Research conducted by the University of Wisconsin-Madison found that mothers of adolescents and adults with autism experience chronic stress comparable to combat soldiers and struggle with frequent fatigue and work interruptions. Wow!...more
I've fallen and I can't get up. Again.
Depression is a beast, and frankly, sometimes we just don't feel like dragon-slaying to get through the morning, let alone an entire day. I'm not talking about lighter days where we just need an extra hour of sleep because the kids kept us up, or when ruminating over that nasty stapler stealing boss at work begins affecting our relationships at home.
I'm talking about the days we'd rather stay in bed with the covers pulled up over our head and even the meds or extra chocolate stopped working. I'm talking about when the sense of hopelessness begins to cement, and even prayers to God seem to be wait-listed.
Why didn't they reach out?
Why didn't they say they felt that way?
Didn't they have anyone to talk to?
Why did they do it?
Even worse, "How did they do it?" or "Did they leave a note?" And the biggest punch to the gut question that people ask with a suicide, "Were they depressed?" (meaning: How did you miss the clues?)
Depression is an intensely private struggle, and suicide makes it public. When someone takes their life, every question in the world is brought out into the open. We need to stop asking the wrong questions, and start to ask What can we do?
When my husband and I were in our 20s, we discovered an all-night skating rink. We both had fond memories of roller skating when we were younger and decided to go. The rink had a familiar feel to it: There was a disco ball in the center, 80s music blaring over the speakers, lots of first-time skaters hanging onto the wall, and the smell of leather and slightly musty air. ...more
I'm sorry. I know those two words seem so small, and they are. They are nothing more than nine simple, basic characters, but I don't know where else to start so I'm sorry; I'm so sorry.
There are things I'm not sorry for, things I can't be sorry for. I'm not sorry for my illness. It is something beyond my control. It is a physical disorder as much as it is a mental one. But I am sorry for the years I've wasted feeling sorry for myself. I am sorry for the years I have tried to hide it, to keep it a secret.
Next in my ongoing series (see:https://bipolarjan.wordpress.com/2015/07/05/new-hope-for-mental-illness/) of posts about news stories that bear on mental health, and what they may or may not mean:...more
My daughter goes back to school on Monday. It's been a very long summer, and I didn't think we were going to survive parts of it. As much as I love my children and being a stay-at-home mom, those long summer days and (so much) togetherness can be enough to push an otherwise sane person over the edge (and I was already teetering pretty close). But, we made it and now that the summer is almost over, I'm actually a little sad....more
I remember standing outside my mother’s walk-in closet, listening to her sob for what felt like an eternity, on multiple occasions during elementary school.Pain and tears were something she taught me, quite literally, to hide behind closed doors....more