Day Four: Hope

This blog post is part of my 2017 Write 31 Days blog series 31 Reflections on Mental Health and Illness. To read the whole series, click here for the series index page.

"I plead with you -- never ever give up on hope, never doubt, never tire, and never become discouraged. Be not afraid."

- Pope St. John Paul II

Friends, I'm going to be really real with you.  This is a hard entry for me to write.

One of the hardest things in the last four years has been the virtue of hope. I have written about my struggles with this several times on this blog. It has only been in the last six months or so that I have dared to say, "I have hope" with regard to my mental illness. That is a MASSIVE step forward for me and it is one that I do not take lightly.

It has taken me nearly four years to utter the word hope in any meaningful sense, but it has taken me most of my life to truly understand what hope really means and what it means to have hope. This most recent four years has helped me understand that hope is so much more than a feeling or emotion or even some kind of certain knowledge about God or your eternal destination.

Hope is vital. It is the very lifeblood of our existence and that makes it an absolutely critical thing to possess when you are struggling with the darkness and uncertainty of mental illness. It is the thing, without which, you have no chance of healing or recovery. I have known that it is very important for a long time, but it wasn't until I felt as though all my hope in everything and everyone was gone (God included), that I began to truly understand just how vitally important it is.

I included the quote from my patron saint above because it's one that, as much as I love my Papa (my affectionate name for him), has served to cause me great frustration. Many people are familiar with the last sentence of that quote because it is one of the most famous lines from his initial address to the faithful in St. Peter's Square just after his election to the papacy, but fewer know the rest of the quote.

When I read this quote in its entirety, I felt the all too familiar feelings of frustration bubble up inside me. Instead of encouraging me, it made me feel angry and misunderstood. I couldn't understand how this great saint and leader of the Church could say such a thing to people suffering unimaginable horrors and many worse than my own. The simple answer is that he suffered greatly and yet, through all of his suffering, he clung to Jesus and put his steadfast hope in Christ's love. In other words, he could say it because he knew it was true.

"Never give up on hope." -- This doesn't mean that you can't struggle with hope. It doesn't mean that you can't or shouldn't have the experience of feeling hopeless. It doesn't even mean that you shouldn't express those feelings and struggles. In fact, bringing those into the light is what keeps you from falling completely into despair. Telling someone -- a priest or minister or friend or counsellor -- that you are feeling hopeless and telling them as often as you need to is how you find your way back to hope again. John Paul's exhortation here means to me that no matter how dark it gets and no matter how hopeless you feel, realise that despite what you feel, there is still hope and never give up on searching for it anew.

"Never doubt." -- First things first -- doubt is fine. Doubt is okay. Doubt can actually lead you towards the truth and away from lies. This exhortation doesn't mean that you can't ever doubt anything. You can certainly doubt anything and anyone -- even God. I've been there, done that, and yes, even with God. For a very very long time, I doubted that God cared for me anymore because I doubted His presence in my life. I felt abandoned by Him in my darkest hour and so I even began to doubt His existence and His Word, the Bible. I'll admit that I didn't stay in doubt of His existence or the Bible for very long, but during those weeks when I found myself so very doubtful of everything I'd ever known about Him, I wondered if I would ever find my way back. I did find my way back, but that experience of doubting left me changed and with a new understanding of God that I've never had before. In the case of mental illness, I don't think St. John Paul ever meant that doubt isn't allowed, but rather that we should never become so mired in our doubts that we stop believing altogether. During my period of doubting God, I struggled with belief, but I never stopped believing.

"Never tire." -- This one is a real gut punch. Mental illness is exhausting and healing from mental illness is exhausting. Again though, this doesn't mean what it appears to mean on the surface. John Paul's life was marked by the grief of losing both his mother and father and both his siblings before age 20, by being forced to study in secret to become a priest, by living through Nazi occupation of his beloved Poland and Communist occupation after WWII, by being nearly killed by a Nazi truck while working in a mine as a young man, by being shot during an assassination attempt, and by the ravages of Parkinson's disease. If anyone had a license to be tired, it was John Paul II, but he was indefatigable. He had an almost superhuman strength and energy despite all the many crosses he was called upon to carry. I believe there must have been days when he was very very tired, but he kept going and kept fighting the good fight. He heeded Jesus' words to His apostles and made up his mind to "persevere to the end" (Matthew 24:13). "Never tire" simply means -- persevere, even when you are tired of fighting and you want to lay down and die, keep fighting. Keep moving forward, even if only inch by inch.

"Never become discouraged." -- Again, on its face, this seems like a horrible thing to say to someone who is struggling with mental illness. Mental illness is, very often, discouraging. There are medications that don't work, challenges to face (often one immediately after another), suicidal crises, and then all the day to day ordinary life stuff to deal with on top of your mental illness. That can make it feel as though you're drowning in discouragement. This statement "never become discouraged" doesn't mean that you can never feel discouraged or sad when you're struggling. Rather, I think it means to never allow discouragement to keep you stuck in one spot so that you become so tired by it all that you stop believing and give up on hope all together.

It's really the last statement -- "Be not afraid" -- that ties it all together. Fear has the power to be both a great motivator and a great hindrance. Good fear motivates us to move forward, to protect ourselves, and to do things like plan for the future. The fear that John Paul is speaking of here is the kind of fear that leads to a total giving up on hope and that which keeps us from persevering to the end so that we may be saved. Mental illness is absolutely scary at times, but it doesn't have to be that way. One of the biggest things that helps my fears when it comes to my illness is knowing that I have people around me who know that I'm struggling, who love and care about me, and who are willing to walk with me through the hardest days.

So with all of this knowledge, is hope easy for me? Nope. It's actually one of the hardest things for me to embrace even now. I still doubt myself and doubt that I'm moving forward. I still have moments when saying the word "hope" out loud makes me feel a bit queasy and anxious because I am afraid that it will lead to things getting worse (this is irrational, I know!). That being said, I say it a lot more often these days than I used to and I genuinely believe that there is a light at the end of this dark tunnel I've been in for decades.

Even though I still have days when it's hard to find hope, I can say with all honesty, that I know hope exists, because I have come to understand that hope is the person of Jesus Christ Himself. He is hope incarnate. The very Word of God is, within Himself, the virtue of Hope in all its fullness. And that, my friends, is a very powerful thing to have in your mental health toolbox.

Day Three: Create

This blog post is part of my 2017 Write 31 Days blog series 31 Reflections on Mental Health and Illness. To read the whole series, click here for the series index page.

There is power in art. It has the power to transfix, move, inspire, enlighten, excite, overwhelm, and even heal. Most of these powers are found in the finished work of art -- whether that is a painting or book or movie or piece of music -- but the healing power of art is often found in the creation of it.

As someone who has spent a lot of her life involved in singing, dance, and theatre arts, I have a deep appreciation for all the many forms that art takes. Although I am not very gifted when it comes to the visual arts like drawing, painting, or sculpture, I find myself drawn to them and drawn to try to create something using paints, pencils, or other media. I used to wonder why I felt this way, but the older I have gotten, I think the reason is that I find something in creating a piece of visual art that benefits my mental health. There is nothing quite like skimming a pencil, pen, brush, or even a crayon over a fresh white sheet of paper and causing it to bring forth shapes, lines, and colour. Likewise, there is something infinitely satisfying about the feeling of clay, fabric, or yarn in my hands as I manipulate it into something that pleases me or expresses what I am feeling. It soothes and comforts my spirit to create. The very act of creation can be healing in and of itself, but creating something can be healing in another way.

One of the things that I am most adamant about when it comes to mental health is talk therapy. I have been through hours and hours of therapy. After all these years, you would think that I have this talking thing down. The problem is that even though Pendragon (my therapist of just over 8 years) knows me better than nearly anyone (save my husband), there are times when I find it hard to express what I'm feeling in words. That's when I sometimes turn to creating something that, hopefully, expresses what is inside my head and heart better than I can verbalise.

I didn't always do this, but about two years or so ago, I got a spiral bound sketch book and some basic art supplies (crayons, coloured pencils, oil pastels, markers) and every time I was feeling like I needed to get something out but couldn't find the words (or wasn't able to talk to Pendragon at that moment), I would get out the sketch book and start creating. The first time I did this, I was away from home visiting my in-laws and feeling really overwhelmed by the cacophony of all the noise and activity in their house, so I went to the local Panera Bread with my art supplies, grabbed a cup of coffee and settled in for an hour or two. When I left there, I felt more grounded and better able to manage my emotions.

Later, when I got home, I shared what I had drawn with Pendragon. He asked me questions and made observations about it (some of which surprised me) and I was able to glean an insight or two as well. After that experience, I packed my art supplies in a backpack and now whenever I am going to be away from home for several hours (and I know that I'll have an hour or so free time while I'm gone), I grab the backpack and take it along. Most recently, I was struggling to explain to Pendragon my current mental state, so I decided to try to draw it out. I'm not a great artist, but when I showed it to him at our next session, he immediately connected the dots and helped me to better understand it too. He also pulled some meaning out of it that, while not something I'd originally intended, was startlingly accurate and very helpful in my healing.

If you are struggling to express your feelings or need a way to help release some difficult emotions, I encourage you to create something. You can use whatever materials you like. The only rule I have for myself when I create a piece of therapeutic art is that I draw what I'm feeling and I don't hold back. If it's happy, I draw happiness. If it's sad, I draw sadness. If it's dark and dangerous, I draw dark and dangerous. If it's a mix of emotions, I draw the mix. The reason I don't hold back is that I want to be honest about my feelings -- even the really difficult, messy, and scary ones -- so that I can find healing through the act of creation. So go forth and create!

P. S. Sometimes I create by baking something. I've always loved baking (and cooking) and I am pretty good at it too. I find the repetitive movements involved in the process (chopping, peeling, stirring, kneading, measuring, etc) very soothing and it's always fun to see and eat the end result of all that work.

Day Two: Tell

This blog post is part of my 2017 Write 31 Days blog series 31 Reflections on Mental Health and Illness. To read the whole series, click here for the series index page.

When it comes to caring for your mental health, in my opinion, there's no more important thing than today's prompt. One of the lies that a mental illness will tell you is that you are totally alone in your struggles and that if you tell someone about what you're feeling or thinking, no one will care or believe you or they'll think less of you. This is often a hard lie to overcome, but it is an absolute requirement that you overcome it. If you don't tell someone, it won't have even a prayer of getting better. Once you overcome this, you've taken your first step on the road toward healing and health. With that in mind, here are three "tells" that are helpful as you journey forward.

1. Tell a licensed professional therapist or counsellor.

Talking to a friend or family member about what you're feeling is a great first step and it will help to a certain degree. We all need friends and family around us who are willing to listen when we need to vent, but if you're struggling with mental illness, just venting isn't going to be quite enough. A counsellor provides a neutral, non-judgmental, and outside perspective on what you're going through. They can also see things that you (and your friends or family) may not be capable of seeing due to their education and experience. Finally, a counsellor or therapist can refer you to a psychiatrist if you need medication, a psychologist for testing or more focused treatment, or other helpful resources that apply to your situation. A counsellor isn't there to tell you what to do or fix the issue for you. They are there to listen, offer perspective and insights, and guide you toward helping yourself.

Oh, and if you need to vent, they are there for that too. I have lots of people I can vent to, but there is something quite different about venting to my therapist inasmuch as I can say absolutely whatever comes into my head without fear of judgment. For his part, he often replies to my venting with something that brings about a new insight for me or helps me process whatever I'm venting about in a way that a friend or family member just can't do.

2. Tell someone if you are having thoughts of suicide.

This one is an absolute MUST. I cannot stress the importance of this one enough.

If you are thinking of killing yourself -- even if it's just a fleeting thought that goes away -- tell someone about it. It doesn't really matter who you tell, so long as you tell someone. Thoughts of suicide are serious and I want you to keep living. You can tell:

• a friend 
• a family member
• a therapist/counsellor
• a doctor or nurse
• a minister 
• a coworker
• a police officer or firefighter
• or even a stranger. 

So what if you don't feel comfortable telling anyone in your day to day real life because you're afraid of being judged or of what will happen to you if you confess those thoughts? You can tell someone and remain anonymous.

• In the US, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) or you can go to their website and use their online chat to talk to someone about those thoughts. 
• If you don't want to talk to someone on the phone or via online chat, you can also text. Just text the word HELP or TALK or HELLO to the Crisis Text Line at 741-741 and a trained crisis counsellor will text with you about what you're feeling. 

I keep both of these numbers stored in my phone contacts so that if I'm struggling and need an immediate listening ear, I don't have remember them or look them up in the moment. I would encourage you to do the same or at least jot them down on something to put in your wallet or purse.
 
3. Tell your story.

This one may seem counter-intuitive, but trust me. Telling your story can be incredibly helpful and healing. Despite the fact that we are talking about issues surrounding mental health and mental illness more than ever these days, we still have a long way to go toward eliminating the stigma that surrounds this subject in our society. People remain very shy and secretive about the fact that they have struggled with depression or anxiety. They worry about what others will think about them if they know or they consider it a "personal" matter that isn't something that they feel comfortable sharing with anyone. They may get treatment for it, but they do it quietly and perhaps no one ever knows, but them and their tightest inner circle.

Besides getting treatment, one of the best things I ever did for myself was to start writing about my struggles with mental illness. It was really hard when I began sharing openly about depression, anxiety, PTSD, struggles with my faith, etc. but the more I have shared, the more I have begun to understand how much it helps me. Eventually, I wrote a public declaration of the fact that I will no longer remain silent about my struggles with mental illness. I shared that one blog post as far and as wide as I could. I asked others to consider sharing it too. I am convinced that if more of us were completely vulnerable with each other, then in time, the stigma would be significantly reduced to almost nothing and those who struggle would realise that they are not alone and would feel comfortable getting the help they need.

This is why I encourage you to tell your story to the world. You need not blog about it or share it all over Facebook. You can start small by telling a friend, coworker, neighbour, or acquaintance that you've never confided in about your struggles. You can join a mental health advocacy group and tell your story to those in the group. Of course, you can blog about it too. For me, telling my story has involved all of those and by and large, it has had a real healing effect on me. There is something incredibly powerful about bringing your struggles into the light which makes you stronger and the illness weaker. By giving voice to your pain and mental health struggles, you also encourage others who may be fighting their illness without help to know that they are not alone and that help is available. It may be hard (and it's still hard for me sometimes), but I know you can do it!

Day One: Worship

This blog post is part of my 2017 Write 31 Days blog series 31 Reflections on Mental Health and Illness. To read the whole series, click here for the series index page.

To be honest, this is both an odd and logical place to begin talking about the topic of mental health and mental illness. It is odd inasmuch as it isn't what I'd have chosen to start with, but it is logical for me to begin with it as a person of faith. For me, worship of God is essential to my whole life and for my mental health, it is absolutely critical. It is vital to the point that if I am forced to be away from it for a week or two, I find myself struggling harder mentally and emotionally. 

As a Catholic, what worship means to me is the Mass. The Mass is where the supreme sacrifice of Christ is represented and He comes to offer Himself as nourishment for our bodies, minds, and souls through the Holy Eucharist. He is truly present --- Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity -- in the consecrated host and in the cup and partaking of that gift is a kind of sustenance that gives me a whole lot more strength than I have normally. That's because when I receive Jesus, I am receiving an infusion of His perfect, salvific grace. That is extremely powerful. So I receive communion during worship and go out and conquer all the mountains of mental illness, right?

Actually, no. It doesn't quite work like that at all. 

What happens is that it gives me strength for the journey and a lifeline when I am falling fast into the darkness and want to give up. In truth, I don't often feel like worship of God benefits me at all, but that's because day to day, I can't see the bigger picture. Day to day, I'm focused on housework, parenting our three daughters, my marriage, my advocacy work, and therapy. Some days, I'm simply focused on breathing in and breathing out and making it to the end of the day. 

So how do I know that this Holy Eucharistic nourishment that I receive each week as I worship God in community with my fellow Catholics is, in fact, something that benefits me?

 

It's when I've gone through the darkest darkness and am bereft of the mental ability to choose life and light that I see it. When I find myself on the other side of those great chasms of despair which threaten to take me away from this existence, I can look back and see His strength guiding my hands, feet, and even my addled mind. I can see how the graces I receive each week enabled me in those moments to reach out and find a hand to hold to help me back to a place of sanity and life instead of death.

For me, it's that critical. It is, at times, quite literally, the difference between attempting suicide and staying safe. It sustains me in the good times, but when my mental health takes a serious nosedive, that is when I truly believe it makes ALL the difference. I think that's why I feel kind of Jesus-anemic when I haven't been able to go to church and receive Jesus in Holy Communion. I need Him like I need water and air and food. 

For the last two Sundays, I've been unable to meet Him and receive Him in my weekly worship and I can tell. Thankfully, the Church offers Jesus to the faithful every single day of the week at Daily Masses, so there are other opportunities than Sundays. It's hard to find the time on a weekday, but for me, this week, I think it's going to be a priority to come and worship Him again even before next Sunday. 

I'll end with a quote from one of my patron saints, Pope St. John Paul II, which I think sums up this need and desire for worshiping and receiving Jesus in the Eucharist:

Introducing: 31 Reflections on Mental Health and Illness

 

The background of this is images from a special box I made during a period of intensive outpatient therapy. The many images are reflective of who I am, things I like, and goals I set for myself during that time.

“Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” 

– Ferris Bueller

Indeed, life does move fast and it hardly seems like two years have passed since I did my first Write 31Days series. I remember being rather daunted by the prospect of writing every single day on a single topic, but felt like God was pushing me to both write and to write about my struggles with mental illness. That series was called 31 Days of Stumbling ThroughDepression and it was about my struggles with a particularly difficult episode of depression. Had I known then what I know now, I would have titled it a bit differently and changed the word “depression” to either “PTSD” or “mental illness.”

At the end of that series, I had intended to keep writing my story, but discovered that I needed a break from it. Instead, I started writing other things about faith, family, and life in general. The thing is though, that try as I might, I couldn't get away from the subject of mental health or my personal struggles. I took a pretty long break from writing a lot about it, but eventually, with a mention of something here or a post on a subject there, I kept writing about it in a roundabout sort of way. My posts have been sporadic at best and not really much of a story, except for the fact that much of the things I've written have been pieces of my story.

I thought that I wanted to continue where I left off two years ago with this year's series, but after much discernment and looking at this year's Five Minute Friday Free Write prompts for 31 Days, I decided to go in a different direction. Part of my discernment about this included the fact that, as in the last two years, I have a lot on my plate with staying on top of my mental health, family life, and helping organise our local Out of the Darkness Community Walk for Suicide Prevention.

To that end, instead of continuing my personal story, I am going to use this year's FMF prompts to do a series of reflections on mental health and illness. Each post will feature the day's prompt word and a brief reflection on a mental health or illness topic. Although I'm not going to really do these in five minutes or actually as a free write, I want to keep them fairly short and edit them as little as possible so as to keep with the spirit of Five Minute Friday. Although this won't exactly be a continuation of my story, I will be sharing pieces of it at times along the way as well as sharing things I've learned through my journey.

I hope that you will find these posts to be helpful and educational in some way. Please feel free to leave me comments and let me know if you found them helpful. I'd also love to know your thoughts on these topics too! Most of all, my prayer is that these posts will serve to bring light to the darkness and hope for those who may be struggling (or watching a loved one struggle) with mental illness. God bless you!

A Reflection on 9/11 and Mental Health

Mom: "They're all gone."
Me: "What? What are you talking about?"
Mom: "The Twin Towers. They're gone. They're all gone!"
Me: (starting to cry) "Oh dear God. All those people..."

That conversation with my mom is how I found out that the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City had been reduced to rubble. I was living at home, working at a local restaurant, and was off that morning. As usual, my dad had made breakfast and after eating, I decided to have a second cup of coffee and watch the Today Show with my mom. I had worked two double shifts in a row prior to that day and was still plenty tired. As I snuggled on the couch with our cocker spaniel curled up on my feet, my eyelids grew heavy and I began to drowse. At some point, mom woke me and said that there had been an explosion at one of the two Twin Towers and although I heard her, I was so sleepy that it didn't really register completely. I nodded for a bit more and then upon halfway dropping my coffee cup in the floor, decided to give it up and go back to bed for a bit. At some point after witnessing the towers collapsing, my mom woke me up to tell me the news.

I couldn't believe it. It was unfathomable and hard to wrap my head around. I remained glued to the TV for a good part of that day and the next, desperate for some scrap of something that would explain it in a way that I could really understand. As I watched and the rest of the story unfolded about the two other planes, the FAA's grounding of all flights, the military jets who were scrambled to patrol the airspace above us, the Americans stranded abroad and stranded in cities in the US away from home, the terrified people covered in ash and soot fleeing away from Ground Zero, and the many things we just didn't know yet, I began to feel terrified. The footage of the planes crashing into the towers was played over and over, people were interviewed who were desperate for word of their loved ones, and there was practically nothing else on television or the radio.

Everyone was absolutely consumed with a need to know anything and everything about what had happened. 

Then still photos and more video became available.

Then I saw it.

At first it was just a brief glimpse of part of a video and the person who was talking about what was happening said that it was a person who had jumped from one of the floors above the impact zone in that tower. They had chosen to die by suicide rather than wait around and die by fire. The video was shot from fairly far away, but as I watched, I saw a very tiny human shaped speck in free fall toward the ground.

I suddenly felt like I was going to throw up. I felt an intense fear grip me and my heart began to race. My heart broke for that poor soul who felt so hopeless and scared that he or she chose suicide. My heart broke again as I understood that the reality of the situation was that there was no way that that person could be rescued even if he or she had chosen to wait it out and stay alive.

I felt something else too, but I didn't realise what that feeling was until just today. 

You see, thanks to a Facebook friend, I saw that image again today. She posted a much closer range, much clearer still image shot of a person who was in free fall, having chosen to die by suicide that day. She added the comment, "Never forget the reality of 9/11. Shocking image -- but so important to remember."

I felt that feeling of intense fear grip me again and my heart began to race. I knew as my eyes took in that photo that was so clear that I could tell you what the person was wearing, that what I was feeling was the feeling of having my PTSD triggered. Fear is a kind of anxiety and whenever I feel anxiety, it almost always means that I am re-experiencing trauma from my past. In my case, what I felt on 9/11 as I watched that video footage and today as I saw the still image of a person in midair, was a re-experiencing of trauma from my childhood where I felt trapped. I was trapped in wholly different way as a child, but it was still a situation of feeling like there was no good way out and that no matter what I did, I would suffer horribly.

When I saw that video footage at age 25, something inside me went back to when I was a child and a teenager and although what I was witnessing wasn't literally happening to me, in a sense, it was happening to me -- at least in some part of my mind. Anytime I get too close to the graphic details of someone's death by suicide, it has that affect on me. Part of this is because I have attempted suicide three times, so there's a strong association with that too. While this person's situation was different than my struggles with mental illness, there is a common thread between us in the feeling of being trapped. He or she was quite literally trapped with no way out but to die in one way or another. I felt trapped, but because of my mental illness was unable to see the reality that I could find a way out that didn't mean death by my own hand.

Seeing that photo today brought it all back to me in a flash. My friend said of the image that although it was shocking it is "so important to remember."

No. No it's not. It's not important to remember all the graphic, gory, horrible, terrifying details. It's really, truly not.

I and many other people like me could live our entire lives without seeing that photo ever again. We could do that AND successfully remember what an awful, life-shaking day that was. It is not necessary to rehash all the nightmarish minutiae in order to recall the events of that day. It is not necessary to subject ourselves or others to the most lurid tidbits each year. For many people who lost someone that day and those who lived through the terror of that day, they will never forget even though they may desperately wish they could.

I don't need to purposefully expose myself to all of that in order to remember and not forget. All I need do is look at the calendar.

The date itself -- September 11th -- will, to quote President Franklin D. Roosevelt, live in infamy in the hearts and minds of those who were alive to see it. They will recall with crystal clarity how awful it was and the fear of those moments when they realised that our collective culture as Americans had been irrevocably changed forever. They will forever see the date of 9/11/2001 as a kind of dividing line between the way things were and the way things are now.

More to the point, repeated viewing of those kinds of images can negatively affect the mental health of those who see it, especially if they are prone to depression, anxiety, or PTSD or have survived a suicide attempt. I know it negatively affected my mental health today.

I'll be 100% honest and transparent. I haven't been in a great place over these last few months and came very close to attempting suicide in July. It's why I've not been posting much. I've been working hard in therapy on trying to process trauma and one of the side effects is that it stirs up a lot of emotions that I've spent my whole life trying to stuff down. It's hard, but I have the help of my support team and strategies to keep myself safe and cared for when things are really hard. Sometimes though, something comes along that triggers something and there's not a blessed thing I can do about it. Today was one of those days. That photo triggered me and it made me mad.

I got mad because it wasn't necessary for me or anyone else to see it and now I can't get it out of my mind, so here I am writing about it. I got so mad that I unfriended the person who posted it and reported the post to Facebook. I rarely ever do something like that, so you can bet if I do, there's a good reason. For me, the reason is that I don't need someone in my life who is that insensitive to others and I'm pretty sure that posting that kind of thing goes against Facebook's terms of service.

I don't expect everyone around me to know or understand my personal triggers, much less be responsible for not triggering me. I take full responsibility for that. What I do expect is for someone to understand that it's not okay to post stuff that is very obviously upsetting to a large percentage of the population.

Please hear me when I say this: posting photos of suicide is NOT okay ever. NEVER EVER EVER EVER. There is NEVER a good reason to post a photo of suicide on social media or use it in a news article on TV or the internet. If you get nothing else from what I'm saying here, PLEASE get this.

Even if it doesn't trigger anyone, it's disrespectful to the person who has died and to their family. But the thing is, research has shown that publicly posting photos or videos of suicide IS triggering and can create a kind of contagion effect where others wind up attempting suicide too. Even if you don't know the research, I just cannot understand how anyone thinks that it's okay to post something like that. There's just NO need for it and it can do so much harm.

If you want to remember 9/11 or any other major event by looking at photos or videos like that, go ahead. Just leave me and everyone else out of it by keeping them to yourself.

Five Minute Friday: Expect

It's Friday and that means it's time for the linkup at the Five Minute Friday blog! Since the last time I linked up with the FMF community, Kate has moved things from her personal blog to a new space that is totally dedicated to FMF. Go check it out! This week's prompt word is....

EXPECT

Friends, it is June. More to the point, it's almost the middle of June. I have been so inundated with the stuff of life lately that I just haven't had the time or mental energy to write in this blog. I don't know why I can't seem to make myself do it. I guess I've gotten out of the habit (not that it was such a firm habit to begin with!). I start posts and then don't finish them. I just looked and I literally have over 100 posts that are drafts. They're just sitting there, waiting for me to do something with them. I don't know what I'm expecting. It's not like they're going to finish themselves or edit themselves. Some of them aren't actually too bad.

Several months back we actually had this prompt word and I had a pretty decent post going with it. I had actually finished it, but it was long and seemed really disjointed to me, so onto the scrap heap it went! Looking back over it, I can see now where it can be cut and not lose meaning or impact. That's what I feel like I'm always chasing. I write so many words and so often, I'm scared of cutting things. I'm scared of just writing without editing too. I don't know what I expect the reaction of others to be to my verbose ramblings. Maybe they'll think I'm crazy. Maybe they'll think I talk too much. Maybe they'll think that I need to just stop writing altogether because I really really suck at it. These are the voices in my head that keep me from writing a lot of the time.

Even when I do write something that feels like it's pretty good, I wind up getting scared to publish it. I've felt this way from the beginnings of this blog and I don't know how to conquer these feelings. I don't know how to change this. I think it's because I expect my writing, my blog, and all of it to be as good and polished and lovely to look at as my fellow bloggers. The thing is, I don't really like polished and pretty all the time because it's not who I am. But polished and pretty gets people to read and to comment.

Baring your soul, talking about uncomfortable things like mental illness, and trying to write in such a way that causes people to think seems to be met with silence and indifference. It makes me wonder who is reading and if they care. Then I wonder why I care so much about that. I try not to care, but here I am, caring again. Here I am second guessing myself. Here I am wondering if when you finish reading this, you will forget this as soon as your eyes hit the last word. Here I am wondering if what I have to say about anything is worth sharing with the world. These thoughts and wonderings and fears are what keep me from writing. I don't want to expect anything of this, but I am only human and we human beings are messy, complicated, and complex that way.

I don't even know if any of this makes any sense to anyone but me or if I should expect it to make sense. I just know that I feel compelled to return to this space and write. I just don't know if I ought to expect anyone to read it.