“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.
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk about the beauty of living in a free nation. And it is one of the many days that I will always celebrate our freedoms. What our founding fathers laid the foundation for is something that will never be paid in dollars. It’s always paid with lives.
The Declaration of Independence from Great Britian rule was adopted by the Second Continental Congress. It passed on July 2nd and was formally adopted on July 4, 1776. The declaration proclaimed that the Thirteen Colonies were now “free and independent States.” Therefore, the colonies were no longer part of the British Empire. The most prominent individuals involved in this process were George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, James Madison, Alexander Hamilton and Ben Franklin (history.com, 2025). The Continental Congress eventually created the Articles of Confederation which led to the establishment of the United States as an independent nation (history.state.gov, 2025).
Our country has come a long way since the days of powdered wigs, breeches, a shirt, waistcoat and coats. And our freedoms continue to evolve as do our politics. We as an “America Nation,” which was considered a crime of treason that was punishable by death. Think about that for a minute.
At one time you could be killed for even speaking about just the idea of wanting a “free nation.” And if you think about it now, that’s exactly what is happening, not just now, but through history to other areas of the world who still live under dictatorship and other forms of government. Let me speak some of the historical names. How would you like to live your life in a nation with heads of government that have names like Adolph Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Benito Mussolini, Mao Zedong, Saddam Hussein, Idi Amin, Fransico Franco, Pol Pot, Fidel Castro, Kim Jong-I, Kim Il-sung, Agusto Pinochet, Vladimir Putin, Chiang Kai-shek, King Leopold II and Muammar Al-Gaddafi and more. Really comforting thoughts, huh. If you don’t recognize some of these names, I suggest looking at all of the atrocities that they committed.
We’ve had problems in our nation just like other countries in varying degrees. However, we don’t wake up in the middle of the nights with ISIS barging through the door killing us and our children in the most horrific of ways. Al-Qaeda doesn’t invite themselves to our dinner tables and kill us all in the name of Allah. When we go to the store we don’t have to worry about roadside bombs. We are free to worship in whatever way we choose. And we can talk about the idiots in our government without the threat of being murdered for not supporting them. We don’t have to witness beheadings of sometime innocent people who were accused of some of the most insignificant of crimes. And the only kind of “public stoning” that goes on is on 420.
I don’t agree with a lot of the politics and leaders in this country. But I do have the freedom to write and post my blogs on a public forum. As long as I don’t harm anyone or cause an insurrection on the capitol, then I’m pretty much okay to do whatever I want to do within reason. Since the Revolutionary War, 646, 596 troops have died in battle and more than 539,000 died from other non-combat related causes (military.com, 2025). And guess what? The majority of us send others to fight wars and battles, while we sit home in air conditioning houses with cell phones watching videos on social media of people and eating Tide pods. And currently I’m blogging with a cat snuggled in my lap and wanting to be so close to me that she tries to morph her way into my skin.
Don’t get me wrong, the world is incredibly dangerous with all of the social and economic challenges facing our country. And the United States has always set the standard for democracy that other countries can only dream about. We might not always agree about the politics of military conflicts, tariffs and the price of eggs. But we do have the right and the freedoms to live our lives the way we want. And I hope and pray that our government and those wanting to be dictators of the world, step out of “ego” and never lose sight of the cost of freedom. Freedom isn’t only paid in dollars. It’s also paid with lives.
Included in the Decalration of Indepence is the statement, “all individuals are born with inherent and inalienable rights, including the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” And that does mean ALL. Thanks for reading! God Bless you. And may God continue to bless the United States of America!
Affirmation: I am worthy of happiness and freedom.
“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.
“Getting information from the Internet is like taking a drink from a fire hydrant.”
-Mitchell Kapor
Thanks for coming back to read the final blog about the Most Dangerous Internet Challenges. I have saved the most dangerous of all the challenges I’ve talked about until now. That does not mean that I’m being insensitive to the destruction that the previous ones have caused. However, for varied reasons these last four challenges go down as my top for being some of the most dangerous. Let’s continue…
Skull Breaker Challenge
This is a dangerous challenge that first made its mark on Tik Tok in 2020. I’m not saying that the behavior itself has never been conducted before. Because I’m fairly sure that when I was a teen, we did something similar. The participants work as a group of three. One person stands in the middle, while the other two stand on either side. They tell the middle person to jump up and then very swiftly use a sweeping kick so that the middle person falls to the ground and hits their head. Injuries that have been associated with this challenge include concussion, neck, head and spinal injuries. Skull fractures and paralysis are also known to be associated with this challenge. Tik Tok very quickly took down any videos related to the challenge.
Benadryl Challenge
This is a challenge where it involves taking massive amounts of Benadryl in order to get high and hallucinate. Ok, stop for a second. We didn’t even have internet challenges much less this one. Hell, I did this just to escape my own horrible reality. But you can only take so much before the “high” isn’t a really pleasant experience. However, when you don’t have access to money, as a young teen, you go to the next best place, the parents’ medicine cabinet.
I’m not trying to glorify this. What I am saying is that there are many varied reasons why someone would do something like this. While this can be deadly, I never considered those dangers as a teen. The overconsumption of this medication can lead to confusion, delirium, psychosis, organ damage, hyperthermia, convulsions coma and death. And sadly, there have been children and teens who did not live to see the next internet challenge.
Blackout Challenge
Ok. This one right here has been known to be my poison. The Blackout Challenge also called the “Choking Game” are another one of those things that have thrill seekers mouths watering with anticipation. I had no idea that this had a formal name for behavior until I started seeing this in news reports. The challenge formally began to gain widespread attention on Tik Tok in 2021. It’s a challenge that deprives the brain of oxygen and blocks blood from entering the brain.
Oxygen deprivation of the brain has the potential to cause moderate to severe brain cell death. And because fatalities are often ruled as suicides, it makes the statistics unreliable. I think we all can agree that this can be dangerous. One of the reasons that it’s so popular is because it costs zero dollars to try. As dangerous as it can be, I don’t see this behavior being eradicated.
My personal beginning with this behavior was born out of a very traumatic situation. And I can tell you that the longer kids get their needs met in this way, the more difficult it is to stop. And just like any type of self-harm that serves a purpose for the individual, the results can be deadly.
I completely understand that not every child looks for some type of emotional need to be met with these behaviors. Either way no one can deny the facts about the statistics showing that it can be deadly. I can admit that this isn’t “brain food” and is still considered very stupid to most people. The main thing is for parents to be aware of the signs that are related to this behavior which include discussion of the game, bloodshot eyes, marks on the neck, severe headaches, disorientation after spending time alone, ropes, scarves and belts tied to bedroom furniture or doorknobs or knotted on the floor and unexplained presence of things like dog leashes, choke collars and bungee cords.
Blue Whale Challenge
The Blue Whale Challenge is one that I consider to be very insidious. If you’ve read my recent blog about the online predatory group 764, this is one that’s eerily reminiscent. It was an online social phenomenon in 2016 that began in Russia and claimed to exist in many countries. The game consists of a series of tasks to players over a 50-day period.
In its start, the creator who was a former Russian psychology student, got expelled from the university. He said that he originally created the game in 2013 in order to “clean society of biological wastes.” The tasks begin with things like “get up at 4:30 am” or “watch a horror movie” before moving into self-harm. And the end of the game involves committing suicide. The administrators were found to be children aged between 12 and 14 years of age.
In June 2018, Russian financial analyst, Nikita Nearonov was arrested for masterminding the game. Nearonov is suspected of grooming ten underage girls in order for them to commit suicide. The game has been reported to be banned in countries including Egypt, Kenya and Pakistan. However, experts agree that it’s almost impossible to ban the game.
I hope this series has been informative on some of the dangerous internet challenges. For all the ones that have diminished, there are new challenges in ten-fold waiting to take their place. Remembering how naïve I was as a teen helps me to realize that had the internet been as big then as it is now, I would’ve surely gotten hurt at the very least. I was incredibly impulsive and searching for something to distract me from life as it was. Thanks for reading!
“This is how betrayal starts…not with big lies, but with small secrets.”
-Shalini Joshi
Now let’s continue…
Lisa did update us on Kathleen’s self-harm issue that had begun to dissipate. And now she was also in therapy. I always asked about how the therapy was going because I hadn’t left my abusive therapist yet. So, I became very protective when it came to that topic. She would always put my fears to rest by telling me that she had a great therapist that really knew how to work with Kathleen.
Landri would also have a big scare with her heart that left her almost completely bed bound. She had become so weak that she could no longer support her own weight. But eventually she would regain her strength. Slowly but surely, she wasn’t so pale. She was beginning to put on weight, and it looked really good on her. And then she started getting out and walking. They had moved onto the same military base as us. They lived only about 6-7 houses down the street.
We had not been around them in a little while due to our own issues with my mental health. And I had already begun living life in solitude where I would remain for the next few years. One day I had gone out to check the mail when I saw someone walking towards me on the sidewalk. I soon realized that it was Landri. I spoke to her and told her how good she looked and how happy I was for her. We made a very superficial conversation because I was in a very deep depression at the time. The following is the last conversation that she and I would have together. And it continues to haunt me to this day.
Landri: “Dana, I’m scared of Lisa.”
Me: “What do you mean you’re scared?”
Landri: “I don’t really want to go into our personal problems, but she’s become very aggressive.”
Me: “Wait! Do I need to throw some aggression her way?”
Landri: “No, that would just make it worse. Just remember what I’m telling you.”
Me: “Ok. Promise me that if you need us you will call.”
Landri: “No, it’s nothing like that. She’s just spent all of our money on drugs. And she doesn’t like me questioning her about any of it.”
Me: “Ok. Well, we are here to help if you need us.”
Landri: “Thank you so much for being such good friends.”
She had convinced me enough to pacify my obsessive nature when someone is being dominated. I also understood how telling someone about a perpetrator can make the situation worse. And coming from a domestic violence situation I felt that fear for her. Later that day when Mel got home from work, I told her about the situation. She was likewise just as perplexed as I was. I told her everything from beginning to end about our encounter. She agreed with me to stay out of the situation. And to just be available if necessary.
A week later, Landri was dead. She apparently died in her sleep. But now that conversation that was stuck on replay was never-ending. I didn’t know what to do as the news completely stunned me. I told her to find out funeral arrangements. I couldn’t let the thought go that, “Lisa just murdered one of our closest friends.” I would battle in my mind thinking, “That’s absurd to think that we would be as close to a situation that was that dangerous and not know something was wrong.” And it has always been rebuttaled with the very conversation that we had asking me not to get involved.
Mel came in from work a few days later and said, “You’re not going to believe what I’m about to tell you.” I said, “Ok well that’s not a good sign.” She very begrudgingly said, “Lisa has already had her cremated.” I scream, “WTF?!” And I began shaking. It was then that I realized that there was a high likelihood that Landri was murdered. It was difficult for me to look Lisa in the face the next time we saw her. Mel asked, “Lisa, what happened?” She begins telling us the story that she had become very weak, very quickly. And how they were laying in their bed together and they both took a nap. But when Lisa woke up, Landri was dead. I told her, “I just saw Landri several days ago and she looked the best I’ve ever seen her.” Lisa said, “Yea the doctors said that sudden death was a possibility.” I didn’t tell her what Landri herself told me. And without warning Lisa and Kathleen moved away and weren’t answering us in any way.
We had gone to the local library where we were known frequently. Mel tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Look who’s here.” I turned around and I must’ve turned white. We saw Lisa and Kathleen before they saw us. Kathleen wasn’t in a wheelchair. But when we made eye contact, we saw Lisa mumble something to Kathleen. She was just super excited to see us. And then her demeanor turned very solemn.
That situation was many years back now. Mel and the boys moved back to Mississippi. And I moved to Texas to work with “coach” on my PTSD issues. While living out there Mel called me one day and said, “You’ll never guess who I talked to.” Agreeing with her I said, “Probably not. What’s up?” Me said, “I just got off the phone with Kathleen.” I said, “Shut up! What’s going on with her?” Mel told me, “Well, she said that Lisa had made everything up about her military and EMT service. And that neither Kathleen nor Landri had a terminal condition. She was starving them. That’s why Kathleen passed out so much and broke bones. Lisa is now homeless. And Kathleen has moved on with her life complete with therapy.” It took me a few minutes to respond because those horrible gut feelings began flooding every part of me. Several years had gone by since that horrible situation but it still stung with great ferocity. I told Mel, “You know it’s bothered me ever since about that we seemed to know the truth. If it doesn’t seem right, it probably isn’t right.” She said, “Yea, but what proof did we have at the point when we thought that? We couldn’t just go into the police station and talk to a detective only to say, “Well we don’t have evidence, but I do have a gut feeling. They couldn’t exhume the body because it was cremated.” And the words that my ex-husband repeatedly said to me, “Nobody will believe you. You’re the one with the mental problems” kept me silent once again.
Nothing has ever been proven or investigated related to that situation. One of the many things that has continued to plague my mind is the fact that we left our oldest baby in their care so that we could actually go on a much-needed date. They baby sat Marshall many, many times. If something had happened to him, I would’ve killed her without a second thought. Some of my “mommy guilt” about being a parent holds space for the event that taught me that evil is still alive and well in this world. I don’t wish her death. But I do wish her a miserable existence until the end of time. She didn’t care about our child or our family. But what was the saddest was that she didn’t care about her own family.
At the same time, I was dealing with another “friend” who was also very manipulative. And I was also being abused by my therapist. After all of this, I lost my damn mind. The first thing I remember writing about this was the poem titled Silent Screams. The only way that I get through another day with the constant barrage of memories about this situation is to give myself grace in the fact that everything was so hidden in a tangled web of lies. She was a manipulator that was even more skilled than my ex-husband. I think that my anger around this is about the fear that I experienced after realizing how much time Marshall had spent in their care. There is a certain amount of grief that comes from losing those relationships. We lost what we thought “was” instead of what it “wasn’t.
Munchausen by Proxy is actually pretty rare. Unless,of course, it’s happening to you. I recently got interested in the case of Gypsy Rose. She was also at the mercy of her mother who had Munchausen by Proxy. Except that Gypsy Rose murdered her mom and subsequently went to prison. She served her time and is now out of prison. She has talked about all of the unnecessary treatments and procedures that she had to go through for absolutely no reason. And so did Kathleen.
I don’t advocate murder. However, through the many years of trauma at the hands of some truly evil people, I can’t totally understand the rationale. Lisa was still allowed to live her life. She has nothing but one tooth and her lies that are continuing to be spread onto other unsuspecting victims. The thoughts and feelings that have stayed with me since that day are forever in my mind.” Again, it’s just another traumatic event that has taught me to question everyone’s motives including friends and especially family. I’ve never thought that I should require proof of terminal illness or military service. But maybe I should.
“But the memories that hang heaviest are the easiest to recall. They hold in their creases the ability to change one’s life, organically, forever. Even when you shake them out, they’ve left permanent wrinkles in the fabric of your soul.”
-Julie Gregory
Affirmation: “I am strong and can overcome the influence of manipulative individuals.”
“Munchausen by Proxy may be the single most complex and lethal form of maltreatment known today.”
-Julie Gregory, Sickened: The True Story of a Lost Childhood
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk to you about a serious mental health disorder known as Munchausen Syndrome. I know that this is a topic that a lot of people like to sweep under the rug because it just seems too grotesque and unimaginable to talk about. However, the fact is that the disorder remains alive and well in some individuals. And the signs and symptoms are hidden in plain sight.
Munchausen and Munchausen by Proxy fit under the diagnostic criteria for Factitious Disorder. A Factitious disorder is a conscious and intentional feigning or production of symptoms due to a psychological need to take on the sick role in order to obtain an emotional gain. This is not to be mistaken with Hypochondriasis. Which is an obsession with fears that one has a serious, undiagnosed disease. The symptoms are not created consciously (nih.gov, 2006).
Munchausen Syndrome is still considered to be the most extreme form of factitious disorder. They intentionally deceive others by pretending to be sick. They fake symptoms or make symptoms seem worse than they actually are. And speaking to them you would think that they are an endless pit of medical knowledge. What they do is produce some medical or psychological problems and study everything they can find on it until they’re comfortably able to construct an ongoing story.
Munchausen by Proxy is where the behavior is imposed onto another person. The biggest factor in keeping their narratives alive is manipulation. And they are exceptionally good at it. My exposure to Munchausen by Proxy has left me with a lot of shame, guilt, regret and suicidal ideations. I have tried to extend myself “grace” about this situation knowing that had I understood the harsh reality sooner, I could’ve done something about it.
When we moved to Albuquerque, NM we found us a lesbian group that became our home for a short while. Mel and I had dreams and aspirations of being parents one day which eventually distanced us from them. But not before we met Lisa, Landri and Kathleen. “Two moms and a child? We’ve totally got to meet them!” I told Mel. It didn’t take us long to realize that we had more in common with this family than realized. Lisa, who was clearly a “top” and the strong family leader, told us that they were from Laurel, MS. Very surprise I said, “Wait What?! You mean to tell us that we just met people from Laurel, MS that are a lesbian family?” She confirmed again. I thought, “Holy Crap, this is what we’ve been needing. Someone from the south that understands our frustrations.” Our relationship was soon off to the races.
Their daughter was a truly compassionate being who appeared reserved but loved our son, Marshall. And Marshall loved them all. And Kathleen definitely danced to the beat of her own drum. The connection was so close that it appeared that this was a friendship that would last a lifetime. Lisa told us that she was a retired military colonel. She was always dressed in some type of military get-up. And she had also been an EMT and worked on an ambulance. I was happy that I now had someone to exchange “trauma junkie” stories with. She seemed to deal with it better than I was doing and was interested in how she did it. Her partner, Landri, was very frail looking but spicy in her own sense. She quit working due to her chronic health issues regarding cardiac problems. They told us that their daughter, Kathleen, had been diagnosed as a child with a terminal heart condition. And that she likely would not make it to adulthood. They warned that there were very frequent hospital visits sometimes close to being fatal. But we loved all of them and they loved us.
We were prepared to love and accept them right where they presented themselves. We never knew that we needed to have someone prove their medical conditions or a traumatic past. We were on the “therapy” side of life which fit comfortably with our level of empathy. And for the first time while living in Albuquerque there were people who understood what it was like to grow up and come out in the south.
Since we lived on a guarded military base, when she would come through the gate dressed in some type of military attire she accepted the salutes as a proud retired colonel. We planned to celebrate the next Thanksgiving together in grand southern style. Mel and I spent several hours in the kitchen cooking our favorite southern dishes. The finished product was a full spread that would make our ancestors smile. But right before they came over Lisa called to ask us if we could make Kathleen some macaroni and cheese because she didn’t eat regular Thanksgiving foods. We both thought that was strange. But we didn’t question anything due to possible nutritional needs.
When they arrived, Kathleen came running into our house. She grabbed the freezer door and swung it open while asking, “What have you got to eat?” I looked at Mel like, “Are you watching this?” Shocked and completely bewildered I very clearly remember thinking, “For someone who was raised in the south, that behavior was considered very disrespectful.” We gave the cooked macaroni to her after she also went to the pantry looking for something to eat. Her behavior was startling. She grabbed the macaroni and went and ate like she hadn’t eaten before. Mel and I spoke about it later and we felt half angry and half in utter disbelief. But I also noticed that Lisa was trying to ignore the “elephant in the room.” Almost as though the behavior was unexpected. That evening went on without any other noticeable issues.
Being a preemie, Mashall had different nutritional needs than a normal baby. He drank pediasure to supplement his much-needed calories. Lisa stated that Landi was supposed to be on supplemental drinks like that for adults, but they couldn’t afford it. We gave them a few drinks which they greatly appreciated. But soon they wanted the majority of what we were receiving for Marshall through the CHIPS program. So, we had to put a stop to that. Again, the whole situation wasn’t sitting right with us. However, there were no alarm bells just a “that’s odd” moment.
Kathleen was admitted many times to the hospital for injuries that were sustained by passing out. She would literally break bones when she fell. Lisa always explained that it was due to her congenital heart problem. And honestly, we have been close friends for a while now while these medical issues continued. We were also told that they were in a support group for kids and families with the same diagnosis. And they would tell us when Kathleen’s friends from the group passed away.
She was given all kinds of recognition and special treatment because different organizations were aware that she would not be living the fullest life that everyone else would. We were even invited to go to the state fair free as guests of Kathleen’s. We also attended a rodeo there complete with a special meet and greet with members of a band that was to be singing that night. She always traveled by wheelchair or golf cart because of how weak she could become.
Lisa came to us one day to tell us that Kathleen was self-harming. And they knew that we had some basic knowledge about what causes the behavior. I asked Lisa,” Is she being abused by anyone that you know of?” Lisa of course answered, “No.” But she did tell us that she had suffered a breakup and that because she was getting older, she also began to fear dying. And she would also tell us that prior to moving to New Mexico that Kathleen’s biological father passed away from terminal cancer. We agreed that due to the extreme situation that was occurring in their family that this behavior was possible. We advised her to seek out a therapist before it got out of control and caused severe scarring or possibly escalating to suicide. No matter what we tried to do to help our friends, we always felt helpless.
Landri still seemed to become progressively worse. And soon we were told that Landri would also have heart failure. I remember Mel and I were thinking how horrible it was for a family to go through all of that at one time. And how helpless we felt, not being able to do anything. What we did know was how to be friends with someone and support them emotionally the best that we could.
They supposedly decided as a family to go to California to get married legally. At the time New Mexico was considered a neutral state regarding marriage equality. That meant that you could not legally have a same sex marriage performed in the state. However, they would honor marriages from other states. Lisa told us that, “Kathleen wanted that wish to come true.” I thought, “well maybe that’s what they all needed.” However, there was a very dark and sinister part of that family that would not become known for several more months. It began in the shadows so it won’t survive in the light. This story has one more part. Keep reading!
“Munchausen By Proxy is a desire to have attention and pity at the same time. So maybe all narcissists have Munchausen By Proxy.”
-Unknown
Affirmation: “I am resilient, and I can overcome challenges.”
“I was tired of pretending that I was someone else just to have a good relationship with people, for the sake of having friendships.”
-Kurt Cobain
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! I thought today, while staying in line about mental health awareness, it would be a clever idea to explore why we pretend that we are ok when we aren’t. And what are the reasons for doing this?
When someone asks, “How are you doing?” Most of the time they just expect the typical answer, “I’m fine.” Truthfully, though, most people do not don’t give a shit about how you are really doing. And when you tell them, you are met with an instant cellular retraction. You are seen as boundaryless or too overbearing. The truth, however, is that most people don’t know how to deal with anything that’s perceived as abnormal. My opinion is, “You asked how I was doing? So, guess what? I’m going to tell you exactly how I’m doing.” I do that sometimes just to see the reaction of others.
When I was doing my undergraduate studies, one of my beloved professors explained this very thing. And ever since, I’ve assessed those theories only to prove them right repeatedly. I am not saying this as a blanket statement. But the truth is the truth. People back away from what they don’t understand. That’s about them, not you.
It does not speak about you as a human being. We have been conditioned as human beings, as a species, to be accepted and wanted despite the personal cost. Social media is all about presenting something that the average person considers useful in some way. It does not mean that what you witness is how someone is truly feeling. The conditioning that is implied is that without millions of followers, gets labeled as unworthiness. So, we put on a happy face and try to stay in some form of societal compliance as “normal” which doesn’t have a definitive definition. But do you know what the term “normal” actually is? It’s a setting on a washing machine. The term “normal” is actually a subjective term that doesn’t have a concrete definition. It’s nothing more than someone’s interpretation and social constructs of mainstream behavior.
When we tell people we are ok when we really aren’t, is a “hail Mary” attempt at acceptance. But when we do that, we deny our true feelings and experiences. A big turn off when dealing with people is how they tell me how I should or shouldn’t feel about a situation. What this does is minimize the person’s feelings. It’s not up to you to tell them that their feelings are “ridiculous.” However, the damage has been done. You just sent an unspoken message to the individual who asked the question, that they are not worthy of your time. And it’s incredibly hurtful. And since they aren’t a therapist trained on how to respond appropriately and therapeutically, the damage that is potentially caused can be catastrophic. So, instead of a positive act of vulnerability, the vulnerability is now covered in shame. We can develop a fear of vulnerability based on that one experience. And we also tend to prematurely judge every person and conversation thereafter in the same light.
I can’t tell you how many times I have been told that my fears and phobias are preposterous. But the situation that caused the fear was in fact very real. And its people, who have never gone through the same precipitating factors nor situation, who seem to have all the “correct” answers. I have been told some of those very things when it took everything I had to just be vulnerable enough to tell someone what happened. It has created so many therapeutic “pitfalls” because of the fear and shame that I was left with from the very beginning of my trauma history. So many times, I could’ve gotten help sooner, but I suffered in silence because of how unworthy I felt trying to tell the wrong person that I needed help. And sadly, there are many people who die by their own hand. Shame was the killer.
Sometimes all you need to do is just hold a “non-judgmental” space for someone to talk. You don’t have to, nor do you need to have the answers. You are NOT a therapist. You are a “sounding board” at best. However, “non-judgmental” space is usually not common unless you’re sharing space with a competent therapist who understands the powerful and most sought-after form of safety that deserves the utmost respect.
The most supportive thing you can say to someone who approaches you needing that “sacred space,” is, “I might not know how to help you, but your feelings are valid and I will listen supportively until we can find a mental health professional to help you.” That simple statement can change the course of someone’s life. You don’t have to be smart. You just have to be a HUMAN. Thanks for reading! Keep smiling!
Affirmation: I am a work in progress, and that is okay.
“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.”
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.”
“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.”
Yes I Can
Flesh torn with jagged scars.
Reminding me that this battle is hard.
The sun reminds me that light wins over darkness.
And the little things remind me of how I’m blessed
All of this brought forth by music and a pen
Telling my story about where I’ve been
Their pictures with beautiful smiles
They never fade even after a little while.
I love them so and this is true
Two little boys that say, “Mommy, I love you.”
So, I choose to continue fighting
Because their love is so inviting
One assignment after another
Because I AM their mother
As I walk with them hand-in-hand
Signifying to them…” Yes, my mommy can!”
#thispuzzledlife
“I decry the injustice of my wounds, only to look down and see that I am holding a smoking gun in one hand and a fistful of ammunition in the other.” ― Craig D. Lounsbrough
One thing that most people will tell you about me is that it’s hard to have any kind of a relationship with me unless you have thick skin or can separate behavior from the truth. Why is this? Well, I can only say what I believe to be the truth. I most often self-sabotage relationships in order to keep from getting hurt. This doesn’t mean that the person I sabotage the relationship with did anything wrong. Sounds odd? Trust me it is.
So much of my life has been about wearing masks that being on the hunt for my authentic self is proving very difficult. Everything about relationships scares me. I fear people leaving and/or dying. And I also fear people hurting me. Not so surprising if you take note of my trauma history. Confusing for me and other people yes. What makes me angry is that before all the chaos in my life began relationships held very high priority for me. They were never replaceable. The relationship that I had with that person was as individual as they are.
When this sabotaging happens it’s because I’ve gotten scared. Either the person has seen someone other than “the clown.” When people begin to see me as someone other than that friend they like to hang out with and laugh I get very scared. Because in my experience those that see the nice side of me first might leave me at the first sign of trouble. I fear judgement. And I fear their rejection if they don’t like the truth. So, instead of just waiting to see the outcome, I control the outcome.
I had good relationships at one that that once they saw the effects of abuse on me, they run. Once they’ve seen the scars, been around my extremely intense mood shifts and paranoia they leave. As a result, I bought into the belief that “I wasn’t worthy of good relationships because everyone leaves eventually.” This in turn adds fuel to the fire of self-hatred and my self-harm escalates. Next relationship the cycle continues until you get tired of the painful emotional toll that it takes, and you become a prisoner of to your home to keep from having contact with people out of fears. I then sabotaging through self-harm and isolation further worsening my condition. This then leads to more depression and anxiety and lack of social stimulation. Therefore, anytime I try to be around other people, in public, the overstimulation is just too much because I live a rather bland existence.
This is something that coach and I face with me. Not to mention the scared alters always paranoid and looking for danger at any turn. But I continue to work towards a more permanent solution so that I can keep meaning relationships in the future. First, I must get used to being in public around people and all the different verbal and visual stimulation of everyday life. Fingers and toes crossed that this goes well. I can promise you that I win the “Most Harded” award every year. Not something to brag about but always true. I always chuckle when I tell someone that they’re being hardheaded. Their response, “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” All I can say, “Why yes, it is.” #thispuzzledlife
Enjoying school and playing sports
Dripping with sweat on shirts and shorts.
A dollar bill would be burning a hole in my pocket
She was only a number, but she was also the girl in the closet.
Most knew her name but not her number
She made them laugh even before Tumblr
The teacher never smiled, and we never knew why
Was someone mean to her? Did they make her cry?
The evilness she shot through her eyes made them want to vomit
She was only a number the girl in the closet.
The clown she was in those days
That happiness quickly became dark, ugly hate.
That closet was to teach me lessons.
And lessons it did…I learned how to drink, take pills, cut on my arms and put on gauze dressings
Because I was only a number and the girl in the closet.
Please!!!!I cried for someone to get me out of there
But they were being told different stories and I started pulling out my hair.
How could you not see that which was in front of you?
You questioned my parents and they questioned you.
What’s happened to my child and why is her heart so hurt
But I was just a number and the little girl in the closet.
They all knew and could see my spirit breaking day after day.
The hate would develop with words she would hear between September and May.
She was being changed from the inside out
She always had a practice where her aggression could be let out.
Her pills were quite the comfort and the razors were too
Because she had certainly learned some less and she hates herself and wants to turn blue.
She can’t breathe without thinking that finally someone must listen to what I say
The mental torture that continues day after day.
Now it’s my turn to tell you how we will play.
You didn’t even remember my number only that “I was the girl in the closet.”
“The predator wants your silence. It feeds their power,
entitlement, and they want it to feed your shame.”
—Viola Davis
When I first begin getting to know someone, the very first thing I look for is their level of snitch. What do I mean by this? Snitching is when you tell on someone to get yourself out of trouble. Another word for a snitch is a tattletale. To be labeled as a snitch socially is to be ostracized. In other circles being labeled as a snitch can get you killed. And snitching is a predator’s greatest enemy because that exposes secrets.
As a small child the term snitching wasn’t used yet. I did know what the term tattletale meant. And what hurting my friend’s feelings and damaging a relationship because of telling secrets meant. It meant people would be mad at me and I would have no friends. Even teachers at daycares can get tired of all the tattling. Step inside any daycare and you’re liable to hear, “The next child that tattles doesn’t go outside and play.” These are two dichotomous examples of telling information. My question to think about is are we teaching our kids the best and safest message? There are always exceptions to the rule. By the time these children are teens there’s an unwritten “code of conduct” around telling information whether it be relevant or not that might save lives. This will also get someone labeled as a snitch.
I can expand more about teens later, however, for the sake of this blog post I’m going to refer to myself as a young child. My first lesson in keeping secrets that should’ve been told was around 5 years-old. I was molested many times by my neighbor’s youngest and middle sons. These boys were around 13-15 years old and old enough to know better. The way I was held emotionally hostage was through threats like “the police would come and I would have my parents taken away.” I was also told, “that I would make people mad and no one would want to be my friend. And it would be all my fault.”
This little girl named Dana would do everything possible to make sure both she and her family was safe. From a child’s point of view, I hung on to every scary word spoken. And afterwards they would tell me how beautiful I was. The searing pain that would burn my body would leave an imprint on my psyche even today. The pain and fear would start and I would leave somewhere in my mind where pain was not felt. Still to this day, I’m very confused in just about every way in regards to having been molested.
People that seek power over other people instill in their victims that telling about abuse is a sign of weakness. As a teenager, anytime I told or tried to tell about the abuse to the school administration this information would get back to the teacher making the abuse worse. The message I got from doing that was to “forget asking for help and save yourself.” After the abuse of my 8th grade year, I vowed that as long as I was around to witness someone needing defending or help I would step in and protect in whatever way that I could. This has bought me unnecessary trouble with coaches and friends but to me it was worth it. I could then lay my head on my pillow at night and sleep.
One night after Mel and I had been speaking to a class at the college, A mother from that class asked me where I went to middle school. I told her Petal Middle School and she asked about the teacher that was so abusive. Because her 8th grade son would come home from school every afternoon with tears in his eyes due to being called names in front of his classmates by a teacher. She told me the teacher she was speaking about and after my heart dropped into my stomach I said, “Unfortunately, ma’am that is who I was speaking about.” She asked, “What should I do?” I told her, “Tell someone and get your child in counseling like yesterday.” I don’t know whatever happened to that mother and her child’s situation. The information I shared with her helped she and her son? However, a big load of shame and guilt was dumped on me as penance for that child and any other children after me that I kept the secret about the abuse ,consequently, leaving the predator unscathed and in the driver’s seat to handpick her next teen victim with ease.
The small little southern city with air tight politics and a nose for people’s business other than their own was to my detriment that year. I was told many years later by one of the administrators that worked there my middle school years information that still burns my ears. I was told, “You were a child at that time and I couldn’t say anything especially due to the politics. But I can tell you now that she should’ve never been around children.” The disappointment must’ve been written all over my face when she saw how perplexed I was. She said, “Is there something I can try to clear up for you?” I stood there for a moment not knowing what to say but burning with questions. “Yes ma’am. I do have a question…..So you all knew she was abusive and shouldn’t have been around children and you let her teach anyway?!” “I was her verbal punching bag and her abuse has affected my education, my career, my relationship with my wife and children, my relationships with others and above all the relationship and image of how I view myself as a human being!” I was mad but I couldn’t stop then tears. She hugged me as we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.
When I went to my own vehicle and unlocked the doors, I sat down and shook my head and said, “They knew the whole time and didn’t try to stop her. Didn’t they know how badly it all hurt? Did they even care? Yes, I fought every way possible to make it through that year in school that still shows its ugly scarring. No matter what adult I tried to tell that year I got no help from the abuse. And “snitching” never did me any favors. Had someone look past the labels and protected me from the backlash of telling the truth about the abuse my life could and maybe even would be much different now. That one year of school affected a few other teenagers in ways that are still damaging to them. The most visible are the scars that line the forearms of those teens with 30 years of thick scarring from the one thing that would listen to us all then…..razors. I also had the experience of eating disorders (anorexia, bulimia), alcoholism, drug addiction that were all there with their arms wide open to help shield me from the unwanted torture of abuse.
The “Code of Silence” protected by perpetrators in a way that I had no defense. And as a very young bride, I would face abuse again for the next 14 years. That “Code of Silence” that was used as an intimidation factor all those years worked. It kept me silent and the perpetrators innocent. I go to bed scared every night and the first emotion I have in the morning is fear. This shame based silence that seen as normal or acceptable is very hurtful. Maybe protecting offenders because of “snitching” isn’t the problem. And maybe listening and helping to protect children and teens when they tell should be handled first instead of politics and reputations.
“We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim.
Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.
“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
“If closing my eyes would make unfair things disappear, I would do that.”
–Isuna Hasekura, Spice & Wolf
How do I explain what even I don’t understand? Writing has always allowed me to somehow paint a picture with words so that maybe somebody can understand. How can you do that when I can’t even make sense of it all? How do I describe feelings which have no words?
My demons are never silent. Everything I do every day seems to be guided by demons that currently controls me and seeks to only destroy my mind, body and heart. I have the scars to show that something happened. To the outside world it’s my word against there’s. It wasn’t just one event. It has been a lifetime of struggle and my canvas has been made a complete mess.
At night when most people are resting peacefully, I begin the battle for daily sanity in the darkness. I sweat. I cry in agony. I shiver in fear. I beg for the mercy of the universe to end the suffering. And sometimes I curl up in a ball with my teddy bear just wanting someone to hold me and say, “For now you are safe from the monsters in your dreams and realities. Rest easy as I will now stand guard over you from the demons of life.”
The nature of my personal demons is one where “fighting fair” has never been an option. They don’t stand and stare me in the face. They surround me like vultures circling their prey. They throw “cheap shots” and attack me from behind and out of my periphery just like what has been done many times before. Many times before so I should be used to it, right? These you never get used to it. The daily goal has always been, tolerate the torment.
An honorable opponent is one who will stand and stare at you and then work towards the same goal of winning through competition. With demons they are the voices of those of the past who also took “cheap shots” against unsuspecting children, teenagers and adults all whose power was mentally raped before the battle ever began. This makes a very uneven battle and a yellow bellied bunch of scary thoughts, feelings and actions that have no good intention. So why don’t they look me in the eye? Because they weren’t created through honesty but rather actions that were built on lies, causing sorrow, chaos and manipulation.
You didn’t think I would recognize your style of play? I was taught by some of the best. Think I’m “easy” because you’ve worn me down? WATCH THIS!!! I will beat you at your own game even with tears in my eyes and unsightly battle wounds. You have taken most of me but you can’t have my heart. It’s your greatest adversary and my most powerful weapon. It has NEVER let me down. But I can’t guarantee that same thing for you. You haven’t beaten me. You’ve hurt me and that’s a familiar pain with which I have lots of experience. Every day in every way you are still the “Unfair Opponent.”
“I decry the injustice of my wounds, only to look down and see that I am holding a smoking gun in one hand and a fistful of ammunition in the other.”
“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.”
“Once you agree upon the price you and your family must pay for success,
it enables you to ignore the minor hurts, the opponent’s pressure,
and the temporary failures.”
–Vince Lombardi
Memorial Day is the day of the year where we celebrate and recognize the ultimate sacrifice given by those who served our country. It’s not about the barbeques or all day swimming with friends and family. The tumultuous times regarding the leadership and safety of our country is not only seen on major news channels but also witnessed within our own living rooms. Our troops returning home have sacrificed the life of daily freedoms and modern conveniences to go fight to protect our freedoms. Often times, though, when they return the true meaning and consequences of fighting a war now have redirected their once simple way of living by way of PTSD and all the complications that go along with it.
As I attempt to live this life with my own issues, I am often met by complete strangers who see my medical alert dog tag identifying PTSD as my condition. They soon notice and sometimes question the many scars on my forearms. They ask, “Were you in the military? Did you go to fight the war?” My response is always, “Ma’am/sir I didn’t fight or serve for our country. But fighting a war I have done since I was a young child.” It is at this point that the questions usually cease and their own uncomfortability surfaces not knowing what to say next. And well….I usually let them marinate in their own thoughts without explanation.
Today marks mine and Mel’s 11 year anniversary. We don’t count our “legal” anniversary because well that was controlled by the laws of the land prior to that date. Our marriage and family life has been one of sacrifice both individually and collectively since day one. We have sacrificed relationships with both friends and family as a result of our love for one another. And we have also sacrificed many parts (no pun intended) of our relationship as a direct result of my own personal traumas and the scars and open sores which they have left.
And yet again we find ourselves continuing to sacrifice our family cohesiveness and my time away from our children all in the hopes for better days ahead. I can write clear headed for now and these are the times where I can see the importance of that sacrifice. There are days recently where I’m blinded by the tragedy of those traumas and living life is not a priority in any fashion. Sometimes, though, I seem to get sucked down into the ditch of a previous life when the only option was to survive or die. The images of abusive memories soon become those not of the past but of the present.
Mel patiently and very lovingly makes sure the kids are taken care of and are safe and have some form of normalcy for them all. The tears she silently cries I don’t know about now. I’ve seen enough of her tears for me, our children and our family unit to last me the rest of my life. She and the kids continue to heal their own wounds while I search for answers of my own. She loves me but knows that this walk I’m on has come to a point where I have to do it without them. The continuation of hope for a day when I will have been able to shed some of these layers of hurt and pain and to function as a happy and healthy member of our family seems to be in the back of her mind at all times.
There was no possible way for us to envision the what the term “sacrifice” would entail. She and I both continue to watch and be a part of daily struggles regarding attachment, trust and bonding even with the most compassionate people. My absence for birthdays, kindergarten graduations and just daily life as a family can never be gotten back. However, the days of being genuinely happy to be alive and to one day be able to be “fully present” for future events is all the justification we need to know that the right decision was made for me to move here to do this work.
The transition has been one that has not been easy in any sense of the word. I brought therapy baggage that has complicated things in ways that I thought would be easy to ignore and work through. What I’ve found is that that couldn’t be further from the truth. This is also when the words spoken by trusted coaches ring very loudly in my heart and soul which say, “Keep swinging the bat. Keep shooting the ball because no athlete plays perfectly all the time. And it’s these times when you have to keep going and try, try again until you achieve the results you want. It’s about hard work and never giving up.”
The above is a question from our 6-year-old son. The one thing I’ve learned about having this disorder is that no matter how hard I try to be “normal” I’m not. The term “normal” is truly a subjective term that only fits perfectly on a washing machine. Maybe I should say socially acceptable. Regardless of what term I or anyone else tries to use the fact of the matter is that a lot of times I’m just not. I have awaken many times to face the day with the attitude that I don’t nor will I ever have some type of mental disorder. No sooner than the words roll off my tongue do I realize that I, in fact, have a mental disorder that can, at times, be completely debilitating.
I have come across many people who are of the opinion that “you just need to look at things differently” “you just have to think more positive” or “the past is in the past.” I would instantly become infuriated even if the emotions didn’t reach my face. A lot of statements are not malicious but rather out of ignorance. Also, with trauma you just can’t “unbreak the plate.” There is no possible way to just pretend that things didn’t happen…..THEY DID HAPPEN. Everyone around you can be in total denial with their heads in the sand but the fact is that the images, words, feelings, body memories and mental torture goes everywhere I go all day long every single day.
Having a diagnosis like Dissociative Identity Disorder is not one that’s easily hidden from those closest to you. When you have a spouse and children the inevitable will surely happen. I’m talking about sometimes very rapid mood changes, alters emerging, rages, voiced self-hatred, noticeable self-harming behaviors, etc. I realize that not everyone with this disorder operates the same as “systems” are as unique as fingerprints. But for our little family we have chosen to educate our children as things happen. Please understand that I’m not talking about telling our children my trauma history in detail. We educate them on an age appropriate level.
We’ve educated and continue to educate our children about being from an LGBT family and how families look differently. I have found that children are pretty satisfied once their questions are answered even with the most simplest of answers. Throw the taboo topic of mental illness that most cringe to discuss in there and more questions emerge.
As a child, I credit my parents for exposing me to individuals with mental retardation and other disabilities. Maybe this is why I don’t shy away from anyone with a disability. I truly accept anyone as they are regardless of disability or difference. Within our little family there’s no denying “difference.” Marshall has been noticing for a couple of years now that I’m just that….Different. He might not know the name for what’s happening when alters come out or when I become completely non-functional. But make no mistake that he knows something’s wrong.
One of my biggest hurdles everyday is anxiety. I can range from just a little uncomfortable to vomiting and diarrhea. So, while living in Albuquerque I found that the gentle vibration of a moving vehicle combined with my favorite music can soothe the soul.
One day Marshall was riding with me which was always our special time to sing together and get a snack from somewhere without little brother. He said, “Momma D, can I ask you something?” Me thinking this would be a typical little boy question similar to “Why do birds poop when they fly?” But what he asked me for the first time caught me by surprise. He said, “Momma why do you freak out and act weird sometimes?” Instead of further fueling the shame of the having the disorder by saying, “Don’t ask questions like that.” I simply asked him for clarification by saying, “Baby what exactly are you talking about?” He said, “Like when loud motorcycles drive passed you and other loud noises scare you. Or when we are playing with my toys and you act like a kid.” I told him, remember age appropriate, “Son when momma was younger she had some people that scared me really, really bad.” He said, “Did they like jump out and scare you?” Not being too far off the mark in some instances I said, “Well sort of but mommy just got really scared and things still scare me a lot.” He said, “And that’s why you freak out sometimes and get scared by loud noises?” I said, “Yes, baby.” He then asked, “Is that why sometimes you have to go to the hospital? Like to help you not be so sad and mad?” I thought to myself, “Why is he so perceptive?” But I replied, “Yes, baby.” He said, “Is that why you see people like Tina so they can help you not be so mad and sad?” Proud to answer the questions of such a smart little boy I said, “Yes baby.” His instant reply was, “Ok can we go to Toys R’ Us and not tell momma Mel?” I chuckled as I said, “Heck yea!” You will be entertained to know that all teenage and child alters were shouting with excitement when I said that. When we arrived at the store he said to me what Mel has told me many times prior to going into a very overstimulating situation like a toy store, “Momma D, I will sit in the buggy and will put my hands on your hands to help keep you to the ground. (He was talking about staying grounded.) Don’t worry, it’s just a store and people and they won’t hurt you.”
These were some simple situations with some very powerful answers and outcomes. And how you choose to educate or not educate your family about mental illness is your business. Some might disagree with how we choose to do this with our children. My answer has always been, “That’s the beauty of living in a free nation. We don’t have to agree.” But what a disservice it would be for this little boy if we weren’t honest with him. I wasn’t inappropriate in any manner. I was simply answering something that had been bothering him in a very age appropriate manner. I didn’t get into specifics about my trauma as at age 6 he is not mature enough to handle that.
The fact is this…..I’m one of his mommas and he and Copeland both love and miss me dearly. He knows I’m different and yet without judgment he still loves me unconditionally. Being away from Mel and the kids living in Texas and working with someone determined to help me is extremely difficult. Take away all of my mental issues and what’s still left is a momma and a wife who misses her family dearly. Things I’m missing being away from them I’ll never be able to get back. Through necessity we are raising our family to be….ADVOCATES.
“A lot of people are living with mental illness around them.
“An abuser can seem emotionally needy. You can get caught in a trap of catering to him, trying to fill a bottomless pit. But he’s not so much needy as entitled, so no matter how much you give him, it will never be enough. He will just keep coming up with more demands because he believes his needs are your responsibility, until you feel drained down to nothing.”
― Lundy Bancroft, Why Does He Do That?: Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men
In my seemingly unending quest for answers about my past and present, I’m constantly trying to make connections about my current belief system, every day decision making, the tears, jokes and, yes, even the smiles and laughter. What I’ve slowly learned about the effects of abuse is that no matter what form of abuse was carried out, your belief system about yourself and the world around you will inevitably be changed. I had very little physical abuse but i was subjected to emotional and sexual abuse.
Narcissism seems to be a common thread among abusers. They are their own God but most of all they make themselves your God. The only way I learned how to deal with them is by stroking their enormous egos. Today being around someone that makes even a narcissistic comment will usually trigger some type of a knee jerk reaction from me. Usually, it just ensures that you bought some form of argument with me at a sale price. I can’t stand it and it infuriates me. Even a person with a big personality triggers me. Depending on which alter is triggered, I’ll either be very aggressive or I’ll “cow tow” and avoid eye contact. Either way socially both are very problematic.
People sometimes seem to think that if you don’t have black eyes and broken bones that abuse couldn’t have possibly happened. What they don’t understand is that there are gaping wounds unseen by the naked eye that are looking back at them. As the partner your job is trying to help the abuser to cover their own tracks. And making continuous attempts at achieving their unattainable requests and demands. You become convinced over time that everything in the world that goes wrong must have some connection to you. His beliefs were the only ones that were right and your beliefs are now non-existent because they were seen as wrong and stupid.
One of the most hurtful comments I’ve heard about domestic violence of any kind is “Well he only did what you allowed him to do.” This insinuates that in some sick way I enjoyed or was ok with the things that I was being subjected to. This couldn’t be any farther from the truth. Some say that individuals who are narcissistic abusers lack the capacity to empathize. Personally, I think they can empathize but it’s with the ultimate goal of manipulation in the form of pseudo-empathy. The abuse creates trauma bonding with the abuser which makes it incredibly difficult for the partner to leave the increasingly abusive relationship.
The relationship pretty much consisted of my husband pretending through intense involvement and idealization which was quickly followed by devaluing. However, instead of discarding me when he was finished he would begin telling me everything I did that was wrong including myself for just existing. He would begin luring me back with his silver tongue of promises and things that I could do to make sure that never happened again. Once the idealistic narcissist has gotten their partner to commit, yet again, to the relationship the true self of the narcissist re-emerges.
First the belittling comments begin which then escalate to a narcissistic rage. Their feelings of inadequacy which are at the heart of the narcissist will then be projected onto the partner. And soon once the narcissist makes a mistake it then is transferred the partner as their fault. They also use manipulative abuse that leads their victims to questioning their own thoughts and behaviors. I was subjected to public humiliation when he would say something that seemed benign to the public but is very offensive to the me. He does this because he enjoyed the emotional reaction that it would provoke in all parties. Ultimately, the narcissist takes no responsibility for any relationship difficulties and shows no feelings of remorse. And then they believe themselves to be the true victim because their partner could not meet their expectations. The path of destruction this leaves within the psyche of the partner is colossal.
As every single day that I continue to try and recover from a total of 14 years of his abuse, my heart hurts for the woman who loved so hard that it nearly killed her. And now instead of exuding confidence she exudes fear, shame in her tears and the feeling that her soul is already dead. After all when she use to try to speak to him about her reoccurring depression he would say with laughter, “Depressed? What do you, of all people, need to be depressed about? You have it made living with me. For the love of God, Dana, get off the cross cause someone else needs the wood.” Comments like this all the time left me fearing my own tears that I couldn’t control falling many times. I felt guilty for always being depressed. And above all, I felt guilty for thinking that he was in any small way disrespectful towards me. Because I believed that it was ME that made him act and react the way he did. He couldn’t possibly be telling me lies about this because I was the dumb one who couldn’t see to get things right.
Crying which works as a medication to cleanse the soul has never done me any favors with abusive people. It always made the abuse that much worse because now you are seen as weak. I learned not to cry and didn’t for many years. Those tears seemed to go away but only to the inside where I felt completely alone but comforted. But, I did cry to my razors. And they were the ones that were the most non-judgmental. Living with and being abused by a narcissist I learned one thing….They don’t have time to consider your feelings because they’re too busy trying to make sure that you’re taking care of their feelings. And in essence they can’t see the beauty of a person because they’re always looking for what’s wrong with them. I have heard people say, “Well at least he didn’t break anything on you.” Shamefully and secretly I have thought, “He didn’t have to raise his hand to break me. He was my puppet master.”
“A pattern of raised crisscrossed scars, some old and white, others more
recent in various shades of pink and red. Exposing the stress
of the structure underneath its paint”
― Amy Efaw, After
Sometimes the material and subsequent titles for these blog posts come from out of nowhere. I begin writing and then sometimes I just watch as the words are typed. I’m sort of multi-talented like that at times. Stand in the way of children and teens while they’re attempting to have their input on a blog and well…..it’s just not worth the frustration. Anyway, this is a topic that, literally, continues to resurface. As an angry teen, I thought that I had found something that could help me somewhat contain the intense aggression that seemed to be so foreign and scary. And just like the drug that seems to come along a the perfect weak moment to sweep you off your feet and directly into a marriage with it so, did my razors.
Since the day we met I haven’t found another chemical or behavior that has launched such a false sense of safety and control for me. Yes I have seemingly have a continuous love affair with eating disorders. Self-harm just seems to be in a category of its own that nothing else can touch. I had no idea what this behavior was called but I knew what it did for me. IT just seemed to let the air out of the balloon. Somehow I just seemed to find balance if for that brief moment. Then the shaming comments made by teachers, administration, doctors, friends and family seemed to little bit of sparkle that I had told no one about began to disappear. Some of the worst shaming I’ve ever faced is by those in the medical community. After only my second trip to the local emergency room, as a minor, it would be my last. It was a horrible experience with an uneducated and very judgmental doctor. So even today when I should go to the emergency room, it would take the entire Texas National Guard or me being unconscious to get me there. This is why a lot of us have suffered in the dark. The freedom to openly discuss this topic has never been well received.
Where the scars are embarrassing at times because of the questions asked and assumptions made. In the words of Plumb’s song CUT, “…the only anesthetic that helps me feel anything kills inside.” This behavior is one that was typical of some type of anger or depression. However, now, I can have this compulsion even on “ok” days. The types of emotions that seem to trigger these thoughts are all encompassing. Even in graduate school between classes I would have to go to my vehicle to be able to cut to make my brain settle enough to go to another class.
I begin to feel a very strong paranoia followed by a tsunami of emotion in my gut about something I can’t identify. You try to do what they say to but my feel my face get hot and the voices and sounds begin disappear. I use to see this religiosity of the behavior carried out many times without the fear of feeling the pain. Now, I see and feel nothing. She uses it not as a soothing tool but rather her “cat-o-nine-tails” as her way to enforce her discipline. And this is her way to hold everyone inside hostage from speaking truth. Her raw power and emotion have kept us safe for many years. Her extreme paranoia and impulsiveness continues to wreak havoc and destroy even with good intentions.
She doesn’t understand how to view the world as an adult. She continues to live life and view the world like the one she was created in….FEAR AND CHAOS. Don’t hurt her because she’s incredibly sensitive. But she’ll be the very one to push you as far away as you’ll let her just so she doesn’t have to feel the pain of losing someone else that she’s deeply connected. To be that angry every day takes a lot of energy. I’m scared of her every moment of every day. I don’t take the comedic moments for granted as I completely understand Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and her capabilities.
The next episode I’m able to open my eyes and continue breathing once again. As with any other addiction though, there’s always a bullet with our names on it that we continue to dodge until we can’t. And then….a new statistic emerges for various types of studies done on mental illness. It was done out of love and compassion she thinks. And into the arms of love and compassion she can finally retreat. No more scars. .
And at the very last second the hands and shoulders of compassion are extended. This war torn mind and body slowly begins to trust enough to step off into some pain. Instead of the vision of hatred thought by many, there’s a kid silently crying all alone desperately wanting help. But striking out at anything that moves be it good or bad. SILENCE HURTS.
“When you know who you are; when your mission is clear and you burn with
the inner fire of unbreakable will; no cold can touch your heart; no deluge
can dampen your purpose. You know that you are alive.”
– Chief Seattle, Duwamish
I was looking through my recent blog posts and realized that I had not yet written about a place I went to visit last summer/fall 2017. There are some situations in life when/where it happens you have to just be quite and let it soak in. Sometimes just looking at how situations came to be can unlock a little patch of “surrendering to the process.”
I believe wholeheartedly that there’s something about how the stars are lining up in my life. I don’t have those answers yet but they’re out there somewhere. In March 2017, I was pretty hopeless in most areas of my life. Out of the blue I get a call from someone who still completely amazes me with her compassion and patience. I had found my new coach finally. Tears streamed down my face as I call my wife Melody to let her know what had just happened. The challenge would be for Mel and I, as a couple, to figure out what was best for our family as a whole. I had my eye set on one thing as my goal and that was the day I could begin this arduous work with someone already proven trustworthy.
We already had planned a trip to Walt Disney world in Orlando, FL with our boys obviously not knowing what the coming months would bring. Anyway, the boys and Mel enjoyed the trip. I just realized how bad things had gotten and was continuing to decline. Our boys were entitled to have some genuine fun that normally they couldn’t do around me because of PTSD symptoms. While at Disney World I enjoyed seeing our boys and Mel with smiles on their faces. For me having so many issues with social situations the trip was torture. The amount of people and no private space had me wanting to just randomly bite people for no reason. Then somewhere on the inside I heard…”Orange is not a good color for you! And you won’t like the flip flops!!!!” Not conventional grounding method but it worked. The fireworks shows, though beautiful, had me running for cover. But I do love my family.
Mel’s grandmother passed away which meant we would be staying very close to the city where I grew up. It doesn’t matter the situation. That area of the country is just not safe for me to be hanging out in. But It was a death in the family and loyalty to our friends and family are stronger than anything we have individually, as a couple or as a family. We eventually made it back to Albuquerque. And things went from bad to worse.
I ended up returning to a trauma unit where I would meet more close friends referred to as my “battle buddies.” This stay was quite difficult to say the least. Things were much different and I left there completely defeated. Just months before I caught wind that someone cared which left me very curious say the least. The only thing I’ve never been surprised by is in the fact that change is constantly happening. This situation was absolutely no different. I licked my wounds all the way back to Albuquerque to my awaiting room where I keep all of my secrets. It was sort of my prison within my own prison.
Someone did mention about this place out in Tioga, TX called Healing Springs Ranch. The last thing I wanted to talk about was more treatment. I was exhausted and felt beat up. My recent trauma unit stay reaffirmed to me that professionals were just dangerous no matter how they put a nice spin on things. And I hated them all. No one would have another shot at me like that was how hurt I felt. I was so miserable and wanted a way out. I wanted help but feared it to my core. Again, I was told to call them and check it out.
I wanted the opportunity to go and try another open campus facility, at some point, because those were where I was most comfortable. I just didn’t want to go right then. Being on a locked unit never helps me or anyone else. But what I was about to walk into was something I was never prepared to experience. I was told who my inpatient therapist would be. I had already known her from previous visits to other facilities and knew that she was gentle so having that knowledge really helped me to settle. Here I was about to trust someone to mess with my “system” again and I wouldn’t be able to leave for awhile. And there was only minimal trust to start with.
My wife dropped me and my belongings off after getting checked in. I was told to enjoy that last Diet Coke for a while. I froze. What in the hell did he just say?!!!! I instantly felt death near. I knew that coffee was not even a remote possibility for me. Caffeine, Caffeine where shall I find thee? I was truly starting to panic. OMG….what have I just agreed to? I was trying to keep the fear buried and plenty of smiles and laughter on the outside.
I soon took that long ride, on the golf cart, to the main building known as the Bunk House. I was beyond terrified and my inside guys were assessing everything we saw, heard and smelled. We passed the field of cows I would learn to love and talk to every morning on daily walks. There were a couple I would name T-Bone and Rib eye. I know I should have a conscious about their names but I don’t. And the golf cart would be parked by cows that had this exact conversation go on right before their eyes.
Friend: Dana those are those different cows called Yams!
Me: I can assure you that those are not yams.
Friend: Dana yes they are I know what I’m talking about. Those are YAMS!!!
Me: Oh for the love of God and the Holy Angels! That is not a potato! A yam is what you have on Thanksgiving! If that is a yam then that potato has four legs and a tail while also saying…MOOOOOOO! A YAK! A YAK is what you’re thinking about and that is not a Yak either! That’s just a messed up looking cow! We laughed then and still today about how funny that brief moment in time unfolded.
When the doors opened and I began the incline on the floor to the nurses’ office I was greeted by a few people welcoming me to Healing Springs Ranch. Omg…they’re a cult! They have a following of people that claim that they care and are happy. I saw who would be my therapist and instantly I thought…Damn I feel bad for you already.
Everyone was so incredibly caring and you just somehow knew that this place was special. It was just different in a loving kind of way. In my illustrious career of dealing with treatment centers and stabilization units I had never found this much compassion in one place. This is a place far from a locked unit. They loved without conditions. This has always been a foreign concept for me because from several abusers “love” had conditions. So accepting this love was going to be a challenge and it was the majority of the time.
Very slowly but surely I would begin to settle in with this new community. This place whatever its magical powers was loving me and I began to melt. No one saw this right off but both me and my alters felt it instantly. I’m a difficult patient in the best of circumstances. But apparently The universe knew what it took to make me crumble……COMPASSION. I was still a very angry and scared person under all the smiles and laughter. They had already found my weakness.
And you seem to know that the relationship is going to be interesting when one of the first people you see you say, “Hey 13 is that you?!” Calling someone, who would turn out to be one of my closest friends, one of your alters’ names can be incredibly funny. I’ll be honest that an argument between a 10 year-old and a 13 year-old can be awfully flamboyant. But put them both in adult bodies and that could be sent to the comedy show of your choosing. However, The awesome look at nature and it’s scary and comforting critters it hides seemed to be medicine for my soul.
Charlie the Squirrel seemed to take the place of the Angry Birds in Albuquerque. My personal encounters involves said tree rodent. Oh Mr. Sandy cheeks decided that I needed a little more confusion and proceeded to bark at me machine gun style. With my very well developed hyper startle response, Charlie might as well have been sitting on my face and chewing on it. All I could think to say was, “It jumped out from the bushes and almost killed me!” Really he just scared the shit out of me from about 10 feet away in a tree. Then I scared the shit out of the people walking with me. We still laugh about it all.
Life had become routine which I loved. At night after most of the day staff left for the evening and we had all gotten our night meds and snacks people would head down to their rooms either for a shower and/or bed. But there were also members of our tribe that enjoyed that 30 minute time period of sitting on the porch with the slight breeze and just decompress from all of the day’s activities. The night wildlife was front and center. If you were brave enough to listen to some of the conversations we would have you would realize that there was an amazing amount of healing that went on. There started out with about 4 people, including myself, who took full advantage of hanging out with this new family. By the time it was my graduation, there were usually over 10 people at night.
I was usually telling some kind of funny story or just getting tickled about the day’s activities. There were stories about Miss Betty and the Mr. Bitchy. Many also know about my Ozzy Osborne impression shouting “SHARON!!!!!!” Any issues between me and Charlie the Squirrel had to be told. Funny stories from being an EMT. Or the funny things about being a lesbian mom raising little boys. On a more somber note someone might bring a guitar to the patio and we would sing.
These other clients and staff were hearing details, ugly details of my past and they still loved me. They were getting to know my alters almost as well as my own spouse. The work we all did was hard to say the very least. Walking in their doors with all of my therapy baggage at the forefront assured me just starting on trust again. But my family members who were also working on their individual issues were also there. After many years of Melody and I flying solo through this life of Dissociative Identity Disorder, I can only wish that the facility had been there much sooner. Finally I had found a place that would take the time to get to know someone beyond the adolescente.
There were times when the work we had done during the day time just managed to leave the mark on someone’s face that said, “I need a friend who understands and to be able to let the tears fall where they may without the fear or feeling of judgment.” Healing with your peers with no parameters to interfere was total freedom.
At HSR, I found my tribe. I found a whole host of “safe people” that I never knew existed. All of the amenities are just a bonus with the total experience. The food is prepared by one of the finest chefs on my list. The staff packs a lot of knowledge about both addiction and mental health disorders. Their passion for what they do can be seen many miles away…like Albuquerque. But what you’ll experience as a whole is beautiful. I didn’t leave there with a lot of answers. But I left there knowing and believing that all people aren’t dangerous and that was just what I needed. Because “those people” and the alumni are who I call….FAMILY.
These are just a few of the reasons that Healing Springs Ranch is where I found my forever home with a brand new, handpicked by the universe, group of likewise compassion and passion for life kind of family. I learned at “The Ranch” that even clowns need to make time for tears. And that not everyone is put on this earth to hurt me. As for my alters and I, well let’s just say that the process of “being loving” with our tone to each other is still moving forward just at a snail’s pace. And I did get to move closer to my HSR family. As difficult of a process as it’s been not moving here with Melody and the boys, I’m in the arms of members of that same family. I finally made it here about 2 months ago and I walked into those loving arms of people that I met hear. They understand without explanation but with humor when I say that I’m one of those people who are buy 1 get 15 free.
“You treat a disease, you win, you lose. You treat a person, I
guarantee you, you’ll win, no matter what the outcome.”
“The best way a mentor can prepare another leader is to expose him or her to other great people.”
—John C. Maxwell
I have been asking myself lately why I felt the need to write about these individuals who made such a big impact on my life. The answer…..I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m finally emotionally able to write about them. Or maybe now that this big life change has happened I have had the time to do some soul searching about people who have impacted my life both positively and negatively. Whatever the reason I write to process these feelings in private because I’ve always feared expressing emotions other than anger or laughter. One man that knew the trauma I was experiencing and that spent a tremendous amount of time talking to me each week was Dr. Charles Holmes.
I first met Dr. Holmes during my undergraduate work. I took several classes he taught on both the undergraduate and graduate level. He wasn’t a man that crossed boundaries. He was simply a man who loved his students almost like that of a father. The first class I took under him was the History of Psychology. Honestly, the class couldn’t have been more boring. I would have random thoughts like, “Oh my God did I remember to put on deodorant? Do penguins have knees? What did I wear? I look like I just rolled out of my hamper!” That was one class I truly had to suffer through not because of the instructor but the material. I was secretly thinking, “To have lobotomy by a leper wouldn’t be as painful.”
He taught many different classes that impacted the lives of so many students. And then…..I took the Psychology of Addiction and instantly I was in love. At the time, I had never spoken publicly about the puzzling nature of my life. When I presented the topic chosen in the class which happened to be about self-harm. I let my peers into a very small corner of my world and proceeded to throw up after the presentation was complete. I was also still living with my ex-husband so I was very cautious about telling too much. But with Dr. Holmes it was just different and you knew that by talking to him. He cared and wanted to know how his students were doing personally not just academically.
March 21, 1941-July 17, 2015
He told us about working with homeless addicts and alcoholics on the streets of New Orleans, LA and I hung onto every word he said. He knew I was living in an abusive situation but didn’t know the extent. He didn’t pry but rather just assure me that he was there if I ever needed to talk. He saw me struggling every day with my personal life of addiction but always had an encouraging word. He also presented the opportunity to speak to other classes and this continued on into graduate school. These opportunities were slowly making the shame and guilt dissipate while educating others.
After Hurricane Katrina he told me about some work he was doing in the Pearlington, Waveland and Bay St. Louis areas of Mississippi which were the hardest hit areas. I was already doing some photography for a book another teacher and I were working on about the devastation. He invited both Melody and I to help on some rebuilding projects through a Christian organization he was affiliated with. I can honestly say that the work done in those areas was extremely rewarding. Not to mention all of the memories that I still have from that. Here were families broken from the tragedy and I was there to help. My heart and soul lit up instantly.
I pulled him aside one day before class and said, “Dr. Holmes you’re messing up my theory about men.” He said, “What are you talking about?” I said, “Well my experience with men truly exemplifies that all men are pigs and extremely harmful. Why aren’t you?” He said, “Dana because I don’t see people in a way as personal property or to make personal gains.” We hugged and I have never forgotten that. He would soon make it where all of his classes were required to attend my speaking engagements on campus including the Regional Pine Belt Counseling Association where several professional members of the community also attended.
Once Mel and I moved to Albuquerque life got busy and we spoke every once in a while. But I did tell him when he asked where I was working that it was with the homeless and how much I appreciated him planting the seed. I missed him terribly and as my mental health declined all I wanted was to sit down with him and to be told, “It’s going to be ok.”
When we would travel back to Mississippi I would always stop by the college and look up these professors that meant so much to me. And I could always count on a big hug from Dr. Holmes and occasionally I would help “stomp out stigma and stupidity.” Whether he was in class or not I would peek around where he could see me and he would excitedly stop his lecture and say, “Come on in, Dana. Class let me tell you about this former student.” My heart leapt for joy each time and seemed to make it all worth it.
One day while Mel and I were planning a trip back to Mississippi his wife accidentally called me. It was probably a butt dial. But I called her back as this was odd. She told me, “Dana doc isn’t doing well and if you want to see him come on.” My heart sunk into my stomach and I felt sick. My beloved professor and friend was dying and there was nothing I could do.
We raced the clock trying to get there before he passed. Luckily or maybe something granted by the universe, we got there in time. I walked into his room where he was connected to different medical devices. I could see he was struggling to breathe and when our eyes met he said, “Dana?” I said, “Hey doc it’s me. I told you I would be here if you ever needed me.” He smiled and said, “Are you still cutting?” I said, “Really that’s your burning question to ask me after this long?” He and I chuckled and I said, “Yea doc I’m still struggling.” We had a rather short conversation but I told him before I left, “Doc thank you for being such a good man, professor and friend. You really blessed me and it was an honor to have you in my life.” We told each other “I love you” both with tears in our eyes and hugged. I left and he soon passed away.
When it was time for his service I saw some William Carey University professors like Dr. Cotten there and I was trying to choke back the tears that were wanting to erupt in my throat. Then as the service finished and people were mingling a couple walked up to Mel and I and said, “Hey, I think we know you.” I was scared to death because I couldn’t recall their names or faces. Ashamed I said, “And who might you guys be?” They said, “Your name is Dana, right?” I just knew that they must’ve seen my face on a wanted poster or something. Reluctantly, I said, “Yes that’s me.” And they said, “We remember you from helping to rebuild our house after the hurricane with Dr. Holmes.” I was astonished and had a sense of pride as well. I said, “Yes he was one of my good friends and I’ll miss him dearly.”
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.
“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.
“We turn skeletons into goddesses and look to them as if they might teach us how not to need.” ― Marya Hornbacher, Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia
The topic of eating disorders is one that can cripple me to my knees. The thought of having to discuss the topic with someone is like knocking the wind out of me. If just the thought of this bothers me this bad then I would caution anyone with an active eating disorder or early recovery from one about very triggering information about my disordered past and present. This post will probably be done over a couple of days due to how much it will stir internally.
If you’ve been reading my blog from the beginning, you know that the age of 13 was a very difficult year and was emotionally abusive by a teacher. This was the year that several behaviors started for me such as: cutting, eating disorder, drug addiction and very early alcohol abuse. At the time, I didn’t understand that the behavior was called an eating disorder. I just knew that I was about to start playing high school sports the following fall and I had to be faster and stronger.
The time I remember the first “dieting” type behavior was soon after the eighth grade ended. I went on a crash diet and within about two weeks lost 20 lbs. I had, in that short time, taught myself to dislike certain foods. I had been using the drug Mini-Thins which was marketed as a bronchodilator at many truck stops that had both ephedrine and caffeine in its makeup. This was well before ephedrine was taken off the market because of so many sports related deaths. I clearly remember there being 100 tabs for $7.99. Any allowance money went straight to those little pills. Now you’re wondering exactly what purpose they served for me, eh? This drug while containing a precursor for methamphetamine, completely knocked out my appetite while decreasing all water weight and supplying me the energy to play two sports without eating.
I was completely wrapped up in a big ole ball of addiction already and had no idea. I’ve always said that addiction was the best friend that cut my throat. It served its alleged purpose while wrapping me up in a killing machine of codependency of both behaviors and substances. All it took for my eating disorder to continue was one compliment or another pound lost. I soon found myself becoming a quicker ballplayer with greater stamina and explosive power. Unfortunately, this never worked well with the aggressiveness that also developed this year.
When I went to high school, and thank goodness they weren’t drug testing athletes at that time, I was a full blown addict already out of control within only about 3 months. My eating disorder had now progressed to weighing 12-15 times a day. I slept in teachers rooms during lunch so I wouldn’t have to be around food. I was now both anorexic and bulimic. My bulimia purging was through laxative use. I was getting drunk to the point of passing out and/or vomiting anytime I went to a “party.” The mind bending part was that I was really climbing in my athletic play. I was a starting freshman on both the softball and basketball teams. I thought and felt like I was on top of the world. I seemingly ‘had my cake and got to eat it too.’
The next couple of years I continued to lose weight but my playing slowly started on a downward spiral. By my senior year, I was a sickly 83 lbs on a 5’7″ frame. I had resorted to stealing diet pills and would frequently have mini seizures or some type of severe jerking movements and saw spots in the mornings. I was constantly weighing myself. I was constantly tired and cold. I would eat one small salad a week and would cry if I had to eat in public. The questions had started long before about “why aren’t you eating?” “Are you losing weight?” Most of the time I would just tell people that I wasn’t hungry. I had already eaten or my stomach hurt. I would explain the weight loss off as just training harder and having a higher metabolism as a teenager. My dreams of playing college basketball and/or softball were disappearing and I didn’t even care. I was also now taking 25 pills a day just to maintain my habit.
People began to tell me how sickly I looked. My eyes were dark and sunken. My face was sunken and my ribs and backbone were unhealthily showing. My digestive system was completely messed up. Mentally I didn’t know whether to ‘scratch my watch or wind my butt.’ And my body had begun to feed on itself. As a result, I was unable to be in top notch shape as an athlete because I always had pulled muscles in my back. I had just watched myself as a beloved player of the game of basketball go from being able to play hard and fast the entire game to having to come out of the game shortly after tip off because of lack of energy or injuries.
When I moved from my teen years into my years of domestic abuse, I was required to weigh for my husband and to stay in a certain weight range. I had finally started to recover minimally, I thought, pull out of my life of an eating disorder. However, it seemed that I was being forced back into those behaviors again. I was soon being told what I could and could not eat. How and what I ate were criticized constantly. I was made to take pictures of myself in bathing suits or naked and put them on the refrigerator as a reminder what I looked like when I got hungry. And when I went to work and food establishments were nearby, I was dared to eat when it wasn’t the food I was allotted. Sometimes I would look up from where I worked and my husband would be out in the parking lot watching me from his vehicle. I became terrified to eat again and I was starving. Most of the time, I would wait for him to go to bed and I would sneak food hoping to God he didn’t hear me. Still, he would inevitably start pinching at my body and making comments about how I looked and dressed. He would tell me, “You want to see something disgusting? Just look in the mirror.”
Skip ahead to today and I still have a lot of hang ups around food, eating and body image. This is probably one of the topics that haunt me the most. I still cannot eat in public without wearing sunshades, headphones and trying to hide behind menus. We have fears of being recognized and being talk about concerning whatever we might order or how we eat. I’m scared to death about trying new foods. I’m scared to make food selections. I’m very uncomfortable with eating around people especially those that I know. I prefer to eat privately. These days it’s not about getting the high from the endorphins. Now it’s strictly about fear of judgment. Yes, I still have an eating disorder. No, I’m not an anorexic weight. Let me get stressed out and the first thing I do is start restricting. There I said it. I have a really long way to go on this recovery. And with DID, as you may or may not can imagine, things can be extremely stressful for extended periods of time.
As my dear Sarah would tell me if I asked her advice on this one, she would say, “Dana, start at step #1. This is a marathon not a sprint.” Again, I can smile.
“If we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly, our whole life would change.” – Buddha
The intention when talking about the controversial topic of medical cannabis is not to attempt at changing your personal views. It’s simply to let you see how it has affected me personally since this blog is about my journey with DID. Let me interject by saying that I will speak more than once on a particular topic and possibly say some of the same things. Ignore that and keep reading. You have to understand that every day for me is like the movie Groundhog Day. Now back to our cannabis topic…..
One thing I learned about living in a ‘melting pot’ of a city like Albuquerque is that there are many different views and many of them very liberal on many different topics especially addiction and recovery. I must say that being raised on a ’12-Step’ way of thinking in a ’12-Step’ recovery community, I was pretty rigid on my beliefs about addiction and recovery too. I’m still a big believer in the 12 steps and have watched the miracle of recovery happen to many people including my own clients.
Living in a much larger city than what I was raised in has shown me what addiction looks like from the very bottom in most cases. I have never seen a substance abuse problem of this magnitude ever in my life. Most of my clientele have consisted of the homeless or methadone clinic clients. Both clientele are difficult due to the unique challenges not only each individual face emotionally but just in basic needs that most take for granted. I have a heart that has been touched and shot with cupid’s arrow for these guys I can assure you.
What I was soon faced with was something I would come to a cross roads about the many years of “recovery” beliefs. I started hearing more and more about the Medical Marijuana Program (MMJ) here in New Mexico. I was instantly almost angered by the idea as marijuana as a medication. I thought to myself, “Isn’t the drug problem bad enough?” However, the idea was talked about, both sides of the debate for several years now. The clients that I was treating were clients with prescription pills, alcohol, heroin and most anything else for addiction. Heroin, Alcohol and Methamphetamine being the main substances used out here but not presenting for treatment for marijuana addiction. (I did not just say that it doesn’t or can’t happen.) I did have to get used to the idea of this flower being referred to as a medication. But, my clients claimed that their own quality of life was improving despite their addiction to the other substances. The doctor overseeing the program was also very non-chalant about marijuana as well.
In the meantime, my mental health issues had been hitting the skids for a while and were now becoming ever more present in everyday life. I was not able to control or hide the “quirks” that I might would have at home. I’ve always thought that with psychiatric medications and their side effects that I was actually better before I started taking them to begin with. My psychiatrist later told us that it’s no wonder that none of the seemingly every psyche medication know to man that nothing really worked. He explained that because of my diagnosis that some medications work on some alters where other medications make conditions for others worse. Finally, someone that could answer at least one daily frustrating question. I needed something to “tame the madness.” I wasn’t sleeping at all. I was aggressive most of the time. I couldn’t stay grounded. It was total chaos. I’ve had times since then but thank God not as frequent by a long shot.
My psychiatrist said to me, “About all there’s left is medical marijuana. Would you be willing to try it?” My wife, knowing the addiction history I have, looked at me and had told him before but reiterated the fact that I am an addict. He said, “You know, just try it. If it becomes a problem, we’ll get you off it and you don’t ever have to touch it again.” A cold chill went throughout my body. “Is this what I’m about to have to sacrifice to live?” I thought. We took the signed paper and agreed to talk about it. I was torn inside. I knew what I had been taught about addiction. I also knew what I was being forced to live with and how my quality of life had plummeted. Mel, as educated as she was in the area of addiction said, “At this point, I’ll try anything.” We were both being drained of our lives while trying to be moms to an infant. Something had to give. I hadn’t smoked pot in many years and didn’t know one thing about medical marijuana and it’s medicinal properties. My psychiatrist said it could help my PTSD and I knew that my options had come down to weed or a 9mm.
Exactly one month to the day that I sent the application off to the state I received my MMJ card. I had begun reading about the different strains and about edibles and anything related to this plant. When I got my card the fear had begun to fade and I was ready to get my life a little more livable and quality just like veterans with PTSD. We were off to get my new green meds.
I get to a local dispensary, where I was greeted and asked not what my medical condition was but what symptoms I was having. They begin educating me on the difference in indica, sativa, high CBD strains, edibles, tinctures, wax, shatter, crumble and what might work with my conditions. I was very nervous about this new endeavor and scared about spinning out of control in the most miserable place in the world….ADDICTION.
That first night I began to use my “new” medication was the first night I was able to see something at the end of the tunnel. I couldn’t make it out, but I was intrigued enough to keep going. I was finally able to sleep. I was able to function during the day. I was able to come off IBS medication. My depression was being managed as well as my suicidal ideations, mania and urges to self-harm. My relationship with my wife and son began to improve. This is not a cure all plant by any means. I still have to put in the elbow grease and deal with my trauma every day. This sure makes the process much more tolerable.
Notice I didn’t say that it managed not eradicated thoughts and behaviors. These behaviors still happen more than even Mel knows. A lot of people might think that medical marijuana is just a reason people can give to get high. The truth is that people take medications all the time for the wrong reasons and others take for the right reasons. Also, medication high in CBD can also have very little psychoactive effects making it possible to work or go to school and function with no problem. Medical marijuana patients are also often thought of as a Cheech & Chong type of brain cell lacking type of functioning. This isn’t true either. Most people make comments out of ignorance and I just tend to ignore a lot of it. Because, until you have a condition where conventional medication doesn’t work or has side effects that trump the original condition, you don’t know that level of desperation.
Most people ask how it’s prescribed? There are no labels that say, “Smoke one bowl in the morning and one bowl at night. Finish off with Cheetos.” It’s very trial and error type of a process. You will find your level of medication and if you overdo it, you won’t do it again. Reason: because while you got too high the only question you could think of and not answer was, “Where did I leave my butt? And how do I reach the Cheetos?”
Our son has only heard marijuana being referred to as, “Momma D’s medicine.” We don’t make a big deal about it and treat it like it is…..medicine. I have been on the program for 2.5 years now and have never gotten out of control with my using or had any problems arising related to addiction. I’m off all medications except a couple supplemental meds to help with areas in the body that the marijuana can’t. The PTSD and DID haven’t disappear and probably never will. That doesn’t mean I have to either.
So, while this topic isn’t very popular with a lot of people back south, for this family, it’s important that not only us but other families benefit from this plant as well. I’m a believer and advocate for this medication even as an addiction professional. More importantly, my wife is a big advocate for a plant that has helped to save her wife’s life.
“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.
“The trauma said, ‘Don’t write these poems. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.” ― Andrea Gibson, The Madness Vase: By Andrea Gibson
This morning begins as usual just stirring in our bed trying to wake my senses up. Automatically, I look around the room to see if I should be alarmed by anything new or out of place. I sit up on the side of the bed and soon the physical symptoms are on me like a ‘pit bull on a steak.’ The horrible headache that is becoming increasingly worse by the minute is initially unphased by my medical marijuana lying close by. My body feels pain down to its cells. I’m having muscle cramps making me question if all of the effort to get better is actually worth it. Why do I hurt like this? If my body is purging itself of the poisons created by the trauma on a cellular level, then I wish it would hurry the hell up. I did notice that I started getting sick yesterday afternoon. I discounted it from being in public for a few minutes yesterday. Today is different….every morning that this is happening has me feeling that I’m paying penance for something. When is my next acupuncture session? At least, I get a couple of days of almost no physical symptoms. Alas, the marijuana is working well enough for me to get Marshall dressed and taken to school. This morning is all about physical symptoms. The feeling is not consciously about social anxiety. But, rather…”Don’t let me puke on the way or when I pull up at the daycare.”
I think to myself…
“I finally make it back home. Now, I’m locked in and safe. But, now I’m alone. Anything could happen. Instant ‘shock and awe’ stomach cramps. Can I ever have a day, that for most people is just a mediocre ‘ok day?’ My body and mind is on fire! The feel of air on my skin is like hot tar being poured on me. My back feels like I was impaled with something sharp. My muscles all over my body feel like they have begun disintegrating. My jaw and teeth feel like they could fall in my lap at any moment. My body must be detoxing, but from what? It must’ve been something I did yesterday. But what did I do and where did we go if anywhere?”
Losing time for some people is nothing more than daydreaming, missing an exit on the interstate, or getting enthralled in a good book. However, the term “losing time” for me and my family can have very scary and unique meanings from the average family. Everyone, at one time or another, forget your keys or something that you meant to take with you to the store. You suddenly remember, that it’s the list that you have made with what you needed. You go home, find the list where it was left, get back in the car, and head off to the store. No harm, no foul. You don’t qualify for a diagnosis because of it. As a former therapist said to me, “Welcome, to the Human Race!”
My first memory of losing any type of time was in the 8th grade. While being in that closet, I went elsewhere. It seemed somewhat familiar but ‘safe.’ I don’t remember what the scene was or where I went, it just wasn’t in that closet. I seemed to be locked in a type of paradise. Every once in a while I would hear, “Are you listening to me?!”
By the time I got to high school, I felt like I got a new start. I was now 20 lbs lighter even though I did it unhealthy. I was excelling in the sports I was playing. I was dropping weight seemingly every day. No behavior problems reported by teachers. I was pushing my body passed its limits but I was ok or so I thought. This was the first year that I actually remember ‘losing extensive time.’ What is the difference? Well, instead of a few moments that we all lose naturally. I had lost an entire week. I knew that I had ballgames that week so, how did I not remember how I played? I was doing a lot of diet pills at the time. So, that was the answer. I remember thinking, “It’s nice to be back. But, where was I?”
Skipping a few years, to when I was married to my now EX-husband. There were times that I remember seeing his mouth move but not hearing or knowing what was said. That was fine with me. I didn’t know why it was like that but I was completely ok. There were also those times when I would hear his first loud venomous word and then I would slowly fade away. I could see him hollering at me but not hear or feel any of it. My cutting really took off in this relationship and I realized that the same mental and physical stuff happened then too. I didn’t think anything about it but I knew that my thoughts that I had were very, loud and continuous. I couldn’t dare mention this to the narcissist. Everything that ever happened to me was a joke and made fun. I would just keep my comments quiet and assume all the blame which is what they want. Feelings belonged somewhere, but on my sleeves… VERY UNSAFE.
Several years later, I meet Melody and other things begin to happen. Why would this happen around her? I didn’t understand and she surely wouldn’t either. I just played everything off like, “I did a lot of drugs and they fried me.” I didn’t tell her about what seemed like separate conversations to myself in my brain. Everyone, surely has “loud” thoughts. Heck, I wasn’t even divorce yet. This type of stuff sometimes happened when he hollered at me or I was cutting. Why with Melody when she was a ‘safe’ person? I was still watching and waiting for her true colors to come out and hurt me. In the 7 years that I’ve known and loved her, I have the opportunity to see her true colors every day and they are a beautiful rainbow. She’s genuine and I think somehow I must’ve known that back then. We were in graduate school together and taking the same classes. So, to be able to pay attention, I would have to play games on my phone while they were lecturing. I explained this to my professors before hand and they completely understood. We thought that we were dealing with a college ADD thing. Mel still had to re- explain the lecture once we got home. Once I got it and was able to ‘feel’ the connection of the material, It’s locked away. So, graduate school was a bit more difficult for me, but that makes me no less of a graduate. I just had to do things a little differently for me to be able to comprehend the information. Even back in elementary days, I remember crying because I couldn’t answer the questions about the story that we had just read. Trial and error is how we acclimated to our situation and we do the same thing now.
My physical symptoms have me very sick so I’ll continue tomorrow. NAMASTE!!
“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 