Clarity

Hello, everyone. It’s been a long time since I’ve updated this blog. I thought I’d share some updates regarding recent events. Before I begin, however, it should be noted this blog is for mature audiences. This also acts as a content warning for discussion of mental health, self harm, and s*icide. I am going to be open, and honest, as I always am when discussing my mental health, but I understand it is not an easy discussion for all to have. You have been warned.

For those who know me personally, you know October is a very difficult month. As a (not so) former goth kid, October used to be my favorite month. I loved immersing myself in the culture of spooky, finding new house decorations (because we all know Halloween decorations are year round). And then I lost someone very near and dear. I didn’t get to tell her goodbye, there was so much left unspoken between us that it left a giant hole that took years to recover. Then I lost my grandfather, the only grandparent I really knew or gave a shit about. October is also my birthday month, and as the years tick by and my circle of friends shrinks, the day is more depressing than celebratory. Finally, there is the loss of Dave. Readers of my blog might recall the post I made about him shortly after he passed in February 2020.

I first noticed my mental health taking a downward spiral towards the end of September. Whether it was in anticipation of the following month, or another trigger, I am unsure. What I do know is I was thrown into an unfamiliar social gathering and completely froze. Now, to understand why this is such a big deal, you need to know me as a person. I have extreme social anxiety, and I’m actually quite shy. But I’ve learned if I can entertain the crowds, hide the fact that I’m terrified beyond all comprehension, I get less attention than I would if I hung to the wall in a corner. To me, it is all a performance, which has brought on feelings of being a fraud from time to time. Needless to say, no one ever believes me when I state how truly introverted and shy I am. But at this particular gathering, I completely froze. Everything I’d taught myself about navigating social situations went out the window. I had two mild panic attacks and had to excuse myself while I reminded myself how to breathe.

The next indication was having a full blown anxiety attack after my shift at work. I hid in a corner and fought my brain to stay grounded in reality all the while clawing at my skin and stimming uncontrollably. It lasted about twenty minutes before releasing me from its grasp. I was exhausted afterward.

Back in the old days when I started to slip down the dastardly hole of severe depression, I would self harm. Nothing serious, but enough to require my attention. When my emotions got too overwhelming, it helped me turn an abstract concept into a physical pain that I could care for and fix. The price for that is self harm is an addiction. I started self harming again, small cuts across a tattoo that I hate, and wore several long sleeve shirts. I also banked on the hope that if my sleeve were to slip and my cuts were to show, no one would question it because mental health in such an obvious fashion makes people uncomfortable. People will typically avoid that which makes them uncomfortable.

The final straw, however, was my brain sending me from a gentle spiral all the way into a full nose dive to rock bottom. It happened so quickly even I didn’t have time to prepare. My nerves were shot, my anxiety at an all time high. I was uncomfortable in my own skin and my mind was so loud it took every ounce of focus just to function from day to day. And then the realization that no matter what I do, no matter how good I am, this is never going to stop. A never-ending cycle of ups and downs, of reality forming and breaking before my eyes that leaves me scrambling to rebuild. A perfectly logical decision one day turns into a terrible decision the next, and all have the potential to absolutely destroy my life. And it is never going to stop.

I’ve always known this, but when you’re drowning in a blackened pit searching for a way out, realizations such as these are truly devastating. I hurt myself again. It didn’t take it away. And I decided it was the end. It was time.

I won’t say I didn’t cry. I did. I cried a lot. Sadness, relief, anguish, joy…all combined into one. Soon it would all stop. Soon the pain, the rushing thoughts, would stop. Soon I would know peace and escape this hell.

I executed the plan perfectly, said my goodbyes, my I love you’s. Took off for the cemetery where Dave rests. I let myself cry, mourn, but ultimately everything felt very final. No one knew where I was. No one knew I wasn’t home. It was late, it was dark. It was perfect. I walked into the cemetery where dew had already begun to gather in the grass. It was so dark, I could see every star in the sky above my head. It was quiet. I sat beside Dave and I talked. I said out loud all the things I’d bottled up, all the feelings I’d kept hidden with nowhere to go. I was honest with myself. I laid back and enjoyed the stars. And my mind was quiet. My soul at peace. Soon.

On my way back to the car, I paused and asked for a sign that I should continue on. Right in my line of sight, a shooting star streaked across the sky. Not much of a sign, I’d seen three just like it only moments before. I sat in my car, turned on my music, dumped the pills in my hand….. And nothing happened.

It didn’t make any sense. My set up was perfect. No one could interfere. No one was rescuing me….. I could feel the pills in my hand so heavy. Waiting. I knew what they’d feel like in my mouth, I knew what they’d taste like. I wasn’t afraid. But I couldn’t do it. I sat there for an hour just holding the pills. My mind was still quiet. My soul still at peace. But my hand wouldn’t move. I grabbed my phone and texted a friend, asking her to call me. The first thing I said to her was “I am an actual fucking coward.” “Why?” “Because I can’t do it.”

The next day I was left feeling very confused. What stopped me? What force lives deep down, hidden from even me, and stilled my hand? I don’t know. But something stopped me, and chose to continue living. Even if it meant pain. The ultimate question I was then left with… Was why? I contemplated on this all day. I’m no closer to an answer now than I was in the graveyard. And maybe I’m not supposed to make sense of it.

There is a song I’ve been listening to by a song artist named Citizen Soldier. Fantastic artist, highly recommend him. The song is called “Thank You for Hating Me”. The title is self explanatory, but essentially he thanks the people who hated him, tried to break him, because their hate made him stronger than he ever thought he could be. It made me realize something about myself.

I hate myself, or so I claim. But I do my best to avoid situations where I’ll be embarrassed, humiliated, or harmed. If I actually hated myself as I claim, why should I care? Why am I afraid of failure if I’m already a failure? So either I hate myself, or I don’t hate myself as much as I think. Maybe I don’t hate myself, but I don’t know how to love myself.

Today, however, has been one of the best days. I have laughed, genuinely laughed. Mostly at myself. The interactions with people today have been more real, not just a stage performance. I have enjoyed it. And the best part is….. It’s mine. It isn’t a chemical forcing my brain to be happy. It’s my happiness. And that is so rare. I don’t know how long it will last, but I’m going to enjoy it while it is here.

Maybe it’s okay that I don’t have life figured out. Maybe not having all the answers isn’t a bad thing. Maybe one day I’ll learn to love myself. Or accept myself at the least. It’s even possible that maybe something did die that night, and something else took its place. I don’t know. I might never know. But what I will say is I’m so thankful to so many of my friends who listened to me and refused to pass judgement. I am grateful.

Turmoil

A few days ago, I was in bed trying desperately to sleep before my shift at work. My eyes were heavy, my body exhausted, but my brain didn’t get the memo. My brain was rushing around, no singular thought, but a conglomeration of thousands in a symphony of chaotic bits. My brain is never quiet, there is always noise. Sometimes I can tune it out, sometimes it is deafening. I describe it often as trying to live, and function, in a very crowded food court.

That day it was very loud, and I knew there would be no sleep. No matter how hard I fought it. To those with a mental disorder, they are no stranger to this. Sometimes just laying in bed and resting my eyes is enough.

As I’m laying there, my anxiety goes through the roof. Heart pounding, shallow breathing, followed immediately by the overwhelming urge to hurt myself. Not in a suicidal fashion, but cause some form of harm to myself. I needed a cigarette, I needed drugs, I needed to cut myself until I bled. I needed to get so messed up that I couldn’t recognize who I was anymore. I needed pain so I could fix it.

I tried grounding myself, telling myself I didn’t really want to hurt, but I didn’t listen to me. Of course I needed to hurt, wasn’t I listening? The longer I denied it, the worse the anxiety began to feel. Soon, invisible insects were crawling along my skin, and I was scared too move for fear that any movement would be to bring about this harm.

A pen wouldn’t work, a popular technique taught to those prone to self harm allowing them to draw on themselves rather than harming themselves. I needed the actual pain of it, not just seeing the marks left behind. I tried thinking of anything else, tried to drown out my thoughts with television. But I quickly lost focus because I wasn’t LISTENING to me.

I found a crisis text line, but couldn’t bring myself to text them. Couldn’t bring myself to admit it, because how do you explain to perfect strangers that you want to hurt yourself, need to hurt yourself, but you don’t want to kill yourself? Mental illnesses are stupid. And complex. So very complex.

I was in no condition to work, but I had no choice. I had to do something. The only thing I could think of to do was pop myself with a rubber band, so I wore one around my wrist. That seemed to help. Whenever I felt the urge, I’d just pop the rubber band. It helped. Healthiest way to deal with it? Maybe not.

But I didn’t drink.

I didn’t smoke.

I didn’t cut myself open.

I didn’t resort to drugs.

Just a rubber band pop every so often.

I’m calling it a win in my book, and truth be told, I’m proud of myself. I made it through my shift, and when I got home that night I was exhausted. I slept.

When I woke you, I felt….different. I felt better. Better than I had in a long time. The weird overwhelming urge to hurt myself had pulled me out of the depressive funk I’d been trapped in for the better part of a year. And it was nice.

But this is one of the reasons I hate how romanticized mental illness has become. Depression isn’t curling up in a blanket, eating a tub of ice cream. Manic isn’t a “good thing”. Not everything can be cured with a positive mental attitude. Trust me, we’ve all tried that, and when it fails, it makes the symptoms worse. Because then not only am I depressed, I’m also a fail whale for not being able to just snap out of it. With everyone trying to fix me, whatever the intentions, what my brain picks up on is you believe I’m broken, and you’re trying to fix me because I’m problematic. So depressed, failure, broken, burden.

My impulses aren’t always funny, though it has led to personally funny moments. Like once I bought a life size cardboard cut out of Matt Smith because I was really manic. But do you know how much money I could have saved, how much trouble I would be out of right now, if I could control those impulses? That’s not a joke.

I won’t lie, this blog just took an entirely different direction than my original intention, but I needed to get that little rant over before I could continue. It has taken me years of studying, and research, to get where I am today with my mental health. Years of personal growth, acceptance, and forgiveness (of myself and others) as well. The only reason I didn’t completely collapse under the mental pressure the other day was the familiarity of what was happening, and applying knowledge/techniques I’d learned. Even with the knowledge of what was happening and why (invasive thinking exasperated by OCD turning it into a mental compulsion, and the inability to complete the compulsion caused anxiety, fueling the compulsion), it was still terrifying.

As a teenager, I didn’t know what was happening, or why, I only knew that I needed to hurt so I could feel better. I will always carry the scars on my arms. With the knowledge I have, I was able to forgive teenage me. Teenage me as even more afraid than adult me. A lot of shame was just taken off my heart, a lot of pain was repaired.

And that’s why I felt better. That’s why I feel better than I have in years.

Getting myself back where I need to be in order to function as an adult, a mother, is hard. But I finally feel like I’m back in the driving seat of my head and I can control the car. But just like operating a motor vehicle, I have to accept there are elements beyond my control, and sometimes I just have to hold on and hope for the best. But in the more turbulent parts, where I feel like I’m hydroplaning out of control, I just hope that I never touch the brakes.

One Year Ago

Normally when something terrible, or tragic, happens, I instinctively want to write about it in order to mentally work my way through the tragedy. It helps me focus, allows me to get thoughts out of the way so that I may have a better chance of coping. I am given the opportunity through art and written word to come to peace with whatever has occurred.

So when I scrolled through my blog to discover no such post existed for April 25, 2019, I was actually a little surprised. Then again, when I think back to that day, I am also not surprised. A year has passed now, and I finally feel I am able to bury my dead, so to speak.

April 24, 2019, I was working at Motel 6 in Ruston, Louisiana. The shift wasn’t particularly eventful, though I was drowning in laundry left over by the morning shift. I knew if I didn’t get it done, I was going to have to do it in the morning as I was scheduled for a turnaround shift the next day. I was stressed out, going through a few personal things, on top of the struggle of being generally unhappy in my position. Between accidental poisonings when someone decided to mix the wrong chemicals together, to various and assorted drama, I was not looking forward to spending my entire shift folding sheets. I called on my dear friend Megane, who happily came in on her off day to assist me, and we spent the day laughing while digging our way out of the laundry hole.

A customer came into the motel, who was particularly rude and argumentative over the tiniest things. I wanted him as far away from me as possible, so I sent him to the very last room in the front of the property. I’d checked in a number of guests that night, situating them in various places throughout the motel. Eleven, to be exact. But that guy, the last guy, just left a sour taste in my mouth. I knew there was no way I could simply go home and sleep after such an interaction, so Megane and I sat outside and visited while I calmed down.

It was getting late. But I wasn’t ready for sleep just yet. I wanted to stay awake and visit more, so the thought occurred to me to get a room for the night. Megane and I could visit a bit longer, and I wouldn’t have to worry about driving in the morning. My phone, meanwhile, chirped away in my pocket warning me of a thunderstorm. I ignored it, as I often did, because in Louisiana we get bad storms all the time. Being the homebody that I am, however, I decide at the last minute to just go home, lose the extra sleep, and return in the morning.

The week prior to April 25, I couldn’t fight the nagging feeling that I wouldn’t be at Motel 6 much longer. Truthfully, I figured I was going to be fired, given much of the drama from management. Job security wasn’t really a thing.

I made it home approximately 12:30 AM, and after tossing and turning, I finally managed to fall asleep around 1 AM.

At 4 AM I was awakened. I’m not sure by what, precisely. Out of habit I checked my phone for the time, and groaned because I probably wasn’t going to go back to sleep. I was going to be exhausted, and buried in more laundry. But my phone had blown up with notifications.

A tornado has hit Ruston.

A tornado hit Ruston around 1:50 AM.

Quickly I checked the news, but all they would focus on was Lousiana Tech University, and the damage done. Through Facebook videos I discovered the gas station right next to my motel was destroyed. The one video I saw showed Motel 6, and it appeared to be intact. Conflicting reports began to fly, and some were saying the Pizza Hut right next to the Motel had been destroyed, but Motel 6 was fine. My manager said the roads were fine to come to work, so I got dressed and drove to Ruston.

Post apocalyptic is the phrase I would use to describe what I saw. Normally busy roads were empty, replaced with downed power lines and trees. Tree limbs, dumpsters, insulation covered the roads. Signs were twisted and warped into strange figures, with signal light posts being turned entirely backwards. Roads were blocked off, power was out, and for the first time I was able to see the damage to the city that was basically a second home to me. My friends lived there, I’d gone to school there, my mom worked there. I had family not far from there.

And it was plunged into a nightmare.

I couldn’t get close to the motel. Even the back roads were completely cut off. The motel was in total isolation and no way for me to get close. I texted my manager and explained I could not get close to the building, to which he suggested I park at the library across the street and walk over. I kindly, but firmly, told him he was out of his damned mind if he expected me to walk across a street filled with downed power lines just so I could do some laundry (remember, I have not seen the damage, so to me it was a terrible tragedy happening around us, but not directly affecting me). I checked my mom’s business, and it was fine. But now I had the problem of trying to get home. With the city plunged into chaos, and no power to any of the main streets, traffic was exceptionally dangerous. So my mother helped me navigate the back roads out of the city.

As it turns out, I am not that good at taking directions and she is not that good at giving directions when she can’t see where I am. So a fifteen minute drive home turned into an hour and a half adventure through the back roads. I went to her house to pick up my daughter, and that is when the full scale of what had happened hit. A drone had been flown overhead to capture the damage.

I was stunned. Floored. Devastated. This couldn’t be real. What I was seeing could not be real. I’d seen tornado damage on television before, but never thought I’d live it.

Later that afternoon, I drove to the motel to see the damage for myself. I had to see it. Because what I saw on the news wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

It was real, and far worse than I could have imagined. As I walked around the property, surveying the damage, the bad and terrible memories were furthest from my mind. The good memories I’d made there began to skitter across my mind.

The friends I’d made there.

The jokes we’d shared.

The songs we’d sung together.

Late night Youtube marathons.

Gone. Just like that.

I remember getting angry at all the people driving by, checking out the damage. I remember getting angry as the news crews swarmed in to record the damage. It felt too raw. Too personal. Like an exposed wound.

I was without a job, but strangely… it felt like more than that. The motel had become a central location for us to meet up and hang out, equal distance from all of our homes. It was a place to run when we needed a break from home life. It had become like a home. There were fights, and drama, but when I hugged my manager I couldn’t help but cry. In fact, all I did for the following days was cry.

Every time I had to drive by, every time I saw news footage, it was a slap to the face.

That was MY motel. I remember getting angry because there was no one to blame for it. It was a natural occurrence, nothing could have prevented it. We couldn’t have been smarter, we couldn’t have prepared, there was nothing we could have done to prevent it from happening. These things just happen, people would say, but I wasn’t satisfied with that answer. Surely someone was to blame. SomeTHING was to blame. These things don’t just happen, right?

I’d taken up drawing again in that place, had watched my skills grow better over time. I’d found my confidence as a creator again. I’d learned how to edit videos in that place, and shared my progress with my friends. I’d found confidence in ME again in that place. I’d seen the absolute truest colors of people I’d once cared for and trusted, which aided in decisions to separate from them and grow into a better person.

I’d lost my school in that place, as a month and 20 days prior to this, the school I was attending shut down, leaving me in debt with no degree. I’d cried with my coworkers.

It was more than a job, more than a building, it was so much more.

I searched for work, but things I was qualified for were either damaged from the tornado (insult), or required a degree (injury). I watched the savings I’d managed to uphold dwindle into nothingness, and was forced to rely on the kindness of others, especially my family, just to stay afloat.

My mind felt torn. Shattered.

I tried to draw, to find any way to express how I was feeling.

But I hated it. Drawing gave me anxiety. Creating gave me anxiety. The hard won progress I’d made in my creativity was gone, as far as I was concerned. I tried to write, but there were no words that could fully embrace precisely what I was feeling. I felt like I was drowning, with no end in sight. My mental health didn’t just take a hit, it was knocked backwards into a pit and each time I tried to claw my way out, I was slapped down again.

I’m afraid of storms, even more so when they come attached with weather alerts. And I feel stupid for being afraid. I used to love them. I used to sit outside for hours and let the rolling thunder calm my chaotic soul. The danger, the severity, the true power that is mother nature became real.

I lost myself in a video game, Red Dead Redemption II to be precise, because I understood the pain each of the characters were feeling. I understood the tragedy of losing everything, of feelings unresolved, of things that didn’t make sense. I understood the mental downfall, the heartache, the longing for the way things once were. I understood the need for freedom.

And the need for money, ironically.

It has taken a year for me to finally really come to terms with everything. To fully understand why I was tormented so by the loss of a job. It was, and is, a slow climb, but I did manage to climb out of the pit. I can finally look back at pictures Megane and I took within the hotel with joy and happiness rather than the urge the vomit from pain. I can finally get to work repairing myself, and finding that confidence again in who I am. I never want to be there again, I never want to feel helpless like that again. I never want to be that close to ending my own life again. The shadows got too close, they squeezed too hard.

I have made new friends, and strengthened existing friendships. I learned who, and what, was important in my life and who, or what, was not. It took a year for me to finally start creating again, though in many ways I am not back to where I was. I did manage to write a book, a comedy, so I feel that is massive progress that I can be proud of myself for accomplishing.

So with all of the above being said, I can finally close this chapter of my life and let it rest in the past where it belongs. Though the memories, good and bad, will live with me for the rest of my days, I can look back on them as the lessons they were meant to be.

The last drawing I completed on April 24, 2019

The last photo Megane and I took outside of Motel 6 on April 24, 2019.

Religion, and other ramblings

I had a long, and lengthy, discussion with a friend of mine on the topic of religion and beliefs. For the longest time, I thought of myself as a pagan. Then, when belief failed me, I turned to atheism. Now, I am not so sure what to call myself. I cannot say there is nothing out there, but I cannot definitively say something is out there either. I simply do not know.

What I can say with certainty is there is much to this world that we still do not understand.

I believe gods were created out of necessity. People needed something to put their faith in to believe that everything would be okay. This could be anything from the weather patterns, food, fertility, even death. Every culture, every people that has walked this earth, has held some form of belief. By the time Christianity was conceived, tens of thousands of cultures had been long dead, and with them their gods died as well.

We must then choose to belief that there is something, or there is nothing. Furthermore, we must then decide who is right, and who is wrong. But what if the truth was no one was completely right, and no one is completely wrong?

I am of the belief that true faith comes from acknowledging the fact that we simply do not know. We can strive to find answers, but ultimately, we just do not know. We want to be right so badly that we sometimes miss the fact that answers can lie in unsuspecting places. Religion does not explain everything, and science does not explain everything. If you were to put the two together, however, you get more answers, and the divide between people is thinned. If you acknowledge that answers can lie within multiple religions rather than just one, more answers are presented.

I do not believe in absolutes. Nothing is absolutely bad, and nothing is absolutely good. Nothing is absolutely correct, or absolutely wrong. Bad can have good intentions, and with bad comes lessons. Good can have bad intentions, and good can also have its own set of lessons. While we argue incessantly over who is right and who is wrong, we are missing the biggest picture of them all; we are all human beings sharing an earth together, and our bickering is leading to our own demise.

Religion, and even a lack thereof, has led to countless centuries of bloodshed. Our earth is covered in gallons of blood from fallen warriors willing to die for what they believed to be correct, and its the age old chess match. There is no winner when there is death. The biggest armies does not mean one is more correct than another. A religion with a massive following is no better than a smaller following. The number of followers does not dictate the level of faith a group of people may possess. The only thing numbers provide is a larger army from which wars can begin, and how history will remember the fallen.

Going back to a point I made earlier within this post, I believe gods were created from faith, and that faith came from necessity. As people moved from land to land, they took their gods with them. The people changed, evolved, and the gods were forced to do the same. That is why we see so many who call themselves by the same name, yet believe so differently. This is why we see so many beliefs that are similar to other religious beliefs from countries we’ve never visited. What I see now, however, is stagnation. The world, like it or not, is constantly evolving. New gods are being created out of necessity, new beliefs are forming from necessity, yet people cling so dearly to the old ways they have always known. This is not the way the universe is supposed to work. This is not to say, of course, that we should completely abandon the “old ways”, but we should not stay stuck in them. If we remained stuck, you would not be sitting at your computer, or holding your phone, reading these words while constructing your responses. We must learn from the old ways, and bring the old into the new. We must take the lessons we’ve been given, but continue to move forward. We will be ancient history one day. Our future generations will look back on this generation in disgust, as we look back on certain aspects of our ancestors, and wonder “How could people sit by and allow this to happen?” Stagnation.

There must be a balance, a harmony. The longer we continue to allow ourselves to be divided, the more we see the world being destroyed. Soon, there will be no one to argue with of right and wrong, because there will be no one left to have an opinion.

I do not believe faith comes from a book written by men. In fact, I believe religious texts are one of the poisons of our society. A book that teaches people how to live can easily be rewritten, or mistranslated, to sway the public opinion. We have seen the evidence of this, in fact, with the changes made to the bible over time. Faith comes from within, belief comes from within, and we create our gods out of necessity. Each person serves a purpose, and therefore we must also accept that “bad” people also serve a purpose. With the recent popularity in Ted Bundy, I’ll use him as an example. Ted Bundy did terrible things, but from those terrible things, we got a unique insight into the way the mind of a serial killer functions. We have a better understanding of just how terrible the human mind can be, and we saw warning signs. We bettered our understanding of the evolution of a serial killer, While we focus on the acts done by the man, we also looked at the victims. Each death gives us more answers about the human body, the human vessel. Each day we continue to move forward and learn, and that is the way we are supposed to be. We are supposed to move forward and learn more so that we may have stronger beliefs in the capability of mankind.

From all the negative things that have happened, good has come out of them. Every experience shapes who we are as people. While some events have a bigger impact than others, we cannot point fingers and continue to hate one group or the other. Instead, we take the information, good and bad, and we learn from it. The situations thrown upon us are up to us to decide how we are going to react to them. Bad can be changed to good.

Perhaps I’m getting a bit rambling, and perhaps I’m even not making sense now. I honestly cannot tell. I can only hope these words make sense to someone out there. I wish these words could help the progression by helping people realize the importance of accepting change, of accepting progression, of accepting we do not know everything, and accepting that absolutes simply don’t exist. No one is right, no one is wrong, no one is bad, no one is good all the time. It is simply impossible. Change, evolution of ourselves, however, is very possible, if we’d simply allow it to happen.

The True Power of Positive Mental Attitude

I get a lot of comments on my tattoos. Sometimes they’re positive, sometimes negative. You get used to it after some time, and the explanations can become jaded. But a nice woman came in to get a room, and asked me what this tattoo was all about, because it looked cool.

I don’t know what possessed me, but I decided to give her the actual meaning behind it.

I asked if she was familiar with YouTube, to which she said she was. I told her there was a man, named JackSepticEye, who does a lot of charity work, who makes people laugh, who publicly fights depression, and maintains a message known as PMA.

“What is PMA?” She asks. Her questions are genuine.

“Positive Mental Attitude.” I explain, “As a person who suffers from a mental disorder on a daily basis, I got this tattoo to show my support for him, his movement, but also a reminder to myself when things get bad.”

She’s fallen silent. I look up at her, having been busy looking down at the computer screen checking her in. Had I gone too far?

She breathes what I can only describe as a sigh of relief and says “I’m going to have to tell my husband to look him up. He’s bipolar, and he could use a bit of positivity in his life like that.” I looked at her, and we had an unspoken understanding. Mental illness is hard on everyone. It’s hard for the person dealing with it, and it’s hard for those we love. I set my professionalism aside, and told her she was awesome.

I’ve had people walk out of my life, cast me aside, because they “couldn’t handle” my “crazy”. Indeed, I’ve destroyed friendships with my “crazy”. To have her standing in front of me, and tell me of her husband’s condition not because she was ashamed, or because she hated him, but because she saw someone who understood from both sides how stressful and difficult it could be… I told her she was awesome, and thanked her for being a good person.

A man was sitting in my lobby at the time, and overheard everything. He’d needed a place to stop to change his daughter’s diaper. As soon as the guest left, he approached the counter and handed me $20. I was shocked and said “Sir, you don’t have to do that.” He shook his head, waved his hand, and said “Thank you for letting us stop. Keep up that positive mental attitude.” Then he walked out as I thanked him.

THAT’S the power of Positive Mental Attitude. That’s the TRUE POWER OF PMA.

The Fridge Project

So, I wanted to share a bit of a story with you guys. A YouTuber I watch, named Markiplier, started this thing called Kick Cult. We were all going to spread positivity, joy, be happy, etc. But with all things Markiplier does, there is always a plot twist. He started a chat server on Discord.

During Markiplier’s Kick Cult craziness, I stumbled into one of the discord channels known, at first, as Yippee. It became Congay, a safe haven for all members of the LGBT community to join. We became fast friends, the chat was very chill. But the plot twist came when one by one, Mark began closing the channels. As the channels began to die, Congay members rushed to create new servers, spamming them as fast as possible to continue the friendship a little further. I clicked on one, and after a short time I began to realize….I was probably the oldest one there. Let me tell you. If you’ve never experienced this for yourself, it is a very awkward situation.

I thought about leaving. After all, what do I have in common with a group of teenagers? I’m old to them! So, I observed. And I noticed something interesting. Many of them were in bad places, with parental figures who didn’t support them. They’d been betrayed by family, by friends. Most of them just wanted someone to be proud of them. I realized then… I had EVERYTHING in common with them. Not only that, but I was in a unique position to share with them my experiences and…being an adult, I could help them. I could spread some of that JackSepticEye PMA (Positive Mental Attitude). I became the mother of the group. It started off simply with reminding them they were loved, telling them I was proud of their accomplishments… But I had no way of showing it. I’m a firm believer in actions speaking louder than words…but how? How can I show almost 300 people that I cared.

Then it hit me.

When I was a kid, every time I accomplished something, my mother would put it on the refrigerator for all to see. So. I went to the store.

And bought 1,000 post it notes. I posted a message to the server.

And waited. It didn’t take long before something amazing began to happen.

These kids, some of whom had so many self esteem issues, were finding positive things about themselves so they could get on the refrigerator. They were going out, trying new things, and telling me about them. Not just that, but they started nominating each other. Encouraging each other. Tagging me left and right to make sure I saw the accomplishments. I started carrying a notebook around with me so that even at work, I could keep up with messages.

I got many of their birthdays and added them to my calendar.

(August is a slow month. September and October are where the party is!)

And I’m just so blown away by all of this. Somehow, I managed to become the mom to so many people…But I realized I wasn’t just helping them. I was helping me, too..I was able to tell them all the things I wish I’d heard, or all the things I wish I’d known. I want to push myself harder to help them see they can do AMAZING things!!

The protect has only been going for about two to three days, but this is what my refrigerator looks like now.

(Pardon the stains, it was a hand me down). More and more messages come in and I’m so…happy… And my “babies” helped me more than I could have ever imagined. I went from being a very lonely, sad individual to the mother of a bunch of people… I matter. I make a difference.

You live once, but you grow up thrice.

Hello, my dedicated readers. It has been a while, and for that, I must apologize. I felt I had much to say, but no great way to say it. I don’t ever want to feel I’m wasting my reader’s time, but most importantly, I want to feel proud of everything I deliver. Until now, I did not feel I could do such a task. I am, however, going to attempt to post more regularly. With that out of the way, one of the reasons I’ve been so quiet is actually the topic of today’s blog. It is my personal opinion that each person grows up three times.

The first time is legally. In the United States, an individual is classified as an adult upon reaching the age eighteen. At eighteen, most teenagers are finishing, or just recently finished, high school. They’re preparing to go out into the world and take in all it has to offer. Many are filled with hopes of what the future holds. Some begin working, others go off to school, while others wait patiently to see what comes their way.

The second time a person grows up is independently. This is the first time an individual pays a bill on their own, acquires debt of any sort, makes a big purchase, so forth. This is growth in the sense of realizing you’re on your own. I should mention now that each stage of growth can happen at any point. A person could reach this stage at sixteen, or be considered legally an adult at sixteen depending on circumstances. Like much of life, these are not considered absolutes.

The third time an individual grows up is, arguably, the most difficult growth of them all. Mentally. In many ways, this growth is depressing. It is the realization that life is not what you thought it would be, and the people you’ve surrounded yourself with are not who you thought they were. This is the moment where long held relationships are brought into question, closely examined to judge compatibility. It is the moment when you question everything you’ve done with your life, and compare it to what you want to do in your future. Have you made the right choices? Are your actions moving you forward? Dreams are replaced with reality. It is a hard pill to swallow, and can break you. It is painful, much like the growing pains of our youth, because not everyone reaches this stage at the same time. You’ll find friendships that you’d always counted on distancing, interests you’ve always held slipping away into obscurity, and you’re left wondering…what’s the point? You feel, suddenly, very alone.

What is the point?

Here’s the beauty of the third stage. It is not a guarantee deal breaker. Those around you may grow to match your new found adulthood. Others will not. Your priorities will change. Just like when you made your first big purchase by yourself, you can control how this growth controls your life. Those that refuse to grow may cease to matter, but you find those who grew with you grow closer to you. Dreams may be replaced with reality, but we all shape our reality. You now have the clearest mind to make those dreams come true. Perhaps with some adjustments. This is different for everyone and it is painful. But you have the strength to push forward.

The reason for my silence can be blamed on growth number three. I’ve had to make quite a number of changes in my life, not all of them easy. I did feel broken. I fought hard for friendships I knew, deep down, were over. I’d become so focused on the lack of direction towards the things I wanted that I became stagnant. Upon realizing what I was experiencing, I finally surrendered to it and accepted the change. I was the one holding myself back rather than making myself go in the direction I wanted to go.

I started having dreams again.

I’m not holding onto as much stress as I was by trying to conquer the world’s problems, while it spit on me in return. I learned to pick my own battles, I learned to appreciate what was important. It hurts. It absolutely hurts. You begin to accept the things you cannot control, you cannot handle, and you find a new path. Even if you have to carve that path from stone with a spoon.

Do not be afraid of this growth, my friends. It is okay to be afraid. It is okay to make mistakes. It is okay to try new things. It is okay to fail. It is okay to say no. You will come out the other side stronger than ever before. I am not preaching from the perspective of a success story, I’m telling you from the point of view of someone who has finally realized…life is mine… Truly mine… And I’m okay with that.

I hope this, in some small way, helps someone out there.

Witnessing Tragedy from Afar

April 5th began as a normal day. I drove to work, had fun with my coworkers, made plans for dinner… On my way home, I noticed police activity ahead, and traffic was slowed to a crawl. I had places to go, things to do, and the slow moving traffic was an inconvenience. I’ve learned, however, that sometimes life forces you to slow down for a reason.

The reason this time was a tragic accident. A young man had been struck by another vehicle, killing him instantly. His body, hidden from view by a sheet, lay in the road surrounded by cops and witnesses. It was so startling. You never expect to see such a sight when an accident slows traffic.

It broke my heart. Still does. I won’t go into too many details, but I will simply say it was bad. It stuck with me, sent me into a bit of shock. For the remainder of the evening, I couldn’t get it out of my head, and desperately searched through the news trying to find more information on what happened.

They released his name.

I found him on Facebook. This led me to his family, who hadn’t yet heard the news. Friends who were carrying on like normal. They’d released his name in the early hours of April 6th.

I continued to check his Facebook, and saw when the news of his demise spread to his family and friends. I wanted so badly to reach out and say something, but what could I say?

Nothing I could offer would make the situation better. Witnessing the travesty of the accident was a few moments for me, but will be a life time of pain for them. My heart aches for them, but I have no right to share in their grief.

I can only hope the family is able to find peace, and solice. I can only hope that the death of their friend, their son, their brother, has touched the life of a random stranger.

How did we get here tour review

Hello, everyone! I know it has been a long time since I’ve posted here, but I wanted to take this opportunity to share my thoughts on the JackSepticEye tour aptly named “How Did We Get Here”. I won’t be going into details about issues we had with the venue, or the New Orleans trip, just the show.

I bought the tickets for myself, and my daughter. She adores JackSepticEye, so I thought this would be a grand opportunity for her to see him, and have a bonding moment. Like some, however, I worried about the content of the show. Was he going to be playing video games, was he going to talk, what was in store for us? No matter, I’m a big fan, she’s a big fan, we’ll enjoy it no matter what.

I can honestly say, I was not disappointed. As the crowd began to gather in the theatre, chants began to echo through the venue. Hearing hundreds of voices coming together always gives me chills, but hearing the entire crowd shouting “PMA PMA!” was truly astounding. PMA being Positive Mental Attitude, for those who are not familiar with the YouTubers recent catch phrase.

The man himself struts upon the stage, posing for quirky pictures for a moment before asking everyone to put their phones down. Around the venue, I see all the lights slowly turn off, leaving the only lights, and focus, on the stage. “We go to these events and we struggle to remember them because we weren’t paying attention. We were too busy trying to capture the moment rather than live it.” He says as explanation. He was right, I realized, as I momentarily thoughtback to other events. I’d been too focused on taking pictures to help me remember the experience, but I didn’t experience it because of the camera.

The young man goes on to use humor to detail events of his life, beginning with his childhood all the way to present day. I won’t go into too many details regarding the show, because I do not want to spoil the experience for anyone, but let’s just say I laughed extremely hard throughout the stories. The main point the eccentric Irishman wanted to drive home to each of us was, we could accomplish anything, and overcome all obstacles. No matter who we are, or where we’re from. “With hard work, passion, and a little luck, you can make anything happen.”

What strikes me as amazing about this man is how humble he remains. He uses his platform to boost others, bring them up, rather than parading his fame around. He does not flaunt himself, but offers encouraging words to help bring an entire community together.

By the time the show was done, I wanted to hug the entire audience. I laughed, I cried, but more importantly, I walked away feeling much better about myself and my own abilities. I walked away feeling closer to a massive group of strangers. I walked away with a change in perspective about the world around me.

So, if you have any doubts about whether you should see this show, I can honestly say it is worth seeing.

What Do Emotions Feel Like…. Synesthesia Edition

Everyone associates synesthesia with this great, powerful gift that allows you extrasensory abilities. Indeed, the newest trend and a quick search on a search engine will make it seem that almost everyone has this. Artists have used it to create beautiful works of art, singers and songwriters use it as inspiration. And writers, oh, it grants them a gift of being able to describe things with almost inhuman detail. This gift has been proven harmless. With such beautiful creations springing forth, it would appear this strange and baffling thing is a superpower.

For the most part, I’ll even agree. Until you begin to try and explain something to someone who doesn’t have it. Then life can get weird. I experience life in sound. Different types of pain have sounds to me (sharp pains are high pitch, dull pains are bass), even foods are sounds (chocolate is low pitch, bread is middle, lemons are high pitch. Anything way too sweet or salty is glass breaking high pitch, and therefore painful).

I’ve based entire opinions of people based on the sound of their voice. Perhaps it isn’t fair, but I can’t help it. High pitch and nasally voices are painful, where lower tones are pleasant. Accents add an interesting spice to the sounds, and perhaps that’s why I love accents so much.

If I’m not interpreting the world in sounds, then I’m experiencing texture, sometimes color. France, for example, feels like warm and makes me think of a lovely orange color, where Scotland feels like soft grass, and makes me think blue.

Now that I’ve given you a road map of my brain, let’s make things even more interesting. What do emotions feel like, sound like, etc? Before I go completely into that, allow me to explain one other aspect. My mind is always noisy. There is always a dull static that surrounds my head. It’s like hearing snippets of conversation in a crowded food court, but drowned out by the roar of the crowd. I call these my potential thoughts. Thoughts, emotions, imaginary conversations, or memories I’ve not experienced yet, but lurk in the shadows waiting to happen.

Happiness is a strange emotion. It feels loving, impenetrable, like I could take over the world. It sounds like a harmonious symphony, and laughter feels like waves of an ocean. It feels warm.

Anger feels like ice and fire competing in my veins, with a darkness waiting behind whoever wins. The angrier I get, the harder these two fight.

Sadness feels like loneliness. It feels like a television left alone in a dark room, with the channel playing nothing but snow. Loud static can be heard.

Depression feels like this, but with the added benefit of clarity for the potential thoughts. There’s always a dark, twisting figure tat seems everywhere and nowhere, and this figure encourages these thoughts. This leads to the spiraling low, and the static becomes like knives. “Just kill yourself. It’ll save the world a lot of trouble. Everyone will be better off without having to deal with you. You’d be doing them a favor. No one actually cares, they humor you because they need something, want something, from you. As soon as you’re no longer useful, you’ll be tossed away entirely.”

Bipolar low feels like…. I’m surrounded by hundreds of these figures, and they’re all shouting at me to just end it. Just do it. Which leads to, what I feel, is a level of bipolar psychosis. The world seems to be moving so fast around me, and I’m standing still. Or maybe it’s the other way round, and I’m spinning so fast I have the illusion of standing still. The world doesn’t include me, I’m an outside observer peeking into a window of reality.

Thankfully I haven’t experienced that often. It is truly terrifying, to exist but not. To feel, but not.

Stress feels sour, like sour milk. And the more stressed I feel, the more soured I feel. I even begin to think I smell sour, which increases the stress.

Why am I writing this? Why am I telling you? To be honest, I have no idea. Maybe I just need people to know and understand the extra layer I feel beneath the emotions. Maybe I’m hoping someone will read this who can give answers, or can relate. Maybe I’m hoping my words can help a study. What happens when you combine synesthesia with a mental disorder. Chaos and beauty happen, of course.

I hope this has been educational. I feel better now, at least.

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Where shadow and light dance

Category: Deep Thinking