. I eat a couple of pieces and then the paranoia and anxiety explode with the thoughts, “This is bad! This is bad!” I put on my iPod to try to drown out the loud thoughts while continuing to rock. I look at my plate scared to eat another piece. My hands start shaking and I feel like I’m about to throw up. I look at my plate again and think, “But sushi is an approved food what’s the problem?” I realize the chaos is not from the protector but is coming from the one he married. She feels the weight and the stabs of his words, “Look at yourself. You eat like you’re in prison! Everyone is watching you. You disgust me!”
About 15 minutes has now gone by and the whole mood has now changed. And then…..we make eye contact with another patron. “Go! You’ve got to leave now because they just saw you”, I hear. I quickly get up and try to exit the restaurant as quickly and as inconspicuous as possible. I go to pay for my meal and notice a bald woman, at the register, who was obviously taking cancer treatments. I’m thinking, “Ok just please hurry.” I make small talk when it’s my turn to pay about how good the sushi was trying not to convey the difficulties of my recent struggle. The employee says, “Oh you like sushi? Sushi good for you. You not here long.” I say, “Yea, I’m kind of on a tight schedule.” All I want is to be out that front door and away from food.
I start walking to my car when the bald woman whom I’ve never met says, “I can tell you struggle with being here.” I try to blow it off and give a short answer so that I can move on. “Yea I struggle with being in public and eating issues”, I tell her. I keep walking to my target and she continues to follow closely beside me. I keep thinking, “Please don’t say anything intrusive lady. She is NOT in the mood.” The lady boldly says, “Honey can I pray for you?” Sirens go off internally by much more fierce protectors. “No religion! No religion!” I freeze. I start looking for particles of fairy dust in the area and thinking, “Damn I must’ve overpaid her today or something. How is this happening?” I oblige her by saying, “Yes, please do.” She prays specifically for my eating disorder issues and for some reason I know she means no harm.
I relax my guard a bit and we begin to talk briefly. I find out that she moved to Texas from New York to take part in her own healing not related to the cancer. After only a couple of minutes she says, “Honey, you’ve got to change to speaking healing in your words.” Ok….I start looking around for “coach” thinking she has me on hidden camera. Does this woman have a earpiece where “coach” is telling her to say these things? The whole moment seems surreal but comforting. I told her, “You know I’ve been told those same things recently.” She says, “No truer words. You might want to listen.” I tell her goodbye and thank her again for her kindness. I have no idea what her name was but something powerful had again happened at a time when I needed it.
I sit in my car for a few minutes trying to decipher everything that had just happened. Why? I wonder. She was a total stranger. Why does she even care? I get home a few minutes later with my fortune cookie still intact. I always love to read my fortune even if it says, “Your ship will come in before your dock rots.” This time I open the cookie up to have this written on the slip of paper, “Change your thoughts and you change the world.” Wow…just…wow.
“No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”
“They are all innocent until proven guilty. But not me. I am a liar until I am proven honest.”
― Louise O’Neill, Asking For It
I have written and spoken several times about my life and domestic violence. Under the umbrella of domestic violence are several forms such as: physical abuse; emotional abuse; controlling or domineering; intimidation; stalking; passive/covert abuse; economic deprivation; endangerment; criminal coercion; kidnapping; unlawful imprisonment; trespassing; harassment and sexual abuse. I knew that several years after leaving him that something about our sex life continued to haunt me. I didn’t know what it was called but I always knew what it felt like….SOUL MURDER.
In the conservative deep south, I was brought up like many children to “save yourself for your husband.” This was not a tall order for me as sports was my number one priority. I would meet him at the age of 17 which was 19 years his junior. Naivety led me right into the cold awaiting arms of a predator disguised as “Prince Charming.” He used the one promise that he knew I couldn’t refuse to set the hook and reel me in “I will help you find your birth family.” Rolling off his silver tongue of manipulation would be the promises of a future with a man who would “treat me like his queen.” But like most things that seem too good to be true his promises would turn out to be lies.
I guess what made this so confusing was that I NEVER saw my dad treat my mom with disrespect. I was questioning the whole time, “This is what I saved myself for?” He was my first and the guy that finally trusted in such an intimate fashion only to have that trust betrayed in a way that is still too difficult to handle emotionally. I secretly wondered why I was never told about this side of marriage. The truth despite his “brainwashing” justifications for his actions was that no this was not normal and healthy marriages do NOT consist of this type of dominating behavior.
Many years later while looking for answers regarding the strange, threatening and coercive nature especially with the passages of the Bible about how a “woman is to submit to her husband,” I came across the term Marital Rape and I knew instantly that this was what had happened. The term marital rape describes “any unwanted sexual acts by a spouse or ex-spouse that is committed without the other person’s consent. Such illegal sexual activity are done using force, threat of force, intimidation, or when a person is unable to consent. The sexual acts include intercourse, anal or oral sex, forced sexual behavior with other individuals, and other sexual activities that are considered by the victim as degrading, humiliating, painful, and unwanted. It is also known as spousal rape” (https://definitions.uslegal.com/m/marital-rape/, 2018).
I personally have not been able to make sense of such an intimate form of betrayal. This type of violence destroys you from the inside out. Remembering how scared I was as a young child when the first time I was introduced to sexual abuse the rules of these types of scenarios were still very clear. The easiest and least painful way to get through the moment was to give in to their demands. If you try to fight them the abuse gets worse. If you don’t “perform” for them the abuse gets worse. And as I was told many times, “What are YOU going to tell them Dana? You’re the “head case” with the mental history, not me.” The puppet master continued to pull the strings to make sure that his needs and only his needs were met.
Even as I write this the nausea bubbling like a pot on a stove builds its way to the back of my throat as I think about and remember the vile ways that I was treated as property rather than as a human being. I was not a wife but rather a legal whore. Being told what I was going to do for him and then berated with humiliating and very damaging body image comments afterwards just seems to further rake into your soul with the devil’s claw. Consensual loving sex is not…
Forced sex. This should be obvious. But some men have the mistaken idea that marriage changes the rules. It doesn’t. If a husband holds his wife down, pushes her, or imposes sex by hurting her, it’s rape. Making love doesn’t include making someone cry.
Sex when the wife feels threatened. If a husband forces sex through verbal threats of harm to the woman or to people or things she cares about or if he comes to her in a barely contained rage, she can’t consent. She can only comply rather than risk being harmed either physically or emotionally.
Sex by manipulation. If a husband calls his wife names, accuses her of not being a good wife, or blackmails her emotionally by suggesting she’s so bad in bed that he will go elsewhere, he’s manipulating her. Some men even threaten to leave and take the kids with him if their wives don’t comply with demands for sex. When a wife falls for these tactics, it isn’t consent. It’s rape.
Sex when the wife can’t give consent. Loving sex is genuinely consensual. If a woman is drugged, asleep, intoxicated or unconscious, she obviously can’t give consent. Even if she says “yes” in such circumstances, the “consent” isn’t valid or truthful. She’s in no shape to consider the consequences or to participate as a willing partner.
Sex by taking a woman hostage. Some men keep themselves in a position of superiority by controlling all the money, by making contact with friends and family difficult to impossible, or by making sure there is no way for her to get transportation out of the house. The woman becomes a hostage in her own home. Like many hostages, she gives up and gives in to whatever he wants — including sex.
Sex when the woman feels she has no choice. Giving in isn’t the same as giving consent. When a woman feels that it’s just easier to give in to sex than to respect her own needs, she is being raped (https://psychcentral.com/lib/marital-rape/, 2016).
THE PSYCHOLOGICAL EFFECTS OF SUCH BEHAVIORS INCLUDE:
Short-term psychological effects include PTSD, anxiety, shock, intense fear, depression and suicidal ideation.
COMMON WAYS THAT ABUSERS AVOID RESPONSIBILITY FOR SEXUAL ASSAULT
Denial: Acting as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, boldly stating that it didn’t happen, calling you crazy for saying that it did, saying he doesn’t remember.
Rationalization: “You must have wanted it” “You could have stopped me,” “A husband is entitled to it”; Rationalization is also blaming you: ” If you gave me more sex I wouldn’t have to force you”
Minimization: I didn’t really hurt you” “You’re making a fuss about nothing” “I just wanted to make love to you.”
To say that I’ve lacked a fulfilling intimate sex life would be the understatement of my life. The level of fear that I experience even with the most supportive relationship cannot accurately be described with words. Whether it be child alters, teen alters or adult alters who step in to try and make this very part of my life possible, it always becomes a disaster. Oh and the mood gets squashed when you think, “Finally, I can do this!” But, yet, you find yourself running from the bedroom straight to the bathroom to vomit.
What I can say about this type of abuse over many years is this….
He not only raped my body, he also raped my mind and murdered my soul. I was very fortunate to meet someone like Mel who is one of the most caring, understanding and compassionate people I know. Our relationship has always been based on love and not sex. I married someone who loves me for the shattered and leftover parts of someone who use to be a fully functioning human being. It took me loving and bowing down to a monster to be able to recognize an angel. She and I walk hand-in-hand often with tears in both of our eyes trying to find a way through all the destruction. She didn’t ask to be married to a spouse with so many complex problems both physically and mentally. She does it because she loves me. Would I go through it all again just to have her? I go through it every day. The abuse has never stopped.
“Here, from her ashes you lay. A broken girl so lost in despondency that you know that even if she does find her way out of this labyrinth in hell, that she will never see, feel, taste, or touch life the same again.”
― Amanda Steele, The Cliff
“Girls developed eating disorders when our culture developed a standard of
beauty that they couldn’t obtain by being healthy. When unnatural thinness
became attractive, girls did unnatural things to be thin.”
–Mary Pipher
One of the things that I’ve learned the most about my many maladaptive behaviors is that the perfect storm had arrived to ensure me having eating disorders when I was a very impressionable teenager. Not only was it teenagers having issues with body image. It was also the abuse that occurred during that time and the things that were said and my impression about what had occurred and what was done. As a part of the abusive teacher’s very hateful nature was the being humiliated about myself as a human being in front of my peers. I was put on display a lot of the time and made to stand in front of the class while being made fun of without having any type of recourse. If I ever said anything back I was punished by both she and the administration who clearly had no idea to what extent her abusive nature was. She on more than one occasion, would tell me when the rodents would get into my food in my locker “It doesn’t look like you need food anyway.”
My high school years during which I kept those eating disorders alive and well I became a sickly 83lbs and ruined any of my hopes of playing athletics in college. What I was left with was a life of painful eating disorders that I still struggle with daily. These behaviors were further compounded when I met my ex-husband who disguised his personal reason for wanting to help me by encouraging the eating disorders in his own way.
I was made to weigh for him sometimes weekly because “I’m not going to be married to a fat ass” he would always say. He would also tell me that “it’s ok to have fat friends but you don’t have to look like them.” He micromanaged my food to the extent that that I was only allowed to eat what he approved of and nothing else. To make sure this happened he would allow me only 10 pistachios and 10 olives to eat while at work working two jobs. He would also, on occasion, sit out in the parking lot to make sure I didn’t eat anything that was not what he allowed. When I would tell him that I was hungry his supportive line was “No pain no gain.”
He would also leave random newspaper clippings around the house about the latest weight loss diets and/or make me take pictures of myself in swimsuits or naked, put them on the refrigerator and tell me “next time your fat ass gets hungry look at this picture and maybe you won’t want to eat.” He would also make comments if we went out to eat about how all the people were looking at me because I was a fat ass. He would say, “If you don’t like them staring at you then don’t be a fat ass.” If we had dinner with his family he would wait until we left to criticize either what I ate or how I ate. And many times these comments were said where other people could hear them. He would also say, “Did you have to eat that much of whatever we had for dinner? You eat like a prisoner who’s about to have their tray stolen! And that is why I have to tell you how, when and where to eat. Because you’re too dumb to do it on your own. You’ve already proven that time and time again.” Eating quickly became the most dreaded activity I had to deal with on a daily basis. My goal was to try to get through life with him and eating as little as possible. As you can imagine I didn’t do that to his standards either.
The message that was conveyed to me was that no matter what I did it would never be to his irrational standards. I was also expected to be at the gym to workout mornings at 5:00 am. Being a well known guy in the city he knows many people and that included the employees at the gym. So, he would call to verify be being there and what types of workouts I was doing. If I ran 4 miles he would want to know what I didn’t “gut it out” and run 5 miles.
Years of his verbal abuse, threats, and sexual abuse slowly broke me down. People who don’t understand why individuals stay in relationships like this often say, “Well he only did what you let him do” cannot possibly comprehend what this does to your psyche. Those types of hurtful comments are why most suffer in silence and don’t ask for help. After all, sometimes it was the easiest and safest thing to do by just going along with whatever his demands no matter what they were. He had me convinced that I was nothing without him. He and his brother tormented me for years and continue to do so internally. But again they were both raised by a father who was also a malignant narcissist and a mother who worked at home without an education until much later in life. So really she had nowhere to go with three children and no education. So for many men and women in these types of relationships that don’t leave usually have a damn good reason for staying. There’s always more to the story behind those closed doors than what you realize. My own parents had no idea the extent of the abuse that I was having to deal with on a daily basis. Such is a life with a malignant narcissist.
To this day, if someone tries to take a verbal jab at me while in a public place or group setting my “verbal sniper” becomes activated and a one-sided war will ensue. Get me in that little conservative and very judgmental city and I “turn into a werewolf” as my wife puts it. I have found that striking the first blow is a way that I can set the tone that I will NOT be hurt by whoever it is that I feel is a personal threat either imagined or real. All I have to do is see this as a possible threat. Anyone that I perceive as a authority figure, I absolutely will not make eye contact with if at all possible.
I guess the message I’ve tried to convey is that eating disorders and other maladaptive behaviors are about something much deeper than society sees them. You see the signs and symptoms and I feel the weight of the trauma every minute of every day. To this day I will chose not to eat because the internal war about what to eat is just too painful. When I do eat I can never be full and satisfied because full means fat to me. If I do feel full I have to purge with laxatives to get rid of that feeling. It’s not a binging thing it’s an eating thing. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again…..IT’S NOT ABOUT THE FOOD.
Understand this as well….I’m done trying to live my life carrying my trauma and the trauma those two boys in adult bodies. I will NOT continue to be a part of the cycle of not working on my own trauma just to have mine and theirs to be spewed out onto other innocent and unsuspecting people. This is a work in progress no doubt but the cycle dies with me. I’ve proven that I can live through it. Now it’s time to prove I can live without it. All I need was to find a coach to help with this and I did.
“I failed eating, failed drinking, failed not cutting myself into shreds. Failed friendship. Failed sisterhood and daughterhood. Failed mirrors and scales and phone calls. Good thing I’m stable. ”
― Laurie Halse Anderson, Wintergirls
“Rage — whether in reaction to social injustice, or to our leaders’ insanity, or to those who threaten or harm us — is a powerful energy that, with diligent practice, can be transformed into fierce compassion.”
― Bonnie Myotai Treace
Explicit and detailed rage scene!
I peer through the widow making sure I’m at the correct house. I spot her sitting in her living room with that same scowl on her face from 27 years earlier. The memories of her hatred flood back with the force of Hurricane Katrina and almost paralyzing. This is the moment at which she would experience the same fear, humiliation, belittling and taunting that I once received from her. I have prepared for this moment my whole life. “Be strong, Dana. It’s now our turn” I tell myself. I knock on the door knowing that I would be recognized immediately. She opens the door. And before she can say anything I rush the door pushing her off balance back into her house and onto the floor. I pull my 9mm out and point it at her saying, “What you thought I forgot?! Now it’s time to even the score. Please I invite you to take a trip down memory lane with me. You might’ve forgotten what was said and done but I never did. And I never will.” I quickly tie her hands behind her with rope and lock the doors. I make her sit in a chair where she’s tied and threaten to be killed if she says anything without being asked. I tell her, “So this is what it’s like being one up on somebody. No wonder you like that so much.” With the “deer in the headlights” look on her face and tears welling up in her eyes I say, “Oh is the baby going to cry now? Bitch suck it up! I had to and I was a child!!!!”
I start pacing with adrenaline and anger at a level that I’ve never felt before. I feel certain that I’ll probably have a heart attack at any moment. But I don’t care. I tell her, “Think to yourself why are you and I back in this position?” Her breathing has become rapid and erratic. Tears are now flowing down her cheeks and she’s shaking with fear. “Hey you little bastard! I asked you a question!” I said as I threw something across the room breaking it against the opposing wall. She starts trying to talk but it sounds mostly like babble. “Shut that hole in your face and talk normal you little idiot! Is it all coming back to you now? Where is everybody to save you? Come on! Say something or do something so I can send your little unwanted ass to the office again. Hell, no wonder no one wanted you. I wouldn’t have wanted you either. You’re just a little piece of trash that no one will ever want” and with that I slapped her as hard as I could across the cheek. A whimper and a whence she continues to cry but now sobbing. “Suck it up, fish sticks! We’re just getting started.” I chuckled and say, “Look on the bright side….at least this won’t be every day for a year in a secluded storage closet.” “I didn’t do anything wrong!” she says. “Wrong answer, dumbass!” and I slam into her throat with my forearm knocking both she and the chair over with a thud. “IT AIN’T FUN WHEN THE RABBIT GOT THE GUN, IS IT?!!!!” She slowly shakes her head and starts sobbing louder. “You know what? I don’t give a fuck what you have to say right now!” I tell her. I rip a piece of duct tape off and put it over her mouth. “You should see how pathetic you look. You could dish it out to a kid but you can’t take it? This time I have a smile on my face and YOU have the tears. How does it feel now that the roles are reversed? Who gave you the right or idea that it was in any way ok for the way you treated children? You fucking disgust me!” As I look into her eyes, I can tell that she is experiencing the depth of fear that I did. The feeling I got was something of validation.
I slowly walk behind her and whisper in her ear….”No Child Left Behind” and “Teachers touch lives for a lifetime.” I ask her, “Do those statements mean anything to you? Because they mean everything to me. Remember when I fell through the cracks and had to endure your abuse by myself? Remember how you would embarrass me in front of my peers with your hatred? Do you remember any of the things I said to you being said to me? And I find out through the years that you’ve said similar things to other children? So why are you so surprised that I’m back? The guilt of not having found a way to stop you so no one else got hurt is why I’m back, bitch.” All she can do is look at me knowing well what I’m talking about but not knowing what I’m fully capable of doing. “You altered the course of my life forever with your abusive hatred! You took my fears and insecurities and used them as a weapon by making them public through humiliation! Your words and actions have left me unable to deal with life and on disability now. I got me degrees to prove you wrong but you still managed to raise your ugly head and cripple me this many years later. I survived you and your abuse. Will you survive mine?” I turn around facing the wall instead of her and I felt a small tear streams down my face. I turned around. I pointed the gun at her and hearing her muffled screams I say to her, “They say the root of all evil is money. But it’s not. The root of all evil is the abuse of power. You don’t matter to anyone. You never did.” As I’m starting to pull the trigger I’m startled by a loud noise. What I soon realize is that the loud noise was the ice maker in the refrigerator here at home. And I’ve been sitting in my recliner for a couple of hours looking at a chair on the other side of the room.
A flood of nausea from a now raging and might I say, angry, migraine is now plaguing me physically. I quickly try to figure out the current situation, time and place. My heart is pounding and adrenaline is rapidly flowing through me veins. I grab my pipe with my medical cannabis needing some ‘hurry up’ relief. I’m already having to play catch up with this migraine. My legs feel like they have been set on fire. And I’m doing my best to hold down lunch. I feel like something is trying to crawl out of me and run. From deep within I hear and feel the panic of “Let me out! Get away from me! Let me out! Get away from me!” This calls for a dab of wax. But not before I realize that the belt is wrapped around my arm as a tourniquet in the familiar preparation for cutting. I just lay back and let it happen. She needs relief and so do I. Several minutes go by and I slowly begin to reorient to my surroundings again with a neatly bandaged arm. I’m weak and exhausted but I now feel now, as though, I might not die. I look around the room and see that it resembles somewhat of a ditch house for drug addicts or the homeless. Things are broken that I have no memory of doing yet I was alone all day. I quietly begin to sob by myself partially out of fear. But also out of relief that this time no one was home but me. And I say once again to my internal guys, “Thank you for keeping me safe yet again.”
“I finally understood what could drive kids to show up with guns and shoot up their schools.”
― Nenia Campbell, Freaky Freshman
“A good laugh overcomes more difficulties and dissipates more dark clouds than any other one thing.” – Laura Ingalls Wilder
Since I’m having to play ‘catch up’ on what a life living with Dissociative Identity Disorder has been like for the last year or so, I thought I would introduce you to some comical friends of mine….The Angry Birds. If you’ve ever followed my blog you know that living with DID has some very funny moments among so many difficult ones. When I have an opportunity to belly laugh I usually will take it wherever and whenever I can. And by the way…..Laura Ingalls Wilder and I have been BFF’s since childhood.
One of the many perks of having DID is the overwhelming anxiety that permeates every pore and cell in my body. While having social anxiety and not wanting to leave the house is very doable. There’s also the feeling of needing to ‘get away.’ This does present quite a dilemma at times. Writing is a great therapeutic tool for really anyone if it’s your ‘cup of tea.’ It has never been one for me until I started writing this blog. The term “journaling” has always had a negative connotation associated with it. I promise every time it’s been suggested I look at the person like my oldest son does me when I tell him that chicken nuggets, candy and boogers are not food groups. But the Angry Birds are definitely therapeutic in their own unique way for us as well.
As I’ve stated before, living in the state of New Mexico with a mental health diagnosis that carries so much stigma has given a whole new meaning to desert living. Lack of resources calls for creative therapeutic tools such as this blog. Through no intention of my own we are beginning to have a real fascination for a group of birds that live in a city park. The Angry Birds are not the ones watched on TV and the movies by many children. But yes they do provide entertainment for this ‘system’ and to those passing by and possibly overhearing conversations between me and these birds
What started as another place for me to go and decompress, in times of need, is quickly becoming a place where lessons in therapy and life are happening. I’ve always enjoyed animals because a connection with them has always felt safe. People I fear. No I’m not a tree hugger. I just enjoy and respect the human/animal bond.
The Angry Birds consist of a mixture of around 100 birds that include mostly waterfowl. Some of them I recognize and some I do not. It’s pretty much duck, duck, goose for me. I initially started going out to that area and feeding them bread at random times just for a change of environment. Then it got incorporated into my morning schedule. Each morning I would go out and spend a few minutes with these birds talking and thinking. With this many birds at one time behavior issues about territory were bound to arise. I always seemed to have one alpha goose that would keep all of the encroaching birds out of my personal space. This bird is rewarded for its hard work and loyalty with a whole piece of bread to itself. The first therapeutic pitfall with these birds are BOUNDARIES specifically there’s smashing over mine. There was a lot of biting other birds butt feathers and uncalled for loud honking. This I realized is what my ‘system’ looks and operates like at this time……Chaotic.
Soon these birds had grown to expect me to show up with their bread like I was a local drug dealer dropping off a stash. I would drive up to the area and I would instantly see and hear flippers heading my way and the Canadian geese flying in. In these early moments, I have definitely felt like Ace Ventura Pet Detective. They all get that Zombie Eyed look about them while looking and walking towards me. In this moment I feared for my lady bits until I realized that the bag of bread was hanging in that area. Yes I did quickly move it. Because of their territorial nature our very early conversations consisted of me trying to talk to the Canadian Geese about manners for waiting our turn. I would literally be hollering at them, “Be Loving!!!!” And at times I would throw flying saucers and baseballs made purely of wheat bread at them to help correct their behavior issue. The feeding frenzy that would ensue is one that would have Jeff Corwin scratching his head.
One of my moments of arguing with one of the Angry Birds I’ve named Mouthy who is a really, loud mouth grey goose, started hissing and honking at me one day. He was biting the other birds and starting to use offensive language with me so I did the only thing I could think to do in the moment….Honk back. I looked up to see a mother and her small child laughing at this conversation. It was a very immature moment but Mouthy settled down and was grateful for his bread. I told him, “Mouthy you can’t just go around biting and bullying when you’re in a bad mood.” BAM!!! There was a therapeutic revelation. Simple revelation but still a revelation nonetheless. I began to make a connection to my past about this scene of me and these birds. It took me several minutes to be able to convey what this moment was like. ” I know, I know” a certain little insider said. It’s like being in Mr. Popper’s Penguins the movie. I had to chuckle and I said, “Well little one, I guess you’re right.” Granted there was a lot of biting, very unnecessary and over stimulating honking by all of them and I simply said, “Ya’ll are some angry ass birds.” And that’s how the therapeutic Angry Birds have come to be.
Disclaimer: No birds or waterfowl were ever harmed before, during or after any visit.
The effects of unresolved trauma can be devastating. It can affect our habits and outlook on life, leading to addictions and poor decision-making. It can take a toll on our family life and interpersonal relationships. It can trigger real physical pain, symptoms, and disease. And it can lead to a range of self-destructive behaviors.
— Peter A. Levine
Hopefully, at some point as an adult, life will inevitably let you see it for what it truly is. I take a step back and look at the year in my life that altered my entire future which is now my past. The specifics of that year I dreadfully replay on a daily basis. With both horror and amazement I sit and still try to comprehend almost 30 years later the “whys” that never get answered. The “torture” as I felt those damaging words, aggressive taunting in front of all my peers knowing I was unable to speak or I would face further punishment. It was a part of the daily mind games, harassment and bullying that pelted my psyche like a spray of bullets. That same year a fellow classmate and friend committed suicide. I also sustained a basketball related knee injury that plagues me to this day and became a factor into shattered dreams of one day playing ball past high school. Life continued to happen and all I knew was that I wanted out. Out of school and out of life. I just wanted it all to stop. I screamed so loudly for someone to help me. The screams fell on deaf ears. The screams were there and I could hear them but no one else could.
The inside canvas of my psyche now resembled a pile of suicide wrist rags. There was a rage that scared me deep within that continued to gain strength and building like a monster hurricane. I was trapped both physically and figuratively somewhere within the recesses of my mind. The horrible headaches I now began having became misery on top of misery. I had to do something or I felt I would implode from emotions.
On the outside I looked and was treated like the well liked class clown and promising athlete. I was friends with everyone. I was never bullied by anyone except by one of the people that was there to protect me. Not to hurt me. I tried to play off the situation time after time. Each tear was portrayed as streams of weakness. Those tears quickly became bolts of lightning full of rage and hatred that no one could see building with each hurtful comment. I seemed to just be beginning to disappear within myself. I didn’t understand or care as long as I disappeared and couldn’t hear and feel her words. The pills and the razors were just an added bonus. Suicidal thoughts , for the first time, began to consume me. And the obsession with death became an infatuation that never ends. In reality the “perfect storm” was being created and no one seemed to notice not even me.
I made it through that year licking my wounds That year changed me forever. Not a day has gone by in 30 years that I haven’t dealt with the repercussions of that abuse on a daily basis. Other things in my life have contributed to my eventual downfall in life but that year stands out as the most painful. Instead of being that carefree and very fun-loving teenager that I once was, I’ve become a 41 year-old mother of two who still functions like a teenager. I feel like a teenager on most days. I see fellow classmates and wonder why I never matured like they did? Whatever happened during that abuse stunted my emotional maturity at the point at which it happened. I hate life. I hate most people. I’m always scared. I’m sick physically from the stress on most days. I can’t have a normal relationship with my family or children because of the overwhelming memories and feelings associated with that event. Six years of college and two degrees and they mean as much as monopoly money now. My career that I worked so hard to begin was over before it got started. I’ve lost through one way or another most of the important relationships in my life because my mood swings are so out of control and aggression seems to be the primary emotion exhibited. The independence of driving has slowly melted away because I can’t focus long enough to drive safely. The physical pain that seems to engulf me on many days ensures vomiting and tears. I battle daily with both anorexia and bulimia as I have for the last 30 years. Deciding on what food to eat every day usually leaves me in tears and hungry.
My life seems like I’m watching a movie of the newest horror film. I don’t even recognize any of it because it’s so far from where and what I’m supposed to be doing by now. All of which could’ve been prevented had someone simply been willing to see past the label and ask what was wrong.
Most mornings I wake up pissed because I realize that I’m still alive. Even with the best little family at my side, I hate every moment of every day. If life is that miserable then what’s the point in living it, right? Many of my friends “tapped out” on life so apparently it’s not just me. The advice given to me as a child was to “trust people and build relationships on trust.” I did that and it left me disabled at an early age. Again, I feel trapped. This time I’m trapped within myself.
“When we are no longer able to change a situation – we are challenged to change ourselves.”
Viktor E. Frankl
The last few months have been nothing less than total chaos for our ‘internal’ and external families. Life can sometimes just knock the wind out of you both physically and mentally. From the very ‘nerve racking’ entry into the world by our new preemie son Copeland to our latest adventure back south and so many things in between, Mel and I both feel like we are being pecked by a duck. Don’t think for a minute that we haven’t taken notice about missing one of the best therapeutic tools we’ve ever used…….writing.
With Mel’s pregnancy being much less than desirable, Copeland’s health issues, national news, loss of friends both physically and emotionally, the return to the harsh south, my ‘internal’ system has stayed in a seemingly steady uproar about many different things. Just trying to keep our relationship together the last couple of months has been a struggle at times. However, there’s one thing we both agree on….the fact that DID doesn’t’ go away and neither does life. So, we dig deep like we have many times and try to find a way to weather the storms of life together as a couple by ‘taking the bull by horns’ and bracing ourselves until it’s over. The complexity of life, right now, is nowhere close to slowing down. There’s a lot that needs to be said and feelings that need to be voiced in order to try and regain some type of balance.
Like I’ve said many times before, we live a very puzzling life that has the ability to leave us both shaking and scratching our heads and wondering what could possibly happen next. My priorities have been to attempt to ‘roll with the punches’ and, unfortunately, that’s included not writing for a little while. This morning, I stagger to my laptop, not induced by a chemical but rather just exhausted from the daily and very familiar feel of a high level of stress.
Throughout the chaos, Mel and I have been able to put more pieces of the puzzle together. She has a very close and tight bond with my alters which makes it much easier for communication. Now some might think that since she’s my wife and we’ve been together for a number of years that having a relationship with my alters, since they are, in fact, parts of myself, would be a given. Trust me when I say one thing…nothing with alters are a given. Relationships with alters are a completely different beast than what most people would assume. One thing that must be kept in mind is that, alters formed as a result of a traumatic situation. And in my particular system, a trust bond was not just broken but completely violated in one way or another. So, even people who I’ve known for years betrayed that trust in sometimes vile ways. Therefore, all we’ve been conditioned to understand is that people are evil until proven otherwise and that has no time limit.
DID, as a disorder, is a difficult disorder for both the client and family members. Throw a big ole’ helping of ‘LIFE’ month after month and the difficulty and further complexity of the disorder will raise its ugly head with triggered alters. Mel and I have and will continue to lean on our therapists both individual and couple for strength and guidance as we have done for several years now. We will also continue to do the best to support each other and our children even though I can resemble an angry and bitchy Chihuahua. And ‘we’, as a system, will continue to seek for the answers through healing in any way possible so that we might all function one day like a well oiled machine in order to be able to do the work we were called to do by helping others.
For now, it’s about just trying to catch our breath and gather our footing again. Lots of tears have been shed lately and I’ll take you inside the last few months with upcoming blog posts. And once again, I begin to feel better even if I was coerced to write reluctantly this morning by some certain ‘insiders’.
“He sweeps her hair back from her ears; he swings her above his head. He says she is his émerveillement. He says he will never leave her, not in a million years.”
― Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See
Call this a typical Father’s Day post, but you can’t call him a ‘typical’ father. This man that I’m going to talk about is a man that he and his wife were and have been and continue to be diligent servants of their Heavenly Father. As a result, in December of 1975, after a grueling 8 years of red tape and frequent hoop jumping their dreams of being parents and for him being a father came true.
This was a job that he rejoiced in and fully embraced through both tears and laughter. Even though some of my childhood memories evade me these days, I can still smile at some of the memories I have of my father. As a small child, he would often become a regular jumping and punching bag in exchange for instantaneous tickle torture moments. There were also those times when he would take me on Saturday mornings on the lawnmower while he cut the grass only to have to stop to put his soon sleeping daughter in the bed.
During my younger and developing ball playing days, he would almost daily throw the ball with me in the front yard. I must admit that before I developed control in my throwing he would frequently travel to the jungles of the azalea bushes to retrieve a wildly thrown ball. He never complained but I think he secretly celebrated each time he didn’t accidentally stumble upon a water moccasin. Yep, he feared those dreaded bushes.
When it came to basketball, well, he tried is about all I can say. I think he mainly just wanted to make sure that there were no unneeded dents left in the vehicles. The job of playing basketball was turned over to the neighborhood kids. Really? You didn’t think I noticed?
When I hit my teen years, he prayed, like my mom, without ceasing. My mother told me that once I became a teenager that something took over my mind and body that was not of God. I cannot tell a lie. If I asked my father that now he would very calmly say, “Why yes, sis, that might’ve been correct.” Now you have to imagine that my father gets about as excited as a basset hound. And most of the time you need a cattle prod to check to make sure he’s still breathing. Nope, it’s not a deformity, that I know of, it’s genetic. He didn’t ever say a whole lot when I was younger. Now, he just claims that with 3 females in the house, he couldn’t get a word in. All 3 of us were just hormonal as hell is the way I still see it.
If there was a downfall, I would have to say that I didn’t learn to fix ANYTHING. I know what a hammer is. Isn’t that good enough? Granted, I was always playing with the neighborhood kids, but he was always fixin’ things or doing projects for or with momma. These days I just hope my wife can YouTube a video of how to do something and fix things. I’m just not one to be able to fix things. My job is to tell you when something doesn’t work. And to provide motivation through entertainment.
He has seen me take some extremely difficult roads in life and has had to sit back and watch with tears in his eyes as his daughters were having to learn some heartbreaking lessons. There have only been a handful of times that I’ve see him cry. But, the tears I haven’t seen, I’m sure number in the millions and likewise the prayers. He has watched me waste away from addiction and abuse and is currently seeing the severity of the effects of mental illness. He also sees me continuing to battle my abusers through memories that can be paralyzing. He watches as I continue to move forward even if that is a crawl. With both he and my mom, there’s never a shortage of encouragement.
I can personally count on one hand the number of men that I consider “safe.” My #1 started with my father. I have never feared him in any way other than maybe another lecture on the power of positive thinking. He never drank, smoked, cussed, hollered, screamed or anything remotely aggressive in our house. Heck, a basset hound doesn’t have the energy to do that. He taught me what love, honor and respect are all about. So, when I encountered some of my predators, my brain was seeing behavior that I couldn’t understand. And it was at that time, that he held and comforted me as I cried about some of the evils of people and the world.
Everything that he has done for me cannot be conveyed in a post nor can the true emotions. Even through just the little bit that I shared you can tell that he’s not my father. He’s my DADDY!
“Cutting is not attention seeking. It’s not manipulative. It’s a coping mechanism–a punitive, unpleasant, potentially dangerous one–but it works. It helps me cope with strong emotions that I don’t know how to deal with. Don’t tell me I’m sick, don’t tell me to stop. Don’t try to make me feel guilty, that’s how I feel already. Listen to me, support me, help me.”
—A Bright Red Scream
Big Trigger Warning for those not in a good place to be able to handle the topic of self-injury. This post will be explicit for the topic to be as real as possible. If you are in early recovery from self-injury please use your own judgment carefully before proceeding. You have been warned.
I’ve been in this position before. My heart is pounding. My skin is crawling. My thoughts are racing. The rage is building to a dangerous level that I’m not sure I can contain. “I hate myself for this. Ladies aren’t suppose to have such hateful thoughts. Why must I always get this angry? Am I capable of hurting someone? I think I might be. What would people think if they knew? “You should’ve just had it beaten out of you when you were younger and you wouldn’t be acting like this. You disgust me! You’re flawed and no one ever has or ever will like you. If you had been liked your birth mom she wouldn’t have given you up. You must be psychotic. You’ll never amount to anything just look at you.” These are just some of the things I’ve heard since I started this behavior as a child.
Like bullets from a war zone, the thoughts and feelings hit my heart and mind over and over. I try to shake the feelings of hopelessness, embarrassment, helplessness and intense feelings of being unwanted and the unforgiving loneliness. I try to sit with the feelings as I have done before. This time is different. I haven’t felt this level of intensity. Every time I take in a breath my upper back feels like it’s being pounded by a sledgehammer. I try distracting with music and my head just pounds more. The thoughts become louder and louder. I need relief and I need it NOW! Nothing I know that has helped ward off this is helping at this moment.
I begin to feel my body going numb starting with my face and working its way throughout my body. Soon, I no longer feel or hear, I just see. Someone resembling myself is going through a very familiar ritual of gathering supplies strategically kept close by. I know what is about to happen. I’m out of balance and need to make all of the craziness in my head stop. By now, I feel completely detached from even my own limbs.
The blue tourniquet is tied around my upper arm unsure how tight. My left arm is cradled in a towel. Brand new blades are fully exposed and glistening in the light. My heart is pounding with excitement and anxiety all at one time. My only thoughts are, “I’ve got to have relief NOW!” The other part is knowing that relief is only minutes away. I look at my arm and I’m paralyzed as I watch the blade being picked up and placed against my skin. In one quick swoop the blood begins coming out. This is done another 10-20 times. My body seems to instinctively know when enough is enough and how deep is deep enough. After 27 years, we have had some practice with this.
The endorphins flood my bloodstream with enough force to relax both my mind and body to a point of complete relaxation. I continue to enjoy the relief that I had just experienced and was letting whatever poison that seemed to be occupying my mind with such hatred leave my body.
This is always done privately because, what if someone knew? I didn’t want to die. I just needed to regain balance and this has worked for many years. Deep breaths now and my ‘system’ has seemingly returned to normal. I have all my bandages prepared beforehand so, everything is waiting for the deed to be done. I bandage this wound, still not completely feeling all parts of my body, like it’s something sacred. Soon, I begin to worry about who and how I’m going to cover up this behavior yet again. I make my plans and stick with it. I don’t dare seek medical attention even though I need several stitches because of the fear of being disrespected by being told, “I am just attention seeking. You did it so I don’t feel sorry for you. That was just a sorry attempt at suicide which she obviously didn’t want to do too badly.” So, I take care of it and watch it heal as I have many times before. But, the guilt and the shame of the current episode start to invade my thoughts. And so the cycle continues…..
If you were to see my forearms they might look to some of you like a scene out of a horror movie. When I look at my arms, I think “Damn, look at what all I have survived.” Yes, once again, this behavior began at age 13. My eighth grade school year that would forever change my life. Individuals who engage in this behavior typical have a range of reasons for beginning and continuing the behavior. My initial reasons for beginning this behavior was because of intense anger that I was forced to hold inside. I was in a ‘no win’ situation with the teacher, my predator, so no emotion could be shown. I was so angry that I wasn’t completely sure what I was capable of doing. What we now know and understand is that when feelings get stuffed for so long they manifest in other ways.
“The truth about childhood is stored up in our body and lives in the depth of our soul. Our intellect can be deceived, our feelings can be numbed and manipulated, our perception shamed and confused, our bodies tricked with medication. But our soul never forgets. And because we are one, one whole soul in one body, someday our body will present its bill.”
-Alice Miller, A Bright Red Scream
It never ceases to amaze me how people are about watching trauma shows on television about emergency rooms across the nation with gunshot wounds, stab wounds, car wrecks, etc covered in blood and guts and yet freak out like the thought of cutting oneself means ‘run for the hills.’ I think maybe part of the issue is something that’s accidental versus intentional. Self-harm often gets labeled as some type of pseudo-suicide attempt when in actuality that has absolutely nothing to do with suicide. True self-harm is also not a behavior that is a bandwagon type of behavior. Self-harm is about using what seems to be a last ditch effort to hold on to life without committing suicide. I’m also not saying that everyone who dies by sliced wrists, forearms, legs, stomachs, faces and heads aren’t as a result of suicide vs. self harm. But, self-harm also can become an addiction. The endorphins released at the time of the injury can last for about 30 minutes. Medical professionals seem to think that just because someone states that they were not able to feel at the time of the behavior that they can’t feel when being stitched up. Often times the nurses and doctors have personally given me a feeling of being ‘less than’ or have treated by wound like I had absolutely no feeling by being rough with my arm. After the 30 minutes is up, you can feel every single bit of pain.
I’m not harmful to other people with my instruments. I found a way when I was much younger to deal with my anger. As maladaptive as it might be, it worked to help me survive what my mind thought I needed help with. I realize that this is a behavior that must change for long term recovery and to encourage a healthy ‘system.’ Trauma and PTSD can have you fine one minute and not the next. This behavior I continue to struggle with from time to time. Self-harm does not consist of just cutting, there’s also burning, breaking bones, exposing skin to extreme temperatures, eating disorders, hair pulling (trichotillamania), etc.
I’m no longer really embarrassed but just accepting that cutting is also a part of where I’m at in my process right now. I had gone several years previous without cutting but jumping into trauma therapy and the effects of PTSD can make it very difficult to deal with. I’ve made much progress over the years in trying to recover from cutting. It’s definitely a slow process for us even with a very supportive and understanding wife.
I’m not ashamed nor do I flaunt my scars. Our only difference is that our tears are red. I’ve been in a war my whole life and kind of see them as “Battle Wounds from a War.” Please think and educate before you judge.
“If the words “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” don’t include the right to experiment with your own consciousness, then the Declaration of Independence isn’t worth the hemp it was written on.” – Terence McKenna
This time exactly one year ago I was attending the High Times Cannabis Cup in Denver, Colorado. I didn’t view it then as a ‘get high free-for-all’ but rather as a ‘looking for new meds adventure.’ Believe it or not, there is a difference in marijuana and how it affects the body based on what type of condition that’s being treated. Yes, I did happen to run into Snoop Dogg at one of the dispensaries. And yes it was awesome! This year, however, since our little boy is on the horizon, my wife advised that I stay close to home. Notice I said my wife advised me. So, I…..took her advice.
Anyway, I think one of the common misconceptions about those of us who use cannabis whether as a medicine or recreationally are seen as the stereotypical ‘stoners’ like Cheech and Chong. I also think that most people’s perceptions are that most consumption is through smoking out of a pipe or a bong (water pipe). I’m not going to attempt to go through all the specifics about the different strains because there are more than I can count. I will say that this medicine in made in the bud, edible, wax, shatter, tincture, salve and pill forms.
Why do I seem to harp so much about this medication? It is also helping me to survive the wounds from the past. The addiction community, depending on the area of the country, are usually not in favor of any ‘mood altering’ substances. Think about this…..ever been around your spouse or yourself in the mornings before you’ve had your coffee? I’m just sayin’. Yep, very mood altering. Now, I’m not making light of the concerns. That was just something I thought of that I personally found amusing.
In earlier blog posts, I’ve stated my concerns about being a former practicing drug addict and being suggested to use cannabis as a medication. Not everyone’s situation is the same and I get that. I can say that my wife and I felt like we were in a ‘do or die’ situation. Is it mood altering for me? My wife would tell you, “Thank God it is!” With everything that goes on in my brain on a daily basis, vaporizing some medical grade cannabis can actually bring me back down to reality and into a much calmer state.
Now, some of the arguments I’ve heard against medical cannabis is, “not everyone is going to have a legitimate medical condition.” You know what? That’s true. How many prescription drug addicts have legitimate conditions that require the AMOUNT of medication that they’re taking? I would much rather all the prescription pill drug addicts trade all their pills in for a designated amount of weed each month and see how far down the death rate goes and the overdose rate goes. All of those amounts will correlate to the amount of Cheetos and Girl Scout Cookie stock rising to an all time astronomical high.
These are very ‘tongue n’ cheek’ views but getting heated usually doesn’t help much. I just know that I was very closed minded and had very tunnel vision on addiction and how it MUST be treated before moving to New Mexico from the South. My former clients, additional recovery services and my own struggles with mental illness have led me to a less rigid view on this drug. I still maintain a somewhat rigid view on just about any other drug. The benefits of marijuana are seen and felt everyday in the LIVES of the LANDRUM-ARNOLD FAMILY. If this medication can bring me this much mental and physical relief from PTSD and other complications associated with a lifetime of abuse. Surely, our soldiers should be handed an ounce and a card when they step back on to U.S. soil from having to kill people and see their buddies killed just so I can be free.
Let me wonder just for a minute out loud about things in the elusive ‘perfect world.’ I wonder if cannabis were available to everyone how many people would still be on social security disability long term. I wonder how many suicides could or would be prevented. I wonder how much the crime rate would go down. I wonder how many soldiers would actually be able to adjust to civilian life instead of living with an ongoing war between their ears that, from personal experience, is unbearable. I wonder how many more people with physical disabilities could get the relief the need and beg for daily? I wonder how many children could have a better childhood free from seizures. I wonder how many people would and could live instead of dying from cancer. I wonder how long it’s going to be for others to have a quality of life also.
I guess I should get you a little bit of information about how the term “420” became the big “stoner’s holiday.” So, here’s a little explanation from good ole Wikipedia which is NOT a scholarly source, I might add…..
A group of people in San Rafael, California, calling themselves the Waldosbecause “their chosen hang-out spot was a wall outside the school”, used the term in connection with a fall 1971 plan to search for an abandoned cannabis crop that they had learned about. The Waldos designated the Louis Pasteur statue on the grounds of San Rafael High School as their meeting place, and 4:20 p.m. as their meeting time. The Waldos referred to this plan with the phrase “4:20 Louis”. Multiple failed attempts to find the crop eventually shortened their phrase to simply “4:20”, which ultimately evolved into a codeword that the teens used to mean marijuana-smoking in general. Mike Edison says that Steven Hager of High Times was responsible for taking the story about the Waldos to “mind-boggling, cult like extremes” and “suppressing” all other stories about the origin of the term.
Hager wrote “Stoner Smart or Stoner Stupid?” in which he called for 4:20 p.m. to be the socially accepted hour of the day to consume cannabis. He attributes the early spread of the phrase to Grateful Dead followers, who were also linked to the city of San Rafael.
Now wasn’t that just the most profound information you’ve ever read? Sounds like a true stoner story for sure. Some say that ‘street weed’ and ‘medical grade’ are the same. They are NOT. Medical grade is governed so closely as to what they can use on the plants to make sure they’re safe for the public. Street weed, well…..is not governed and is often sprayed with chemicals which can cause paranoia, psychosis, etc. depending on the chemicals used.
The medication I use today has three side effects: eat, laugh, and sleep. Yep, that’s about it. I still have other conditions that require additional medications. Let me remind you that marijuana is a medication not a ‘cure all.’ Therefore, there are some conditions that still are unknown or cannot be treated with marijuana that is known at this time. One thing I do know, for ME, all of my psych meds are rolled up into one vaporizer.
420 the ‘stoner’s holiday’ is written a few different ways such as: 4/20, 420, 4:20. Most see this just as another day for people to get high. But for those of us who depend on this “weed”, “flower”, “medication”, “bud”, “ganja”, “herb” or whatever you want to call it to simply have a quality of life. We see this as a day to celebrate this medication that helps make life worth living again.
Often times I can be asked questions about how it is living with a spouse with dissociative identity disorder, well let me assure you it’s never a dull moment. When I met Dana over 8 years ago and we started our relationship just a few months after that, neither one of us knew she had DID. She had been given many different diagnosis at that time and even had someone give her a rule out of DID, which we quickly dismissed, she just didn’t seem like a “Sybil”. The first time I met an alter, I had no idea. I thought it was just a PTSD flashback. There would be 6 years pass before the official diagnosis. The latter of those years proved to be very challenging.
I’ve learned to appreciate each alter and the specific needs and talents they bring. For instance, there is only one alter who likes ketchup, everyone else hates it and often blocks the alter who likes it from getting ketchup. I learn likes and dislikes when it comes to food, and there have been times that one requests a certain meal only to have another come out while I’m cooking or we are eating and decide they want something else. I’ve learned to cook what Marshall and I want and that usually works out.
In the early days of diagnosis, there was one alter who had no idea who I was, but that has been the only one who had no idea of me. Now that’s not to say that I’m the “spouse” to everyone. To the littles, I’m “Momma Mel”, to others “I’m a friend”, and even others see me as ‘the one who takes care of Dana.”
Around the start of 2012, Dana started having large gaps of time missing and often times during this time there was a lot of aggressive/ angry behavior. At one point it was thought she might have a seizure disorder. We had started psych medications to stabilize her mood starting in 2010, however if a medication worked, it only worked for just a short time. We even tried lithium and ended up in the hospital one month prior to our son being born for lithium toxicity. That was one scary time. Even the mental health system was no help. We were on our own trying to figure this out and get help that was desperately needed.
In September 2013, when dissociative identity disorder was first given as a diagnosis, I was a bit in denial. I had to take everything in and then decide for myself based on the research and facts, did this diagnosis fit? Having a masters in counseling my first go to was to see if Dana met criteria as listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual. I kept an open mind and I started to consider that this might be correct. The more I met alters and got to know them, the more this diagnosis made sense.
Most people would have no idea that Dana is a multiple. In fact I would say unless we came out and said it, most people wouldn’t have a clue that she is a multiple. The switching is very subtle and sometimes it’s not until later that I put it together that I’ve been talking to someone other than who I thought. They like to try to trick me into thinking they are someone else in the system at times. I’ve learned to adapt but even now I have moments of difficulty. I’ve been told that the roughest time is in the beginning and the system will settle down and things will get much more manageable. I’m starting to see that take place, I think in time we will learn more about how to deal with this disorder.
“I want everyone that has been abused by someone in their childhood to know that you can get past it. Having DID is not the end of the world; it’s the beginning of your new life. DID allows the victim of exceptional abuse the ability to “forget” the abuse and continue living. Without it, I may have gone crazy as a teen and spent my life in a psychiatric hospital.” ― Dauna Cole, A Shattered Mind: One Woman’s Story of Survival and Healing
One of the major issues with this disorder are what most people refer to as ‘alters’ or other personalities. What I’m going to try to do is to paint the picture for you in a way that I’ve been learning how to understand this. So, imagine you have an apartment complex and each person has their own room. Except in these rooms, there are horrible memories that are behind doors and no one can get in without a key. The only people that have these keys are my therapists and my alters which help keep anything else from hurting me. This is what has protected me throughout the years. However, some of the coping strategies that worked then DO NOT work now.
Alters can also range in age depending on at what age the abuse occurred. As dysfunctional as things can get at times the alters as a whole are referred to as a ‘system.’ Until consciousness together can be shared, there might always be memory loss. The amnesic episodes are, at the very least, scary as hell. The memories that I often have include only flashes of pictures of the day or days. The information date, time and situation is usually not available.
Alters and systems are as individual as a finger print. There is no ‘cookie cutter’ way of treating DID. The most important thing to me hands down is the relationship with my therapists. Without that relationship, recovery is futile for any issue or disorder. I trust my therapists enough to take me into the depths of the most terrifying events that have ever happened to me. This relationship that has been allowed to happen, as close to trusting, as possible has taken 2 years now with one therapist. However, both the ups and downs of these relationships has lead to the progress now being made by leaps and bounds. Painful as this process is, I can only hope that things actually get better.
The tenets in these rooms represent parts of the person you know as Dana. I will not get into discussing how many or their names. I can tell you that while growing up with some of those reading this blog alters were already formed or forming. Not only do these alters hold memories, but they also function in different ways. However, sometimes the problem with the alters is that they function completely independent from the individual known as the ‘host.’ This is usually the mood swings that you might see. Alters develop out of traumatic events and sometimes more than one during a single traumatic event. Just to put to rest for those that don’t know my parents, no they were not any part of the abuse.
Alters actually develop when the brain compartmentalizes the traumatic event, memories, etc. The trauma is so overwhelming and the mind and body both have to survive, that the only way the individual knows instinctively to survive is by developing a new alter even though they may be unaware at the time. Often times, it is many years down the road that survivors even realize that they have alters. Therefore, many survivors are trapped in the cycle of the mental health system being misdiagnosed for years and much money spent on treatment for the wrong diagnoses.
Often times, many people say, “I’ve been through worse things and I don’t have alters.” The only answer I have found is that what’s traumatic for one person may not necessarily be traumatic for another person. There is also a genetic predisposition to being able to dissociate. And dissociation is key to the formation of alters. What is known is that trauma of any kind effects the brain permanently. Severity depends on how long and what type of trauma was occurred.
You can most definitely have PTSD without meeting criteria for DID. DID cannot exist without a diagnosis of PTSD since that is a large part of how the disorder forms. DID also usually always entails some form of early childhood sexual abuse although ‘splitting’ in adulthood is uncommon.
“Another of the difficulties of having DID is the denial. DID is a disorder of denial. It has to be because if the original person knew about the alters and felt their pain, they would either go crazy and be hospitalized permanently, or would die.” ― Eve N. Adams, A Shattered Soul
“Dissociative parts of the personality are not actually separate identities or personalities in one body, but rather parts of a single individual that are not yet functioning together in a smooth, coordinated, flexible way. P14” ― Suzette Boon
Since this begins a new year, I thought I would start it off with a ‘boom’ of reality from our world. The topic that I will discuss is one that has such stigma attached to it that it’s has taken me months to muster the guts to discuss it. This is a topic that hits home in the best/worst kind of way. I’ve written for months now explaining some of the many symptoms that I experience mostly on a daily basis. 2014 was no doubt one of the most difficult for me, Mel and Marshall. However, we as a family including my brother have shed tears together, as well as, have a lot of laughter. I have also smoked a ton of medical marijuana just to be able to live day to day.
I figured that a few months ago when I ‘came out’ out as a medical marijuana consumer, the thought crossed my mind that even though people can be cruel when it comes to mental illness, that since this blog is about MY healing I would ‘come out’ about my particular illness. Many have read my blog since day one and for that I thank you. I would also like to say that while reading this particular post that you just keep an open mind. I’m not going to try to change your opinions or perceptions of mental illness. I’m simply going to try and paint you a picture of mine to the best of my ability.
I have Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). Now for those with no therapy background, I can tell you that this is the same thing as Multiple Personality Disorder. And now your opinions and thoughts begin to race. The only references that most of you have are those of the books/movies The Three Faces of Eve and Sybil. Hollywood did a horrible job painting a picture of what those of us with this disorder look like and how we function on a daily basis. Guess what? I’m still the same Dana that you grew up with and loved. I just have a world that has formed inside my brain that I didn’t realize everyone didn’t have. I didn’t question it because to me that has been my normal. Does this diagnosis make me ‘crazy?’ Should it make you fear for your family’s life if I happen to be around? Does this make you want to run as fast as you can in the opposite direction? I can promise you that all of that energy would be wasted.
The symptoms that I have mentioned in other posts are all true and are a part of daily life for me. I can’t tell you what it’s like living with a spouse with this particular disorder because only my wife can answer that. I can tell you that it’s the most intricate puzzle I’ve ever had to try and figure out. Having only had this correct diagnosis for almost 1.5 years we, as a family, have had to adjust. We were already adjusting prior to Marshall being born. His birth somehow set off a bomb inside my brain that retriggered everything that has happened to me. Not his fault or mine, just our reality.
With both my wife and I having Master’s Degrees in Counseling, we were baffled when we never even considered this diagnosis as one that would fit. Even in graduate school, because of limited time to study the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders we didn’t see the signs. If you want to know why we had limited time to study on this manual, just take a look at it one time and you’ll see that it could take years to be taught thoroughly and it’s like computers changing all the time. This diagnosis is still part of a great debate about whether or not it’s an actual diagnosis. I can’t answer for other families but for our family it’s very much a REAL diagnosis.
Some people have, in fact, asked Mel if she felt safe around me with Marshall. The answer is always the same….yes. There’s a lot of self education we’ve had to do because of the stigma within the mental health communities, as well as, those outside that community. We don’t have all the answers yet to how and why and neither does science. I can tell you that the very slow journey of recovery from a lifetime of trauma actually began when the correct diagnosis was given. Now I finally had answers to why sometimes I would answer myself and had what I thought were ‘loud’ thoughts.
To see me today, I’m the same goofy ass, class clown that was and still is friends with Levi Pierce. I have scars on my arms. It’s nothing to be afraid of, it’s how I survived. You don’t have to be afraid to have your kids around me. I’m not going to cook them and eat them.
DID, as I’ll refer to the diagnosis from now on, is not near as scary as the picture that has been painted. Does it have scary moments? Of course. So does Bipolar, Major Depression, Schizophrenia and any other disorder. This disorder requires a very patient and understanding spouse, as well as, professionals to be able to deal with some unpleasant moments.
The title of my blog “This Puzzled Life” is all about putting these scary pieces back together enough for me to be able to enjoy doing what I love…..helping people. Once piece at a time is how I’ll learn to live with this disorder. Trial and error is how it’s been for almost 1.5 years now with the correct diagnosis. Prior to the correct diagnosis it was and still is at times a total nightmare. Also, life continues regardless if I have a disorder or not. Friends and family still pass away which can complicate things. But, this too, is just the way life operates.
With very patient but firm therapists, I’m finally being able to look very closely at some of the horrors. The ‘alters’ or other personalities, if you so wish to call them, have their own story because they were created by the mind at very key times in the abusive history. Alters together are called a ‘system.’ Each ‘alter’ has his/her own function within the system. Each person with DID has a system much like that of a finger print. Not every therapy works the same like a cookie cutter. Do not be afraid to ask what you don’t understand. Your fears come from what you don’t understand.
“DID is about SURVIVAL. As more people begin to appreciate this concept, individuals with DID will start to feel less as though they have to hide the shame.”
–Anonymous
There are also no psychotropic meds that are specifically designed for this disorder. This also explains why for the first 3 years of seeing a psychiatrist none of the meds worked for an extended period of time. Some antidepressants, anti-psychotics, axiolitics work well for some alters and not for other alters. I was taking Parkinson’s medications for the side effects of other medications while feeling horrible from the side effects. So, that represents toxicity to me. My psychiatrist offered as a last resort the state’s Medical Marijuana Program because of all the mood swings, PTSD, hallucinations and every other symptom I would have at that time. Now believe what you want about medical marijuana, but I can personally tell you that that medication as it is so treated, is one of the reasons my wife, son, friends and family still have someone they love living. The memories of the trauma alone are more than I can handle. The effects of PTSD steal your sanity one image, smell, thought or sound at a time. The body memories while very painful become a little more tolerable with the marijuana and acupuncture.
This is why I’m also so big on people recognizing and working on their own trauma. That way people like me who set out to enjoy life don’t have to wait 40+ years to understand what that means. I’m representative of people who were too proud or stubborn to face their own demons. This too was not a “choice.” I understand the concept of ‘free will.’ Where was my free will? That’s right, there was none.
People from all walks of life have this diagnosis but go on for years with the wrong diagnosis because so much can mimic other diagnoses. There are also those still that live with this diagnosis and are very successful members of society. The trauma didn’t just occur overnight. It’s has happened my whole life so, the process won’t resolve itself overnight. There is a lot of painful elbow grease that has to be put into this recovery. The point is to keep putting one foot in front the other. I’ve never backed down from a fight and won’t start now. You just can’t take the athlete out of me.
I will take you through the victories and the setbacks of this journey. Hopefully, I’ll help educate you while also healing me. The only thing I ask is keep an open mind.
“It isn’t the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out; it’s the pebble in your shoe.” -Muhammad Ali
Today is one of those days where I regret being able to open my eyes. I rolled out of bed this morning and felt like I had been at war all night. My body feels like I’m detoxing from a chemical that I haven’t taken. And it’s already begun happening at 6:00am. I feel the overwhelming sense of sadness mixed with anxiety. The nausea is hitting like a gulf coast wave from Hurricane Katrina. I feel that overwhelming sense of needing to vomit. Halleluer! I must not have eaten before I went to bed last night! I didn’t see any remnants of anything. So, I grab my cannabis wax pen and take a couple of hits off it to settle my entire system down. This has also helped to combat a horrible headache that was beginning to hit like a thousand hammers. Then the diarrhea hits like some kind of ‘shock and awe’ attack on Iraq. How soon until I have another acupuncture session?
I’m actually catching a break from these symptoms right now. The medical marijuana is just like any other medication, it too has its limits. However, the combination between both mmj and acupuncture and a drastic slow down in therapy seems to be slowing everything but my mind. What was started about a month ago and was exacerbated when we traveled home has continued to plague every inch of my mind. This blog, no doubt, is an exit for both frustration and education on certain topics. But, for now, certain things must be kept hidden to ensure safety on several different levels.
Am I just trying to have a “poor, pitful me” moment today? Hell no! You’re just getting a ‘firsthand’ look at what some people’s days are like. Like I’ve said before, “writing about these topics on my own abuse has had numerous effects on me both mentally and physically.” Yes, I realize that I had an awesome life up next to others who have had some horrific things happen in their own lives. I’m not going to compare stories because this blog is not about minimizing anyone’s personal traumas. Have I cried about feeling so guilty about being upset over seemingly insignificant things? Absolutely! But, the fact is that things did happen. I’ve held that shame and guilt so long that my mind and body feels like I’m melting. And I’ve stuffed and stuffed feelings for so long that I’m not only nervous….I’m terrified to work with them.
The “special” people helping to guide me through this process must either be angels from God or “gluttons for punishment.” LMAO!!! I feel like I’m really just beginning this treatment even though, I’ve been in therapy for a few years now. I just don’t have the ability to keep my defenses up like I use to.
As an athlete, “YOU NEVER GIVE UP!” You play until you hear the whistle blow. This drive is not one that can be taught. You must be born with a love for the game and the athletic ability to become the best ballplayer you can become. I got my softball playing nickname ‘Charlie Hustle’ from one of my earliest and dearest coaches assigned to me by Nick Kolinksy. He always told me that I played a lot like Pete Rose and never gave up. I smile every time I remember as a kid playing ball for him and always feeling a sense of ‘safety’ around him. He would tell me sometimes, “Dana, that was a $100 catch and a .10 throw.” He made his point very clear but didn’t crush my self esteem as a ballplayer or as a person in the process. He and other coaches are on my list of ‘special’ people that had a dramatic and positive impact on my life from a very early age. I never complained about going to practice or games. That was a way out for me. Playing ball was my life. Pete Rose said it the best way that I know how to describe the love that I had for the game.
“I’d walk through hell in a gasoline suit to play baseball.”
—Pete Rose
Occasionally, that old, washed up athlete comes alive in me again with reminders about how “putting one foot in front of the other is still considered progress.” I get caught up a lot on what the definition of ‘progress’ or ‘winning’ is about in regards to therapy. Sometimes, the best I can do for that day is just get out of the bed. Even doing that means that I made progress because one foot had to be put in front of another foot for that to be accomplished.
Sometimes people ask me what it’s like to process trauma. To me it’s all about going to war, except this time, I know what I’ll be faced with. I have survived it once so, it can be done. Do I have the strength? That remains to be seen. I relive everything all day everyday anyway. What makes this situation different? I have actively made a choice to volunteer to go through it again. The fear can make me angry, frustrated and paralyze me at times. I must admit that it’s very unfair to be almost 40 years old and still paralyzed in many ways by what others have done. I can hear some of the old, southern biddies saying, “She made her bed, now, she can lie in it.” And that’s fine, if that’s your reality. My reality is this….”I don’t care what the circumstances were…No one deserves to be abused in any way….EVER! My ex-husband, teacher, baby sitters and birth mom didn’t deserve the abuse that they suffered at the hands of their family and people they trusted. When the effects of the abuse begin affecting them then, the new generation of abuse is born and is taken out on other people who become their victims just like I did.”
“The loneliest people are the kindest. The saddest people smile the brightest. The most damaged people are the brightest. All because they never want to see others suffer the way they do.”
—–Anonymous
The topic of Robin Williams committing suicide really saddens me. He was a man that has always been able to lift me up with a nice dose of humor. I don’t know the details to this or any other celebrities suicides. But, I do know the anguish that comes from living with a mental disorder due to circumstances beyond one’s control. Maybe, Robin William’s bipolar disorder symptoms were purely biological? I highly doubt it. There are probably images of things done and said to him by one or many perpetrators. These are the types of things that can keep a person away for hours. It’s torment on the mind and the body. Once the physical symptoms evolve, there starts somewhat of a decline in functioning even on a seemingly minute level. A comment I read on social media was, “He always appeared so happy.”
First of all, he’s a celebrity and is held to a higher standard. We live in a society where everything is about image not truth. Most victims of abuse continue to protect their abusers out of fear. Likewise, most individuals who have a mental illness, stay quiet due to social stigma. So, the attitude seems to be more of a “let them get the help they need. Just don’t mention anything about it so no one knows.”
Society has somehow labeled everyone with a mental illness as “dangerous.” Depending on what the particular diagnosis is seems to determine how one might react. People already have in their minds what “bipolar” “depression” “anxiety disorders” “substance abuse disorders” and/or ”schizophrenia” “personality disorders” look like. So, for example…..anyone who has bipolar disorder is going to be seemingly hyper one moment and depressed the next moment all while in the same conversation with you. Not everything is as it seems. The information most people have on specific mental illnesses is the direct contact of a family and/or friend. And, of course, the media which seldom presents things unbiased on any topic. Very true, that there are mentally ill individuals who are dangerous. But, many walk among us quietly having never been diagnosed or been able to get or afford treatment. There are also those individuals with mental illness that are not dangerous which represents the majority.
I consider my wife and I to have a really good policy for outpatient mental health benefits. However, due to specific needs, our insurance won’t cover trauma treatment because they don’t see the need for it. Really? I asked that poor person on the phone, “How are you able to sleep at night?” Yea….the privilege of being able to talk to our insurance company has been permanently disabled. Eating disorders, PTSD due to military service and substance abuse disorders are paid for with no problem. I had someone from a treatment center that asked me, “Have you ever been in a war?” My response was, “Ma’am, I didn’t serve our country. But, I’ve been in a war the majority of my life. Doesn’t that count for something? I did nothing to deserve what was done to me.” “Yea, I’m sure it’s tough to live like that but you don’t meet criteria for our program.” This is the typical answer we receive. Diagnoses are great for insurance billing but somewhat useless in society. All it seems to do has been to cause a nationwide panic to keep mental illness a secret.
If you have a question about a particular disorder, look it up or ask someone with the disorder. Not your moody neighbor that waves and cusses you out in the same breath. Then, you have decided that in all your education and classes on diagnosing that you have never taken, lead you to the diagnosis of bipolar disorder. Don’t just depend on any type of media to educate you about mental illness. Look up scholarly journals not Wikipedia, and look at the studies that have been done with individuals with particular disorders. Hollywood’s movies are designed to be dramatic and make money. Those of us with mental illness just want to learn how to live a comfortable life.
I would imagine that even though, Robin Williams, had more money then I’ll ever see in my lifetime. None of it was bigger than his disorder or his trauma. Everything you do and/or say affects someone either positively or negatively. Be especially sensitive around children because, what you do and how you make them feel will last forever. Everyone has a breaking point and Robin Williams found his.
“The conflict between the will to deny horrible events and the will to proclaim them aloud is the central dialectic of psychological trauma.”
― Judith Lewis Herman, Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence – From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror
People who will read these posts are wondering about, “How I’m able to write about this trauma if I have such adverse effects?” The truth is that, I’m able to discuss this because I’m talking completely from my head. Emotionally, I have a very difficult time staying “grounded” around these topics. It’s the same concept as those that work in the emergency services field (EMTs, fire fighters, police). And let’s not forget our soldiers that return from war. I worked only for a year on an ambulance but saw enough to last a lifetime. You operated solely helping with the gruesome scene before you. Feelings must be put on the “back burner” in order to get the job done.
Once upon a time, a few years ago while in graduate school, I would do presentations to help explain/educate those going into the therapy field on the topic of “Self-Harm.” I had to be able to give some background information in order for the students to grasp the concept of how this behavior can develop. However, emotionally the topics, even more vague than I talk about here, would, at time have me vomiting by the end of the presentation. So, I had to completely detach emotionally to be able to speak.
The problem is afterward………”What to do with all of the feelings?” Everything emotionally gets stored and trapped unless properly released. Within the animal kingdom, all prey animals go through the same thing we go through as humans. Some of these symptoms include but definitely not limited to: heart rate changes, immobilization state, shaking, trembling, shivering, temperature changes, breathing changes and more. The animal then returns to a “normal” state of being and goes on about its business. We as human beings have a much more complex emotional, psychological and physical systems in operation on a day-to-day basis. However, if we could learn how to just ‘sit’ with these trauma responses, be able to release the results of this ‘normal’ type of physical and mental responses safely and fully. We could also just move on to the next task. However, most people don’t know how to completely and safely release these ‘trapped’ feelings and emotions. Therefore, people either find and work with a therapist often many years after the event because their behavior becomes problematic in every aspect of their life. Most people don’t realize that they’re actually looking to be able to have this release so that they are able to function more normally. This state of unresolvedtrauma can be the underlying force that drives the elusive symptoms such as panic, depression, migraines, irritable bowel, ME, chronic fatigue, fibromyalgia and chronic pain.
Those that choose not to work on their issues can lead to an unfulfilled life never truly happy because of an event or series of events that could’ve happened 20+ years ago. And some well….they re-perpetrate another victim and the cycle continues. This is where having a trusted therapist is very crucial. Releasing the trauma through both the mind and body is a very intimate area that most people aren’t allowed to know about much less hear how the trauma really affected us. Often the additional re-experiencing that can come with therapy, can actually be more painful than the actual events. For me, my body and mind can feel like I’m detoxing from some type of drug. I wake up vomiting, diarrhea, body aches, sweating and emotionally a mess. Sometimes it can take until noon time for me to be able to somewhat function.
Because of my trauma, it takes me a long time of watching and interacting with someone to feel that comfortable to work with someone on that level. Remember….the times when I initially going through the trauma, I was either alone or made fun of for natural feelings for the situation. Therapy is one of those professions that have a very fine line between ethical and unethical behavior. I know and totally respect this from having been in the field at one time. However, without some type of human and/or animal connection……I, personally, cannot process. I have to know and feel a ‘therapeutic’ relationship with the person or persons that I do this work with. This is a very scary process for me to find those people that I feel that level of comfort being around. Also, because they have the title as “therapist,” automatically my mind and body scream, “Harmful Authority Figure Ahead! You Will Get Hurt!” So, it has taken me over a year working with therapists every week for over a year watching EVERYTHING about them to determine whether or not they’re a “safe” people. Even with determining that these people are “safe” people, showing an emotion besides anger often leaves me feeling embarrassed and shameful. Even the anger, leaves it’s on mark of shame on me.
These (psychosomatic) reactions wear both the mind and body down. The medical marijuana actually helps me to be able to persevere through these reactions by helping with both the intensity of the flashbacks and pain. I also go to acupuncture every week which seems to, at least, help with some of the physical symptoms. Not everyone is going to have the same reaction to processing or experiencing trauma. Unfortunately, this is sometimes just part of the process. It’s definitely a “marathon not a sprint.” I didn’t reach these extremes in behavior overnight. So, to even remotely think, that seeing a therapist and being able to resolve everything in a couple of weeks is a very unrealistic expectation that will set one up for failure.
The time in my life where I remember actually feeling truly “safe” in a relationship with someone outside of my parents is my wife, Melody Landrum-Arnold. She has been nothing less than a ‘trooper’ while in this arduous process. This feeling of “safety” has also come with some complications. This will be explained later.
I initially started blogging about 5 years ago. I’m originally from the deep south in Petal, MS. It’s exactly half way between Gulfport, MS and Jackson, MS and just across the bridge from Hattiesburg, MS. Petal has a population around 11,000 now but growing up as a small child and teenager there were significantly less people. Small town USA complete with the noisiness, conservative politics, religion, strong beliefs, great food, respect taught through the generations, southern hospitality, friendly neighbors who are loyal as family, resilient, head strong and loyalties within a “good ole’ boy network.” No more loyalties than any other small town I’m sure. But this “loyalty” hurt me and changed the course of my life forever.
Me and my wife completed Master’s degree in Couseling and then moved to Albuquerque, NM to begin our careers and start a family. But as life would have it, Mental Illness began to effect our hopes and dreams one day at a time. A few years later I would be diagnosed correctly….finally…with Dissociaitve Identity Disorder. We would eventually have two little boys that we adore and make you want to keep going with things get difficult.
My writing is about the struggles of living as an individual and LGBT family with a parent with severe mental illness. The sometimes the humor of it all and the often heartbreaking reality of the effects of abuse and mental illness on the indivial and family unit as a whole will keep those that struggle from feeling that you live on an island. And the families will see that you can love someone with a mental illness without becoming a prisoner to their behaviors. And maybe you will also see that the struggle for us as your family memeber have more struggles then what we let on at times.
Anyway, enjoy the laughs and tears with our family as they support me while I search for the puzzle pieces of an abusive life. I will say this…I don’t sugar coat anything. Sometimes my blogs can be graphic but abuse isn’t pretty. I’m in the process of healing so topics are frequently repeated and attitudes change from positive to dark. Either way, this is MY life and MY therapeutic journey towards healing. Hold on because this ride is bumpy.
Hit the “Follow” button and watch us grow. I don’t write every day because my functionality can change on a dime. I cover many different topics related to abuse and mental illness. This blog builds so read from the beginning and see Where we were. Where we are now. And where we are going. Happy Reading!
This Puzzled Life 