We Are Worth It.....

So, after my last post things started looking up. First of all, I got some much needed support and comments on my google+ page in my blog comment section. You guys are amazing and thank you so much.

Then I read this post from an incredible blogger http://judyjourny.blogspot.com/2014/12/thoughts-on-approaching-new-year.html. Her last few lines hit me in the gut and made me realize that even though I am weathering a bad storm, I have been here before. And just like last time, I will get through this too. Sometimes, you just need to be reminded of how far you have come. Especially, when setbacks rear their ugly heads.

Then this morning I read some stories that made me sad and well, angry. And I was reminded why I started this blog almost two years ago. Through my ups and downs, I started as a scared but yet hopeful mental illness blogger just praying that there were other people like me out in there in the world. Never thinking that that those people understood me better sometimes, than I even understood myself. And it makes sense to me because although we may all have different mental illnesses, pain is universal. And the understanding of that pain and the compassion we show each other is also universal. But even more than that, LOVE is universal.

All of us walk down winding blinding paths. Sometimes the fog rolls in and we become unable to see. We become blinded to all that we offer the world. The negative thoughts set in and we lose the ability to not only see the love we get but also the ability to love ourselves. We start to believe that we don't matter. But the funny thing about fog, is even in the thickest darkest hours eventually the fog lifts. And we can see the path again. Clear not for the first time but clear enough to pass. And that is all life is, a couple of steps at a time. Helping those you meet along the way. Understanding pain, having compassion, and most of all offering Love. Not just for others but for yourself as well, because dammit, we are worth it. (Even if we sometimes think we aren't)

Then this song came on the radio and I just knew that this was what my post needed to be about.




And even though this is a love song and it is about a relationship, I kind of took it to mean something totally different. It made me think of us, all of us dealing with mental illness and the relationships we have with our own selves. And how much we need to support each other because who understands us better than we do? And how many times has it been just one kind word or sympathetic smile that made you turn from suicidal thoughts and made you hold on for just one more day. One more day is all it takes. A couple of steps at a time.

The lyrics touched me and it made me realize that I am strong and it is because we all are strong. That even in the darkest of times, I can never give up on myself and I can not give up on my mental illness community either. We are all in this together. What I do affects others and I need to make sure that everyone knows that that they belong on this earth. That they have a place here. That they are many things in this life but alone is never one of those things. We are strong. We are tough. We are magnificent. I refuse to give up and I hope that you refuse as well.

As the song says:

When I look into your eyes
It's like watching the night sky
Or a beautiful sunrise
Well, there's so much they hold
And just like them old stars
I see that you've come so far
To be right where you are
How old is your soul?

I won't give up on us.
 Even if the skies get rough.
 I am giving you all my love.
 I'm still looking up.

And even the stars, they burn. 
Some even fall to the earth.
 We got a lot to learn.
 God, knows we are worth it.
 No I won't give up.

I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily
I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make
Our differences they do a lot to teach us how to use
The tools and gifts we got, yeah, we got a lot at stake
And in the end, you're still my friend at least we did intend
For us to work we didn't break, we didn't burn
We had to learn how to bend without the world caving in
I had to learn what I've got, and what I'm not, and who I am.

I won't give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I'm giving you all my love
I'm still looking up, still looking up.

Well, I won't give up on us (no I'm not giving up)
God knows I'm tough enough (I am tough, I am loved)
We've got a lot to learn (we're alive, we are loved)
God knows we're worth it (and we're worth it)

I won't give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I'm giving you all my love
I'm still looking up

We are still losing good people out there and this has to change. Stigma has to end and compassion has to grow. And the only way to do that is to live for those that could not hold on and fight for those that are not able to speak out from fear. We have to hold on not just for ourselves but for each other. Because simply put, we are all important. We all matter. All lives matter...Everyone. And God knows we are worth it. I am worth it and just as importantly YOU are worth it too.


Neurotic Nelly

An Ember.......

An ember is a glowing, hot coal made of greatly heated wood, coal, or other carbon-based material that remain after, or sometimes precede a fire. Embers can glow very hot, sometimes as hot as the fire which created them. They radiate a substantial amount of heat long after the fire has been extinguished....

The holidays fast approach us all. And although many are thrilled and caught up in the excitement of red and green, present wrapping, Christmas tree decorating, or candle lighting. As many of our houses smell of cinnamon, hot chocolate, and evergreen. As an electric cheer seems to snap through the air touching everyone in some way creating an unidentifiable warmth that spreads from person to person, I know that not everyone loves this time of year. For many it is not the best time to celebrate. To some this is not a holiday of giving and peace but a holiday full of triggers and pain. Feelings of loss. Feelings of failure. An extreme overwhelming sense of loneliness.

For those that feel this way about the Christmas/Holiday season, this post if for you more than anyone else. I know the frost in the air freezes to the bone. I know that instead of joy you only see a gray expanse of nothingness. I know that all of the carols and wishes of good cheer fall silent in your mind. I know that you feel like no one on the face of this planet understands you, knows how you feel, or gets what you are going through. That nothing can reach your heart because there is so much pain. Too much pain to accept anything else.

To those people I want to say that I was you once. I have been there. Many of us have. You are not alone. People do see you. People do understand your pain. And it is simply not true that you are a failure or that your life goes unnoticed. You matter even if sometimes it doesn't seem like it.  You are important. The people, the world, the universe needs you. You are here for a reason. We do not understand how the world works or for what reason we are where we are but that doesn't mean there is not a reason. There is and you are here on purpose. You belong here. You belong. 

I don't expect a blog post to make you feel less alone although I sincerely hope it does. And I don't expect you to change your whole feelings about holidays just because I wrote a few words. What I do hope is that this little message of support I am sending out to the world, will touch you in some small way. That it can be a little spark of hope that could turn into a tiny little burning ember. An ember that could in time, become a raging fire of self acceptance. 

I hope that this post reminds you of how important you are even if you have forgotten in the mess of things. I hope that you can start to see yourself like I do. As a strong, intelligent, magnificent human being. You are not just a person lost in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season. You are the stars that light up the sky at night. You are the magic that flows through the leaves hanging on the branches of the world's strongest tree. You are what makes the world a unique and wondrous place. You are worthy. You are important. You are not alone. You matter.

I hope this post becomes an ember that reminds you are just you and you and you are magnificent. Thinking of all of you this Holiday Season. Take care my friends....

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

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

While We Wait.....

While reading some news articles the other day I was dumbfounded, disappointed, and just down right disgusted. I have a bizarre love hate relationship with the news for obvious reasons.

But I came across a story I found to be upsetting. I am a mental illness advocate and by that I mean I care about mental illness. And not just about the illnesses as much as those that suffer from them. I should, since I too suffer from one.

What I came across was a staggering statistic about our American veterans. I knew what was going on was bad, but like many Americans I did not know just how bad. I don't know why we don't know this. I have no idea why this isn't plastered across the media, blatantly reported to the masses, or put in the forefront of our subconscious except that I have to believe that is being kept quiet due to stigma. That nasty little bugger gets in the way too many times and it is given too much power.

In World War I and II they called it shell shocked. In Nam the government pretended it didn't exist. We now are more familiar with it's newest term: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

A figure released from the Department of Veteran's Affairs stated that in 21 states or 40% of America they have found that we lose 22 veterans to suicide a day. 22....a day.....The data isn't  as accurate as one would hope. After all, there are fifty states in the good ole US of A. There is no data for the other 30 states. And it doesn't take in to account veteran's who have been discharged dishonorably or the homeless veterans. But still at 22, I am devastated. To put it in better perspective 14% of suicides are said to be civilians. 30% are veteran's.

Now I don't know how this makes you feel but it pisses me off. First of all, our veterans were not suicidal when they joined. They were mentally healthy, physically healthy, and over all normal people joining up to a job. They go where we say. They do what we tell them to. The leave their families for months on end and put their lives on the line everyday...for us. Because we ask them to. Because we need them.

They go to places they have never expected to. They see things and are forced to do things that no one can forget, no one can come back from and be the same way they were before their deployment. They come back damaged and haunted and this is how we treat them. They leave a part of themselves over there and come back and are expected to just act normal.

They are supposed to go to the grocery store and pick up odds and ends and not think about the horrors of war. The loss of their brothers and sisters in arms. The blood and gore, the smells, the tastes, the absolute tragedy that war brings to the table. They are expected to come home and be the way they were before a part of them died in combat. They are expected to forget.

Forget things that we have been blessed never to have to see because they did it for us. They took the roll of soldier so we could sit behind our computer screens drinking our exotic lattes and eating our over priced croissants and mumble about how we are not patriotic or how we don't feel like soldiers deserve our utmost respect. Because we don't understand that without soldiers we would not be able to do those things. We forget what makes our lives the way they are. Someone died for those rights. Those soldiers coming back know more about tragedy, loss, and devastation than we could ever even hope to imagine.

They go through their daily lives haunted by the images and emotions. The smell of burning flesh. The taste of blood in their mouths. The dying words of a friend in pain. The having to take another's life. And we just sweep what they went through under the rug. They are supposed to just forget, but how does one forget what is to be human ? How does one forget the life leaving a brother's eyes? How does one forget humanity being ripped to shreds, or blown to pieces, or stolen away? How does one come from a place where every second is wrapped in danger and every moment is life or death and then just feel safe and secure because they get to come home and sit on the couch and watch television? One doesn't and to pretend otherwise ins't just foolish but ignorant as well.

We send our children, our brothers and sisters, our parents to war whole and then pretend that they haven't come home broken. And why? Who does pretending help? Well, I will tell you who it doesn't help. It doesn't help the 22 veteran's who kill themselves every day. One soldier for every 65 minutes. That is 8030 veteran's a year and frankly that is 8030 too many.

I could sit here and talk about how PTSD is a killer and how the fear that being labeled having a mental illness keeps many from getting help. I could sit here and discuss how that to receive such a diagnoses ends military careers and other law enforcement careers. I could sit here and blather on about how stigma keeps us sick, how fear keeps us from getting help, how it hurts even those of us that didn't get mental illness from war and yet what good does talking do?

I fail to understand how this is treated so calmly and nonchalantly. This is our friends, our family members, our neighbors suffering in silence and for what?

The president has issued more money into the programs that help diagnose the PTSD but what good is money if the programs are broken? Did you know if you have PTSD but they feel it was not because of combat experience then you are not covered and sometimes not even given the diagnoses of having it?

What the hell kind of law is that? Do you think that when that soldier went out of her fox hole to save a fellow veteran she paused to wonder if her healthcare was going to be covered? Or what about those that survived the first fort hood shooting. Did you know that many developed PTSD from that event but weren't covered because they did not receive PTSD from a combat mission?

I know it because one of the soldiers came back home after being wounded by the gunman ended up killing himself. Because he wasn't getting the care he deserved simply because he wasn't in Afghanistan when he was wounded. Because it wasn't a mission to survive the military compound...

I am dumbfounded and disgusted by the lack of compassion and understanding of PTSD. I am tired of hearing excuses as to how hard it is to diagnose and treat. I am tired of watching the suffering they go through get pushed aside while they kill themselves to just to find release.  I am tired of hearing paltry excuses of why there is a two year waiting list to get disability filed for our veterans. Did they wait two years to loose a leg, an arm, or their mental health for us? What the hell is wrong with this picture?

They put their lives on the line for us and we do not do the same. We do not stand up and yell that this isn't right and it has to change!

I had a thought that the smart thing to do would be to treat every soldier for PTSD. Not the medications mind you(that would be for those that need it), but a therapeutic debriefing. Instead of amplifying the fear of the term mental illness we could just treat them for it and help them learn to reacclimate into society. It makes no sense to make soldiers go into a situation where they are forced to kill and then just pat them on the back and send them home. They need to be reintroduced little by little into certain situations so they can feel safe. So they can get the help they need. I could look up the statistics of soldiers that have PTSD but I don't bother because I don't believe they are accurate. A great deal of people do not seek help because to do so would kill their chances at certain careers and they are afraid that somehow a PTSD diagnoses is a character flaw or that it means they are weak. They want to cling to whatever normalcy they can grasp and they don't want to be thought of as broken. I do not think of them as broken. I think of them as human. I do not believe that a human can go to war and come back unfazed. People are just not built that way. It hurts them and it affects them and as their country we owe it to them to help.

Sure treating all soldiers for possible PTSD would cost more, but you go ask someone who's family member killed themselves if they wouldn't give anything to bring them back. If they wouldn't pay more to help other's not do the same. I know I would.  And if we did that we could catch those that fall through the cracks and suffer in silence. We could end the stigma that surrounds the diagnoses of PTSD. We could help bring our soldiers home more whole than they are now. Less nightmares. Less flashbacks. Less walking through the house at night checking the perimeters for combatants. We could save marriages, and families, and even more importantly we could save lives. We could save 22 people a day.....Why isn't this being done?

In a time when we bring home more soldiers and walking wounded than in any other war our country has been in due to medical advances, why are we still operating the mental care the same as we did thirty years ago, or twenty years ago, or hell even five years ago? Why do we continue to ignore the plight of our veterans?

Make no mistake our soldiers carry deep ragged festering scars from combat whether they are visible to the naked eye or not and the deserve to be helped and treated just as much as if those scars were on their skin rather than in their minds. We sent them to do a job and they came back broken from that. We as a country did this to them and we as a country need to stop pretending that nothing is wrong. Something is very very wrong here and we need to fix it. We owe them everything, whether we see that clearly or not it does not make it untrue. We need to figure this out and quickly because while we wait, they die and that is totally unacceptable.

These people need to know that they are not alone. They are not invisible. They matter and their lives are important. They can go on and they can thrive. We owe it to them to give them the tools to do so.

Neurotic Nelly

To Those Of You.....

To those of you:

To those of you contemplating suicide, you are not alone. You are not ugly. You are not stupid. You are not worthless or a burden. You are not bad. You are not a slut. You are not a disgrace. You are not an embarrassment. You are not an abomination. You are not fat. You are not invisible. You are not hopeless. You are not clumsy. You are not unlovable. You are not less than. You are not a statistic.

You are a person. You are beautiful and unique. You matter. You are important. You are seen and heard. You are irreplaceable...

I know how bad the pain can be. I know that some days it is so heavy and so great that you just don't know how much longer you can bare it. I know that you feel lost and alone. Like no one understands....It's not true. Many understand. I understand.

I know that you think maybe your loved ones will be better off without you. Maybe your friends will be happier. Maybe the world will be a better place......They won't. It won't.The world needs you. You friends need you. Your loved ones need you.

I know that you feel numb. Like your soul is made of ice. Like nothing warm will ever touch you again.... It will touch you, again. You will become warm.

I know that you feel lost and so very very alone. You feel invisible. You feel like no one would notice if you are gone. Like no one would care......They care. Someone cares. I care.


Suicide isn't beautiful. It isn't romantic. It isn't Romeo and Juliette. It isn't like the movies or television. It isn't quiet or clean. It isn't lovely or inspiring. It is ugly. It is devastating. It is a black whole left behind for those that knew you to carry around where their hearts used to be, for the rest of their lives. It is a loss of a future and all of the things that could have been. It is a stain on the fabric of life where something beautiful once was. Someone beautiful. You.

Suicide has touched my life twice. The first was my Great Uncle when I was around two. He no longer could deal with the pain and he chose to end his life. Is wasn't romantic or pleasant, or neat and tidy. He didn't leave a note. He didn't see past his pain to realize that my great grand parents heard the gunshot. That they would break down the door in hopes of being able to save him. That his brother would find him first. That they would find his body broken and disfigured. That there would be a whole in the family where he once stood. That nothing could ever erase the emptiness he left behind. That no one in the family would ever get over it. They never got over it and to this day the ripples of his decision is still felt. The pain of him choosing to leave this world that way, was much greater than anything else. That no one ever could truly accept or make peace with it. It is a haunting. A phantom that hovers over the families of suicide victims in hushed tones and whispers. We don't know why he did and it wouldn't matter anyway. Nothing would make it less horrific. Less devastating.

The second brush with suicide was my mother's attempt when I was ten. She  swallowed a bottle of pills. She suffers from Chronic Depression, PTSD, Bipolar, and a touch of OCD. My Dad found her and she was rushed to the hospital. She had taken pills that couldn't kill her, thankfully, but she didn't know that. If it had been any other medication  she would have left me. My mother tried to kill herself. It's a knowledge that is hard to accept even now as an adult. She tried to kill herself. I sometimes think if I say it enough times aloud it will get easier to accept. That it will somehow lessen the sharp sting from the words. It doesn't and it never will. My mother tried to kill herself when I was ten. Because she was in pain. Because she felt alone. She felt lost. She felt broken and damaged. Mostly she felt numb. And so too would my life had been had she been successful. I would have never gotten over it. I was not better without her. She was not unloved or a burden. She was beautiful. She was unique. She was my mother. Had she successfully killed herself she would have missed out so many wonderful things that she has been a part of after she got help. Me growing up. My first crush. My first school dance. The birth of both of my children. The many birthdays we share ever year because I was born on her birthday. She would have missed the man she married two years ago that is quite possibly the love of her life. The good times. The days filled with our love and laughter. Days filled with what my oldest learned at school or the stick figures my youngest drew with crayons. She would have missed twenty four years that she has had since her attempt. 8765 days. 52594560 minutes she would have ceased to have. Those minutes filled with joy. Those minutes filled with beauty. Those minutes filled with her. My mother was lucky. She got help and even though she still suffers from her mental illnesses, even though some days are not the happiest greatest days on earth, she lives. Because she knows the truth about life and that is it changes. The world doesn't stay dark and lonely forever. Things will and do get better.You may not see it right now, but I promise you it will come.

To those of you who feel lost and alone and feel like nothing could ever be good again, I say to you please please get help. Reach out. Tell someone. Talk to someone. If that person doesn't hear you then go to the next person and then the next. Never cease talking because you are worth more than "an easy way out". You are important and your life has value. You have value....You matter.



Neurotic Nelly

I usually Don't Do This......Rant on Bullying

Okay I usually do not do this. I have only had three hours of sleep and I have a long arduous day ahead of me. I was trying to go back to sleep but I unfortunately read this article while getting my oldest to the bus stop and it just kept replaying in my head. I have OCD,sue me. I decided sleep was never going to come visit if I didn't get this out on paper and release the total amount of complete anger that was pumping through my veins.

The article can be found here:
http://www.foxnews.com/us/2013/11/13/mom-draws-criticism-praise-for-blog-urging-bullied-kids-to-toughen-up/?intcmp=latestnews


Apparently, a mother and blogger by the name of Stephanie Metz wrote a blog about children and bullying called," Why My Kids Are Not The Center Of My World." In it she references that children should "toughen up" about bullying......She shared the post on facebook and it snowballed to a huge number of readers. Congrats, I think. She is receiving criticism as well as praise but my issue isn't just with her, it is with the whole article.

Just to be clear her children are four and two. 

Just to be clear on Mrs. Metz's attitude about bullying and parenting, all of her knowledge comes from the knowledge of a young parent raising young children. Her kids are four and two. Unless Pre K has gotten "harder" and more cut throat then when my children were that young, then I can't see why we are all running to take advice from someone who has no idea what children going through bullying is remotely like.  That is of course, assuming that there isn't a rash of pull up wearing thugs pushing  toddlers off the swing set while waving around juice boxes in a threatening manner.

Having a child that young of age does not make you a bad or a good mother. It makes you an inexperienced one. It is silly to rush out and believe what a  young parent is spouting off about, simply because they are a new parent and they think they have discovered some new found knowledge. Come back to me when your kid is over the age of ten and then we can talk about teenagers and bullying and reminisce when our children acted more like children and less like us. In short Mrs. Metz you have no idea what parenting a child that has gone through bullying is like and therefore your opinion, it's a free country so you are allowed to have one, is invalid and highly disappointing. With quotes like"I feel we are creating a generation of victims" how could I not be disappointed? I personally feel like we may be creating a generation of self indulgent, ungrateful, selfish, bullies with no self control or compassion ...but maybe that is just me.....because of comments like what you just said.

We will get back to you in a second. My other main gripe is that the article then goes onto a so called expert of bullying who I sincerely hope they misquoted. I mean how else could someone who is an "expert" leave such golden little gems as:

"I've coached those kids who are over-parented and you kind of want to give them a T-shirt that says `does not play well with others,"' said Coughlin, who's also a soccer coach. "It does make for some fragile children when we over-parent."

and

"This over-parenting also is almost a perfect storm for creating serial targets," he said. "Over-parented children are more likely to be serial targets than non-over-parented children."

Yes, because it couldn't simply be that some kids are just assholes. No, it is always the victims fault and also the victim's parent's fault for not being cool enough or for having parents that actually pay attention to their child's needs rather than ignore and neglect them like some parents do. Pissed off yet, Yes I sure am. As someone who was severely bullied I take high insult to such ridiculous beliefs. Hell, if I would have known that all I needed to do to not get beaten or laughed at was to just not have a great relationship with my mother then I could have saved myself years of being tormented. Obviously it was all my mother's fault for loving me and not the fault of the bully's parents for not giving them the tools to have a decent self esteem and healthy communication skills. Wow, I had no idea.

You know, because victims aren't victimized enough we must all make sure they know it is their fault for not being like everyone else, for being weak, for being good caring people. This cannot continue we must make sure that they know that the fact other kids take their things, call them names, stalk them on the internet, and push them is their fault,. What a load of bullshit!!!

Here is a couple of facts about bullying I think would be pertinent to know:

http://www.bullyingstatistics.org/content/bullying-and-suicide.html

Suicide is the third leading cause of death among young people, resulting in about 4,400 deaths per year, according to the CDC. For every suicide among young people, there are at least 100 suicide attempts. Over 14 percent of high school students have considered suicide, and almost 7 percent have attempted it.


Bully victims are between 2 to 9 times more likely to consider suicide than non-victims, according to studies by Yale University


A study in Britain found that at least half of suicides among young people are related to bullying


10 to 14 year old girls may be at even higher risk for suicide, according to the study above


According to statistics reported by ABC News, nearly 30 percent of students are either bullies or victims of bullying, and 160,000 kids stay home from school every day because of fear of bullying

But your are absolutely right, Mr. Coughlin and Mrs. Metz they just need to toughen up about it. It isn't like it is a life and death struggle to deal with bullies on a daily basis, right?

I would like Mrs. Metz and Mr. Coughlin to realize the severity of their statements and in doing so I would like them to sit across from the parents of the seven year old who hung himself because of bullying, the fourteen year old who did the same after bullying on her facebook, or the twelve year old that through herself off of an abandoned cement platform to her death because her tormentors told her to kill herself over and over again. I would like them to sit across from them and all of the not as widely reported parents of children that committed suicide due to bullying and look them in the eye. I would like them to look them in the eye and tell them their kids needed to just "toughen up" and not be "a generation of victims." I would like them to tell the parents that no longer can go home to hug their children, that it was their fault because they cared too deeply or parented too much. Not the fault of those that knowingly abused and tormented their children because they have crappy parents or terrible lives. Not the fault of the people that ignore the abuse and bullying and sweep it under the rug because they are too lazy, indifferent, or believe the way that you do. Not the fault of anyone else but the people that now have a vacant, empty, gaping hole that can never be filled ever again because their children are gone for no other reason but some punks wanted to have fun and hurt innocent undeserving children. When you can sit there and do that then I will consider reading your advice or even bother listening to your ridiculous tripe you call an opinion. Come back to me after your kid has been bullied to the point he is depressed then we can talk. Otherwise do the world a favor and don't open your mouth about something you have not had to deal with yet ( and truly hope you never do and never have to know what the pain of the parent is like when it happens to your child). They may not be the center of your world, but my children are the center of mine and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

Neurotic Nelly

Suicide

Warning! Trigger! Warning! Trigger! Warning! Trigger! Warning! Trigger!

This is a descriptive post about a family members suicide and suicidal thoughts that run in my family If you are squeamish or have trigger problems stop now!


Warning! Trigger! Warning! Trigger! Warning! Trigger! Warning! Trigger!



In reading an article on flipboard yesterday I was devastated to read of a twenty eight year old preacher's son that committed suicide. I do not know this preacher or his written works. I had never met his son and yet I was devastated  Sounds odd, I know. His son committed suicide, it was reported, because he could no longer deal with his mental illness. It was vague on exactly what this poor man suffered from except to say maybe depression.
There is a failure in the system. Not just here in America but everywhere around the world. There is a failure not only in how we treat mental illness but also in how we view those that suffer from it. For every famous person that has a relative or they themselves that commit suicide there are many more that do it unnoticed by the media. I can't help but feel like we have failed these people somehow. It tears me up to see that people so young are feeling this lost and feel they have no other option but to end it. I am frustrated that I have no idea how to help them.
We live in a world where most psychiatrist's offer a slew of medications and send you on your way.It can be confusing on which ones to choose. Many of them are not totally sure of your ailment but are willing to throw medicine at it. Sometimes it works and sometimes it does not. Therapists are also a great tool but you have to find one that your insurance covers and one that not only makes you comfortable but also knows about your specific mental illness. There are hotlines to call which is a terrific thing. There are hospitals to go to if you feel like harming yourself. There are blogs and websites to get information and support. There are books on how to get help. Still some of these people fall through the cracks and it makes me sick to my stomach. These people are good people. These people are members of the mental illness community. These people are us.
It bothers me on such a deep level because I have suicide and suicidal tendencies in my family.

My great uncle was by all reports a terrific man. He was kind and had a way with the ladies. He was funny and worked hard all of his life. He bought my grandma her favorite candies and taught her to ride a bike. He was her favorite uncle. He was a real person with emotions, memories, and faults. We really have no idea why he did it. There is speculation that he was ill and the doctors could find nothing wrong with him. There was no mention of mental illness but most likely my family would not have admitted or even talked about such things at that time. One day he decided to end it all. He went into his trailer, laid on a quilt my great grandmother had made for him, took a shotgun and blew his brains out. It was 1982 and he was sixty nine years old. I was three. I have only one vague fuzzy memory of him smiling at me. That quilt was washed and pressed and given to my mother because it meant so much to him that no one had the heart to throw it away. It was later used as  my blanket growing up as a child. Seems a little creepy but it was a beautiful quilt. We kept it until it started to fall apart and later burned in the fire that engulfed our shed. It was never hidden from me that he killed himself. We all admitted it but in hushed tones and with heavy hearts. There were not as many tests and mental health information like there is now, so maybe he could have been helped. We will never know the answer to that question. What we do know is that he suffered. That he shot himself while my great grandparents were mowing the lawn. That he left no note. That my great grandfather had to break in and find his younger brother's dead body. That my great grandmother had to clean his blood and brains off the floor. That it was not romantic or beautiful. It was an ugly end to an amazingly beautiful man. That it scarred them in ways I can not imagine and that it in turn scarred the rest of us. Suicide is sometimes described with beautiful imagery or memes of stick figures shooting themselves. There are memes that jokingly say if you have this tattoo or have done this kill yourself. A fact I find highly disturbing  There are many ways to do it but they are all ugly, and all terribly sad. I ache for him and my great grandparents. There was no real help and they suffered needlessly. These are the kind of memories that you can not block out or wash away. These stick with you for the rest of your life.
My mother attempted suicide when I was nine or ten. Thankfully the bottle of pills she took were not the kind that could kill you and after pumping her stomach she got the help that she needed. She suffers from mental illness as well. She has PTSD, bipolar, and clinical depression.
And then there is me. Years before I had my children or met my current husband I was suicidal. I thought about it constantly. I was in the planning stages of how to figure it out. How I could do it the best and easiest way. Thankfully my OCD did me a favor for which I am so very great full  It would not let me find a plan that worked. It was against anything messy or painful. It reminded me of my clumsiness and how I might not do it correctly and end up suffering even more for the rest of my life. It then showed me images of my family having to find my body and what it would do to them. That I would scar them like my great uncle scarred my great grandparents. I couldn't do it. I went and got the help I so dearly needed. I am no longer suicidal and have not been for many years.
I can't help but feel we are missing something. That we are failing these people somehow. I am not sure how to fix it. I know that people tend to roll their eyes and judge people that say they want to die or they want to kill themselves. People tend to think that these people are just saying that because they want attention. Do you really want to take that chance? Suicide is a very real thing. It is a very scary thing and unfortunately it is something that some people do. It has to stop. I know we can get better. I know that we can get help. We can. The real pain of suicide is not just the fact that you lose someone you love. It is that they chose to leave you, willingly. The pain, sorrow, and anger that follows. And there is so much anger. The devastation that is left behind and the questions. Always the questions, that sadly there is no answers to.The pain of going on without them and all the things in your life that you can no longer share with them. There is nothing romantic or amusing about suicide. There is only pain. My heart aches for the families that have gone through this. My heart aches for the people that feel suicidal. My heart aches for my family and what they have gone through.
If you know someone that is talking about suicide, please get them help. Please do not ignore their pleas. Call someone. Take them to the hospital. Call the hotlines and reach out. Be there for them and be there to get them the help that they need.
                                                         Neurotic Nelly
There are many sites that offer help. Please check out the ones in your area or country for more information.
Here is just one useful site that might offer some help:


National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
No matter what problems you are dealing with, we want to help you find a reason to keep living. By calling 1-800-273-TALK (8255) you’ll be connected to a skilled, trained counselor at a crisis center in your area, anytime 24/7.