"Hope is a Thing With Feathers"

The first week in October is National Mental Health Awareness Week. That's important because there is such a terrible stigma around what in essence is simply a medical condition. According to the International weekly journal of science, "more than 350 million people are affected by depression, making it one of the most common disorders in the world." 

A couple of years ago I had such "an acute psychiatric crisis" that I ended up living for two weeks in what they call a "Crisis Unit." Frankly, the Crisis Unit is where you go if you are suicidal. I have PTSD. Something triggered it and I didn't feel safe, even from myself. 

I made it through that terrible time because my family loves me, and because my children need me. Of course those things. But also because I was finally ready to love and need myself. 

While I was "locked up," I painted this picture. I posted it on Facebook, and a lot of people loved it. Most of you didn't know that I was suffering because I was ashamed of it and didn't want anyone to know. People who don't experience depression find it almost impossible to comprehend, and that's one of the reasons people blow it off or try not to talk about it. We don't pretend AIDS doesn't exist just because we don't have it. 
People don't get help for depression and other serious mental illnesses because they are afraid of what others will think, or how it will make them look in the eyes of their employer or their family, and their fear can literally kill them. 
People also don't get help because they simply cannot pay for the treatment, because health insurance in this country doesn't cover "Mental" health. It should. We should remove the "quotes" from around this word. People are dying from these types of illnesses simply because they have gone too long untreated. 


I went into the Crisis Unit because my life seemed like a cycle of pain that was never going to get any better. But I got better, and so I painted a picture about hope, about how someone can still sing even while in the fire just so long as they have reason to believe that things can and will improve if they only stick around long enough to find out. 
Today I am a happier and person for having gone through that experience without trying to "tough it out" completely alone. I allowed people to help me even as I feared to expose how completely empty and worthless I felt about myself at that time.
And I am a stronger person, too, in allowing myself to be so vulnerable in the face of that stigma. That's something I think not everyone realizes -- That in exposing your weakness you show great courage and strength. 

I hope I can be "real" about what happened to me without being judged, but I've reached a point where I'm going to just be real anyway. Maybe if you're suffering right now, you will feel less alone knowing that I've been there too, or that I care if you're going through a hard time. Whatever you do, don't be afraid or ashamed to bring it up on a public forum. You could potentially break a cycle of shallow, surface socializing that so many of us complain of but not enough of us do anything about. You have my support.

With A Little Help From My Friends (And Acceptance of Myself)

It's year and a half since my car accident, and still we have questions regarding my independent living skills and executive functioning, all of which are tested using my ability to focus, remember, and manage my neurofatigue.
Intelligence is largely determined by how fast we think and how much we are able to remember (God help us all as we age!).
In my case the the neuro psychologist's tests are to both show my progress, and to expose the areas that have stayed the same. To some extent, re-testing hypothetically predicts my future. Can I ever move out of my sister's house and live by myself again?
You can't tell in a two to three sentence Facebook post what's been going on in my life, that my finances and all my other affairs are in a snarl and that all my success revolves around repetition in my schedule and heavily leans on getting cues from the people around me. My family remind me of things, ask me questions to make sure I understand things, and to some extent have been forced to really get into my business to make sure I don't capsize my rickety little boat.
I don't have the exact numbers yet, and I am certainly not a number, but the concern with me is that I may be so affected by fatigue and perhaps some other type of damage that I am unable to think quickly, or even reasonably, unless I learn to pace myself better.
All I could infer from re-testing last night was that 45 minutes into it I struggled to focus, had a harder time remembering details of the tasks set before me, and indeed started to slow down. It's the neuro psychologist's job to lend practical meaning and a purposeful approach to my therapy in response to the tests, and all he would say offhand was that my numbers dropped significantly from when I did the first test to when I re-took the first test 45 minutes later.
MY job while waiting for his official write-up is pretty much to remember this quote I got from Woody Haiken, one of those Life Coach Dudes: "We are exactly who and what we should be in this exact moment. We ARE perfect. If there is something that we want to change, then it is not an imperfection, it is a detail to be refined."
I can live independently, but I may have to have a little help with some of it.
And I never liked the "Think Fast!" game anyway.