Wow Just Wow...

     I am not really a supporter of the media and Hollywood. I have issues with what I can only describe as hypocrisy.

   The way they present people with mental illness is defaming and misguided and has been such for decades. I have a hard time being supportive of a community who is certainly not  supportive of people like myself.

  Hollywood has claimed to have made it's cause to fight for minorities, the underprivileged, and the supposed ignored. They complain about how women are treated and paid in the arts. They even talk at award shows about how disabled people were referenced by outsiders with passion and frustration. But when it comes to depictions of the mentally ill coming out of their own camp, they are strangely silent. They have a lot to say and a lot fingers to point at others but where is the outrage when it comes to how they portray us?

   In the last twenty years Hollywood has put out maybe four movies that have represented mental illness and stigma with dignity and compassion. The Hurt Locker, The Aviator, Silver Lining's Playbook, and A Beautiful Mind were some of the most representative movies of the plight of people that suffer from mental illness released to date. In that same twenty years, they have released countless movies where those of us that suffer from mental illness are presented in a  magnificently misinformed way, steeped in stigma, and left to boil over on the stove with a side of bullshit that only some place like Hollywood could fashion.

    Hollywood does not usually depict us at all but most of the time when they do it is as mentally ill maniacal murderers, creepy stalkers, or the cruel  dangerous monsters that maim and rape. I just have to ask where is the outrage for that? Where is the shame for participating in the stigma spreading of our disorders for profit?

    How can Hollywood be pissed about a man being made fun of  for a birth defect and yet not be pissed about it's own people making movies that end up perpetuating a belief that ends up killing people by making them afraid to get help? A belief and representation that hurts so many by labeling them with false presentations?

   This....this is what they stand for? They will stand for everyone else and be mad for everyone else and yet remain silent when it is about mental illness that they actively contribute to. Really? Wow, just wow.

    I was horrified to see a movie trailer today called Split. It depicts  a person with multiple personalities abducting women and scaring them.

    First off, the actual diagnoses for that is called DID or Dissociative Identity Disorder. If you are going to make some big bullshit movie about it, at the very least get it's name right.

    The thing is, DID is not something that makes you a serial killer or mass abductor and honestly, I am beyond irritated about this movie.

    Lets be honest, There is no other disability  that Hollywood would allow to be used to imply dangerous behavior.

   This movie would never be called "Wheels" and imply that a man was a phsyco murderer because he was in a red wheelchair.

   It would never be called "Dresses" and infer that  the  character was dangerous because he was transgender.

That would be inappropriate and wrong.

It is the also just as inappropriate and wrong to make movies about the mental illness community and labeling them dangerous simply because of that diagnosis.


   There is nothing else that receives the unfair and biased damning that  Hollywood does to the mental illness community for entertainment purposes and profit.

   Movies are exciting. I get it, and I know that statistics aren't but that doesn't make them any less right. When the facts show that mental illness sufferers are twice as likely to be victims of violence rather than to cause violence, one would think Hollywood would get a new script and leave us out of the killer/slasher/murderer roles.

   And I am sure people will say that I am just being over sensitive to it but I live this life under the full weight of the stigma that movies like these help promote and propagate so yeah, I may be a tad bit fucking over sensitive about it.

I am angry and I don't even suffer from DID.

   I am angry that in 2017 we are still fighting to end stigma so we can save people that need help  but are too afraid to get it because of how they will be looked at, judged, and treated. I am angry that in 2017 movies are still being made making us all out to be dangerous maniacs when something as simple as a google search could prove how inaccurate that draconian thought is. I am angry that is 2017 and people will go see this moronic film call it horror and then go home to their normal lives and not think about the struggle someone with actual DID is going through. What everyone with the moniker of being mentally ill goes through daily.  As we try and do the best we can with stigma and misrepresentations all around us not only just blindly being accepted but also being actively promoted as entertainment. Especially, by the very people who claim to be tolerant and understanding of everyone's hardships, that is unless you are mentally ill I guess. I suppose when you struggle with mental illness it is not important or, at the very least, not as important as movie ticket sales.

Wow, just wow.

Neurotic Nelly

Staying Positive...

     Staying positive doesn't mean pretending to be happy all of the time. It doesn't mean stuffing down your feelings and ignoring what is going on your life. It simply means knowing that things might be going really badly right now, but things will get better at some point.

That is how I get through my bad days. I remember that I also have good days. That these bad days will not last forever. My depression will ebb away, my OCD will calm down, I will not always feel completely emotionally inept.

Sometimes, I still feel defeated but I know that there are times that I feel victorious. I feel vindicated. I feel healthy. Those days are what get me through the gloom and doom. Those days are my inspiration to keep going, keep fighting, and keep staying positive.

Staying positive to me is knowing that I matter, that I am worth the fight, that I am unique, and I am loved. It means knowing that I am not what my mental illness tries to tell me I am. I am better than that, worth more than that, and I refuse to listen to my mental illnesses's lies.

My post today is just a reminder that we are all better than our worst days. We are strong. We are important. We matter and we will get through this. We can stay positive and know that there are better days ahead, even if they seem far far away. They are there. They will come.

Here is hoping you all have a great weekend and are staying positive because each and every one of you is worth it,
Neurotic Nelly

It's Not Easy....

May is Mental Illness Awareness month.

What can I say that hasn't already been said....

It is not easy to be like us. It isn't easy to deal with the issues we deal with. It isn't easy to wrestle with things like stigma and ignorance. It isn't easy to get out of bed in the morning when you are depressed nor is it easy to to explain how you feel when you are Bipolar. It isn't easy to push through triggers when you have OCD or any of the many other anxiety disorders. It isn't easy to have Schizophrenia. It isn't easy to live with a mental illness. It's just not.

It's doable.....but not easy.

I want my blog to be uplifting, positive, sometimes humorous, and sometimes ranting but most of all I want my blog to be completely honest. I feel like a great many of the "discussions" about mental illness are sanitized, misconstrued, side swept, or only spoken about in the quietest whispers in the darkest of rooms and that needs to stop. Because, frankly, we deserve better.

Honesty is the only thing that can change the current system of misunderstanding. Mental illness is not another word for weakness. It is not an excuse. It does not make us any less important than anyone else.  It should be talked about openly in a public form without bias or false pretenses. Without shame or guilt. Without nameless baseless fear.

Without that kind of honesty and openness, mental illness will always be regarded as someone else's problem. It will continue to be misrepresented by the media and underfunded in it's programs. It will remain in the shadows, silenced by those that do not understand. It will be muted by those that are afraid. People that need help will go untreated. People that could be saved will not be. Many individuals that will suffer will do so in silence. And why?

 Because of stigma.

We fear how others will react to our diagnoses as if it were a label placed on a placard around our necks. We are afraid of being judged and to be seen as different. We are afraid of being thought of as less than or worthless or broken . We are afraid of being side eyed and talked about. We are afraid of being unjustly feared and unfairly ridiculed. We are afraid.....and we shouldn't have to live under that fear.

 I wanted to write a post about understanding, support for each other, standing up to stigma, believing in your self worth, and hope. Because those are the things that really matter in this world full of misconceptions of who we are or what we can achieve simply because of a diagnosis.

I wanted to give a shout out to those of you who suffer like me and tell you to hold on and keep fighting. To hold your head up high because we are good people, strong people, magnificent people. I wanted to make sure that everyone knows how truly important they are to the world. Each of you are completely remarkable, unequivocally unique individuals that make a difference everyday just by being who you are. By fighting  even though living with mental illness isn't easy. I wanted to dedicate today's post to the fact that we still get up everyday and try like hell. That is an amazing feat. That is the definition of inspiring.

No, living with mental illness isn't easy but that doesn't mean that we can't do it. It doesn't mean that we can't do it well and it certainly, doesn't mean that we are any less worthy, less capable, less lovable, less inspiring, less strong, or less important than anyone else. We are not less than, we are equal to.

I am proud of us. I am proud of me and I am proud of you. We are badasses, people. I hope you know that.

So, go look at yourself in the mirror, pat yourself on the back, and let yourself realize how spectacularly brave you are.


Happy Mental Illness Awareness month,
Neurotic Nelly

How Dare You....

It's been a while since I gave a good ole' rant. If you were looking to read one today, then you're in luck.

Dear Daily Mail,

I recently read an article on your site trying to smear a political presidential candidate's wife and frankly, it pissed me off. I would like to say that I respectfully disagree with your posting of Mrs. Cruz's personal information but that would imply that I have even a shred of respect for your paper, of which I do not. Not that I am a supporter of Ted Cruz, because honestly, I can't stand the guy. I am angry because once again a public social site is using something personal and something that has happened to many people as a smear campaign. Something that only further stigmatizes and shames people that have the complete and utter balls to get help when they are suffering from something that most people are too afraid to even speak about.

Apparently Mrs. Cruz had a bout with depression. Now, I have no idea why this is anyone's business. It seems to me, that it is her personal issue and it should only be revealed if she wants it to be. Her bout of depression is her story and her life and it is not for anyone else to judge or in this case, slander, to make a headline or to try and destroy someone else's credibility simply because they want to try and make some kind of point.

I don't know the Cruz's. Never met them. I am not standing up for her because I have some familiarity with her. I am standing up for her because in doing so I am standing up for the millions of people that suffer from mental illnesses whether it be permanent or temporary. I am standing up for us because guess what Daily Mail? Mental illness is real. It is not a sign of weakness or a character flaw. It is not something to be ashamed of or something to use to smear someone's reputation. It is not something to be looked down upon. It is simply a misfiring of chemicals in the brain. That's it. That is all it is.

And how dare you imply, that because this woman had a small bout of depression, that she is somehow less worthy to be anything that she sets out to be simply because she had the guts to openly admit that she was going through something really hard to deal with. How dare you instigate the same tired old regurgitation we have all been force fed for decades that having mental illness means that you are somehow less than or untrustworthy. How dare you make her personal battle, that is none of your freaking business, something to poke fun at and use it against her and her husband, whether you agree with his politics or not. How dare you!

 At least, she was honest about it and honesty is what we need to fight such things as depression and other mental illnesses. Because honesty keeps it in the forefront. Honesty makes it real to the masses. Honesty makes people not afraid to speak up when they need help. It makes people sit up and listen when it is important to do so. We lose more people to suicide in the US than we lose in car accidents ( As I am sure  you already know since you wrote a article about that too). People that could be helped. People that could have been saved but weren't because they didn't feel like other's would be supportive. Because they didn't think other people would understand. Because of shitty articles like yours, that seem to make suffering from mental illness either a joke to be sneered at or political fodder to be ridiculed. You article isn't informational as much as it is biased. I am glad that you have never had to deal with something like depression. I wish we all had such amazing luck. Unfortunately, this is the real world and depression actually exists.  Your article is discriminatory as much as it is insulting to those of us who live with mental illness on a daily basis. It offers no helpful advice nor any real substance at all. All it does, and poorly I might add, is use this poor woman's struggles as a stepping stone to try and make your "paper" or "online news source" appear to still be relevant. Which for me, it no longer is. So, thanks for that.

You want to get into a discussion about mental illness, then do it. Don't be coy and beat around the bush. Don't slant the article to your point of view, which is completely ignorant of facts. Don't call people out and shame them with something they have nothing to be ashamed about it in the first place. You want to write real news? Then do so, but try reporting something that is actually news worthy and Mrs. Cruz's battle with depression isn't news. It is personal and it has nothing to do with you or her husband's aspirations to become the next president of the United States of America.

There is no black and white when writing about mental illness. Either your article aims to teach others about mental illnesses and lift up those of us that suffer from them or your article aims to damn us and stigmatize us further. There is no middle ground. You can not do both. In this case, you chose to humiliate sufferers simply to make a political point and not only is that despicable, it is is completely unnecessary.

Shame on you. Shame on you for being ignorant and judgemental and shame on you for implying that just because someone has had a struggle with mental illness that they are somehow less of a capable human being than those that have not.

 My only regret after reading such drivel, is that I no longer own a pair of pet birds so that I could print out your "publication" and line the bottom of their cage with it, but that would take time out of my day and be a monumental waste of printer ink. And, frankly, your articles aren't worth the five dollar ink cartridge replacement and I could use the five minutes it would take me to print such garbage, to do something more important than your news site, like darning a sweater out of cat hair. I would rather read the back of a cereal box. You suck....

Neurotic Nelly

The Dali Days...

The depression fog has lifted. The medical fears have not. I am not exactly sure why they are plaguing me right now but I am sure if I distract myself enough, I will actually be able to just live in the moment. Something that is almost impossible to do when you live with OCD on the brain. You have to learn to distract to be present. It's an oxymoron but such is my life. The thing is,  I keep feeling like something big and wonderful is about to happen. Not exactly sure what, but I weirdly feel like I am waiting on it. Maybe my piece will get published or the water bill will be super cheap this month. I dunno. What I do know is that I am beyond grateful for a couple of things that have happened so far this year. They are personal and don't actually have to do with me, so I am not going to go into detail about them, but I am so very thankful.

I guess this post is more about hope than anything else. Sometimes it is really hard to imagine good things coming your way when you are wrestling with mental demons. Sometimes the world seems to be a great mass of dark matter. A black hole that burrows deep beneath your veins. A rot that seeps into your cerebral cortex and decays any happy thoughts that may have nestled there thinking it was a safe place to nap. It devours the light. It snuffs out any optimism. It leaves you feeling devoid of anything positive. Sometimes we live in the secret void between everything else and everyone else. It is a very lonely place to live. It is a very difficult place to dwell, even if you dwell there for only a few seconds. It takes it's toll. It feels like holding your breath while under water. Everything is muted. The light is dull. Words and conversations are merely garbled sounds.  Nothing is in it's place and everything seems like a snarled disconnected mask. This world could make no more sense or be any less confusing if Salvador Dali painted it while drunk riding on a donkey. It is a room with no corners and a sentence with no words. Everything that should be clear and understandable is muddled.

But eventually, the dark mass lifts and the sun comes out again. It warms the frostbit fingers of hope. It thaws the frozen ice sculpture you feel you have become. Allowing you to reach out and breathe again. To renounce the secret void you have become accustomed to living in. To see yourself as how you really are, magnificent. To feel like a living breathing human being again. Hope is a powerful thing....

So, thank you all for your well wishes and supportive comments during my "Dali" days. It meant a great deal to me to see such support and positive comments. It helped push me to fight back against my depression and anxiety and to never ever give on hope. I really do appreciate that. Here is to hoping everyone's week is going well and is full of hope.

Neurotic Nelly

The Afterglow...

Christmas was great, New year's eve has come and gone with minimal excitement. We watched the ball drop on television. I was hoping to have a wonderful day but alas, the afterglow of Christmas is gone and depression has set in.

I could think back and blame it on the after affects of the anxiety of the Christmas season. I could consider the fact that my OCD has been spiking the last few days and it could be related to the fact that now that the anxiety of the holidays are over, I am falling apart. That is, after all, how I work. I am great under pressure while the pressure is on. As soon as the pressure dissipates, I completely fall apart.  Or it could be that my small bouts of depression are seasonal. Usually they hit me in the winter time. Usually when it is freezing and snowy outside. Lack of proper sunlight and such. But the weather here has been unseasonably warm and no snow has befallen our town, yet. I could sit here and think and regurgitate a million excuses of why  I am wrestling with depression right this second, but that would require more energy than I am willing to give. It doesn't really matter why, anyway. I have a good life and a wonderful family, and terrific friends, and great support but honestly, depression doesn't really care about all of that. Having positive things in your life doesn't mean that you won't get depressed. It happens. I am not going to make excuses or explain to myself why I feel the way I feel. I just do....the afterglow is gone and what is left is an empty hole. I am numb and whatever vestiges of my emotions that aren't numb are sad. There is no reason why..... I just am and I am dealing with it. Slowly and with as little energy as possible. Because with all of that numbness and sadness, I am depleted of energy. I would go lie down and take a nap but even that seems like too much of an effort. Hell, I am surprised that I am even able to write this and it be comprehensible. I hope it is, anyway.

So thank you all for the comments on my Christmas post. I promise I will get to commenting back on them soon. I am just wading through this fog right now and trying to find my way out. I know I will, because I always do. It just might take a few days. By next week, I should be better and back to doing mundane things like brushing my teeth and showering without it seeming to be a monumental task. Hopefully, anyway because school starts next week and  common core algebra 2 is hard enough with me using all of my brain. It will be impossible for me to figure out while depressed.

I hope all of you guys are doing well and Happy New Year.....
Neurotic Nelly

Bah Humbug...Bah Higgins.....

          Thanksgiving dinner went fantastic. All of my food was great and I finally broke my five year turkey dressing curse in which I have bought stove top as a back up for my mad scientist concoctions of dressing recipes which have all been ultimate failures every year. Inedible bricks. Gross slop in a bowl. Unappealing mushes. Tasteless fluffs. Terrible tongue torturers. This year my sister gave me our old family recipe and it turned out delicious. I am beyond stoked. The curse has broken and all is right in the Thanksgiving world of breads, dressings, and stuffings. I can now officially reclaim my southern woman card now that I can make great dressing and sometimes my homemade gravy is actually edible. Sigh....

.................Now we wait for Christmas to arrive.

              As I brushed my cats tonight, I had a realization. Hobbs loves to be brushed. Lola is over excited when combed. They will actually chase me around the couch if they see me with their brush in my hands. In anticipation of all of the scratches and scrubs the brush gives them, they will flop on the floor and rub their fat fur bodies all over the carpet. But my cat Higgins hates to be brushed. He eyes it with a wariness only those who know the betrayal of a glove of soft rubber bristles will understand. He hides from it. He gives you the stink eye when you edge ever so closely to comb his unruly mane. Brushes are Higgin's number one enemy. Though I have no idea why. The brush has never maimed him. It has never scratched him too hard or even pulled a tangle in his fur. Nary even a hair pull, but he mistrusts it. He dreads it. He hates it.

              And it came to me.....there are two types of people in this world when it comes to the holidays. There are the Hobbs and Lola's of the world loving everything Christmas or holiday related. Basking in the l.e.d. glow of Christmas lights and cinnamon scented candles. Rolling around the eggnog flavored beverages on their tongues. Chasing the big hand holding the holiday sale coupons around the block with glee. They watch Christmas movies and make hot chocolate and string popcorn garlands. They love the smell of Christmas trees and delve into wrapping presents with a gusto rivaled only by Martha Stewart on baking and craft day. They relish everything holiday related and everything holiday related makes them feel happy and accomplished and most of all, warm and fuzzy inside. They love Christmas and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

              Then there are the Higgins' of the world. They are mistrusting of the holiday season. It makes them uncomfortable and edgy. They may have very good reasons for feeling this way or absolutely no reason at all but that does not lessen the truth of their feelings. It makes it no easier for them. They may stink eye other's love of holidays or hide from the crowds of caroling masses. They may ignore the friendly holiday greetings or turn away from the numerous three month long commercial adds proclaiming the holidays are soon upon us. Something about this time of year is upsetting to them, or sad to them, or painful for them and they have to go through it anyway because days will pass and Christmas comes once every year. Just like being a cat that needs to be brushed, it is inevitable. There is no true avoidance of it and we should remember to be extra kind to them.

              I am not saying we shouldn't be jubilant and happy around the season of giving and thanks and family. I am saying we should also reach out to the Higgins of the world and see how they are doing because the holidays can be a very stressful time. It can be a very lonely time. It can be a very hopeless time for some.  While we are focused on buying or making our loved ones gifts for the holidays, we should remember that the best gift is caring about someone to begin with, and we should show how much we care by making sure that the Higgins of the world know that they are loved and appreciated and thought of. Especially, when they are struggling just to get by the hardest part of the year when they are grieving, or depressed, or have anxiety issues, or simply have jerk faces for family members.

            When I brush Higgins, I talk to him nicely and I remember to not brush very hard so he isn't more upset. I make sure to comfort him and make him feel safe. Because really, all anybody wants in this great big world is to be loved and appreciated and to feel safe. People really aren't that different from cats.

              So, be happy if you are a Lola or a Hobbs and celebrate but please remember people like Higgins who aren't as excited about the holidays as you are. Let them know you are there for them. Let them know you care and if you can, let them know that you understand the way they feel because there is nothing wrong with not loving the holiday season either.

 My best wishes to all of the Hobbs and Lola's out there and my understanding and best wishes to the Higgins' of the world as well. We will get through this holiday season, one breath at a time just like we always do.

Neurotic Nelly

It's Not A Sidebar.....

        I was watching a news channel yesterday and came across a story about a man cycling for awareness of a disease that killed his wife. He wants to promote awareness and raise money and I applaud him for that. My problem was the way the news sanitized his wife's illness and death.

        First, they both called her Depression a mood disorder. They did it repeatedly and then said that Depression had killed her. At no point did they mention mental illness anywhere in this supposed news article. At no point did they say that she killed herself.

        My problem with this is that it seemed very sanitized, very PC, very scrubbed clean and there is nothing clean or orderly about Depression.

        Is Depression a mood disorder? Yes, but lets call a spade a spade shall we? Depression is a MENTAL ILLNESS. Say it. Say it often, roll it around in your mouth until it feels familiar. Stop being afraid of these two words. Stop shying away from this term. We as sufferers have learned to use it without attaching stigma to it and so should everyone else. This woman didn't have Leprosy, she had Depression. It doesn't need to be dumbed down or sugar coated. It certainly wasn't sugar coated for her when she was suffering from it. She killed herself. Her Depression made her life so unbearable, so unspeakable, she was so desperate, she suffered so much that suicide, to her, seemed like the only option. Don't you dare sugar coat or undermine what she went through.

         You see, as a mentally ill person, I find the sanitizing and politically correct scrubbing of the struggles we go through on a daily basis an insult. It represents that what we go through is somehow less painful or less ugly or more acceptable.

         This woman didn't die from Depression. She committed suicide. There, I said it. I know it is hard for other people to hear that word, or read that word, or understand that word but you can not and should not whitewash that word into something less awful, less devastating. Because there is nothing beautiful or soothing about suicide. Yes, Depression is the reason she killed herself but say that. Don't over look the choice she made and the horrors she faced by saying she died from Depression and not explain what it made her do. If for some reason, you can not bring yourself to say the word suicide then simply say she lost her battle with Depression.

            Look, I am sorry that the words mental illness and suicide make other people uncomfortable. You should try living with them and see how uncomfortable that is. The point is, we don't have time to scrub away the ugly thoughts about these two words. Mental illness and suicide are ugly. We should know. In a country where suicide takes away somebody's loved one every 13 minutes, I hardly think we need to waste time trying to sanitize  something that needs to be talked about openly because only then can we get real and start making changes to a broken system that allows good people to fall through the cracks. This system is damaged and defunct and until we start looking at this problem as an actual problem nothing will change and it has to. Suicide is 100% preventable. And yet we as a society are too afraid to look into the dark abyss where it dwells because we are scared. Our society is cowardly when it comes to anything that deals with mental illness or suicide and it is proven and reiterated every single time this subject comes up. Because they white wash it. They sweep it under the rug. They look for other excuses. Or like in this case, they simply exclude these three words altogether.

            If you want to help us, if you want to change the system than you have to stop making excuses. You have to stop shying away form reality. A reality that all of us that suffer are very familiar with. You have to say words like mental illness, pain, suicide and you have to own them when you speak. You have to look people in the eye when talking about them. You have to stop promoting the stigma with your fear and be fearless. After all, we are fearless when talking about these things because we have no choice and if you want to be part of the solution than you have no choice either. We are not a side line. We are not a cutline. It is not a sidebar. It is the story. We are the story. We are real and our suffering is real and we deserve to have it talked about it, exactly like how it is. No sanitizing, no white washing, no scrubbing clean.......you cannot diminish the pain of mental illness by minimizing it's affects so you are less uncomfortable with the reality of it.

Neurotic Nelly

A Letter.....

I didn't post last week because I was working on this post. Not because I had writer's block (as I sometimes do) but because I wanted this post to mean exactly what I wanted and needed it to mean and to represent something that I dearly wished someone had said to me in the beginning, when I was first diagnosed. It would have been a help to know that life was going to go on and that I would be able to handle whatever mental illness threw my way, even when many times I was not sure of that fact. Maybe this is but a small window into my life but also maybe it could help anyone else struggling to make sense of their diagnosis and all of the unknowns that follow when you live your life under the label of being mentally ill.


Dear self,

When you are first diagnosed with a mental illness, there are some adjectives you are going to hear that are unflattering and a tad bit scary. You will wrestle with whether or not these adjectives are true. It will be hard and humbling and frustrating. It will be an eye opener to how differently people treat you with your diagnosis instead of how they treat you if you had something physical happen to you like a heart attack. There will be those that do not understand and shun you. There will be those that pity you or fear you. It is almost as if your diagnoses has changed who you are in their eyes and they are blinded by the words "mental illness" and unable to see you through those words. It won't be everyone in your life (thank God) but you will see it. Then and only then, will you come to understand the stigma that surrounds carrying around the moniker of being "mentally ill".

Not to fret, we all have walked down this path and learned which winding roads to avoid and which ones are safe to cross. We have all heard the negative adjectives describing our umbrella diagnoses and we are not impressed. We know them to be false and about as scary as two years old's favorite teddy bear. These adjectives are not based in reality and are completely created by ignorance and apathy. We are not bad, or dangerous, or freaks. We are not weak, or lazy, or attention seeking. We are not broken, or ugly, or damaged goods. That is the stigma talking and we need not listen to it's lies and unfair and untrue accusations. It doesn't matter where it comes from or whose mouths it pours from. We are none of those things. You are none of those things.

Having a mental illness is not something to beat yourself up about. It isn't your fault or because of something you did or did not do. It is not something you can help or something that you choose. It is not indicative of your strength as an individual.  It does not speak for your personality. It does not mean that you have all of a sudden become weak, less than, stupid, worthless, or undesirable. It changes nothing about who you are as a person. All it means is that you have a different struggle to deal with.

Yes, there will be times you are on the floor balling your eyes out and wiping away the snot with sleeve of your sweater wondering ,"What the fuck am I doing? What good am I to the world? What life can I possibly lead? What is the point in all of this?"

There will be times when you believe the negative adjectives stated above because it is so much easier to believe the bad lies about yourself rather than the good truths. Because you now doubt who you are, now that you have a label placed upon your head like a two day old ham hock or a discontinued piece of Tupperware. And there are always ignorant people willing to step on you further when you are already down....be weary of those that trample on you and use your diagnoses as an excuse to treat you like dirt. You deserve better than that.

I can not tell you that life is going to be easy or that you will come out of being mentally ill unscathed. That is not reality. Reality is, that you will struggle against the tides until your arms ache and your chest hurts and you are out of breath. You will try and try and try and fail. You will pray and beg and plead and get discouraged. You will.... and then you will get off your ass and up off of the floor and slowly and deliberately carve out a life for yourself because you deserve a good life. Because you are strong. Even though you can't see it yet. Even though you doubt the validity of that strength. Even though, right now you look in the mirror and fail to see yourself as anything but weak and broken. You will prevail. You will one day see that you are never broken and are incapable of being something as paltry as weak. Because being mentally ill doesn't define you anymore than being diabetic does. Because you were never a quitter and failure is not an option. Because struggling against stigma makes your muscles stronger and your responses wittier and you always have liked a challenge. Because you can only see what you are truly made of in the face of adversity.  Yes, you will struggle....but you will also learn who you are during that struggle. You will learn what is important to you and how much courage it takes to be someone with mental illness and still be present in your own life. To still be who you are in the face of stigma and ignorance. To still be compassionate and kind and brave and honest and open. Because mental illness can do many things but it can not change who you are deep down and neither can other people's judgments and stupidity.

So, don't fret. You are going to be fine. No, you are going to better than fine, you are going to be strong. And you are going to realize that you have a purpose with mental illness. It could be to have your dream job in spite of your struggles, or raise happy healthy kids, or to go back to school and learn something new, or to advocate and fight for others that are just like you. And all of those purposes are just as good as any other purpose in life.   Because, fundamentally, this is your life and it is you who gets to decide just how much you are willing to surrender to stigma and bias. Only you can stand up for you. It doesn't matter if you are in a room full of other people that believe in you, if you don't believe in yourself, it will never work. So believe in yourself, because you can do this. In fact, you already have.

Neurotic Nelly

The Truth Is......

It seems to me that whenever a tragedy happens people rush to judgment. They rush to make excuses for one's behavior. They use words like mental illness to describe what could have been the possible culprit. I think it is to make a gap in humanity. To make it seem like normal people could never do what these people have done. I think it is to make others sleep better at night. To label someone who has hurt others so that they don't have to look at themselves and the possibility that they could do something like that as well. It isn't a diagnosis to understand what has happened. It is a diagnosis to separate themselves from those that have harmed. A label. An umbrella word. Infecting everyone who has a label even though it is unwarranted.

The man who drove the plane into the mountain and killed 150 people was labeled depressed. Yet he was on anti-psychotics. Depression isn't psychosis but most people don't know that there is a huge difference. That anti-psychotics are given to psychotics not typical depressed people. The media seems oblivious as they spread out the might be's and why's someone might do such a horrid thing. Someone said depression and now even though, we have no actual proof of his depression, depressed people are getting the side eye. Now, everyone with depression is suspect of being a possible mass murderer. Not because statistics support such a bias claim but because the media and ignorant people are in such a rush to make an excuse for inexcusable behavior. It wouldn't happen if he had a heart problem but because it was a mental problem, it is okay to publicly speculate.

Calling someone's diagnosis something that it is not, is like calling someone's toe cancer, finger cancer. Yes, they are both cancers but they are different cancers. Just like calling someone's mental illness diagnosis  by a different mental illness diagnosis name. They are both mental illness but they are different mental illnesses. It is not one size fits all.


This happens every time some person does the unthinkable. Adam Lanza murdered innocent children and teachers and before the investigation was even finished he had a label. Aspergers. No actual documentation of his disorder and yet it was spread over the news and media as fact. Why? Because it made people feel safer that his evil had a name. A name they put on him to make it seem like his actions were because of an illness.  It did not matter that Aspergers is not violent usually. It didn't matter that the statistics don't support what the media claimed. All that mattered is that it sold more papers, got more views, and riled people up against mental illness. All that mattered is that there was a label to assign. And so they did.

And in doing so, such a label brought a great deal of discomfort to good people that suffer from Aspergers. They were all looked at like they were capable of such horror. They did not deserve such judgment.

There seems to be a great deal of speculation as we reel with emotions of such horrid events and yet what seems to be lacking is a great deal of truth. Truth that sets people straight. Truth that sets people free.

The truth is, people suffering from mental illnesses are more than twice as likely to be victims of a violent crime rather than to be the person committing one. The truth is, that depressed people are far more likely to be a danger to themselves rather than to others. The truth is, that the media slanders the mentally ill anytime something tragic happens because it fits the general consensus that it is us against them and that we are somehow dangerous or different. The truth is that bad people can and do bad things and not all of those people did bad things because of mental illness. Sometimes they just do what they do and no one else with any diagnosis that may be similar has anything to prove. We are not the monsters that go bump into the night. We are just people. We are not dangerous anymore than anyone else.  This isn't our shame to bear. It's their's because they did the unspeakable and devastating things, not us.

The truth is, that mental illness is promoted in falsehoods, quoted with misconceptions, and wrapped in a cloak of invisibility and stigma. If we want to get people the help they need, than we have to stop labeling people that hurt others by their diagnoses. Which only promotes more ignorance and stigma. We have to see that these people did an unforgivable thing but in no way does it mean that other people with those same diagnosis need to be suspect or feared. No one deserves to be punished by other people's actions and no group of people should be sullied by the horrid acts of the few that do not represent us. And I urge you to remember that, as the media continues to peddle it's misconstrued propaganda and sensationalism of our illnesses.

Neurotic Nelly

What Helps....

This deep blackened crevice is intelligent. The bottomless pit does not discriminate. It does not see race, religion, or social status. It does not care what job you have or what charity you donate to. It does not care if you are a mother, father, son, or sister.  It is ever present, ever hungry. It is known by many names: despair, agony, bleakness, numbness, the blahs, the black dog, the monster under the bed, but we know it today as depression....

I was reading a post the other day and this man I don't know very well was talking about depression and how he felt worthless. He talked about wanting just one day where he liked himself. I wrote a comment. I usually wouldn't but having OCD means that I too have weathered some bad depression in my life and I felt the need to tell him that he was not alone and that he did matter. I hope it helped coming from someone who understands.

What bothered me were the comments he got that were well intentioned but common comments we all get when we are struggling with any mental illness. Things like," Things will get better with time," or "It will all work out soon". "Keep your head up" and "It will all blow over," are all comments we have heard before. And although, the person means well, it ends up making us feel more isolated and alone in our suffering. We know that things will change with time but in the deep dark recesses of depression almost nothing can penetrate the darkness. It is the proverbial black hole that swallows any light, any semblance of hope. The bottomless pit of despair in which one can no longer tell time. What good is it to tell someone in that pit that things will get better when they are unable to see that far?


It doesn't really make them feel any better. It only makes you feel better to say it. In a world where people are uncomfortable having other people be open and honest and talking about their feelings of depression, anxiety, or pain, people don't really know how to respond. What seems like a comment of support ends up feeling more like a minimalization of our pain. So, what do you say to someone whose pain is something you can't really understand? How do you talk to them without seeming blase or obtuse? How do you offer support without seeming like you just don't get it?

This is only my opinion, but what has always made me feel better is someone telling me that I do have worth. That I have a great purpose in this world. It helps when someone forgoes the typical comments of me just accepting my pain and moving on because the world changes and I too, can soon be full of rainbows and unicorn farts rather than this deep searing pain that eats through my soul like an acid, and instead telling me that they are there to listen. Just listen. Because sometimes all we need is too feel less alone. What helps is people that have gone through it or are currently going through it telling me that they support me, they understand my pain, they know how I feel. What helps is being told that I have every right to feel the way I do and that I am allowed to talk about feeling that way. That I do not need to "buck up" or "get over it". That I do not have to chide myself for feeling depressed. That I don't need to look for reasons as to why I feel this way or make excuses for being depressed, scared, or in pain. Because it doesn't matter why or why not, it only matters that this is where I am at right now. What helps is being told that I mean something to the ones I love. What helps is being accepted even if I may not be the life of the party. Most of all what helps is a heartfelt sentiment that reaches out to me and lets me know that there is someone on this God forsaken planet that may not get it, may not totally understand, but cares enough to go out of their way and talk to me about it. That calls me just check in on me. That shows up at my house with ice cream or a movie or even just a cup of coffee to sit with me and be there. Someone that stands up and reaches out because silence is a killer and sometimes when we are screaming for help it falls on deaf ears and mute mouths. And that is probably the saddest tragedy of all.

I made a pledge years ago that if someone was hurting, then I would reach out. Even if I didn't know the person very well, at the very least I would send them a comment telling them that they were many things in life, many wondrous magnificent things but the one thing they would never be, could never be is alone. That I got it. I understood and I was rooting for them. That I was pulling for them. That I was sending positive thoughts their way. That I cared. Maybe it isn't enough but I really try and all I can do is my best and hope that if or when I should find myself in the bottomless pit of despair again, someone would do the same for me. Because we all deserve support, love, and understanding. We all deserve acceptance. We lose too many good people when our ears are closed and our mouths are shut. We need to support each other loudly and with extreme compassion each and every day. Depression isn't something to play around with or overlook. Depression can be deadly so we have to be open to hearing it, caring about it, and ever vigilant when dealing with it. All we can do is what helps.

To all of those who are dealing with depression right now, I support you. I am rooting for you. I am pulling for you. You got this..... And as always you are never alone.
Sending positive thoughts your way.
Neurotic Nelly

Gutted.....

              I must have broken a mirror, whilst standing under a ladder,  holding an open umbrella in my living room, while a horde of angry black cats crossed my path. That must be what happened and I just don't remember it because I was drunk. (I don't drink) But, clearly that must have been the case.

I am so over Christmas. Hell, I am over this year. This last month was horrible. So horrible in fact, that I have to sit and laugh at it because if I were to sit and cry about I am not sure I would ever stop.

Lots of people do a count down till Christmas. This year we had one of our own but it wasn't the painstakingly hand sewn red felt calendar with the happy motifs of Santa Claus or shimmering glittery snowmen with the candy cane counter. Ours was more of a countdown on moldy torn fabric warily clinging to the nail, praying to God that it didn't blow away in the shit storm that we are weathering.

Before Thanksgiving my husband got hurt at work. He chipped his hip bone and hurt his back. He was in pain but he is a hard worker and so he went to work everyday despite numbness in his back and feet.

The day before Thanksgiving, my grandma became very ill and had to be hospitalized for eighteen days. She almost died on us.

Two weeks before Christmas my Christmas tree (the one thing that made me still feel hopeful for Christmas cheer) dried up. Most people have Christmas trees that sparkle. Mine molted. Most are full and fluffy, mine was crispy and stabby.

Six days before Christmas my husband was laid off. "Merry Christmas to you and by the way, we don't need you anymore....have fun with trying to pay bills and buy Christmas gifts for your kids..."

A few days later, my oldest cat became extremely ill. We did everything we could including taking him to the vet to get shots and medicine but his kidneys had stopped functioning. He had lost six lbs in two weeks.

Two days before Christmas, he had to be put to sleep....He was in pain and was going to die a painful death within the next few days and the vet told us the humane thing to do would be to end his suffering rather than let  him suffer.

The day before Christmas eve instead of having happy thoughts of Christmas gifts and sugar plumb fairy dreams, my kids stood outside in the rain as we buried beloved Geves. (We didn't ask them to stay out there with us. They both just walked outside while we buried him. I was very proud of what little men they are becoming.) Instead of cheer my eight year old tried to come to grips with the truth that no, cats do not actually have nine lives. I had to explain to him in detail on Christmas Eve, that even if he did throw a coin into a water fountain and wish for Geves to come back, it wouldn't work because life doesn't really work that way.

Then we had a reprieve and went to my mother's house which was nice. We had a good time full of family and love. We didn't really want to come back home to a house without Geves though. To have to come back to our home and pretend we don't feel the glaringly obvious absence of one of our buddies. The other three cats are grieving just as much as we are. Now, our house is just a big grief sandwich filled with sadness and uncertainty. He used to sleep with me. I can't sleep in my bed because it makes me too sad to not feel him at my feet. My other cats won't go upstairs anymore, so I am now sleeping in the living room.

Christmas morning, my kids opened their gifts and played. A quiet relief of them forgetting for a second that all is not right with the world right now for us. I was thankful for that.

Santa had brought them "stickies" in their stockings. Those little oddly shaped creatures that are sticky to the touch so you can throw them on the wall and watch them "walk" down the wall. One of my kids had flung one on the ceiling in the dining room. It was so sticky it didn't fall down even after hanging there for two hours. When my husband stood on a chair to get it down, it ended up pulling off a plate sized portion of the plaster off of the ceiling.

 I laughed and laughed and laughed. Ridiculous. This month has been so bad it has been utterly ridiculous. I asked them not throw them on the ceiling anymore lest my whole damn house start to fall in around our heads when we pull them off.

I was laughing but then I was sick to stomach. So sick of Christmas and dead trees, and sickness, and pain, and loss, and of having an unsure future. I looked at all of the decorations I had lovingly hung and it made me feel even more disgusted. I looked at my husband. I looked at my kids happily playing in the other room and something inside me snapped. I started tearing down the decorations. I couldn't remove them fast enough. It was almost as if they were now, for me tainted somehow. I put away the stockings and dismantled my dried husk of a tree. I threw it off of the porch to let it stagnate in the yard until the trash man comes. I removed the what now seemed to be a sick joke of festive decorations and boxed them in their bubble wrap and tape. I swept the floor of the pine needles like I was cleaning out the negative emotions in my head. Each sweep of the broom was sweeping away the tears and sadness that had become my constant companion these last few days. I was purging this bad Christmas away from my home, my eye view, and hopefully, my recollection. I packed up Christmas and forbid myself to even think about it again until next year, where hopefully it will not be as much of a disaster as it was this year. I left my kid's tree up. I  didn't take away their decorations and joy because I am not heartless. I just couldn't stomach one more second of looking at the red a green and gold balls dangling in the light happily or the wreaths proclaiming joy and peace. I couldn't swallow one more cheerful Christmas carol or digest one more sniff of a cinnamon candle. I couldn't tolerate one more paper angel or blinking Christmas tree light. I wanted to erase the unfulfilled Christmas feelings that now felt like lies. I wanted vomit Christmas back up like it was something rotten I had eaten as a midnight snack. It left a bitter bile taste in my mouth. So much wrong in such a short span while the world is happy and telling you that you should be as well, activated my gag reflex. I couldn't take it.

I couldn't even have the lights on the tree plugged in because the tree would catch fire and yet deep down I dreamed of setting the damn thing on fire in my yard myself as a protest. I protest this Christmas and all of the suffering and fuckery that it entailed this year. It was a horrid, horrid year and I wish I could erase it from my memory.

And if things weren't bad enough to ramp my OCD into overdrive, I just went to urgent care for pain in my tailbone and was told that I have a congenital dimple there. When I told the doctor there is Spina Bifida in my family he was concerned that I may have it as well. Now, I have to have an ultrasound done on my spine and maybe a cat scan as well....So, I am more than just a tad bit upset. Fuck this year, seriously.

As always, I am remaining positive. (Ha ha ha.) I should say I am trying my damnedest to remain positive even though everything around me seems to be falling apart. I am trying to remain hopeful and thankful and I am praying. Like I always do. I know that everything will work out eventually, it just has been so hard. So stressful. So devastating. I feel numb. I feel angry. I feel sad. I feel....hollow. Empty. Gutted.

Luckily, I am blessed with a wonderful supportive family and friends and they are helping us deal with all of this...crap. I can't help but think of others going through this and not having that support. It really upsets me. No one in this country, let alone this world, should work so hard only to be one or two paychecks away from losing everything they have struggled for. But that is my opinion and this is reality. I have decide reality blows.

Here's hoping your Christmas was better than mine and that next year is a better and happier year for all of us. Because I have always loved Christmas....just not this one. Not this way and not this time.

Hopefully things will be looking up soon and my next post will be less depressing. You can bet that at 12:00 a.m. on Jan 1st there will be cheers and hooting and hollering like there always is. Only this time the loudest will probably be coming from my house. Screw this crapified year and all of it's heart break. Come on 2015 don't fail me now! We could really use a break here...and maybe even some good news as well.

Until Thursday,
Neurotic Nelly

Big Tongue, Small Mind....RANT. RANT. RANT.....

XXXXXXXXX....WARNING>>>GORE AND FOUL LANGUAGE>>>WARNING....XXXXXXXX

I like Gene Simmons. His music isn't necessarily my go to music but I do like his brand. He is a very savvy intelligent guy. He happens to be in my uncle's favorite band. I am familiar with his work and I have even bought some of his merchandise as Christmas presents. That being said, I am woefully dumbfounded by some comments that he made on July 31 during an interview with Songfacts that are just coming to the surface. To be fair, this was a rather long and interesting interview and this is only a small blurb of many topics he discussed but here is the quote that has recently put him in hot water.


When asked if he still gets along with the original guys he answered the following:


No, I don't get along with anybody who's a drug addict and has a dark cloud over their head and sees themselves as a victim. Drug addicts and alcoholics are always: "The world is a harsh place." My mother was in a concentration camp in Nazi Germany. I don't want to hear fuck all about "the world as a harsh place." She gets up every day, smells the roses and loves life. And for a putz, 20-year-old kid to say, "I'm depressed, I live in Seattle." Fuck you, then kill yourself.
I never understand, because I always call them on their bluff. I'm the guy who says 'Jump!' when there's a guy on top of a building who says, "That's it, I can't take it anymore, I'm going to jump."
Are you kidding? Why are you announcing it? Shut the fuck up, have some dignity and jump! You've got the crowd.
By the way, you walk up to the same guy on a ledge who threatens to jump and put a gun to his head, "I'm going to blow your fuckin' head off!" He'll go, "Please don't!" It's true. He's not that insane.

You can read the article and interview yourself in it's entirety here:

http://www.songfacts.com/blog/interviews/gene_simmons_of_kiss/

When he received the negative attention he did apologize stating :

"To the extent my comments reported by the media speak of depression, I was wrong and in the spur of the moment made remarks that in hindsight were made without regard for those who truly suffer the struggles of depression. Somewhere along the line, my intention of speaking in very directly and perhaps politically incorrectly about drug use and alcoholics has been misconstrued as vile commentary on depression. Unkind statements about depression was certainly never my intention. I simply want to be clear that my heart goes out to anyone suffering from depression and I deeply regret any offhand remarks in the heat of an interview that might have suggested otherwise."

Now, I am happy he apologized but nowhere in that statement does he explain why his comments were wrong, leaving me to believe that maybe he doesn't understand why what he said was both damaging and completely insensitive. For me to accept his apology he would have to not only have educated himself on depression but also make an effort to educate everyone else that he made that comment to, on it as well. His apology to me speaks of backtracking and reeks of an ass covering fluff piece all people backpedal into when they say something inappropriate but have no idea why it is in fact, inappropriate. I would like to enlighten him and people that think this way about depression and other mental illnesses so bear with me and hold onto your hats girl's it isn't going to be pretty.

Mr. Simmons, I agree with you about your mother who suffered through a horrific event. The holocaust was absolutely horrible. I am not even sure there is a word to describe the horrors of that period of time. The crimes committed against innocent people were tragic and horrendous. I stand by that statement completely. Your mother must be a wonderful, courageous, and strong person to have lived through such, and I totally see where you are coming from at this point of your statement. However, your main issue is comparing your mother's traumatic life in the concentration camp to other people's traumatic life events and you can't effectively do that. All pain is pain and there is no comparison.  Who are you to act as if this mythical twenty year old from Seattle hasn't gone through enough pain to be suicidal? Are you the pain police?  Do you know his life personally? Maybe he was abused. Maybe he was molested as a child. Maybe he has no other family. Maybe he suffers from other mental illnesses. Maybe the horrors of his life are so profound to him that he doesn't know how to deal with them any other way than to beg for help as loudly as he can. Sure, he looks like a regular twenty year old from Seattle but then again, we all appear normal on the outside. The holocaust was caused by evil people, depression is caused by a chemical imbalance in our brains. There is no one to punish or hold accountable for the horrors of depression. So we end up not only feeling hopeless but also blaming ourselves for having depression in the first place. 

I would like you to think about how much pain it takes to make someone to not want to live anymore. I would further like you to think about the fact that addicts, which you so despise, usually become addicts to suppress such agonizing things such as mental illnesses, physical pain, abuse issues, and feelings of self degradation and worthlessness. No one wakes up one morning and says," Today I want to become a drug addict." That life is neither fun nor noble. No one purposely chooses to end up with a needle in their arm in some dark scum covered alley smelling of urine and unwashed body odor.

As to the comment about holding the gun next to a suicidal person's head, let me be real with you for a minute. My great uncle decided to end his life by blowing his brains out all over the ceiling. Do you really think that if you had popped up beside him right before he pulled the trigger and put a pistol to his head he would have begged for his life? In what world does that make any fucking sense? And sadly, my great uncle wasn't loudly protesting what he was going through, although we all wish he had been. Maybe we could have saved him or gotten him help if we had known this was where he was at mentally. Or at the very least we would know why he felt killing himself was the only way out, we still don't know why and because he is not here to tell us that, we never will.

Or since you are obviously so knowledgeable about suicide and other people's pain maybe you could have been there to tell him simply to cheer up. Maybe your pep talk with a gun would have made him change his mind and my great grandparents could have ended up walking in and seeing him sitting there reading a newspaper and smoking a pipe rather than opening up the door and stepping in his brain matter....what do you think? Possible??? 

Or you could have also applied this logic to my mother the second before she swallowed a bottle of prescription pills when she was 31. You could tell her that just because she was raped from the age of seven to the age of eighteen by her father who was the community preacher, that her pain isn't as bad as your mother's so she should just quit her bitching. It doesn't matter that she suffers from Depression, Bipolar, and PTSD. Since you know all about pain and suicide and who has the right to be miserable or not, you could save us all from ourselves and our own "pity parties" before it is too late. We want you to stop us before we become too victim like for your taste, because your opinion seems to be the only one that matters.

You see Mr.Simmons, suicide isn't about attention grabbing, or pity, or unfounded misguided jealousy. It isn't about what you have or don't have, or what horrid God awful things have happened in your life, or if you were born into a perfectly wonderful family with no issues. Suicide is the final act of immense desperation. An act to simply end unbearable agony and hopelessness. As you said," He'll go, "Please don't!" It's true. He's not that insane." you have made a great misjudgment. At that exact moment in time when he/she is ready to step over that threshold and commit suicide, they are just that insane and make no mistake, they are victims.  Victims of a disease that kills more people than AIDS, car accidents, homicides, or prostate cancer. But hey, what do I know? Maybe after losing one family member to suicide and almost losing my own mother to it, I am just a tad bit sensitive on the matter. Well, then I am just so very sorry to have to put a damper on your ignorant way of thinking.

Apparently, Mr. Simmons has never had to live with depression or known anyone in his circle of loved ones that has suffered from it. Apparently, he has never had to deal with the ragged, open, gaping wound left behind from a loved one's suicide. Well, good for him, I wish that we could all be so lucky. I wish that none of the 30,000 American families each year never had to know what it is like finding your loved one dead on the floor in a pile of empty pill bottles, or bleeding from the wrists, or after shooting themselves in the face, or after suffocating themselves with car exhaust, or see their broken bodies after jumping from a building, or God forbid finding them hanging from a belt wedged between the closet door and the door frame...... 

We are all victims of this disease whether we suffer from it or not Mr. Simmons and I think it would be more wise to understand that.

Neurotic Nelly

Maybe Just A Little Bit......

Last Sunday was my thirty fifth birthday. My mom and I celebrated our birthdays as we have always done, together. It was nice and calming and the food was good. I got to visit with my grandma which is always a plus. She is so adorable and it got me to thinking....

If you listen to the media and how it portrays mental illness you would think that sufferers look different than other people. You might expect them to look crazy or scary. Dirty or aloof. Awkward or zoned out.

For instance you might think that people with depression look sad....or that people with PTSD look unhinged. You might expect people with Bipolar Disorder to look disheveled or manic....but the truth is that underneath all of the pain and emotional dysfunction and confusion, we are all only human. We don't have our diagnoses printed on our heads in big bright letters. We do not wear our disorders pinned on our sleeves for the world to see.

Look at this picture for example: this is my mother who is a wonderful human being that just so happens to suffer from PTSD, Chronic Depression, and Bipolar Disorder. 

You would never know by looking at her that these are her daily struggles. That sometimes just to get out of bed in the morning seems like an insurmountable task.

And this one: You might never have guessed that both of these people suffer from severe Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

That I suffer panic attacks and have medical and germ fears so badly I fight them on a daily basis or that she (my grandma) worries and obsesses about things until she gets so full of anxiety she cries. That we both avoid certain triggers that make us uncomfortable. That we both suffer from a tremendous amount of undeserved guilt and shame.

We look fairly normal. We look like the millions of other people that walk the earth. There is nothing in these pictures that show our trials and our struggles. We look like everyone else because in reality we are so much like everyone else. We just happen to have mental illness.

I grew up in a family full of strong women. Compassionate, loving, kind, but also fearless. Not because we were born to be fearless but because there was no other way to be and survive. We are women that have lived through abuse. We are women that have lived through mental illness. We are women that have fought for our lives and triumphed because there was no other option available and we are too stubborn to back down. 

I guess what I am trying to say is that depression doesn't always show on your face. You can be a smiling face to the world but be wounded and alone on the inside. You can be Bipolar and look like the neighbor that cooks out on Tuesday nights. You can be OCD and be the mailman that wears that funny little safari hat in the middle of summer. There is no "mental illness look". There are no physical traits that show our pain or our issues. We look like everyday people because we are everyday people. We just have different struggles to deal with.....

The media would have you believe that people that suffer from mental illness look like glazed eyed ax wielding murderers. They would have you believe that we look like kidnappers and boogeymen. They try and paint pictures of us that are neither helpful nor factual. We are not the thing that goes bump in the night. We are not the monsters hiding under the bed. We look like a thirty five year old woman and her fifty six year old mother on their birthday and their seventy five year old grandmother. We look like a beloved always smiling for the public sixty three year old comedian and actor. We look like soldiers coming back home from war. We look like doctors, and lawyers, and car salesmen. We look like children, and parents, and siblings because we are all of those things..... We look like other people because we are other people. We are just ordinary, regular, everyday people that just happen to suffer. We are no different and we are no less magnificent. We are still beautiful. We are still worthy. We are still lovable, courageous, intelligent, fascinating, purposeful individuals except maybe we are just a little bit stronger. A little bit more aware of the struggle of others and maybe just a little bit more compassionate about it.

Neurotic Nelly

Heartbroken....

Heartbroken. I am angry, sad, and lost.

I didn't personally know Robin Williams. I am not famous or in the movie industry. I am neither a comic nor a comedian. I am just a person. A regular person. An ordinary person. A person that can't yet fathom never seeing new a Robin Williams movie or hearing his comedy routines live or watching him ham it up with the latest talk show host ever again.

I loved Robin Williams. His humor, his energy, his fluidity of voice changes and characters. His references were both poignant and truthful. He had a way of making everyone feel like his best friend even if their only connection to him was watching him on the television set or viewing one of his many skillfully played characters at the movie theater. He illuminated the masses with his hyper and manic humor. He brought tears to our eyes with his heart touching roles. He shared some of his life with us. Some of the inner workings of his genius mind and he did it all while making us smile. He reminded many of us that grew up watching him, of our own beloved yet goofy family members. The crazy uncle that dances around and does funny accents and silly voices or the wacky aunt that jumps from story to story, each story being bigger and more implausible than the next. Everyone has one of those kooky relatives and Mr. Williams seemed to encompass them all but with more oomph and better fashion sense. His smile brought many of us comfort. We knew no matter how hard our day was or how sad we might be, that even the smallest of his jokes would change all of that. Even if for only a few moments, we knew that Robin Williams would make us laugh and we would feel better, and he did.

That is why so many of us were so terribly shocked that we lost him in such a profoundly devastating way. He was for many of us, a hero. Not only did he make us laugh but he was open and honest about many of his struggles. He had battled with addiction and wrestled with depression and he helped raise awareness of both of those issues every time he discussed them. He was successful even though he suffered and it made him a hero to a great many of us. He made us realize that we too could reach for our dreams even though we may have mental illness or addiction issues. For me he was more than an actor, comic, or funny man. For me and many like me, he was an inspiration.

Sometimes when others make us laugh we fail to see the pain behind their eyes. Sometimes we fail to see that laughter can hide agony and despair. I do not know why Robin Williams committed suicide but I do know how devastated his family and friends must be. I know what living with a depressed parent is like and sadly I understand suicide and the fear of it on a very real level. My mother tried to kill herself when I was ten years old. She suffers from among other things, bipolar disorder and chronic depression.

Depression isn't simply feeling sad. It isn't just being overwhelmed and lonely. Depression is a black whole that sucks up every important, valued, wonderful thing in your life and swallows it whole. It decimates and devastates. It leaves you raw and numb. It smothers your other senses so completely that it tunnels your vision until all that you can see is the pain and agony in which you have lived your life in. It is not just having a bad day. It is an exhaustion, a soul crushing exhaustion that pollutes every sense of normalcy in your world. It takes everything from you and leaves you desperate for any semblance of solace or peace.  Depression isn't simply an emotion, it is an illness and like all illnesses, it can and it does kill.

I think people are surprised by his depression because he was successful and famous. Because he seemed so happy and jovial. Because he had done so many things most of us will never achieve. But that just shows how little most people know about mental illnesses such as depression. Depression doesn't discriminate. It has nothing to do with money or fame. It has nothing to do with race or social status. It has nothing to do with gender, sexual preference, or one's religious views. Depression is a mental illness and as such it can affect anyone, at anytime, anywhere.

I actually read a comment implying that if he had known the love of God this might not have happened and I was sorely disappointed by the ignorance of that statement. My mother has always loved God...she loved God while she prayed...loved God when she went to church on Sundays...and my mother still loved God just as much when she swallowed a bottle of pills...one by one while hoping to die. She never stopped loving God, she just wanted to end her misery. To imply a loss of religion is the cause of suicide is not only folly and ignorant but dangerous as well. You can not simply wash away a chemical imbalance in your brain with prayer. It does not work that way... So it, in fact, does not matter what religion he may or may not have believed in or if he had or had not known the love of God. Suicide has less to do with one's beliefs and more to do with ending one's pain.

And I am afraid that people will judge him. Some will say snide remarks and ugly comments about his life and decisions or his belief systems. They will call him weak or cowardly. They will act as if they know what was going through his mind or that they would have ended up differently but the truth is most of them have no idea what that struggle is like or how deep the pain of depression can seep into your soul. There will be internet trolls and judgy misguided people with big opinions and little ability to understand anything but their own preconceived notions of mental illness. They will try and make his battle with depression something to be looked down on or ashamed of and that is wrong. His family doesn't need judgments and ignorance, they need understanding and acceptance. He lost his battle but that does not make him weak or cowardly. I am not advocating for suicide. I believe it is devastating. It leaves a definable scar on the fabric of your family that never fully heals. However, I believe that we have to stop demonizing those that have done it and understand that they don't do it because they don't love their families, or they are weak, they do it because they truly at that time are unable to see that there is any other way to end their suffering. They do it because they suffer from a mental illness that is often times overlooked, understated, and stigmatized by the public.

If this tragedy does anything to shed light on the issues of suicide in this country, than I hope it reaches people on a very real level. I hope that it can help end the ignorance and stigma that surrounds the topic of suicide and mental illness. Robin Williams was a wonderful person, a big hearted, loving, magnificent person and he will be sorely missed as will the over 30,000  other Americans that commit suicide in this country every year.  Their loss is a tragedy just as horrific and devastating as Mr. Williams's.  The discussion of suicide is swept under the rug or discussed only in hushed voices. We owe it to those that have lost their battle with depression and other mental illnesses to stop sticking our heads in the sand. They deserve our attention and their pain deserves to be discussed. Their lives deserve to be talked about and their suicides deserve to be acknowledged so that we can help others before they get to this point of despair.

Suicide is preventable. There is help. There are other options, better options, and until we start being honest about suicide in this country sadly, we will continue lose more people that could have been saved.

My heart goes out to the Williams family and all of his friends, fans, and acquaintances. My heart goes out to the whole world that has lost such a bright, intelligent, and magnificent man that they will never get to know....and my heart goes out to Robin Williams because his pain must have been profound and daunting and because as in so many other cases, we as a society failed to be open about mental illness like we should be and because of that we failed to reach him in time.


Neurotic Nelly

Fair Game....Rant......

I don't pay a whole lot of attention to politics. I try to, but it just irritates me and I have this no bullshit policy that I like to adhere to, which is why I do not pay attention to said politics. It's boring, confusing, and  inherently full of bullshit, much like a dairy farm. And while dairy farms may smell badly, at least you get cheese, butter, and milk from them. The cows don't lie to you while chomping on their cud and looking you in the eye and baby calves are just down right adorable...Politics....well, not so much.

That being said, I read an article talking about two men running in the same party for Texas Lieutenant Governor and I was appalled. Kind of hard to shock me when it comes to the mud slinging that elections promote but this was beyond the norm of "stirring up a shit storm" as we Texans like to say.

The current TLG David Dewhurst is being accused, or rather his people are being accused, of publicly releasing his opponent Sen. Dan Patrick's medical/court records that state thirty years ago he was so severely depressed that he had to have a stay in a psychiatric hospital in 82 and 86 and "needed sitters around the clock."

There is a backlash and of course Dewhurst's people state that they did not release this information and hide behind the fact that as court records they are already public, but let's just call a spade a spade shall we. This is sigma.....pure and simple.

You can call it mudslinging. You can call it fair game. You can put it in an oven and call it a biscuit if you so desire, but it doesn't deter from the fact that this is exactly how our country views mental illness and it's issues. With disdain, confusion, ignorance, and a heavy dose of judgement.

If Mr. Patrick had his medical records released and his records said he had diabetes instead of depression,  no one would bother writing about it or implying it is a testament to his ability to lead. No one would bat an eye that he couldn't have one of those mall chocolate chip cookies with a glass of sweet southern lemonade. But they feel perfectly fine with implying because he went through an ordeal for something mentally related and he sought help, like you are supposed to, all of a sudden he isn't a good candidate.

They are trying to infer that Mr. Patrick can't handle the stress of being in that position because thirty years ago he was having issues.....and they are getting away with it.

Now, I no longer live in Texas and I haven't for almost twelve years. I do not care who is the TLG or who wins the election. What I do care about is the blatant stigma smear that has been painted against Sen. Patrick. Not because I know him. I don't. Not because I will be affected by his policies, whatever they might be, if he wins. I will not. I care because, once mental illness is allowed to be used as a defaming character assassination in something as public as an election, it becomes a huge problem.

Mental illness is and always has been the big ugly pink elephant in the room. Many don't want to talk about it. Some want to pretend it doesn't even exist. But the fact is, it does. Mental illness is real and it has no bearing on your strength of character. It does not discriminate. It affects the poor and rich alike. It affects people of all races and backgrounds. It affects people of all religions and or lack there of. Mental illness does not discriminate who it decides to affect, but people do.

As someone who has struggled with mental illness I know exactly what is like being judged, slandered, and shamed because I have a physical illness that is inside my brain. People tend to be okay with physical illness as a whole. If you have a heart attack and go to the hospital you get visitors, friends, get well cards, and flowers. People flock to your bedside with soft spoken well wishes and support. When you end up in the mental hospital because you can't cope or have had a breakdown, it is strangely devoid of that support. No cards. No flowers. No visitors. You are seen as an embarrassment, a social pariah, a freak. You are outcast and cast aside, because you are different. It does not seem to occur to people that mental illness is a physical illness. It is just a physical illness inside your head. It is not something that you choose no more than if you chose to have a heart attack, and yet they are viewed so very very differently.

No one would be waving a flag at Sen. Patrick and be claiming that he couldn't handle the position he is vying for if he had only had a heart attack. And that is the problem.

Sen. Patrick had depression and because he got help, because he did what you are supposed to do, he is paying for it thirty years later. He is being publicly shamed because of it. He is being ostracized and judged. And no one seems to be upset over it. Well, I am upset, because what Sen. Patrick is going through has a name and we need to call it what it is. Discrimination. He is being discriminated against because he once suffered from mental illness and now it is being used to promote him as weak.

If my thirty four years of mental illness has taught me anything, it is that people that suffer from mental illness are anything but weak. The fact that he got help in a time that was even more judgmental about such things is a testament to his strength as a person. The fact that he stands there with his head held high while others judge him with their ignorance is all of the proof I need of his strong character.

I am outraged that his mental illness could be used to target him because if they are allowed to do it to him so publicly, then they are allowed to do it to the rest of us.

It is sad that in this day and age, we are still being publicly shamed and judged for mental illness. It is disgusting that we are being stigmatized on such a broad level. That we are being told that we can't and we won't because we are different. When something as simple as a google search could educate these people I can't help but outraged by such ignorance.

And since his depression seems to be such a hot topic I would like help promote the education of the ignorant by giving you a statistic.

An estimated 1 in 10 Americans report having depression....

1 in 10. And yet we act like depression is somehow unusual or rare. That it is something to look down on or misjudge. That is something that could never happen to us or someone we know. Let me ask you this....how many people do you know? Is it more than ten people? Because if it is, it is very likely that one or more of those people are suffering from depression right now.

For all I know, Sen. Patrick could be a colossal douche. He could be lying about his taxes or his political views. I don't know the man one way or the other. I am not saying you should run out and vote for him. What I am saying is that I do know he is not weak because he at one time suffered from depression. That is an 1850 mentality and this is not 1850 now is it?

I am not angry because he is the one getting blasted for having depression. I am angry because once we start to punish and villainize people with mental illness publicly we are sending a message that people who suffer from mental illness are weak and worthless. Once we allow such things as mental illness to be used as a character assassination, we will lose more people to suicide that could have been helped but did not seek it out because they were afraid of being judged and stigmatized.

This particular mudslinging should have never happened because we as American's shouldn't be looking at his depression as a character flaw. We should be as accepting of it as we would him having a physical ailment. Important but not bombshell worthy. All mental illness should be viewed as a treatable illness because it is. It is not fodder for elections or a sign of weakness.

Once we find publicly shaming mentally ill people acceptable we open a door that can never be totally closed back again. It is not acceptable and shame on you Mr. Dewhurst for supporting such vile stigma producing mudslinging.

It reminds me of a quote that speaks to the heart of any discrimination and the horror discrimination can bring.

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out--
Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out--
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out--
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me--and there was no one left to speak for me.

----Martin Niemöller

I stand against discrimination of any kind and I stand against the remarks dealing specifically with Sen.Patrick's mental illness. It is not okay to shame him nor anyone else that struggles with mental illness simply because they do.

Neurotic Nelly

Happy Heart Day Everyone!!!

Happy Heart Day, everyone....

I know that for many of us Valentine's Day is a great a day. A day filled with chocolates (that I can't have :(...), flowers, possibly jewelry, at the very least a card or home made valentine. It is a day to celebrate love and being loved. The joy of buying those adorable valentine's cards for your child's school classmates and sloppily writing their name on them because they have decided their arm is too tired after signing the first three, or as in the case in my house the twenty two valentines we made by hand. Decorated little hearts with bright colors only achieved by crayolas with the paper torn off and love.

But for some, it is just another day. And yet somehow even worse....it is a day that seems to force the idea that if you do not receive such gifts that you are somehow unworthy. Somehow less. Maybe even somehow unlovable. A day where many feel left out, depressed, and in a lot of cases, lonely. For many Valentine's day is just another day to further prove how alone they really are.....And it sucks.


Having a mental illness is rarely something that makes us feel like we special. It can make us feel odd. It can make us feel misunderstood. And in some cases it can make us feel like we are damaged or broken. Really it is just the self hate talking, but many times we feel like we are so messed up, so royally defunct that we are not just weird or "off" but also unlovable. And that is just not the truth. Holiday's like Christmas and Valentine's Day are supposed to embody family, relationships, and comfort. But what if you have none of those things? What if those relationships are almost nonexistent? Those family ties strained? That comfort as foreign as a snowball floating around in Hell? What then?

Walking down the street and being forced to see brightly painted decorations and huge billboards filled with happy smiles and kisses can have the opposite affect than intended. Instead of laughter and joy, it can bring pain and sorrow...and yes even loneliness too.

I have grown to dislike Valentine's day. I mean, I love the cards that we handmake but I detest the commercial side of it. I loath the idea that one must receive a gift to prove that they are loved. I despise the ridiculous force fed notion that one day a year is when we show others our compassion and our appreciation. I hate that commercials and billboards and ready made cards in bulk are what  Valentine's Day has become. Not really, a day of romance or love but a day to buy and produce your offerings up to your loved ones like a sacrificial lamb. Like some atonement. Almost like a bribe.  I have come to the realization that I don't need Valentine's Day to know that my family cares. I get that every day when I tuck my children into bed at night. When I have share a quiet morning with my husband and a good cup of coffee before we wake the kids for school. Every time I speak to a loved one or spend time with a friend. I have come to beleive that as Valentine's Day becomes more about keeping up the Jones's that we lose the beauty of what it used to be. What it was supposed to be. A day you take time to celebrate your love and respect, not with shiny baubles and over priced chocolate, but with paper doilies, markers, construction paper, and a glue stick. With hand written poems that are heart warming because they were written for you, no matter how horrible they are written. Heart shaped cookies baked for the kids with those silly red and white sprinkles. Time spent together without the forethought that this is what must be done for a successful Valentine's Day. I want none of that. I want my family around me because they want to be, not because that is what a jewelry company dictates.


And as this holiday continues to grow more and more about buying and less about taking time and thoughtfully creating, I am struck by how hard it must be that if the media says you don't get these things or do these things then you are less than. Unloved. Unlovable. And it bothers me.

We as sufferers really don't need that kind of tripe dangled under our noses, we already tend to feel negative things about our situations. Not all of the time, but man, when it hits...it hits hard.

So I propose something I like better than one day of fruitless jargon and overspending. I propose that for now on I will not buy into the notion that gifts prove your worth or your "loveability"  as it were. I propose that instead of telling those that we care about how much we love them on one day, we strive to do it everyday. And why stop there? I propose that we go out of our way to be caring and supportive to other people as well. I propose that instead of buying things like chocolates or cards in bulk, we sit down and actually make something. Something that we think long and hard about. Something that we spend time on and not just go the easy way out and go buy it. And that we give it to each other for no reason! Except that we want to show our appreciation. Our respect. Our love.

I propse that one day a year is simply not enough. There are millions of people in this world and one day just doesn't cut it. I propse that we show our love and appreciation everyday and not call it something that has been sullied with commercialization and profit. I propse that we call it something more meaningful, like Heart Day. Because what we make and give and feel come from the heart not the pocketbook.

I propose that we all stop letting the media and large corporations tell us how to feel and when to feel it and that those of us that are single are losers, those of us that suffer from issues are unloved, and that those of us who do not go out and buy buy buy don't care enough. It's crap. All of it.

So since everyday is Heart Day for me, I would like to say this to all of those alone, all of those feeling lost and lonely, all of those that feel defunct and damaged....No one is unlovable. No one. It doesn't matter what the adds say or the commercials spew out. It doesn't matter what some asshat has said to you growing up, or some jerkface whispered behind your back at the coffee shop. It doesn't matter what you think of yourself when you look in the mirror. It doesn't matter if you never fit in. If your never felt like you were enough. If you never have had any kind of relationship that you could trust. It doesn't matter what color you are, what dress size you wear, what religion you are, or how many mental issues you have......Everyone.....Everyone is lovable. Everyone deserves respect, compassion, and kindness. Everyone deserves to be told that they matter and they are valid. Everyone deserves a heart day, not just today but everyday.

So, in keeping with that......HAPPY HEART DAY, EVERYONE!

Neurotic Nelly