No one really likes to go to the doctors office but for me it is like the seventh level of Hell. I don't actually know where that saying comes from, but if Hell has levels than the doctor's office has to be somewhere in there right?
It isn't just that I have contamination fears and will be around sick people (which is bad enough) but I have had some bad life lessons from the doctor's office. I don't remember hating them before the tooth pick debacle of 86 unless I had to get shots, which all children despise even thought they are a necessary evil.
When I was about seven years old I had to go to the doctors because of my foot. My Dad had this annoying habit of chewing tooth picks and breaking them and throwing them on the ground. I had the bad habit of walking everywhere barefoot (still do). I stepped on something and felt it go into my foot but saw nothing when I looked at it. I continued to play. I told no one and no one was the wiser until a few days later when I was no longer able to put weight on it. Then came the red streaks which meant I had an infection and there was definitely something in there. So, we went to the doctor and sure enough they had to numb it as best as they could and remove whatever I had stepped on. Mind you, past a certain point numbing medicine doesn't work and this was one of those points. I remember flailing and screaming and finally they were able to cut and pull out a half of a toothpick out of my heel. I remember all of it, the pulling, the grabbing it, the cutting.....not a real great memory to remember.
Then I had this wonderful doctor that used to whistle bird calls when he looked into your ear. He was kind and funny and kinda looked like Colonel Sanders. We moved away after having him as my doctor for about a year. He was one of the only doctors that made me not hate going to the doctors office. He made me feel comfortable and less scared. I found out that a few years later he had contracted A.I.D.S. and most of his patients left making him have to shut down his practice. He was later found stabbed to death in his own bathtub. Very sad. He was a really great kid's doctor and the whole story makes me really upset. He deserved better than that.
Then there was the asshole fraud psychiatrist that scared my family into committing me so he could abuse the system and suck up all of the insurance money when I was ten. I hope he lost his ability to commit children when he was sued for fraud. Actually, I hope he rots in Hell but that isn't a very nice thing to say so I have to say I hope he is rotting in jail somewhere instead. But I highly doubt us, his many victims, could get so lucky.....Bastard.
Not to mention, the doctor who gave me my first stitches but didn't realize, I at the time, had a huge fear of needles. He thought he would just say out loud it needed a couple of stitches and go on like it wasn't a big deal for me. That went swimmingly....not. Just ask my mother, she probably still has bald patches where I snatched her hair out. I was around twelve years old.
Or the perv psychiatrist I had when I was twenty one, who made sexual comments to me when I was in need of actual counseling even going so far as to make me lift up my tank top when I was braless once to "check my heart rate". Something he never had done before the whole time I had been seeing him ....He too should be in prison but I was too embarrassed to say anything. Not to mention I figured I had no proof of his actions. He made sure we were alone. I was really ashamed and uncomfortable.....he was also a Bastard.
Or the E.R. doctor that felt the need to shove his finger into my open wound after I had accidentally impaled my shin on a stick when I was twenty six. No he did not numb it first. No he did not warn me first. He just stuck his finger in it up to his knuckle and moved it around.....That was pleasant. I secretly think he may have been a sadist.
So, yeah doctors are not my favorite past time for obvious reasons. And I have a new appointment with my new doctor tomorrow and I am absolutely freaked out about it. I know it will go fine, probably. I am worried about my test score for my diabetes. I am worried he will be an asshole. I am worried he will be inept or mean or just plain rude. I really hate when that happens. Anyway, I have waited six months to see him and my anxiety is literally through the roof. Ugh, I don't want to go but I have to. Ugh and double ugh. Anyway, I am just really hoping above all else, I can get my anxiety under control and make it to this appointment without a panic attack because I have to take good care of myself and that , unfortunately, means going to my biggest triggering place, the doctors office.
Wish me luck,
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Tuesday, July 7, 2015
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
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
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
I Am Howard Hughes...
I am Howard Hughes. Well except for the whole being a rich man that designs and flies planes thing. I am also not a playboy....or dead. I am however a Texan...and I have OCD.
Last night, I watched The Aviator for the first time. A movie that I have purposely avoided watching till now. I sat there, palms sweaty, terrified of the mirror that would be held in front of my face. Before I hit the play button, I swallowed the lump in my throat that felt like a mini bus and asked my husband, "How much of myself am I going to see in this film?" He had seen parts of it before. "A lot." he said.
"Wonderful." I thought in my purely sarcastic tone.
I have avoided watching this film for fears of triggers. You see, Howard had contamination fears and so do I. I was very afraid of having to sit through and hour and a half, triggering while Howard was triggering and trying not to completely freak out alongside the main character. It was daunting. It was unsettling. It was... magical.
For the first time, I saw a movie that did not glaze over my disorder. It did not present my disorder as something to laugh at. It did not show the character as being unaware of what was going on. Something that many OCD depictions overlook and try to cover up with humor. He clearly saw that what he was doing made no sense. It showed the clear agony of OCD on his face when he compulsed. It showed the hesitations. The little pauses we take when triggered. I had never seen that before in any film or read that in any book. It was like my typical day of what social dictations demand vs what my mind forces me to feel and I was blown away and thankful. I mean, I do not have all of Howard Hughes's symptoms, but I totally understood them and it was, for me, a relief.
The raw meat scenes.....totally my reactions. With the door in the public restroom scene, I could feel the complete panic. Not just because of the superb writing of the script and terrific acting of the actor, but because I do that. I look at the door knob with fear of knowing that I just washed wash my hands and I do not want to do it again. The complete panic and dread that sets in.
( WARNING possible TRIGGERS on video )
(I do not own this video or any part of this video)
There is this part when he is in the plane with Kathrine Hepburn and he drinks after her. The hesitation before he takes a sip. I was yelling at the television. Oh my God. I don't think people understand what that means for a person with contamination fears. I do, but I am not sure other people can. I remember the first time I found someone I could drink or eat after. It was freeing and it is the first time I caught a glimpse of what it must be like to be like everyone else. To be not OCD.
Yes, I was triggered watching this movie but it moved me. It made me want to scream when they used Howard's OCD against him. It made me hold back tears when he was in pain and isolated himself. It made OCD real for the viewers and no, maybe they don't understand every nuance but they got the gist. And that means something. More than anyone else (normal) will ever know.
The hardest part of the film was the reality that many of us joke about. The dirty, unshaven naked man, reduced to peeing in his recycled milk bottles because he is afraid of being contaminated. I have often said I am one step away from being Howard Hughes. That isn't true, really. I am not to the point Howard got to but the idea of that I could become like that, terrifies me. That is what has kept me from watching this film, despite it's raving reviews, for eleven years. It was too close. It was too real for me because I can not simply walk out of the movie theater and pretend it was all just a movie. I live it everyday. I can not simply just turn off the television and go on about my day like everyone else. It wasn't a film that taught me about OCD because I know it too intimately, already. No, I am not peeing in milk bottles. No, I am not unwashed living in one tiny room afraid of contamination. No, I am not repeating myself over and over and over again. But I could have been and that is the point. I didn't really need to learn about Howard because I already am Howard Hughes on some small level. I knew him even before I didn't. And I think most OCD sufferers would understand that because I know them too. Just as they know me like only we can. Because only we know what it is like to live with this disorder. But now, because of this movie, maybe others will start to know too and that is....beyond gratifying. It is magical.
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
This Burden....
I have spent my whole life trying to make up for being broken. I have always been a nice person, hoping people will accept me before they know my dysfunction. My life has been full of apologies and trying to swim through the swamps of my mind while trying desperately just to keep my head above water. I have always wanted to be liked. I put everyone else before me. Laying down my feelings on the sacrificial alter for others to trample on.....I have always tried to be so good to prove the things my mind was showing me were wrong. I am always trying to help others while helping myself. Sometimes I fail on the myself parts. And I apologize for that.
I beat myself up for not being perfect. I chastise myself for not being good enough. For not being a hero. For not being able to fix myself. For not being able to fix everyone else. For not being able to be there for everyone and everything that goes on this world. I blame myself for too much and do not forgive myself nearly enough. I lay my body on the concrete steps letting others scrape away my flesh and pick apart my bones till only my faults lie there in my place. Still it seems as if it is not enough. The suffering has become something that somewhere along the line, I picked up thinking it is all I deserve.
This burden has become too heavy and exhausting.
I know now that this is untrue. No, I am not perfect but I am no longer certain that is something I have to apologize for. I am a good person and I do not need to sacrifice my emotions to prove that to anyone, least of all myself. After all of this time, I should know who I am and what I am. I do not need to prove my worthiness or my sweetness or my goodness. I am a good person. I am a sweet person. I am a worthy person. I do not need reassurance for the first time in my life and it is exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. I feel hurt by those that have hurt me simply because they can and yet I feel stronger than I ever have. Finally, I have broken through this wall made of bricks and clay that I had carefully erected with my own childish hands trying not to keep others out but to keep myself in. Because I felt that is where the monsters belong. I can see the light shining through the holes I have clawed away and I can feel the sun's warmth on my face. I will no longer live with the darkness that I placed myself in. The empty blackened chamber I made for myself. The punishment I have inflicted upon myself for simply existing. I am no longer afraid. I do not believe that no one will ever love me, truly. I am no longer afraid others will not accept me. I am no longer unsure of my place. Those people's feelings about me do not change who I am. Their opinions on who I should be or what I am do not change my worth. I am not them. They are not me.
The more I look at myself in the mirror, the more I reflect on my own reflections, I realize that this burden I have been dragging behind me is not my burden to carry. No one is perfect.
The blame I have carried is not my blame to cock and point at myself. I do not need this damp and musty overcoat of shame anymore. It never fit me very well anyway.
I am Learning... I don't need anyone else to confirm who I am. I already know and I deserve to treated like the good, caring, responsible person that I am. I don't need to hold on to this self hatred any longer. There is nothing I could ever do that would make me deserve the punishments I have given myself on top of the suffering I already have. This stops today. I will no longer apologize for who I am or what I can and can not do. No one is held to these kind of standards and I shouldn't be held to them either. Even if those standards were something that only I have placed on myself. So this is me dropping the lies, the blame, the guilt, and the overwhelming sense of shame and letting them all fall away. This is me accepting me, wholly and completely...and I am learning that those that can't stand be behind me on that, don't deserve to be standing beside me as my friends. It is they who are not worthy enough to be in my life and not the other way around....
Here is a short video of me talking about my acceptance of my OCD.
Neurotic Nelly
I beat myself up for not being perfect. I chastise myself for not being good enough. For not being a hero. For not being able to fix myself. For not being able to fix everyone else. For not being able to be there for everyone and everything that goes on this world. I blame myself for too much and do not forgive myself nearly enough. I lay my body on the concrete steps letting others scrape away my flesh and pick apart my bones till only my faults lie there in my place. Still it seems as if it is not enough. The suffering has become something that somewhere along the line, I picked up thinking it is all I deserve.
This burden has become too heavy and exhausting.
I know now that this is untrue. No, I am not perfect but I am no longer certain that is something I have to apologize for. I am a good person and I do not need to sacrifice my emotions to prove that to anyone, least of all myself. After all of this time, I should know who I am and what I am. I do not need to prove my worthiness or my sweetness or my goodness. I am a good person. I am a sweet person. I am a worthy person. I do not need reassurance for the first time in my life and it is exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. I feel hurt by those that have hurt me simply because they can and yet I feel stronger than I ever have. Finally, I have broken through this wall made of bricks and clay that I had carefully erected with my own childish hands trying not to keep others out but to keep myself in. Because I felt that is where the monsters belong. I can see the light shining through the holes I have clawed away and I can feel the sun's warmth on my face. I will no longer live with the darkness that I placed myself in. The empty blackened chamber I made for myself. The punishment I have inflicted upon myself for simply existing. I am no longer afraid. I do not believe that no one will ever love me, truly. I am no longer afraid others will not accept me. I am no longer unsure of my place. Those people's feelings about me do not change who I am. Their opinions on who I should be or what I am do not change my worth. I am not them. They are not me.
The more I look at myself in the mirror, the more I reflect on my own reflections, I realize that this burden I have been dragging behind me is not my burden to carry. No one is perfect.
The blame I have carried is not my blame to cock and point at myself. I do not need this damp and musty overcoat of shame anymore. It never fit me very well anyway.
I am Learning... I don't need anyone else to confirm who I am. I already know and I deserve to treated like the good, caring, responsible person that I am. I don't need to hold on to this self hatred any longer. There is nothing I could ever do that would make me deserve the punishments I have given myself on top of the suffering I already have. This stops today. I will no longer apologize for who I am or what I can and can not do. No one is held to these kind of standards and I shouldn't be held to them either. Even if those standards were something that only I have placed on myself. So this is me dropping the lies, the blame, the guilt, and the overwhelming sense of shame and letting them all fall away. This is me accepting me, wholly and completely...and I am learning that those that can't stand be behind me on that, don't deserve to be standing beside me as my friends. It is they who are not worthy enough to be in my life and not the other way around....
Here is a short video of me talking about my acceptance of my OCD.
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
Insomnia and Being A PureO.....
Some things have been going on lately, making it hard to sleep. The night is my worst enemy. It is too quiet. It is too long. And my brain starts to thinking it's most when it is quiet and too long. I can't clean to occupy myself because everyone is asleep. There is nothing on television to mindlessly space out and stare at. No music to distract myself from myself because to do that the music would have to be loud enough to drown out my thoughts and my thoughts are very very loud. I could have read but I was feeling too lazy. I could have written but the words wouldn't come to me. So, I just laid there praying to get exhausted enough to override my own mind. I just laid there and listened to the silence. Well, at least I think it was silence in the background of all of my thoughts.....I am not completely sure.
Insomnia blows.
I am so tired right now.
I will get over it, probably.
Please take few seconds to check out my new video about being a PureO. Thanks, and I promise to write a better post next Tuesday.
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
Why OCD Is Not Funny....
Hurt.
That is what I feel when someone makes fun of my disorder. We live in a time where information is just a click away and yet such ignorance abounds us all, it is amazing to me we can see through the fog of it. On a weekly basis I am confronted with people making light of my disorder or minimizing it's effects with dumb t-shirts or ignorant coffee cups and I become disheartened and offended. It seriously happens to me all of the time. And as frustrating as it is, I can not totally blame the people that do it. They just don't know any better. So I ask myself how I can change the perceptions of things like Obsessive Compulsive Disorder to the masses. Granted, I will most likely not change the world with my posts on this blog, but if I can help just one person understand OCD a little better or help a fellow sufferer feel less alone, then I feel all of this has been worth the struggle.
In looking through several videos on youtube about OCD, I have noticed that although there is a great deal on OCD, they aren't necessarily specific. There are several videos on compulsions that go hand in hand with Obsessive Compulsive disorder but not many on the obsessional or intrusive thought part of OCD and I would like to change that.
So, I have decided to make a few videos about my life with OCD and the things I have learned while suffering from it for almost thirty two years. They wont be anything spectacular. There won't be any animations or flow charts. No, art work being drawn as I speak or anything fancy. Just me talking about the things many of us OCD sufferers are afraid to talk about (the scary, guilt inducing, upsetting intrusive thoughts that rule our lives). I will be discussing what it is like to be a PureO because we are OCD sufferers too. Just not the ones most people think of when they think about OCD because our symptoms are not readily seen to the naked eye. I will be discussing why OCD is just as serious as every other mental illness and just why we do not find your Obsessive Cat Disorder shirts or Obsessive Coffee Disorder coffee mugs hilarious. I will admit I am a little terrified of doing this. Writing is one thing, being on camera talking about it is quite another. I may even have hives and a panic attack before, after, or even during filming. Who knows. But I do feel it is important to try and I hope that it helps even in some small way.
So, here goes nothing...
(you may need to use headphones the volume is low).
Neurotic Nelly
That is what I feel when someone makes fun of my disorder. We live in a time where information is just a click away and yet such ignorance abounds us all, it is amazing to me we can see through the fog of it. On a weekly basis I am confronted with people making light of my disorder or minimizing it's effects with dumb t-shirts or ignorant coffee cups and I become disheartened and offended. It seriously happens to me all of the time. And as frustrating as it is, I can not totally blame the people that do it. They just don't know any better. So I ask myself how I can change the perceptions of things like Obsessive Compulsive Disorder to the masses. Granted, I will most likely not change the world with my posts on this blog, but if I can help just one person understand OCD a little better or help a fellow sufferer feel less alone, then I feel all of this has been worth the struggle.
In looking through several videos on youtube about OCD, I have noticed that although there is a great deal on OCD, they aren't necessarily specific. There are several videos on compulsions that go hand in hand with Obsessive Compulsive disorder but not many on the obsessional or intrusive thought part of OCD and I would like to change that.
So, I have decided to make a few videos about my life with OCD and the things I have learned while suffering from it for almost thirty two years. They wont be anything spectacular. There won't be any animations or flow charts. No, art work being drawn as I speak or anything fancy. Just me talking about the things many of us OCD sufferers are afraid to talk about (the scary, guilt inducing, upsetting intrusive thoughts that rule our lives). I will be discussing what it is like to be a PureO because we are OCD sufferers too. Just not the ones most people think of when they think about OCD because our symptoms are not readily seen to the naked eye. I will be discussing why OCD is just as serious as every other mental illness and just why we do not find your Obsessive Cat Disorder shirts or Obsessive Coffee Disorder coffee mugs hilarious. I will admit I am a little terrified of doing this. Writing is one thing, being on camera talking about it is quite another. I may even have hives and a panic attack before, after, or even during filming. Who knows. But I do feel it is important to try and I hope that it helps even in some small way.
So, here goes nothing...
(you may need to use headphones the volume is low).
(( I apologize for the overuse of the word "um", I was nervous))
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
UnValidated...
" Sometimes the people around you won't understand your journey. They don't need to, it's not for them." -Anonymous
Deflected. That is what it feels like when someone makes excuses to not sympathize with how you are feeling. I get irritated when someone assumes that because I am upset about something, that it is because of my mental illness. As if, I am not allowed to have true feelings unless it is related to my OCD. Like somehow my OCD means that I can not truthfully be angry or hurt. It matters not what has transpired during my day or what situation I am facing. Crying or showing otherwise perfectly normal emotional responses to something is thrown back in my face because, surely it is my mental illness's fault and not because I am truly upset over something. It can't be because I had a shitty day. It has to be because I have OCD. And since I do have OCD, my feelings are just overreactions. My diagnosis has fundamentally colored the way I am perceived. And I am apparently perceived as someone who can not feel unless my mental illness is dictating it.
I know it may be hard to believe, but just like everyone else I am a human being. And being a human means that on occasion, I actually have human feelings. And they can be trampled on or hurt. (Go figure.)
Few things hurt more than when I am discussing my feelings on something and someone's response to it, is that I need to get back on my medicine. (I have medication resistant OCD). I don't think it is meant to be insulting on purpose but it is insulting all the same. What you may be saying is that I am really passionate about whatever we are talking about or that I am really upset, but what I hear is the soft click of the door of communication as it closes tightly shut behind me. What I hear is that you do not care about my feelings. What I hear is that you can not get on my level and understand where I am coming from. What I hear is that my opinion is not important and my feelings are annoying and should be kept to myself, lest I bother anyone else with them. You may not know it, but these few simple words have effectively swept my emotions under the heavily stained, moth eaten carpet that everyone has trampled and wiped their dirt covered feet on. It pushes my feelings away and crushes them down. Leaving me to feel misunderstood, extremely frustrated, unbelievably isolated, a tad bit devastated, and just plain sad. No one likes to feel ignored or swept aside and it is no different for those of us that suffer from mental illness.
Even when I was on medication, if I had a moment when I was struggling or upset with something that had nothing to do with my mental illness at all, I would be asked, "Did you take your meds today?"
I wanted to scream,"What the hell does my medication have to do with the validation of how I am feeling? Is it not possible for you to see me as a whole person? To see me as someone who is hurting? What does it matter even if it is my mental illness making me feel this way, are my emotions any less important? Any less valid? Do I not still feel them just as deeply? Why are my emotions ignored and overlooked and dismissed just because I suffer?"
I want to yell these things, but I usually end up just ending the conversation. Because once my feelings have been rebuffed by someone, I have a very hard time trusting that someone with them again.
I can not begin to tell you how incredibly hurtful the medication question is. If you really think about it, it is more of a statement rather than a question. It says you are judging me. It says, albeit subtly and well hidden, that I don't have a right to have feelings let alone express them because they clearly aren't real. It implies that no one that has mental illness has any real emotions. They are a figment of our fractured minds and therefore do not need to be validated or listened to. They are immediately suspect and mistrusted. They are almost always looked at with a wary eye and a half closed ear.
I mean yes, sometimes my mental illness affects my mood or causes me to react a certain way. But that is not every single time I feel an emotion. When someone has been a complete asshat to me and it hurts my feelings, I get pissed. I do not get pissed because I have OCD. I get pissed because someone has been a complete asshat to me and has hurt my feelings. I should not have to explain that. I should not have to validate that to someone else. I have a right to feel the way I feel about things.
We are not emotional zombies. We are people.
Asking me if I have taken my pills when I am upset makes me feel like I have to constantly validate my feelings when I feel them. It makes me start to feel as if I am not trustworthy of my own emotions. Like somehow, I am defunct and incapable. That my feelings are not important on the basis that I am mentally ill and because of that, those feelings have no merit. Your feelings count and are treated as such. So should ours. There shouldn't be this overwhelming need to explain why we aren't faking it or not overreacting. There should be no long drawn out explanation we have to give every time we are upset by something. Our feelings matter and they are very real to us. That should be more than good enough for everyone else.
Somehow people with mental illness are always asked to defend how they feel about something and I hate that. I hate that I have to feel like my emotions are not my own and it is okay for them to be sterilized and whitewashed over simply because I have OCD. My feelings are not a old barn door that needs to be reclaimed and painted over. They are not grimy bed linens that need to be washed clean with bleach. They are not distasteful and something to look down upon. They are simply feelings. Not something to be scrubbed away or sanitized. Being told I need to water down my emotions when I am hurting is total bullshit and I vehemently resent it.
We are not exempt from feeling things. We are no different than anyone else.
I am not asking you to understand every single thing we feel. We don't expect that from you. What I am asking is that you be compassionate. That you be kind. That you listen without ridicule or judgement. That you offer support just as we do you when you are upset or hurting. That is all I want. That is all any of us want. It really isn't that complicated. We just want to be heard. We just want to not have our feelings glossed over, ignored, omitted, or have them remain unvalidated. No one deserves to remain unvalidated.
You wouldn't like if we treated you like your views and emotions were pointless, so please don't do that to us either,
Neurotic Nelly
Deflected. That is what it feels like when someone makes excuses to not sympathize with how you are feeling. I get irritated when someone assumes that because I am upset about something, that it is because of my mental illness. As if, I am not allowed to have true feelings unless it is related to my OCD. Like somehow my OCD means that I can not truthfully be angry or hurt. It matters not what has transpired during my day or what situation I am facing. Crying or showing otherwise perfectly normal emotional responses to something is thrown back in my face because, surely it is my mental illness's fault and not because I am truly upset over something. It can't be because I had a shitty day. It has to be because I have OCD. And since I do have OCD, my feelings are just overreactions. My diagnosis has fundamentally colored the way I am perceived. And I am apparently perceived as someone who can not feel unless my mental illness is dictating it.
I know it may be hard to believe, but just like everyone else I am a human being. And being a human means that on occasion, I actually have human feelings. And they can be trampled on or hurt. (Go figure.)
Even when I was on medication, if I had a moment when I was struggling or upset with something that had nothing to do with my mental illness at all, I would be asked, "Did you take your meds today?"
I wanted to scream,"What the hell does my medication have to do with the validation of how I am feeling? Is it not possible for you to see me as a whole person? To see me as someone who is hurting? What does it matter even if it is my mental illness making me feel this way, are my emotions any less important? Any less valid? Do I not still feel them just as deeply? Why are my emotions ignored and overlooked and dismissed just because I suffer?"
I want to yell these things, but I usually end up just ending the conversation. Because once my feelings have been rebuffed by someone, I have a very hard time trusting that someone with them again.
I can not begin to tell you how incredibly hurtful the medication question is. If you really think about it, it is more of a statement rather than a question. It says you are judging me. It says, albeit subtly and well hidden, that I don't have a right to have feelings let alone express them because they clearly aren't real. It implies that no one that has mental illness has any real emotions. They are a figment of our fractured minds and therefore do not need to be validated or listened to. They are immediately suspect and mistrusted. They are almost always looked at with a wary eye and a half closed ear.
I mean yes, sometimes my mental illness affects my mood or causes me to react a certain way. But that is not every single time I feel an emotion. When someone has been a complete asshat to me and it hurts my feelings, I get pissed. I do not get pissed because I have OCD. I get pissed because someone has been a complete asshat to me and has hurt my feelings. I should not have to explain that. I should not have to validate that to someone else. I have a right to feel the way I feel about things.
We are not emotional zombies. We are people.
Asking me if I have taken my pills when I am upset makes me feel like I have to constantly validate my feelings when I feel them. It makes me start to feel as if I am not trustworthy of my own emotions. Like somehow, I am defunct and incapable. That my feelings are not important on the basis that I am mentally ill and because of that, those feelings have no merit. Your feelings count and are treated as such. So should ours. There shouldn't be this overwhelming need to explain why we aren't faking it or not overreacting. There should be no long drawn out explanation we have to give every time we are upset by something. Our feelings matter and they are very real to us. That should be more than good enough for everyone else.
Somehow people with mental illness are always asked to defend how they feel about something and I hate that. I hate that I have to feel like my emotions are not my own and it is okay for them to be sterilized and whitewashed over simply because I have OCD. My feelings are not a old barn door that needs to be reclaimed and painted over. They are not grimy bed linens that need to be washed clean with bleach. They are not distasteful and something to look down upon. They are simply feelings. Not something to be scrubbed away or sanitized. Being told I need to water down my emotions when I am hurting is total bullshit and I vehemently resent it.
We are not exempt from feeling things. We are no different than anyone else.
I am not asking you to understand every single thing we feel. We don't expect that from you. What I am asking is that you be compassionate. That you be kind. That you listen without ridicule or judgement. That you offer support just as we do you when you are upset or hurting. That is all I want. That is all any of us want. It really isn't that complicated. We just want to be heard. We just want to not have our feelings glossed over, ignored, omitted, or have them remain unvalidated. No one deserves to remain unvalidated.
You wouldn't like if we treated you like your views and emotions were pointless, so please don't do that to us either,
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
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
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
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
Inhuman....
May is Mental Illness Awareness month! I am glad that mental illness is being more openly talked about because to get help and eradicate stigma we have to be more open and be more in the spotlight to further awareness of all that we go through.
And while we are talking about ways to be more aware of things like mental illness, I wanted to touch on a topic today that isn't directly about mental illness but often times has a negative affect on those of us that suffer. I read comments on news stories often. I play video games occasionally. I am on the internet almost everyday and I have noticed a trend that highly disturbs me.
Apathy is rampant. In this country and in this world, there is a great amount of apathy and that bothers me. It has gotten so bad that I felt the need to sit my twelve year old son down and have a discussion about apathy, not because he is insensitive but because in a world where so many people are I want him to be able to see it for what it is. I want him to be able to pick it out so that he never becomes apathetic to someone else's suffering. Because pain is pain and no one is immune to hardships. Something that I think is paramount to keeping all of us connected and to remind us all that we are all human.
I can not tell you how many times I have read comments about how mentally ill people should all be rounded up and put somewhere like an asylum. I have read comments calling for the sterilization of all mentally ill people. I have read indifferent posts about how mental illness affects it's sufferers but also their loved ones. And my son needs to understand that when people negatively talk about mentally ill people they are talking about me and my mother and my grandmother.
I can not count how many times I have read stories about drug addicts overdosing and read comments that say it is a good thing or that the person deserves it. I have even read a few where people have said they don't feel anything about it at all. And that bothers me because all loss of human life due to drugs and or violence is a tragedy.
It is a shame to me that I have to have this conversation with my child so that he doesn't do what many children have done and just slowly accepted the apathy of the world towards other people and their plights. Not because they mean to or are inherently bad people but because they simply know no better. Whether it be because of race, religion, age, social status, mental stability, life ideals, sexual orientation, or upbringing we are all subject to comments and opinions by those suffering from a bad case of apathy. There is a lack of responsibility for what people say because those that are apathetic hide behind the excuse that it is only the internet and the internet is where such things are acceptable. And that is a bullshit excuse in my opinion.
We live in a world where just stating an opinion or playing a video game can get you bullied or threatened. And often times, it is ignored by those that hear or read it because they feel vindicated that it only being on the internet makes it okay to do so and to not stand up for that person being victimized. In a world full of keyboard warriors, people have become apathetic to the things that are said and that is wrong.
So, as I sat there talking to my child about apathy and bullying I had to find a way to explain that bullying on the internet and those that turn a blind eye to it, are just as guilty as people who would bully you at school or at work. It is the same pain felt as it would be being attacked in person. Because words are words there is absolutely no difference between hearing them and reading them. They have the same affect to the person they are wielded at and we as humans need to recognize that.
I find that people are more prone to being rude and mean online because they sit behind a computer screen and do not have to face the person they are hurting. So, it feels acceptable to them to do harm to others and live behind an excuse that is really no excuse at all.
And to make my point clear that apathetic people often times do not even realize that what they are doing is wrong at first, I used an example.
The horrors of the Nazis did not start over night. If it had, people would have never accepted what was happening to their neighbors and their friends. It started with ostracizing and little yellow stars sewn into innocent people's jackets. Making them stick out and become something to be seen as different. Then it was the removing of their personal property and destruction of said property and propaganda claiming such things were acceptable. And then it was moving them to the ghettos where many saw them starve and die and yet many felt nothing because they were led to believe such atrocities were not only acceptable but the way things should be. And then it became the mass murder of those innocent people whose only crime was that they had been judged to be different....and yet still many were indifferent to their plight.
All of this was allowed due to apathy. Because indifference causes excuses and lack of responsibility. Apathy propagates misinformation and ignorance. And when no one takes responsibility and no one refuses to be indifferent to other people's pain, it is the same as condoning those actions and that is wrong. Apathy is deadly and it must be seen for what it is and never accepted as the social norm. Even on the internet. Because apathy is apathy and it makes no difference what device spreads it or what source it is written on.
And in truth, we will never truly eradicate ignorance and stigma of any issue as long as apathy is accepted.
It makes me sad to have to have this discussion with my child because in a perfect world he would see these things as being bad and hurtful and yet in this world he sees it everyday. So much so, that people become oblivious of it and blind to it. And I do not want him to ever be blind to someone else's suffering. Because one person's suffering should affect us all and should make us all strive to be better people.
"The worst sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them: that's the essence of inhumanity" - George Bernard Shaw
To be human is to feel. To be inhuman is to turn away and do nothing. The real question is which one are you willing to be?
Neurotic Nelly
And while we are talking about ways to be more aware of things like mental illness, I wanted to touch on a topic today that isn't directly about mental illness but often times has a negative affect on those of us that suffer. I read comments on news stories often. I play video games occasionally. I am on the internet almost everyday and I have noticed a trend that highly disturbs me.
Apathy is rampant. In this country and in this world, there is a great amount of apathy and that bothers me. It has gotten so bad that I felt the need to sit my twelve year old son down and have a discussion about apathy, not because he is insensitive but because in a world where so many people are I want him to be able to see it for what it is. I want him to be able to pick it out so that he never becomes apathetic to someone else's suffering. Because pain is pain and no one is immune to hardships. Something that I think is paramount to keeping all of us connected and to remind us all that we are all human.
I can not tell you how many times I have read comments about how mentally ill people should all be rounded up and put somewhere like an asylum. I have read comments calling for the sterilization of all mentally ill people. I have read indifferent posts about how mental illness affects it's sufferers but also their loved ones. And my son needs to understand that when people negatively talk about mentally ill people they are talking about me and my mother and my grandmother.
I can not count how many times I have read stories about drug addicts overdosing and read comments that say it is a good thing or that the person deserves it. I have even read a few where people have said they don't feel anything about it at all. And that bothers me because all loss of human life due to drugs and or violence is a tragedy.
It is a shame to me that I have to have this conversation with my child so that he doesn't do what many children have done and just slowly accepted the apathy of the world towards other people and their plights. Not because they mean to or are inherently bad people but because they simply know no better. Whether it be because of race, religion, age, social status, mental stability, life ideals, sexual orientation, or upbringing we are all subject to comments and opinions by those suffering from a bad case of apathy. There is a lack of responsibility for what people say because those that are apathetic hide behind the excuse that it is only the internet and the internet is where such things are acceptable. And that is a bullshit excuse in my opinion.
We live in a world where just stating an opinion or playing a video game can get you bullied or threatened. And often times, it is ignored by those that hear or read it because they feel vindicated that it only being on the internet makes it okay to do so and to not stand up for that person being victimized. In a world full of keyboard warriors, people have become apathetic to the things that are said and that is wrong.
So, as I sat there talking to my child about apathy and bullying I had to find a way to explain that bullying on the internet and those that turn a blind eye to it, are just as guilty as people who would bully you at school or at work. It is the same pain felt as it would be being attacked in person. Because words are words there is absolutely no difference between hearing them and reading them. They have the same affect to the person they are wielded at and we as humans need to recognize that.
I find that people are more prone to being rude and mean online because they sit behind a computer screen and do not have to face the person they are hurting. So, it feels acceptable to them to do harm to others and live behind an excuse that is really no excuse at all.
And to make my point clear that apathetic people often times do not even realize that what they are doing is wrong at first, I used an example.
The horrors of the Nazis did not start over night. If it had, people would have never accepted what was happening to their neighbors and their friends. It started with ostracizing and little yellow stars sewn into innocent people's jackets. Making them stick out and become something to be seen as different. Then it was the removing of their personal property and destruction of said property and propaganda claiming such things were acceptable. And then it was moving them to the ghettos where many saw them starve and die and yet many felt nothing because they were led to believe such atrocities were not only acceptable but the way things should be. And then it became the mass murder of those innocent people whose only crime was that they had been judged to be different....and yet still many were indifferent to their plight.
All of this was allowed due to apathy. Because indifference causes excuses and lack of responsibility. Apathy propagates misinformation and ignorance. And when no one takes responsibility and no one refuses to be indifferent to other people's pain, it is the same as condoning those actions and that is wrong. Apathy is deadly and it must be seen for what it is and never accepted as the social norm. Even on the internet. Because apathy is apathy and it makes no difference what device spreads it or what source it is written on.
And in truth, we will never truly eradicate ignorance and stigma of any issue as long as apathy is accepted.
It makes me sad to have to have this discussion with my child because in a perfect world he would see these things as being bad and hurtful and yet in this world he sees it everyday. So much so, that people become oblivious of it and blind to it. And I do not want him to ever be blind to someone else's suffering. Because one person's suffering should affect us all and should make us all strive to be better people.
"The worst sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them: that's the essence of inhumanity" - George Bernard Shaw
To be human is to feel. To be inhuman is to turn away and do nothing. The real question is which one are you willing to be?
Neurotic Nelly
Friday, May 8, 2015
Happy Mother's Day to One and All.....
This Sunday is Mother's Day. I plan to sit around my house and garden, which is one of my passions. I love flowers. I love to plant flowers. I love to stop and smell the flowers. I just love Spring gardening in all of it's dirty, mulch covered glory.
I have to say, and I say it every year, that the women in my family are what made me who I am. Literally and figuratively. I mean, the OCD I have came from my grandmother and the red hair too. She also gave me her stuborness and compassion for others. My mother gave me her wisdom, her kind heart, and her love of all things old and antique. She taught me how to be a caring and loving parent. I get my creativity from the women in my family. I get my strength from the women in my family. Pretty much, anything identifiable about me is because of these wonderful women in my life and I am so very grateful for them. They played both the roles of my mother and my father. My Aunt Patti taught me things about make up and to never be afraid to chase your dreams. She taught me where to apply perfume and about hair products. My sister taught me how to stand up for myself and to be proud of who I am. My great grandmother taught me how to snap peas and shuck corn and the importance of doing for oneself. My great aunt taught me how to love myself and to not accept anyone treating me like crap because I deserve better. My aunt Nick taught me how to love with all of your heart. My dear old family friend Mrs. Jewel taught me how to be silly even when you are old. My wonderful friend Noel has taught me that family is who you love and not always who you are related to and that conversations with the ones you love mean the most and are the best. My sister from another mister S. taught me that time may pass and people may change but a best friend is a best friend for life. Through thick and thin. Always.
All of these amazing women have helped mold me, helped shape my life, and in many ways saved me more than they will ever know. I love them. I owe them everything. I am blessed and I know that. So, this is my way of remembering the amazing women I have lost and also the amazing women I still have in my life. Thank you for being there for me. Thank you for being you.
Happy Mother's Day to my loved ones!
Happy Mother's Day to all of you mothers out there and also to all of the aunts, grandmothers, family friends, sisters, and women of the world! You all are important and you all shape the world we live in.
Neurotic Nelly
I have to say, and I say it every year, that the women in my family are what made me who I am. Literally and figuratively. I mean, the OCD I have came from my grandmother and the red hair too. She also gave me her stuborness and compassion for others. My mother gave me her wisdom, her kind heart, and her love of all things old and antique. She taught me how to be a caring and loving parent. I get my creativity from the women in my family. I get my strength from the women in my family. Pretty much, anything identifiable about me is because of these wonderful women in my life and I am so very grateful for them. They played both the roles of my mother and my father. My Aunt Patti taught me things about make up and to never be afraid to chase your dreams. She taught me where to apply perfume and about hair products. My sister taught me how to stand up for myself and to be proud of who I am. My great grandmother taught me how to snap peas and shuck corn and the importance of doing for oneself. My great aunt taught me how to love myself and to not accept anyone treating me like crap because I deserve better. My aunt Nick taught me how to love with all of your heart. My dear old family friend Mrs. Jewel taught me how to be silly even when you are old. My wonderful friend Noel has taught me that family is who you love and not always who you are related to and that conversations with the ones you love mean the most and are the best. My sister from another mister S. taught me that time may pass and people may change but a best friend is a best friend for life. Through thick and thin. Always.
All of these amazing women have helped mold me, helped shape my life, and in many ways saved me more than they will ever know. I love them. I owe them everything. I am blessed and I know that. So, this is my way of remembering the amazing women I have lost and also the amazing women I still have in my life. Thank you for being there for me. Thank you for being you.
Happy Mother's Day to my loved ones!
Happy Mother's Day to all of you mothers out there and also to all of the aunts, grandmothers, family friends, sisters, and women of the world! You all are important and you all shape the world we live in.
Neurotic Nelly
Thursday, April 30, 2015
The Facebook Test....
Sorry for the absence last week. I have been recovering from being under the weather. I am recovering, albeit slowly and with great determination.
_______________________
The Facebook Test...
I was minding my own business on Facebook and came across a "how OCD are you" test. I clicked it to see just what ignorant things are supposed to bother me to make me "so OCD". Ya know, because I don't already know what my OCD triggers are. And it was just as I expected. A bunch of things out of order and color coded incorrectly and dirty dishes. Because to people this is all OCD is and it is infuriating.
I took the quiz and because most of things were just asinine and about cleanliness and organization of other people's things, they don't really bother me. Apparently according to the test, I am not so OCD. Phew, what a relief! I guess I can stop blogging now and stop getting therapy because Facebook thinks I am not a severe OCD sufferer.
And friend had shared it and I don't want to be as ass but this stuff really pisses me off and it is so inaccurate. Ugh!
And then when I made a comment about how angry these things make me and how they are extremely insulting, I am told by the person that posted, that she too has OCD. And I am so "what the fuck" right now. I mean if you actually had it then why would this be acceptable in any way? How does this not piss you off because it pisses me off to no end. I was asked if I couldn't have been nicer about it, and I guess I could have been but then again sometimes I am fucking sick and tired of being nice about something that I fight to live with everyday. Sometimes I am just tired, and frustrated, and down right pissed. Yes, it is a free country and yes it is Facebook, and yes people are allowed to post whatever the hell they want. But if you are going to post such stupidity then expect for someone to call you on it. Expect someone to get pissed. Expect someone to stand up and call you on your shit because there is nothing funny or amusing about mental illness. Nothing. And my friend said something that really touched me. She said she just has learned to smile through it. And I had nothing to say about that because how many times have I plastered a fake smile over my face and just smiled through it like it wasn't bothering me? How many times have I left things go because I didn't want to upset anyone even though they were really upsetting me? How many times did I let things like these stupid and stigma producing tests go by and acted like they weren't affecting my mental illness in a negative light to others, and I was perfectly okay with it. Or even worse, maybe found it amusing? How many times have I helped to spread the stigma and bias that surrounds all mental illness because it was the easier thing to do? To not stand up. To not rock the boat. To not speak out. How many times have I done that? Too many times to count.
And I have been wrestling with being totally honest lately. I mean, I am honest to a fault but with OCD I tend to not be honest on things like Facebook when I see these tests. I let them go and say nothing. I do things like not explain my mental illness when people find out. I sometimes just go along and pretend that they know how it works and I just let it go. And that is a problem for me because I preach honesty in my blog. I say that silence is condoning the ignorance and yet here I am willingly allowing ignorance to pass before me and I am allowing myself to be afraid of other people's condemnation. Because I am a people pleaser. Because I don't want people to think badly of me or differently about me. And it has to stop.
I have to stop these tests and explain why they are bad or ignorant or both, every time I see them because it hurts us as sufferers and it promotes stigma. I have to stop being afraid of what my neighbors think, or what the people I went to school with think, or what strangers think about me simply because I take not only a stand but a passionate stand and refuse to be silent. I have to because it is not about me. Not really. It is about all of us. All of us that have this shit handed down to them everyday under the guise that OCD is amusing or fodder for jokes. I have to stand up every time because just as it is about me and you it is also about my youngest son who also has OCD and HE DESERVES BETTER. We all do and the first step is to stop condoning by being silent when we run across things making sport or are spewing ignorance about our disorder. I have to stop wrestling with how much I should say on Facebook and just take the plunge. Let the chips fall where they may and if someone doesn't like it or can't handle the truth then they can just unfriend me because if they can't handle the real me then they don't really deserve to be my "friend" anyway.
Because life is not a Facebook test. This is life and I want my life to stand for something. I want my life to help others and to maybe make life just a tad bit easier for other OCD sufferers. I want my life to help, in some small way, pave the road to a future where we are taken seriously and treated equally. Because all I have is my life and I refuse to allow fear to overcome my truth of what OCD is and is not. No matter how unpopular or uncomfortable that makes other people. Because we are all uncomfortable everyday and maybe it is time for everyone else to suck it up. Maybe it is time for the people that promote this garbage to put on their big boy pants and cowboy up like we do everyday. Because I depend on truth, we depend on truth, my son depends on truth to get better. And that means way more to me then a few people getting upset at me for being honest.
Neurotic Nelly
_______________________
The Facebook Test...
I was minding my own business on Facebook and came across a "how OCD are you" test. I clicked it to see just what ignorant things are supposed to bother me to make me "so OCD". Ya know, because I don't already know what my OCD triggers are. And it was just as I expected. A bunch of things out of order and color coded incorrectly and dirty dishes. Because to people this is all OCD is and it is infuriating.
I took the quiz and because most of things were just asinine and about cleanliness and organization of other people's things, they don't really bother me. Apparently according to the test, I am not so OCD. Phew, what a relief! I guess I can stop blogging now and stop getting therapy because Facebook thinks I am not a severe OCD sufferer.
And friend had shared it and I don't want to be as ass but this stuff really pisses me off and it is so inaccurate. Ugh!
And then when I made a comment about how angry these things make me and how they are extremely insulting, I am told by the person that posted, that she too has OCD. And I am so "what the fuck" right now. I mean if you actually had it then why would this be acceptable in any way? How does this not piss you off because it pisses me off to no end. I was asked if I couldn't have been nicer about it, and I guess I could have been but then again sometimes I am fucking sick and tired of being nice about something that I fight to live with everyday. Sometimes I am just tired, and frustrated, and down right pissed. Yes, it is a free country and yes it is Facebook, and yes people are allowed to post whatever the hell they want. But if you are going to post such stupidity then expect for someone to call you on it. Expect someone to get pissed. Expect someone to stand up and call you on your shit because there is nothing funny or amusing about mental illness. Nothing. And my friend said something that really touched me. She said she just has learned to smile through it. And I had nothing to say about that because how many times have I plastered a fake smile over my face and just smiled through it like it wasn't bothering me? How many times have I left things go because I didn't want to upset anyone even though they were really upsetting me? How many times did I let things like these stupid and stigma producing tests go by and acted like they weren't affecting my mental illness in a negative light to others, and I was perfectly okay with it. Or even worse, maybe found it amusing? How many times have I helped to spread the stigma and bias that surrounds all mental illness because it was the easier thing to do? To not stand up. To not rock the boat. To not speak out. How many times have I done that? Too many times to count.
And I have been wrestling with being totally honest lately. I mean, I am honest to a fault but with OCD I tend to not be honest on things like Facebook when I see these tests. I let them go and say nothing. I do things like not explain my mental illness when people find out. I sometimes just go along and pretend that they know how it works and I just let it go. And that is a problem for me because I preach honesty in my blog. I say that silence is condoning the ignorance and yet here I am willingly allowing ignorance to pass before me and I am allowing myself to be afraid of other people's condemnation. Because I am a people pleaser. Because I don't want people to think badly of me or differently about me. And it has to stop.
I have to stop these tests and explain why they are bad or ignorant or both, every time I see them because it hurts us as sufferers and it promotes stigma. I have to stop being afraid of what my neighbors think, or what the people I went to school with think, or what strangers think about me simply because I take not only a stand but a passionate stand and refuse to be silent. I have to because it is not about me. Not really. It is about all of us. All of us that have this shit handed down to them everyday under the guise that OCD is amusing or fodder for jokes. I have to stand up every time because just as it is about me and you it is also about my youngest son who also has OCD and HE DESERVES BETTER. We all do and the first step is to stop condoning by being silent when we run across things making sport or are spewing ignorance about our disorder. I have to stop wrestling with how much I should say on Facebook and just take the plunge. Let the chips fall where they may and if someone doesn't like it or can't handle the truth then they can just unfriend me because if they can't handle the real me then they don't really deserve to be my "friend" anyway.
Because life is not a Facebook test. This is life and I want my life to stand for something. I want my life to help others and to maybe make life just a tad bit easier for other OCD sufferers. I want my life to help, in some small way, pave the road to a future where we are taken seriously and treated equally. Because all I have is my life and I refuse to allow fear to overcome my truth of what OCD is and is not. No matter how unpopular or uncomfortable that makes other people. Because we are all uncomfortable everyday and maybe it is time for everyone else to suck it up. Maybe it is time for the people that promote this garbage to put on their big boy pants and cowboy up like we do everyday. Because I depend on truth, we depend on truth, my son depends on truth to get better. And that means way more to me then a few people getting upset at me for being honest.
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
10 Ways You Can Help Your Child/Teenager/Loved one With OCD.........
I read an article today that really bothered me. The author wrote about the suicide of her teenage daughter due to OCD but it seemed to me to be very one sided. It read to be more about how much the treatment for her child's OCD cost the author, how long the drives for her child's treatment were, how her child's OCD destroyed her marriage, how it took and took and took from the author. I read this and as a sufferer from severe OCD for over 32 years, all I could think of was the teenager. What about all that she had gone through? What about all that she lost, because I can tell you from personal experience it was a hell of a lot more than the author did. After all, she lost her life to it. It bothered me that it seemed to be more of an itemized list of things that affected the author and inconvenienced the author but without it really touching on the absolute agony OCD is. This article bothered me for many reasons, but the biggest reason for me was the inability to get on the same level as the sufferer. Don't get me wrong, I believe the author loved her child very much. Maybe she was just unable to understand the immense pain and guilt that OCD causes. Maybe she was pressured for time and just wrote how OCD affected her personally and not how it personally affected her child. I don't really know. What I do know is that the article made me angry and sad all at the same time and it just clarified for me how most people just really do not understand Obsessive Compulsive Disorder very well.
To rectify what I read and found to be almost offensive, I wrote down 10 things that helped me when I was younger and still continues to help me today. This is not advice as much as it is MY OWN PERSONAL OPINION.
1. Don't say that your loved one's OCD tore your family apart and destroyed your life.
Not everything is about you so do not try and make this about you. A person's mental illness is just about them. You suffer because they suffer but make no mistake, your suffering is no where near the suffering we are going through. If you feel OCD is tearing your family apart, just imagine how much devastation it is causing us. Now imagine being told you are the one tearing apart the family on top of all of that devastation. You can't say something like that and not have the sufferer think it is their fault and that they are somehow responsible for having it. It only makes us feel like more of a burden to you. OCD is different from other mental illnesses, in that, we can tell that our disorder is negatively affecting our families and lives. We do not need you to point that out and make us feel less than because of it. Our OCD isn't something being done to you, it is something being done to us. We feel guilty that it affects you as well but it is not our fault we have OCD and saying something like only makes us unfairly blame ourselves just that much more.
2. OCD does not just pop up overnight.
We may have less obvious symptoms. Mine started at the age of four. My parents saw it and knew something was off, they just didn't know what. No one wakes up one day and just randomly starts touching door knobs twenty five times. Their symptoms may be more obsessional and less compulsive. Less noteworthy than others. It is not like catching the flu. The signs are there, hidden as they may be.
3. Please DO NOT say that you just wish they would be normal again.
That is a loaded statement. Once a person has OCD, normal is no longer a possibility. There is no cure. There is manageability. There is learning to live with it. There is having a good life and being OCD although, there will always be both good and bad days. The "normal" part of that person is a fun house mirror. A parlor trick. An illusion with smoke and mirrors. There is no normal, only normal for him/her. Drop the "just be normal" crap. It causes guilt we don't need and only further makes the sufferer feel bad about themselves. We aren't normal and we can learn to live with that fact. It is you that is holding on to an illusion when you say those things. It is your problem of accepting our mental illness, not ours.
4. Being a "tough love" parent is not always a good idea.
OCD is an anxiety disorder. When we are suffering from anxiety, the very last thing we need is to have more anxiety thrust upon us because you are frustrated. We are frustrated too. Frustrated that we suffer. Frustrated at the pain and agony that accompanies our suffering. And frustrated that clearly you have a lack of understanding of what we are dealing with here. Listen to their doctors/therapist's advice on dealing with your loved one's anxiety disorder even if they point out that something you are doing is wrong. Even if it isn't what you want to hear. Again, this is not about you. Nothing says "I blame you" like yelling and pushing the OCD person to do something they feel they can't do with snide comments or condemnation in your tone. You push them gently, with many supportive discussions. You slowly egg them on with love and affection. They will have to do things they are very uncomfortable with and your job is to be there for them. Not lording over them with judgment on as to why they are failing at it and with contempt in your voice. You do not simply badger and belittle OCD away. It does not work that way and if anything it can make it worse.
5. Stand up for us.
Stigma is real and there be will people who do not believe we have what we have. They will say derogatory things to us or about us. They may try to trivialize or minimalize what we go through. They may make remarks about us being over dramatic, lazy, and or looking for attention. They may be friends, coworkers, or even family members. They do not understand but that does not give them the right to assume they know anything about our disorder or how it works. OCD is very complicated with, often times, several different symptoms. To support us, you need to stand up for us to these people. Educate them if you can. Tell them to fuck off if you can't. No one needs to be accused, discriminated, badgered, judged wrongly, or stigmatized further when they are already suffering from something that makes them feel bad about themselves. This kind of thing can make a bad situation even worse and make a toxic atmosphere for both the sufferer and the one's that love them.
6. Stop rationalizing.
OCD has no rational components. Someone who is afraid of germs may have issues with one place or object deemed dirty to them and not with another. Some one might fear being touched by a white cat and not an orange one. Someone may have to open and close the front door ten times but not the back door. We are aware it makes no sense. That does not make it any easier for us to deal with. Case in point, I am a germ-a-phobe and I hate grocery stores. I don't like to touch shelves there or sometimes even the products I want to buy. I, however, have no issue with the shopping cart even though, I know that the handle of the shopping cart has all kinds of germs on it. My OCD is not triggered by this one object but triggered by other things in the same store. There is no rhyme or reason for our fears. Don't rationalize as to why one thing bothers us and the other things don't. Just accept that the fears are what they are.
7. Educate yourself.
OCD is a mental illness and as such has many different symptoms. There are also varying degrees of severity. Some may be more text book i.e. excessive washing, fears of contamination or germs, touching, counting, checking. There are also less talked about symptoms i.e. fears of being homosexual (or if you are homosexual fears of being straight), harm fears, medical fears, reassurance. There are outward compulsions and inward mental compulsions and just when you think you have your symptoms figured out they can and do change around on you. Unwanted intrusive thoughts and images often plague the OCD sufferer. There is an over abundance of guilt and shame. There are phobias and triggers to panic attacks. Some people do outward repetitive actions to calm their anxiety and some do repetitive compulsions inwardly in their minds. No one is exactly the same and no one's fears are exactly the same. So, what freaks one OCD person out may or may not bother the next OCD sufferer. To help, you should be familiar with the behavioral therapies that tend to be helpful with OCD and also the medications prescribed for OCD. You can educate yourself easily with websites, books, blogs, and doctors. Basically, if someone you love has been diagnosed with OCD then you should be educating yourself to how OCD works. It is so easy to find out more about OCD in this day and age that there is absolutely no excuse for walking around being wholly ignorant about it.
8. Be Patient.
There is no one all to be all cure for OCD. It does not go away over night. It takes years of therapy and finding the right medications to help the sufferer cope....Not months, not weeks, not days but Years. Be patient as we figure out our triggers and work tirelessly to get over them. Be patient when we have set backs, because everyone does. Be patient while we learn how to stand on our own two legs to fight the monster of our nightmares (anxiety). Be patient when we look for reassurances, repeat ourselves or our actions, get upset with something because it doesn't feel right or takes too long. We know these things are frustrating, they are frustrating for us as well, be patient. Be patient with the drug side affects that can make us cranky, bloated, exhausted, or weak. Be patient when we have to do therapies that push the borders of our comfort zones and we freak out. Be patient as we repeat this cycle over and over and over and over and over again. We can't help it and we are working really hard to be more functional.
9. Silence is not golden, it is deadly.
OCD is often thought of something humorous or quirky. In reality, it is a devastating mental illness that brings with it self doubt, frustration, immense pain, shame, and guilt. It can lead to other mental illnesses or coincide with them. OCD needs to be treated, listened to, and talked about. It is just as deadly as depression or any other mental illness. The weird things we do may seem funny to others but they are agonizing to us. They are painful to us. We need to talk about them. The deadliest thing about OCD is silence because if we remain silent we do not get the help we need nor do we help erode the reality of the stigma and bias that surrounds it. Shame keeps us silent. Guilt keeps us silent. Fear keeps us silent and silence is a killer. Let us talk. Listen to what we say. Continue to discuss it with others. Continue to educate to the masses. Never, ever remain silent.
10. Remember we are people too.
Sometimes the anxiety seems so all consuming that people can forget that we are more than just our mental illness. We are people too. We like to do things. We like to be happy. We love, we laugh, we play. We are not just OCD, we are also human beings. We are still the person you love even though we struggle. That never changes. Remember that although we have a mental illness, we are not just our diagnosis. We may need help but we are strong and resilient individuals. We are productive members of society. We are doctors, lawyers, moms, and dads. We are children and teachers and bus drivers. We are bloggers and authors and painters. We are factory workers, retirees, and mailmen. We are everywhere. We can be anyone. We are humans with dreams and desires and families. We are loved ones who have loved ones. Remember that we are not just OCD people. We are people who just happen to have OCD. And everything that applies to being human also applies to us as well because although we suffer, we are people too.
Neurotic Nelly
To rectify what I read and found to be almost offensive, I wrote down 10 things that helped me when I was younger and still continues to help me today. This is not advice as much as it is MY OWN PERSONAL OPINION.
1. Don't say that your loved one's OCD tore your family apart and destroyed your life.
Not everything is about you so do not try and make this about you. A person's mental illness is just about them. You suffer because they suffer but make no mistake, your suffering is no where near the suffering we are going through. If you feel OCD is tearing your family apart, just imagine how much devastation it is causing us. Now imagine being told you are the one tearing apart the family on top of all of that devastation. You can't say something like that and not have the sufferer think it is their fault and that they are somehow responsible for having it. It only makes us feel like more of a burden to you. OCD is different from other mental illnesses, in that, we can tell that our disorder is negatively affecting our families and lives. We do not need you to point that out and make us feel less than because of it. Our OCD isn't something being done to you, it is something being done to us. We feel guilty that it affects you as well but it is not our fault we have OCD and saying something like only makes us unfairly blame ourselves just that much more.
2. OCD does not just pop up overnight.
We may have less obvious symptoms. Mine started at the age of four. My parents saw it and knew something was off, they just didn't know what. No one wakes up one day and just randomly starts touching door knobs twenty five times. Their symptoms may be more obsessional and less compulsive. Less noteworthy than others. It is not like catching the flu. The signs are there, hidden as they may be.
3. Please DO NOT say that you just wish they would be normal again.
That is a loaded statement. Once a person has OCD, normal is no longer a possibility. There is no cure. There is manageability. There is learning to live with it. There is having a good life and being OCD although, there will always be both good and bad days. The "normal" part of that person is a fun house mirror. A parlor trick. An illusion with smoke and mirrors. There is no normal, only normal for him/her. Drop the "just be normal" crap. It causes guilt we don't need and only further makes the sufferer feel bad about themselves. We aren't normal and we can learn to live with that fact. It is you that is holding on to an illusion when you say those things. It is your problem of accepting our mental illness, not ours.
4. Being a "tough love" parent is not always a good idea.
OCD is an anxiety disorder. When we are suffering from anxiety, the very last thing we need is to have more anxiety thrust upon us because you are frustrated. We are frustrated too. Frustrated that we suffer. Frustrated at the pain and agony that accompanies our suffering. And frustrated that clearly you have a lack of understanding of what we are dealing with here. Listen to their doctors/therapist's advice on dealing with your loved one's anxiety disorder even if they point out that something you are doing is wrong. Even if it isn't what you want to hear. Again, this is not about you. Nothing says "I blame you" like yelling and pushing the OCD person to do something they feel they can't do with snide comments or condemnation in your tone. You push them gently, with many supportive discussions. You slowly egg them on with love and affection. They will have to do things they are very uncomfortable with and your job is to be there for them. Not lording over them with judgment on as to why they are failing at it and with contempt in your voice. You do not simply badger and belittle OCD away. It does not work that way and if anything it can make it worse.
5. Stand up for us.
Stigma is real and there be will people who do not believe we have what we have. They will say derogatory things to us or about us. They may try to trivialize or minimalize what we go through. They may make remarks about us being over dramatic, lazy, and or looking for attention. They may be friends, coworkers, or even family members. They do not understand but that does not give them the right to assume they know anything about our disorder or how it works. OCD is very complicated with, often times, several different symptoms. To support us, you need to stand up for us to these people. Educate them if you can. Tell them to fuck off if you can't. No one needs to be accused, discriminated, badgered, judged wrongly, or stigmatized further when they are already suffering from something that makes them feel bad about themselves. This kind of thing can make a bad situation even worse and make a toxic atmosphere for both the sufferer and the one's that love them.
6. Stop rationalizing.
OCD has no rational components. Someone who is afraid of germs may have issues with one place or object deemed dirty to them and not with another. Some one might fear being touched by a white cat and not an orange one. Someone may have to open and close the front door ten times but not the back door. We are aware it makes no sense. That does not make it any easier for us to deal with. Case in point, I am a germ-a-phobe and I hate grocery stores. I don't like to touch shelves there or sometimes even the products I want to buy. I, however, have no issue with the shopping cart even though, I know that the handle of the shopping cart has all kinds of germs on it. My OCD is not triggered by this one object but triggered by other things in the same store. There is no rhyme or reason for our fears. Don't rationalize as to why one thing bothers us and the other things don't. Just accept that the fears are what they are.
7. Educate yourself.
OCD is a mental illness and as such has many different symptoms. There are also varying degrees of severity. Some may be more text book i.e. excessive washing, fears of contamination or germs, touching, counting, checking. There are also less talked about symptoms i.e. fears of being homosexual (or if you are homosexual fears of being straight), harm fears, medical fears, reassurance. There are outward compulsions and inward mental compulsions and just when you think you have your symptoms figured out they can and do change around on you. Unwanted intrusive thoughts and images often plague the OCD sufferer. There is an over abundance of guilt and shame. There are phobias and triggers to panic attacks. Some people do outward repetitive actions to calm their anxiety and some do repetitive compulsions inwardly in their minds. No one is exactly the same and no one's fears are exactly the same. So, what freaks one OCD person out may or may not bother the next OCD sufferer. To help, you should be familiar with the behavioral therapies that tend to be helpful with OCD and also the medications prescribed for OCD. You can educate yourself easily with websites, books, blogs, and doctors. Basically, if someone you love has been diagnosed with OCD then you should be educating yourself to how OCD works. It is so easy to find out more about OCD in this day and age that there is absolutely no excuse for walking around being wholly ignorant about it.
8. Be Patient.
There is no one all to be all cure for OCD. It does not go away over night. It takes years of therapy and finding the right medications to help the sufferer cope....Not months, not weeks, not days but Years. Be patient as we figure out our triggers and work tirelessly to get over them. Be patient when we have set backs, because everyone does. Be patient while we learn how to stand on our own two legs to fight the monster of our nightmares (anxiety). Be patient when we look for reassurances, repeat ourselves or our actions, get upset with something because it doesn't feel right or takes too long. We know these things are frustrating, they are frustrating for us as well, be patient. Be patient with the drug side affects that can make us cranky, bloated, exhausted, or weak. Be patient when we have to do therapies that push the borders of our comfort zones and we freak out. Be patient as we repeat this cycle over and over and over and over and over again. We can't help it and we are working really hard to be more functional.
9. Silence is not golden, it is deadly.
OCD is often thought of something humorous or quirky. In reality, it is a devastating mental illness that brings with it self doubt, frustration, immense pain, shame, and guilt. It can lead to other mental illnesses or coincide with them. OCD needs to be treated, listened to, and talked about. It is just as deadly as depression or any other mental illness. The weird things we do may seem funny to others but they are agonizing to us. They are painful to us. We need to talk about them. The deadliest thing about OCD is silence because if we remain silent we do not get the help we need nor do we help erode the reality of the stigma and bias that surrounds it. Shame keeps us silent. Guilt keeps us silent. Fear keeps us silent and silence is a killer. Let us talk. Listen to what we say. Continue to discuss it with others. Continue to educate to the masses. Never, ever remain silent.
10. Remember we are people too.
Sometimes the anxiety seems so all consuming that people can forget that we are more than just our mental illness. We are people too. We like to do things. We like to be happy. We love, we laugh, we play. We are not just OCD, we are also human beings. We are still the person you love even though we struggle. That never changes. Remember that although we have a mental illness, we are not just our diagnosis. We may need help but we are strong and resilient individuals. We are productive members of society. We are doctors, lawyers, moms, and dads. We are children and teachers and bus drivers. We are bloggers and authors and painters. We are factory workers, retirees, and mailmen. We are everywhere. We can be anyone. We are humans with dreams and desires and families. We are loved ones who have loved ones. Remember that we are not just OCD people. We are people who just happen to have OCD. And everything that applies to being human also applies to us as well because although we suffer, we are people too.
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
We All Are...
My youngest is just like me. He is sweet, intelligent, sensitive and he has an anxiety disorder. Lately, his aversion to going to school has gotten worse. He now has anxiety attacks, just as I did with school.
But he has a chance that wasn't available to me at that age. Now, they actually treat children for anxiety disorders. Thirty years ago they did not. So, while my OCD is firmly ingrained in my brain.....we may be able to really improve his. We may even make his anxiety much less or much more manageable. To do this though, he will have to be in situations that make him extremely uncomfortable. Like going to school.
Last night he was crying as he thought about school and I went through a long list of people that love him. I told him how wonderful he is. How important he is. That he can do anything in this world that he wants if he really wants to. And that these feelings that he has are called anxiety. That they feel yucky and scary and they seem impossible to overcome. But just because something seems impossible doesn't mean that it is. I told him that mommy has the same issues and then I explained to him that anxiety is an emotion that is not based in reality. That whatever he is afraid of when leaving me is not the truth. That the scariest thing at school is a possible paper cut or the cafeteria lunch that smells funny and that he can certainly get over those two things easily. Then I reminded him that tomorrow's day at school would be like all of the other days at school and that just like all of the days before it, he will come home and we will do it all again the next day because if he stays home, the anxiety wins. And it can not be allowed to win because it can make him unable to do the things he wants to do and that is unacceptable. Anxiety doesn't get to have that kind of power over him. It can only be powerful if you let it become powerful. I told him that we have to be warriors and that warriors do the scariest things in the world. They stand up. They fight for what is right. They never back down. They are scared when they do these things but they do them anyway because they have to. We are warriors because we battle everyday and sometimes we will not win, but we will always get up the next day a try again because that is what warriors do. They fight. They never give up. They are always battle ready. They are always fierce.
And then I took out one of those rectangular pink erasers that you use for school testing and I drew a large "W" with a sharpie marker on one side. Then I wrote his name on the other side so he could take it school in his pocket and if at anytime it seemed like the anxiety was taking over, he could hold it in his hand and it would remind him that he can do this. He can make it one day at a time. Because he is a warrior and warriors will always prevail.
Everyone has a story and everyone gets the chance to be the hero in their own story. He is the hero of his and in no small way he is also the hero in mine. Because if an eight year old can conquer his greatest fears with the courage of full grown adult armed with only an eraser with a "W" written on it, then I can too. The only thing holding me back is me and my fear and that is also unacceptable because deep down I too am a warrior. We all are.....we just have to stop and remember that sometimes.
Neurotic Nelly
But he has a chance that wasn't available to me at that age. Now, they actually treat children for anxiety disorders. Thirty years ago they did not. So, while my OCD is firmly ingrained in my brain.....we may be able to really improve his. We may even make his anxiety much less or much more manageable. To do this though, he will have to be in situations that make him extremely uncomfortable. Like going to school.
Last night he was crying as he thought about school and I went through a long list of people that love him. I told him how wonderful he is. How important he is. That he can do anything in this world that he wants if he really wants to. And that these feelings that he has are called anxiety. That they feel yucky and scary and they seem impossible to overcome. But just because something seems impossible doesn't mean that it is. I told him that mommy has the same issues and then I explained to him that anxiety is an emotion that is not based in reality. That whatever he is afraid of when leaving me is not the truth. That the scariest thing at school is a possible paper cut or the cafeteria lunch that smells funny and that he can certainly get over those two things easily. Then I reminded him that tomorrow's day at school would be like all of the other days at school and that just like all of the days before it, he will come home and we will do it all again the next day because if he stays home, the anxiety wins. And it can not be allowed to win because it can make him unable to do the things he wants to do and that is unacceptable. Anxiety doesn't get to have that kind of power over him. It can only be powerful if you let it become powerful. I told him that we have to be warriors and that warriors do the scariest things in the world. They stand up. They fight for what is right. They never back down. They are scared when they do these things but they do them anyway because they have to. We are warriors because we battle everyday and sometimes we will not win, but we will always get up the next day a try again because that is what warriors do. They fight. They never give up. They are always battle ready. They are always fierce.
And then I took out one of those rectangular pink erasers that you use for school testing and I drew a large "W" with a sharpie marker on one side. Then I wrote his name on the other side so he could take it school in his pocket and if at anytime it seemed like the anxiety was taking over, he could hold it in his hand and it would remind him that he can do this. He can make it one day at a time. Because he is a warrior and warriors will always prevail.
Everyone has a story and everyone gets the chance to be the hero in their own story. He is the hero of his and in no small way he is also the hero in mine. Because if an eight year old can conquer his greatest fears with the courage of full grown adult armed with only an eraser with a "W" written on it, then I can too. The only thing holding me back is me and my fear and that is also unacceptable because deep down I too am a warrior. We all are.....we just have to stop and remember that sometimes.
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
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
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
Friday, March 27, 2015
My Post Is Up...
My new guest post is up and ready to read. Please take a moment to read it here:
http://mentalhealthtalk.info/ocd-acceptance
There is even a tab to be able to guest post for Mental Health Talk. It is a fabulous site and I am honored to be able to have written something for them.
Hope you all have an amazing week!
Neurotic Nelly
http://mentalhealthtalk.info/ocd-acceptance
There is even a tab to be able to guest post for Mental Health Talk. It is a fabulous site and I am honored to be able to have written something for them.
Hope you all have an amazing week!
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
The Plague and Other News....
My kids and I have the plague. I have been told it is not, in fact, the actual plague but a stomach virus. But really, when you feel this horrid, it's all the same thing to me. I was hoping to avoid catching it but alas, I failed. I want to curl up on the couch and moan in agony but my children are already doing that and those dishes aren't going to wash themselves, so I suppose it is time for me to quit complaining and get some house work done. I need to disinfect the plague zone. Ugh.
On a happier note, I did a guest blog post that will coming out on the 26th. For those of you, like me, that have no idea what day it is, it will be this Thursday. I will link it and write a small blurb about how you too can submit a mental illness guest blog post on this site. It is a wonderful site and it is always a pleasure working with Trish. So, please excuse my absence of a coherent blog post today and check out my new post on Thursday with my guest blog post link.
See you all Thursday, and have a wonderful day. Hang in there, stay strong, and as always I am sending positive thoughts your way.
Neurotic Nelly
On a happier note, I did a guest blog post that will coming out on the 26th. For those of you, like me, that have no idea what day it is, it will be this Thursday. I will link it and write a small blurb about how you too can submit a mental illness guest blog post on this site. It is a wonderful site and it is always a pleasure working with Trish. So, please excuse my absence of a coherent blog post today and check out my new post on Thursday with my guest blog post link.
See you all Thursday, and have a wonderful day. Hang in there, stay strong, and as always I am sending positive thoughts your way.
Neurotic Nelly
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Excuse Me....Rant...Rant...Rant
I love how people say they have experience with mental illness and then start talking about it in a way that lets you know they haven't the first clue how devastating and demanding it is of your time, your space, what little is left of your sanity, and your life. The soul sucking hole that laps up your very thoughts and drains your emotions like a mummified vampire from the worst B rated horror movie ever created. I love it, I truly do.
I also love feeling like I need to get into a "whose mental illness is worse" pissing contest with someone who thinks because they might have had small case of the "Debbie Downers" once or whatever they claim to be the mental illness they "know" about is. And it makes me feel like yelling that mine was so bad that I almost killed myself so maybe..... just maybe.... I may know what the hell I am talking about. Because I am not talking about making excuses, or over exaggerating, or being dramatic. I am talking about thirty one years of carving out a path to walk down because each road in my life has big boulders of shit blocking every way I turn. I am talking about shit balls, here. Giant shit balls that roll down hill and threaten to smother you or crush you underneath them.
I don't need to be schooled on what is and isn't an excuse of mental illness. I am pretty sure that over three decades of dealing with it, I should at least have a bachelors degree in being mentally ill. Seeing as you only need around ten extra years of school to be a neurosurgeon, I think I have earned the "right to talk about what it is like to be mentally ill" badge from the girls scouts by now....I have several doctor's sign offs on being permanently disabled because of mine. I have being institutionalized at the age of ten at the local looney bin. I have almost being admitted again at the age of 20. I have not being able to drive, or work, or go to college. I have the fact that I no longer could go to school because of the extreme anxiety and the bullying because I would have panic attacks in class, so I dropped out. I have that I have no formal education past the 12th grade. I have battle scars just from leaving my house just to go to the fucking grocery store for God's sakes. I am actually certifiable because I literally am certified as mentally ill....but no, clearly you know more about mental illness than I. Because you have supposedly "experienced" it.
Well, I haven't "experienced" it, I fucking live it. Each and every day. And I am not bitter about it, just real. It is not some pretty package wrapped up in a crisp red bow and left on your front porch as a gift. It is not an expensive wine or an artisan cheese. It is not something you smear on an over priced gluten free cracker and choke down with a warm glass of milk as a midnight snack. You do not "experience" mental illness. It is something you deal with. It is something you struggle through. It is something that you work on. It is not a pleasure cruise to fucking Boca. It is an illness in your brain.
Excuse me, for standing up for what I know to be true from not only my experiences but also the many mental illness survivors in my family, and sadly some that did not survive it. Excuse me, for understanding the many friends and bloggers that also have gone through mental illness and taught me things about other mental illnesses I was ignorant about. Excuse me, for saying that mental illness is not an excuse but it is a reality and it needs to be talked about and understood and not vilified or stigmatized because we wear that ugly over coat of shame and guilt and stigma every damn day and maybe we don't want to wear that stagnant, moldered, trench coat of self-condemnation anymore because it isn't our shame or our guilt to be carried around but yours and ignorant people like you that sit behind a keyboard and make snap judgments and rude comments about something that you claim you may have "experienced" once in your lifetime. Excuse me, for actually knowing what I am talking about and seeing you for your inexperience of something you are so "experienced" in. Excuse me......
and fuck you....
Now please enlighten us some more on how you know about what living with mental illness is like because you have so much "experience" with it.....
Neurotic Nelly
I also love feeling like I need to get into a "whose mental illness is worse" pissing contest with someone who thinks because they might have had small case of the "Debbie Downers" once or whatever they claim to be the mental illness they "know" about is. And it makes me feel like yelling that mine was so bad that I almost killed myself so maybe..... just maybe.... I may know what the hell I am talking about. Because I am not talking about making excuses, or over exaggerating, or being dramatic. I am talking about thirty one years of carving out a path to walk down because each road in my life has big boulders of shit blocking every way I turn. I am talking about shit balls, here. Giant shit balls that roll down hill and threaten to smother you or crush you underneath them.
I don't need to be schooled on what is and isn't an excuse of mental illness. I am pretty sure that over three decades of dealing with it, I should at least have a bachelors degree in being mentally ill. Seeing as you only need around ten extra years of school to be a neurosurgeon, I think I have earned the "right to talk about what it is like to be mentally ill" badge from the girls scouts by now....I have several doctor's sign offs on being permanently disabled because of mine. I have being institutionalized at the age of ten at the local looney bin. I have almost being admitted again at the age of 20. I have not being able to drive, or work, or go to college. I have the fact that I no longer could go to school because of the extreme anxiety and the bullying because I would have panic attacks in class, so I dropped out. I have that I have no formal education past the 12th grade. I have battle scars just from leaving my house just to go to the fucking grocery store for God's sakes. I am actually certifiable because I literally am certified as mentally ill....but no, clearly you know more about mental illness than I. Because you have supposedly "experienced" it.
Well, I haven't "experienced" it, I fucking live it. Each and every day. And I am not bitter about it, just real. It is not some pretty package wrapped up in a crisp red bow and left on your front porch as a gift. It is not an expensive wine or an artisan cheese. It is not something you smear on an over priced gluten free cracker and choke down with a warm glass of milk as a midnight snack. You do not "experience" mental illness. It is something you deal with. It is something you struggle through. It is something that you work on. It is not a pleasure cruise to fucking Boca. It is an illness in your brain.
Excuse me, for standing up for what I know to be true from not only my experiences but also the many mental illness survivors in my family, and sadly some that did not survive it. Excuse me, for understanding the many friends and bloggers that also have gone through mental illness and taught me things about other mental illnesses I was ignorant about. Excuse me, for saying that mental illness is not an excuse but it is a reality and it needs to be talked about and understood and not vilified or stigmatized because we wear that ugly over coat of shame and guilt and stigma every damn day and maybe we don't want to wear that stagnant, moldered, trench coat of self-condemnation anymore because it isn't our shame or our guilt to be carried around but yours and ignorant people like you that sit behind a keyboard and make snap judgments and rude comments about something that you claim you may have "experienced" once in your lifetime. Excuse me, for actually knowing what I am talking about and seeing you for your inexperience of something you are so "experienced" in. Excuse me......
and fuck you....
Now please enlighten us some more on how you know about what living with mental illness is like because you have so much "experience" with it.....
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
Seeds, Seeds, Everywhere...
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
Mostly in the U.S., this holiday is spent pub crawling, getting extremely drunk, and wearing funny plastic green hats. I do not drink alcohol, however, so none of that for me. I know...I know....I am lame. As a diabetic, the powers that be (doctors) frown upon alcohol consumption. I really never liked the taste of alcohol, so it wasn't that big of a deal for me anyway. Giving up cake liked to killed me, though.
My best friend swears that you are supposed to leave a glass of milk on your front stoop to appease any rogue Leprechaun's running about. We live in America, so I am pretty sure that is just a waste of milk. Also I don't have the heart to tell her, but I am fairly certain Leprechaun's aren't real in Ireland either.
Today, I will celebrate by planting some seeds in my garden. I actually come from a long line of farmers. Swedish, Scottish, English, French, and Irish farmers. That being said, I have rarely had luck with seeds. It's a good thing I am not a farmer like my ancestors and great grandparents (who could grow anything by simply looking at it) or we would have all starved to death. I have had such bad luck, even my bean sprout I was forced to grow as a child in science class never sprouted. Everyone else's did....mine was still a bean. A bean with mold on it.
Fast forward years later and every seed I have ever planted has died. Every single one. I can grow bulbs and established plants but seeds hate me. Then last year I germinated some Columbine seeds and they grew. I felt this was a fluke though, because we all know I can not grow seeds.
Last month we bought some Thyme, Rosemary, Lavender, Onion Chives, Garlic, Cilantro, and Basil seeds. We had the seed starter dirt and the little cardboard holders. Nothing happened. I warned my husband, when it comes to seeds I have a brown thumb. I reinforced the idea that we shouldn't hold out much hope. I mean, I seem to have not received any ancestral farmer genes. My farmer genes are dead. As is my hope for seed growing.
Still, we went ahead and planted the accursed things to see what would happen. I waited...and waited...and bupkis. Nothing. Nada. No seedlings....
Until yesterday, and BAM! We have seedlings! Seeds, seeds, everywhere! Every single type of herb I bought sprouted. Some only two out of the twenty something seeds....but who cares! I have created life!!!!! The brown thumb curse has been lifted! I am so very excited, and I feel less like a disappointment to my long heritage of crazy farmer people. Yipeeeeeee!
So although, I won't be wearing green today (green tends to make my red hair look...yellowish), I will be planting green and surely that is kinda the same thing, right?
It just goes to show to never give up. Things can always change if you are persistent enough, and lucky. Which I am going to claim is the luck of the Irish.....in honor of today. We could all use a bit of good luck and a great heap of hope.
So, happy Saint Patrick's Day Ireland and all of the Irish people out there, be it actually Irish or those of us who have Irish ancestors. Your country is beautiful as is your heritage. Your stories and struggles are inspiring. I will leave you all with this Irish blessing:
May the road rise up to meet you.
Mostly in the U.S., this holiday is spent pub crawling, getting extremely drunk, and wearing funny plastic green hats. I do not drink alcohol, however, so none of that for me. I know...I know....I am lame. As a diabetic, the powers that be (doctors) frown upon alcohol consumption. I really never liked the taste of alcohol, so it wasn't that big of a deal for me anyway. Giving up cake liked to killed me, though.
My best friend swears that you are supposed to leave a glass of milk on your front stoop to appease any rogue Leprechaun's running about. We live in America, so I am pretty sure that is just a waste of milk. Also I don't have the heart to tell her, but I am fairly certain Leprechaun's aren't real in Ireland either.
Today, I will celebrate by planting some seeds in my garden. I actually come from a long line of farmers. Swedish, Scottish, English, French, and Irish farmers. That being said, I have rarely had luck with seeds. It's a good thing I am not a farmer like my ancestors and great grandparents (who could grow anything by simply looking at it) or we would have all starved to death. I have had such bad luck, even my bean sprout I was forced to grow as a child in science class never sprouted. Everyone else's did....mine was still a bean. A bean with mold on it.
Fast forward years later and every seed I have ever planted has died. Every single one. I can grow bulbs and established plants but seeds hate me. Then last year I germinated some Columbine seeds and they grew. I felt this was a fluke though, because we all know I can not grow seeds.
Last month we bought some Thyme, Rosemary, Lavender, Onion Chives, Garlic, Cilantro, and Basil seeds. We had the seed starter dirt and the little cardboard holders. Nothing happened. I warned my husband, when it comes to seeds I have a brown thumb. I reinforced the idea that we shouldn't hold out much hope. I mean, I seem to have not received any ancestral farmer genes. My farmer genes are dead. As is my hope for seed growing.
Still, we went ahead and planted the accursed things to see what would happen. I waited...and waited...and bupkis. Nothing. Nada. No seedlings....
Until yesterday, and BAM! We have seedlings! Seeds, seeds, everywhere! Every single type of herb I bought sprouted. Some only two out of the twenty something seeds....but who cares! I have created life!!!!! The brown thumb curse has been lifted! I am so very excited, and I feel less like a disappointment to my long heritage of crazy farmer people. Yipeeeeeee!
So although, I won't be wearing green today (green tends to make my red hair look...yellowish), I will be planting green and surely that is kinda the same thing, right?
It just goes to show to never give up. Things can always change if you are persistent enough, and lucky. Which I am going to claim is the luck of the Irish.....in honor of today. We could all use a bit of good luck and a great heap of hope.
So, happy Saint Patrick's Day Ireland and all of the Irish people out there, be it actually Irish or those of us who have Irish ancestors. Your country is beautiful as is your heritage. Your stories and struggles are inspiring. I will leave you all with this Irish blessing:
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
Be safe out there everyone.
Neurotic Nelly
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
Be safe out there everyone.
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
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
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
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
He Was Twelve.....Rant
This post may not be popular but I feel the need to get it off my chest. I am hurt and disgusted and I just have to say my peace because I am so angry that I can't see straight.
I don't write this as a minority. I have been unfairly judged for my hair color, my sex, and my disability but never because of the color of my skin. So, I wont pretend that I know what that is like. I do not. I am not writing this as someone who judges others because I don't, except in this case. No, I am writing because I am a mother...of a twelve year old boy.
We have become a country afraid....so afraid of stigmas, bias, and discrimination that we have killed in the name of fear. We have been so riddled with fear that we have lost all of our common sense and in many cases, our compassion. Fear makes us do stupid things like suspend a seven year old for eating a poptart into the shape of a gun, threatening an eight year old for drawing a ninja Halloween costume at school with suspension, and punishing a five year old girl with suspension and a forced psychiatric examination for threatening to shoot another student with a Hello Kitty bubble gun that shoots...bubbles.
And last year, what can only be described as asinine behavior by adults, turned fatal.
When I look at a picture of Tamir Rice, I see a happy, normal, typical boy. I see my son because I am a mother and all of our children are equal. All children are precious. He is was the same as my son. He was in the same grade. He seemed silly, and goofy, and intelligent like all twelve year old's are. No, they are not the same race and but I don't see race. I see someone's child. I see someone's baby.
Tamir Rice was a twelve year old boy who was given a toy gun by a friend to play with. He did what many kids would do, he went to a park and played with it. For that, he was gunned down by a police officer. It took two seconds from the time the officer pulled up until the officer opened fire on a twelve year old boy. His fourteen year old sister was wrestled to the ground and arrested for running towards her fatally injured brother and his mother was threatened with arrest if she didn't calm down when told. Tamir laid on the pavement in his local park in a pool of his own blood for four minutes before he was helped. He received no first aid by the police officers. He received treatment from an FBI agent that happened to be in the area. Apparently, his size was menacing at 5'7" and 191 lbs. Menacing enough that the armed police officer feared for his life from a boy armed with a toy. I suppose now, if your child has a growth spurt it can be used as an excuse to shoot them by substandard police officers....and they will be backed by the city that employs them.
It hurts to see the video. It was even more hurtful to hear what the city's attorneys of Cleveland Ohio said today about the shooting/murder of Tamir Rice.
Tamir and his family “were directly and proximately caused by their own acts. . .,” and they added that Tamir caused his own death “by the failure. . . to exercise due care to avoid injury.”
Later on the mayor apologized saying, "In an attempt to protect all of our defenses we used words and we phrased things in such a way that was very insensitive, very insensitive to the tragedy in general, the family and the victim in particular, So we are apologizing today as the city of Cleveland to the family of Tamir Rice and to the citizens of the city of Cleveland for our poor use of words and our insensitivity in the use of those words."
So as a mother of a twelve year old, I just want to say this....a twelve year old is a child. They are not held responsible if they drink, the person that gives it to them is. They are not held responsible if they are given drugs, the drug dealer is. They are not held responsible if they accidentally burn themselves on the stove. They are not old enough to consent to sexual activities, go to a bar, buy a pack of cigarettes, or drive a car. They are not put in the adult justice system if they are offenders because they are juveniles. If you fail to provide food, shelter, or adequate care for a twelve year old, they are taken away. They are not permitted to call the school and call in sick, a parent has to do that. They are not allowed to get a job, live on their own, buy certain video games without their parent's consent, or even see movies rated higher than PG13 without their parents in a movie theater. Hell, you have to sign a freaking permission slip for them to go on a freaking field trip for chrissakes, because they are too young to give permission on where the school takes them. They are not held responsible because at twelve years old they are not responsible....they are children.
He was being immature and "irresponsible", according to the city of Cleveland, because that is what kids do. Just like we did when we were kids. Most people in this country have played cops and robbers, or have made a poptart into a gun, or for God's sake pointed their finger like one when they were small. It's normal. What is not normal is being gunned down and then accused of being responsible for your own death because you did what all kids do. And I think adults have forgotten that. I think adults have forgotten what they were like at twelve years old.
My twelve year old is smart, funny, sarcastic, and brilliant. He is a great kid but he does stupid things, sometimes. And he does that because, like all twelve year old's, his brain has not yet fully developed enough to understand the ramifications and all of the consequences for his actions. But you know who does understand all of the ramifications and consequences? The guy that shot Tamir in the chest and claimed that he was a big twenty something year old black male. The guy who lied about the shooting. The guy who failed to protect and serve a twelve year old boy and ended up killing him instead.
If it wasn't horrible enough that an innocent child was shot because of a toy, to purposely and willfully not offer first aid to a dying child for whatever the reason, is completely unacceptable. Period.
I am not against the police. There are some great police officers out there. This is not about the decent hardworking police officers who do their job. This is about those who do not. As for the city attorneys and mayor, there is no apology you could give that would make what has happened, right. There is nothing that can be said that would bring Tamir back or erase the pain that his family will face for the rest of their lives. But if you were to give one, it might help to not bother to apologize about the wording some asshat lawyer made about responsibility and apologize for the death of the beautiful young man who had done nothing wrong but was failed in every way by the people that were supposed to keep him safe. Failed by the police officer that swore to serve and protect him. Failed by the justice system that excused his murder. Failed by the city that refuses to accept responsibility for his death and then failed again by the city trying to put what was their fault onto an innocent, unarmed boy. Because Tamir didn't kill himself he was killed by a police officer and there is a difference.
I do not accept the apology of the mayor of Cleveland. Such drivel is back tracking and covering up what appears to be the unequivocal stupidity of a group of people that can not seem to understand the difference between a child's life and an adult's decisions. I hear a lot of police officers say that at the end of the day they want to go home to their families and I get it, but maybe Tamir wanted to go home to his family that night too. And sadly, they both could have if the officer had not decided to shoot first and ask questions later. Yes, the gun looked real but even the 911 caller said he thought it was fake. There was not an orange tip on the end but the police officer didn't even know that because the toy gun was in Tamir's waist band. Even if there was an orange tip he would not have known until he pulled the toy out of the boy's pants as he lay there dying. Tamir was not given a chance to explain. He, much like the poptart kid, was judged guilty by an adult and punished on only the merit that something looked like a gun, except this time that judgment came with a death sentence.
For the mayor to say that the attorney's words were "insensitive" is ridiculous. What they said was hurtful, smug, ignorant, arrogant, and shameful. Insensitive is when you bump into somebody and forget to say "excuse me". Blaming the victim is not "insensitive" it is inexcusable.
And you would think that of all the education the attorneys and mayor and city "higher ups" had to get where they are today, they would have more sense than God gave a gnat to understand that. But what do they care, Tamir wasn't their son.
To accept this behavior is folly. Tamir isn't my son and yet he is. As is the poptart kid, the kids that made legos into guns and got in trouble at preschool. So is the girl with the bubble gun and the kid drawing Halloween costumes in class. These are all of our children. To accept such horrendous behavior and consequences and lack of responsibility based on our fear is dangerous, not to mention wrong. The city should care because Tamir is their son. He is all of our sons and he did not deserve to be mowed down in a hail of bullets on a freaking playground and there is nothing that can be said or misconstrued to change that fact. To accept the way he died and the lack of responsibility taken by those that killed him is the same as saying that you accept this happening to every child. Because he...was...just...a...child. He was twelve.
Neurotic Nelly
I don't write this as a minority. I have been unfairly judged for my hair color, my sex, and my disability but never because of the color of my skin. So, I wont pretend that I know what that is like. I do not. I am not writing this as someone who judges others because I don't, except in this case. No, I am writing because I am a mother...of a twelve year old boy.
We have become a country afraid....so afraid of stigmas, bias, and discrimination that we have killed in the name of fear. We have been so riddled with fear that we have lost all of our common sense and in many cases, our compassion. Fear makes us do stupid things like suspend a seven year old for eating a poptart into the shape of a gun, threatening an eight year old for drawing a ninja Halloween costume at school with suspension, and punishing a five year old girl with suspension and a forced psychiatric examination for threatening to shoot another student with a Hello Kitty bubble gun that shoots...bubbles.
And last year, what can only be described as asinine behavior by adults, turned fatal.
When I look at a picture of Tamir Rice, I see a happy, normal, typical boy. I see my son because I am a mother and all of our children are equal. All children are precious. He is was the same as my son. He was in the same grade. He seemed silly, and goofy, and intelligent like all twelve year old's are. No, they are not the same race and but I don't see race. I see someone's child. I see someone's baby.
Tamir Rice was a twelve year old boy who was given a toy gun by a friend to play with. He did what many kids would do, he went to a park and played with it. For that, he was gunned down by a police officer. It took two seconds from the time the officer pulled up until the officer opened fire on a twelve year old boy. His fourteen year old sister was wrestled to the ground and arrested for running towards her fatally injured brother and his mother was threatened with arrest if she didn't calm down when told. Tamir laid on the pavement in his local park in a pool of his own blood for four minutes before he was helped. He received no first aid by the police officers. He received treatment from an FBI agent that happened to be in the area. Apparently, his size was menacing at 5'7" and 191 lbs. Menacing enough that the armed police officer feared for his life from a boy armed with a toy. I suppose now, if your child has a growth spurt it can be used as an excuse to shoot them by substandard police officers....and they will be backed by the city that employs them.
It hurts to see the video. It was even more hurtful to hear what the city's attorneys of Cleveland Ohio said today about the shooting/murder of Tamir Rice.
Tamir and his family “were directly and proximately caused by their own acts. . .,” and they added that Tamir caused his own death “by the failure. . . to exercise due care to avoid injury.”
Later on the mayor apologized saying, "In an attempt to protect all of our defenses we used words and we phrased things in such a way that was very insensitive, very insensitive to the tragedy in general, the family and the victim in particular, So we are apologizing today as the city of Cleveland to the family of Tamir Rice and to the citizens of the city of Cleveland for our poor use of words and our insensitivity in the use of those words."
So as a mother of a twelve year old, I just want to say this....a twelve year old is a child. They are not held responsible if they drink, the person that gives it to them is. They are not held responsible if they are given drugs, the drug dealer is. They are not held responsible if they accidentally burn themselves on the stove. They are not old enough to consent to sexual activities, go to a bar, buy a pack of cigarettes, or drive a car. They are not put in the adult justice system if they are offenders because they are juveniles. If you fail to provide food, shelter, or adequate care for a twelve year old, they are taken away. They are not permitted to call the school and call in sick, a parent has to do that. They are not allowed to get a job, live on their own, buy certain video games without their parent's consent, or even see movies rated higher than PG13 without their parents in a movie theater. Hell, you have to sign a freaking permission slip for them to go on a freaking field trip for chrissakes, because they are too young to give permission on where the school takes them. They are not held responsible because at twelve years old they are not responsible....they are children.
He was being immature and "irresponsible", according to the city of Cleveland, because that is what kids do. Just like we did when we were kids. Most people in this country have played cops and robbers, or have made a poptart into a gun, or for God's sake pointed their finger like one when they were small. It's normal. What is not normal is being gunned down and then accused of being responsible for your own death because you did what all kids do. And I think adults have forgotten that. I think adults have forgotten what they were like at twelve years old.
My twelve year old is smart, funny, sarcastic, and brilliant. He is a great kid but he does stupid things, sometimes. And he does that because, like all twelve year old's, his brain has not yet fully developed enough to understand the ramifications and all of the consequences for his actions. But you know who does understand all of the ramifications and consequences? The guy that shot Tamir in the chest and claimed that he was a big twenty something year old black male. The guy who lied about the shooting. The guy who failed to protect and serve a twelve year old boy and ended up killing him instead.
If it wasn't horrible enough that an innocent child was shot because of a toy, to purposely and willfully not offer first aid to a dying child for whatever the reason, is completely unacceptable. Period.
I am not against the police. There are some great police officers out there. This is not about the decent hardworking police officers who do their job. This is about those who do not. As for the city attorneys and mayor, there is no apology you could give that would make what has happened, right. There is nothing that can be said that would bring Tamir back or erase the pain that his family will face for the rest of their lives. But if you were to give one, it might help to not bother to apologize about the wording some asshat lawyer made about responsibility and apologize for the death of the beautiful young man who had done nothing wrong but was failed in every way by the people that were supposed to keep him safe. Failed by the police officer that swore to serve and protect him. Failed by the justice system that excused his murder. Failed by the city that refuses to accept responsibility for his death and then failed again by the city trying to put what was their fault onto an innocent, unarmed boy. Because Tamir didn't kill himself he was killed by a police officer and there is a difference.
I do not accept the apology of the mayor of Cleveland. Such drivel is back tracking and covering up what appears to be the unequivocal stupidity of a group of people that can not seem to understand the difference between a child's life and an adult's decisions. I hear a lot of police officers say that at the end of the day they want to go home to their families and I get it, but maybe Tamir wanted to go home to his family that night too. And sadly, they both could have if the officer had not decided to shoot first and ask questions later. Yes, the gun looked real but even the 911 caller said he thought it was fake. There was not an orange tip on the end but the police officer didn't even know that because the toy gun was in Tamir's waist band. Even if there was an orange tip he would not have known until he pulled the toy out of the boy's pants as he lay there dying. Tamir was not given a chance to explain. He, much like the poptart kid, was judged guilty by an adult and punished on only the merit that something looked like a gun, except this time that judgment came with a death sentence.
For the mayor to say that the attorney's words were "insensitive" is ridiculous. What they said was hurtful, smug, ignorant, arrogant, and shameful. Insensitive is when you bump into somebody and forget to say "excuse me". Blaming the victim is not "insensitive" it is inexcusable.
And you would think that of all the education the attorneys and mayor and city "higher ups" had to get where they are today, they would have more sense than God gave a gnat to understand that. But what do they care, Tamir wasn't their son.
To accept this behavior is folly. Tamir isn't my son and yet he is. As is the poptart kid, the kids that made legos into guns and got in trouble at preschool. So is the girl with the bubble gun and the kid drawing Halloween costumes in class. These are all of our children. To accept such horrendous behavior and consequences and lack of responsibility based on our fear is dangerous, not to mention wrong. The city should care because Tamir is their son. He is all of our sons and he did not deserve to be mowed down in a hail of bullets on a freaking playground and there is nothing that can be said or misconstrued to change that fact. To accept the way he died and the lack of responsibility taken by those that killed him is the same as saying that you accept this happening to every child. Because he...was...just...a...child. He was twelve.
Neurotic Nelly
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