How many more people must die before we realize that something needs to change? How many brother, sisters, fathers, mothers, friends must end their lives before a "call to action" is sounded? This is my "call to action". The stigma on mental illness must end. Now.
I have long been passionate about raising mental health awareness and tolerance. I have witnessed the destruction both near and far. What if someone suffering from mental illness felt safe in asking for help? What if they knew that they would not be ostracized within their community, social circle or religious organization? What if instead of being fearful of losing employment they felt secure? What if they knew that they would not be shunned by loved ones? In a word, what if they felt safe. Safe enough to ask for help.
Why is illness within your brain considered a personality flaw? If you had diabetes, you would take medicine. If you had any illness below your neck you would seek medical intervention without a second thought. But society tells those with a mental illness to shake it off, get some exercise, eat a piece of chocolate. Admittedly, what a wonderful world it would be if all things could be cured with exercise and chocolate. Especially chocolate. But I know from personal experience that's not how it works.
For years, I have struggled with anxiety and depression. I take medication that has helped tremendously. I am grateful that I have a partner that supports my decision to take medicine and go to therapy. To not have that support, I fear for the life that I may have had.
And while I know what depression feels like for me, I can not pretend to know how someone else feels. It's important to understand that while you may have the same diagnosis your symptoms may be vastly different. What you can understand is the same desire to have a safe place.
Will you be that someone's safe place? And if you are that someone needing a safe place, please reach out and ask. Ask a friend, a stranger, a doctor, a nurse, a policeman. Keep asking until you get the help you need. There is no weakness in asking for help. That's why we were put on this earth, to love and help one another.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Paw Paw and Charlie
I get homesick a lot. Certainly around the holidays. Always during football season. Occasionally when I'm acting as an interpreter for my husband while watching Gator Hunters. Often when I see a fleur de lis. But around this time of year especially.
Today is Mardi Gras in my hometown. And for me Mardi Gras does not hold the same significance as it may for some. It was never a drunken boob fest for me. It was a family event! An event that started on King's Day in January with the beginning of Carnival season. The day I looked forward to every year. It was the day that bakeries started selling king cakes and parades began. And there was no one that enjoyed the parades more than my paternal grandfather, Paw Paw. He loved going to the parades. It was from him that I learned how to scramble for beads, stamp my foot down on a doubloon, the international sign for "Mine!", and how to scream out "Throw Me Something Mister!" with gusto. I can see him so clearly running along side the floats catching as many beads as he could carry "for the grandkids". A couple of times he knew in advance that a friend or relative would be on one of the floats. For that entire parade Paw Paw would tell us what float this person was on and to get ready. He would be downright giddy with anticipation. When that moment finally arrived he would yell out their names and they would bombard us with a gross or two of beads, doubloons, cups, stuffed animals and once or twice, underwear. It was from these moments that a plan was formed. He theorized that out of all of the parades we went to there had to be at least one guy on one of the floats named Charlie. It was a pretty common name after all. He decided he was going try out this theory the next time we went to a parade. I wasn't sure it would work because even if there was a Charlie and he heard his name being called he wouldn't recognize us. Apparently Paw Paw had already thought this through because he said they most likely couldn't see much anyway given that they wore masks with tiny eye holes and it was dark outside. What he didn't add but I just now thought of was these "Charlies" were most likely half in the bag thus making recognition nearly impossible. So parade after parade, year after year Paw Paw would yell "Charlie. Hey, Charlie!" or "Throw Me Something, Charlie!" to no avail. And then it happened. I couldn't have been more than 10 years old but I remember it as if it was yesterday. Paw Paw yelled, "Charlie! Hey Charlie". Suddenly a man on the float looked directly at him and started throwing over bags and bags of beads and doubloons. I will never forget the look of pure joy mixed with shock on my grandfather's face. It had worked! It was like he had won the lottery.
Later that night while walking home with our 3 pillow cases full of throws he was still smiling and kept repeating "It worked. It really worked."
Today is Mardi Gras in my hometown. And for me Mardi Gras does not hold the same significance as it may for some. It was never a drunken boob fest for me. It was a family event! An event that started on King's Day in January with the beginning of Carnival season. The day I looked forward to every year. It was the day that bakeries started selling king cakes and parades began. And there was no one that enjoyed the parades more than my paternal grandfather, Paw Paw. He loved going to the parades. It was from him that I learned how to scramble for beads, stamp my foot down on a doubloon, the international sign for "Mine!", and how to scream out "Throw Me Something Mister!" with gusto. I can see him so clearly running along side the floats catching as many beads as he could carry "for the grandkids". A couple of times he knew in advance that a friend or relative would be on one of the floats. For that entire parade Paw Paw would tell us what float this person was on and to get ready. He would be downright giddy with anticipation. When that moment finally arrived he would yell out their names and they would bombard us with a gross or two of beads, doubloons, cups, stuffed animals and once or twice, underwear. It was from these moments that a plan was formed. He theorized that out of all of the parades we went to there had to be at least one guy on one of the floats named Charlie. It was a pretty common name after all. He decided he was going try out this theory the next time we went to a parade. I wasn't sure it would work because even if there was a Charlie and he heard his name being called he wouldn't recognize us. Apparently Paw Paw had already thought this through because he said they most likely couldn't see much anyway given that they wore masks with tiny eye holes and it was dark outside. What he didn't add but I just now thought of was these "Charlies" were most likely half in the bag thus making recognition nearly impossible. So parade after parade, year after year Paw Paw would yell "Charlie. Hey, Charlie!" or "Throw Me Something, Charlie!" to no avail. And then it happened. I couldn't have been more than 10 years old but I remember it as if it was yesterday. Paw Paw yelled, "Charlie! Hey Charlie". Suddenly a man on the float looked directly at him and started throwing over bags and bags of beads and doubloons. I will never forget the look of pure joy mixed with shock on my grandfather's face. It had worked! It was like he had won the lottery.
Later that night while walking home with our 3 pillow cases full of throws he was still smiling and kept repeating "It worked. It really worked."
Monday, October 5, 2009
Halloween is my 'Nam
As I'm sitting here trying to come up with something to write about I am listening to my little people discuss what they want to be for Halloween. Also while I'm sitting here I can feel the control freak inside me coming up for air. I don't want them to be Batman or god forbid, Barbie or really anything mainstream. Every year I plan their costumes around a theme and since I have three (the teenager bowed/fought her way out a few years ago) to work with I can have all kinds of fun. But they are a little bit older now and have their own opinions. So as I'm getting ready to burst their bubble I remember a promise that I made long ago.
I promised myself that I would let my kids be whatever they wanted to be for Halloween, and if they wanted a store-bought costume then a store-bought costume they would have. I think I made that promise when I was around 9 or 10 years old and had just suffered through my mom's latest costume "creation". In her defense we had no money so whatever costume I wore generally had to be made out of whatever we had lying around the house. One year I was The Hunchback of Notre Dame. All that consisted of was a pillow, a sheet and a piece of rope to hold everything together. I already had the limp because I had twisted my ankle on the playground a few days before (We didn't go to the doctor unless a limb had been severed from our bodies and it had to be a really important limb at that). Another year I was a scarecrow. This costume was made out of a pair of jeans and an old flannel shirt that had a few rips and tears. But the "best" part of that costume was that the shirt was stuffed with hay to give it that "authentic" look. Oh, did I mention that I am deathly allergic to hay?! I spent that night wheezing on a hayride and being told to "stop whining". Again, in my mom's defense the doctors hadn't yet pinpointed what triggered my asthma attacks. But by far my most vivid memory of my childhood Halloweens involved a witch's costume. This costume was made up of black clothes, a witch's black hat (probably borrowed) and wait for it . . . face paint that was made from my mom's liquid foundation and black and green food colorings. In case you're wondering that does not come off the face with a simple scrubbing. More like it has to wear off . . . over time. So for the remainder of that school week guess who got to go to school with "green face"?!
I promised myself that I would let my kids be whatever they wanted to be for Halloween, and if they wanted a store-bought costume then a store-bought costume they would have. I think I made that promise when I was around 9 or 10 years old and had just suffered through my mom's latest costume "creation". In her defense we had no money so whatever costume I wore generally had to be made out of whatever we had lying around the house. One year I was The Hunchback of Notre Dame. All that consisted of was a pillow, a sheet and a piece of rope to hold everything together. I already had the limp because I had twisted my ankle on the playground a few days before (We didn't go to the doctor unless a limb had been severed from our bodies and it had to be a really important limb at that). Another year I was a scarecrow. This costume was made out of a pair of jeans and an old flannel shirt that had a few rips and tears. But the "best" part of that costume was that the shirt was stuffed with hay to give it that "authentic" look. Oh, did I mention that I am deathly allergic to hay?! I spent that night wheezing on a hayride and being told to "stop whining". Again, in my mom's defense the doctors hadn't yet pinpointed what triggered my asthma attacks. But by far my most vivid memory of my childhood Halloweens involved a witch's costume. This costume was made up of black clothes, a witch's black hat (probably borrowed) and wait for it . . . face paint that was made from my mom's liquid foundation and black and green food colorings. In case you're wondering that does not come off the face with a simple scrubbing. More like it has to wear off . . . over time. So for the remainder of that school week guess who got to go to school with "green face"?!
Monday, January 19, 2009
For the nag
I received an email from my SIL nagging me about my blog and the fact that I have not updated it for a few months. I know I have neglected my blog but I've been BUSY! But since I did say I would try to post something every week not every 12 weeks I will try to update everyone on the last few months of The Stunning Six's escapades.
On November 18th YaYa turned 14. I don't know how that happened. Where have I been? I can still see so clearly the day the doctor handed her to me and said, "It's a girl!" Until that day 14 years ago I had no idea that my heart was capable of that kind of love.
On November 20th Little Bitty had her tonsils and adenoids out. The operation was a success and her recovery time was almost nil. She was a trooper and did amazingly well. The only lasting effect seems to be that her tonsils were somehow hard-wired to her self-control. With the tonsils out she has been a feisty little thing. Sometimes a real stinker. But still so precious. I have no doubt that one day she will rule the world.
In mid December I took YaYa and a friend to a concert. Wanna feel your age? Go to a concert with a couple of teenagers. Gone are the days of cigarette lighters lighting up the night. The lighters have been replaced by cell phone lighting. All different shapes, sizes and abilities. Some were videoing the concert, others were texting, and still others were letting friends who had not been able to go listen live over the airways. I should also note that it took me two full days to recover even though there was no alcohol involved. Yet another indication that I am old.
We spent Christmas at home. And it was bliss. We went back and forth on the idea of going out of town but 3 days before Christmas we decided it would most likely be a disaster ending with at least one of us left on the side of the road in a small, backwoods town.
In December we also learned that DH had received a promotion. He is now VP of Construction! To say, "I am proud" is an understatement. I continue to feel blessed that this man is my husband and the father of my four beautiful children.
For New Year's Eve I again forgot that I am a member of the "close to 40" set. I booked a suite and took YaYa and 3 of her friends to the hotel to ring in the new year. The girls had fun. I was exhausted. I finally went to sleep at 3:00am. The girls gave in at 7:30am. Again, even though no alcohol was involved it took me several days to recover.
So that's pretty much it in a nutshell. We continue to be blessed. All six of us are healthy, happy and loved. What else could I possibly ask for?
On November 18th YaYa turned 14. I don't know how that happened. Where have I been? I can still see so clearly the day the doctor handed her to me and said, "It's a girl!" Until that day 14 years ago I had no idea that my heart was capable of that kind of love.
On November 20th Little Bitty had her tonsils and adenoids out. The operation was a success and her recovery time was almost nil. She was a trooper and did amazingly well. The only lasting effect seems to be that her tonsils were somehow hard-wired to her self-control. With the tonsils out she has been a feisty little thing. Sometimes a real stinker. But still so precious. I have no doubt that one day she will rule the world.
In mid December I took YaYa and a friend to a concert. Wanna feel your age? Go to a concert with a couple of teenagers. Gone are the days of cigarette lighters lighting up the night. The lighters have been replaced by cell phone lighting. All different shapes, sizes and abilities. Some were videoing the concert, others were texting, and still others were letting friends who had not been able to go listen live over the airways. I should also note that it took me two full days to recover even though there was no alcohol involved. Yet another indication that I am old.
We spent Christmas at home. And it was bliss. We went back and forth on the idea of going out of town but 3 days before Christmas we decided it would most likely be a disaster ending with at least one of us left on the side of the road in a small, backwoods town.
In December we also learned that DH had received a promotion. He is now VP of Construction! To say, "I am proud" is an understatement. I continue to feel blessed that this man is my husband and the father of my four beautiful children.
For New Year's Eve I again forgot that I am a member of the "close to 40" set. I booked a suite and took YaYa and 3 of her friends to the hotel to ring in the new year. The girls had fun. I was exhausted. I finally went to sleep at 3:00am. The girls gave in at 7:30am. Again, even though no alcohol was involved it took me several days to recover.
So that's pretty much it in a nutshell. We continue to be blessed. All six of us are healthy, happy and loved. What else could I possibly ask for?
Monday, October 27, 2008
Walking to the beat of your own drum . . . priceless
I have said time and time again that my little ones are weird. Maybe weird is the wrong word. Can 2 and 3 year-olds be eccentric? Whatever the word is there is no doubt that my kids define it. And really I think it's great. I have always been a big of fan of those who walk to the beat of their own drum and don't concern themselves with whom is witnessing their "uniqueness". After all I'm from the South where we don't hide our crazies. We put them out there for all the world to see. We honor them and relish in their eccentricities.
And speaking of eccentricities here are a couple of pics of Little Bitty. I had gone upstairs for about 5 minutes. When I came back downstairs this is how I found Little Bitty, drinking her milk and watching Wonder Pets.
Notice that the sunglasses are on upside down. The hat is her brothers and the wooden bead necklace is YaYa's.
Maybe that's why I love the Mastercard commercial with the 3 little boys wearing their backpacks and doing the robot. I'm quite certain my people were the inspiration. (If you don't know what commercial I'm talking about you can check it out here. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1cNDSPutas8
And speaking of eccentricities here are a couple of pics of Little Bitty. I had gone upstairs for about 5 minutes. When I came back downstairs this is how I found Little Bitty, drinking her milk and watching Wonder Pets.
Notice that the sunglasses are on upside down. The hat is her brothers and the wooden bead necklace is YaYa's.
Maybe that's why I love the Mastercard commercial with the 3 little boys wearing their backpacks and doing the robot. I'm quite certain my people were the inspiration. (If you don't know what commercial I'm talking about you can check it out here. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1cNDSPutas8
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Look Momma! A big city!
Last week while doing an errand and a half-hearted search for gas we drove by a few office parks. Upon seeing these large buildings with full parking lots and people milling around my son exclaimed, "Look Momma, a big city! I love big cities!" It was then and there that I promised to get these people out of the house more often.
Monday morning I woke up with that damn promise looming over my head. So I fell out of bed, got dressed and called my SIL to see if she wanted to join in on the fun. She responded with "I'll be there in 2 minutes." SUCKER! Once I had everyone dressed we loaded up the "mom-mobile" and headed for Target and then to Chick-fil-a for lunch. As soon as the "magic" doors opened at Target the meltdowns began. Hay didn't want to ride in a cart ,and A.J. didn't like the cart she was in. Little Bitty collapsed in full-on drama when she realized that we didn't bring her blankie. However, ever the resourceful one she turned a pair of pink track pants that my SIL was buying for my niece into a substitute blankie. So 45 minutes and a box of mini Nilla wafers later we head to the check out lanes. It was there that the cashier took one look at us, gulped, and confessed she had been struggling with the decision of whether or not to have more children. I'm pretty sure I heard her schedule her tubal ligation as we walked away. So back in the car to drive the 300 feet to Chick-fil-a where once we sit down to lunch my SIL says to me with a red face and sweaty brow, "I will never ever give you a hard time again about not leaving the house, and I will slap the next person that does." And so it was with a satisfied smirk that I inhaled my nuggets and took a big swig of Coke.
Monday morning I woke up with that damn promise looming over my head. So I fell out of bed, got dressed and called my SIL to see if she wanted to join in on the fun. She responded with "I'll be there in 2 minutes." SUCKER! Once I had everyone dressed we loaded up the "mom-mobile" and headed for Target and then to Chick-fil-a for lunch. As soon as the "magic" doors opened at Target the meltdowns began. Hay didn't want to ride in a cart ,and A.J. didn't like the cart she was in. Little Bitty collapsed in full-on drama when she realized that we didn't bring her blankie. However, ever the resourceful one she turned a pair of pink track pants that my SIL was buying for my niece into a substitute blankie. So 45 minutes and a box of mini Nilla wafers later we head to the check out lanes. It was there that the cashier took one look at us, gulped, and confessed she had been struggling with the decision of whether or not to have more children. I'm pretty sure I heard her schedule her tubal ligation as we walked away. So back in the car to drive the 300 feet to Chick-fil-a where once we sit down to lunch my SIL says to me with a red face and sweaty brow, "I will never ever give you a hard time again about not leaving the house, and I will slap the next person that does." And so it was with a satisfied smirk that I inhaled my nuggets and took a big swig of Coke.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
And my heart smiled
I just witnessed the most precious exchange between Little Bitty and A.J. Both were laying in my bed fake sleeping (fake sleeping consists of closing your eyes and snoring a really silly snore) and Little Bitty turns to A.J. and says, "G'night A.J." and gives her an air kiss. A.J. smiles and sends an air kiss back to Little Bitty.
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