It happened roughly 2 weeks ago. Please note that I have several chronic illnesses and balance issues. Taking a shower is always a risk. I’m careful and stopped using my chair last year. Big mistake! I do have a safety handle on the tub and it hurt so bad falling on top of it.
While grabbing for the shampoo the shower rod fell and hit me in the back of my head and threw me on top of the safety handle then pushed and pinned me in the corner with the water still running.
I managed to get the rod off of me and tried to get up. It took many tries to pull myself out of the tub. I didn’t have the strength to push and pull myself out of the bathtub. I was in the bathroom upstairs and he was downstairs in his office. I yelled for my husband several times but he could not hear me.
The back of my head was hit hard and now I have a concussion. My jaw hurts, my neck hurts, my ears clogged up, and have some of the biggest bruises I’ve seen. I have had several concussions over the years, like when I fell down the stairs and broke my wrist.
I’m at the point where there’s nothing to do but wait, someone mentioned 3-4 months to heal. That is news to me. I can’t image living this way for 3-4 months.
I’ve since purchased a full-size tub mat and a suction safety bar. I’m still nervous but you have to go forward. The reason I decided to get a suction cup bar vs. a permanent one is that we are moving soon and the new owners may not want it and taking it off the wall will leave a hole in the tiles
I’m looking for a portable alert that is really loud, might try my clip-on alarm for cycling. I may get several and hang in a few places because you never know where you’re going to land.
You can not mention 9/11 without thinking of the firefighters who went into the building knowing the situation and went anyway. All of those who died helping another to live is a HERO! All who survived and helped someone in need is a HERO.
I have difficulty wrapping my head around the damage and how the terrorists stayed under the radar. We may have survived but Muslim rage started after the attack and many innocent people were mistreated. Let this be a lesson for us to learn.
I had my luggage at the door, ready to catch a flight to Russia. My gramps called and said a plane flew into the tower, I didn’t have the television on but assured him it was okay. I’m thinking of a small plane, not the attack New York received.
On the way to the airport, more information is coming through but not the magnitude of the attacks. When we arrive at the airport it’s closed like all the other airports across America. I think the airspace was closed for 10 days, after the airports opened I rescheduled my dream trip to Russia.
Our country was forever changed, and the far-reaching effects are endless. New Yorkers came together like never before and the world watched to see what happened next.
I will always have a hole in my heart that time won’t heal.
*This post is from 2017 and I’ve updated it to capture the years between 2017 and 2023.
There are times when Chronic Illness can get the better of you. I had such a week resulting in shaving my hair off. I’m no GI Jane but do have a nice head minus the scars from brain surgery.
For the past 13 years, I’ve been a caregiver to my grandparents and spent time in Psychic Hospital twice for ECT treatments. Finding an answer to my heart problem took three years, two cardiologists, and a trip to The Mayo Clinic I had a diagnosis in four days.
The search for ?? (Lyme Diseases) started in 2012 and the diagnosis in 2014. It took two attempts to find a competent doctor and tons of frustration. I’m not driving, my cognitive abilities like balance and memory were taken by Lyme.
Last week I discovered a total knee replacement is required and scheduled for 11/14/17. All the falls from Lyme blew out my right knee.
Wild Crazy Hair
I’m not one to have a pity party but the weight on my shoulders became too much. I gave my husband many reasons why I shaved my head, the truth is CONTROL. I have four chronic illnesses and have to manage my health every day and every day can be different. There are many days I don’t have the strength to bathe, on those days I use medical-grade body wipes.
I’m 54, my mental illness is close to balanced, was looking forward to driving after several years, and most importantly I want to know who I am.
Shaving my head was liberating, a part of the new me came out. I can control some things and have to roll with the punches on others.
Can you imagine coming home from work to find your wife has shaved their head? My husband wasn’t surprised.
I have the pleasure of talking with Amy Gamble today about her struggle with the highs and lows of mental illness. I’m proud to call her a friend and she is a true inspiration. I’ve had my own difficult journey with Bipolar Disorder and when I tell you it’s a miracle Amy came out alive, it’s 100% true. Not only did Amy survive, but she also took charge of her life and went on to write her first book Bipolar Disorder, My Biggest Competitor: An Olympian’s Journey with Mental Illness.
Gamble tells how the illness also affects her mother, pitched her head first into a nightmare of highs and lows. While it robbed her of her dreams of playing Division 1 ball, it also helped vault her to the U.S. Olympic handball team, leading her to travel the world and compete at the 1988 Seoul Olympics. She was a top performer in sales for Merck, the pharmaceutical giant, but ironically her untreated illness plunged her to the bottom rungs of society. She became stuck in a revolving door of mental hospitals, doctors’ offices and even jails across the U.S., discovering deep-rooted deficiencies in the systems that are supposed to help the country’s most vulnerable citizens.
At the scariest point, she found herself wandering aimlessly at night in a snow-covered mountain forest on the Montana/Idaho border with only moccasins on her feet and a sweatshirt to keep her warm. She was hopelessly lost, freezing and not in her right mind. *
Thank you, Amy, for talking with me today. I learned more about Amy from the AP overview, so I’ll start there.
What positives came out of being in a Psychiatric Hospital?
My last psychiatric hospitalization was 12 years ago. It was a hospital far away from my hometown, but the care I received was excellent. I was put on a regiment of medications that got me started on the right track and helped immensely in my recovery journey. The staff members at the hospital were encouraging and really believed in recovery. Overall, it was a really positive experience for me.
Did your mental illness impact your Olympic dream?
I made the 1988 Olympic Team in Team Handball. While I struggled at times with depression, I was able to overcome my challenges and become an Olympian.
You have a successful career as Mental Health Advocate and Speaker, how did your Speaking career start.
I began speaking to groups through a local NAMI chapter. My third talk was an interview at a large church with an audience of 300 people. Once I started speaking I began to attend a Toastmasters group and was coached and encouraged by members of the toastmaster group. From 2015 – 2023, I’ve given over 250 talks and mental health trainings reaching over 15,000 people.
You have a passion for advocating for Mental Illness, what organizations do you belong to?
I’m a local NAMI member and I support DBSA (Depression Bipolar Support Alliance)
How did you keep motivated while working your first jobs after the crash?
I felt like working would give me a sense of purpose, a reason to get out of bed in the morning. I looked forward to going to my jobs, even if sometimes I had a little struggle in getting there. Maybe I’d have a rough day or just felt tired. But it didn’t matter because I was driven to get better and work helped me to do that.
Do you have any words of wisdom on life with a mental illness?
Be a student of your mental illness. Learn everything you can learn on how the illness affects you, what are the common symptoms and how can I alleviate most of my symptoms. Make sure you’re getting better or improving under the care of mental health care professionals, whether that’s a psychiatrist or therapist, or both.
Why did you stop blogging for 2 years?
I took a break from social media. I took time out to reflect and work on some other things.
What are your hobbies and what type of books/magazines do you read for fun?
My number one hobby is reading. I love to read! I’m currently reading “Atlas of the Heart,” by Brene Brown. I’ve also recently finished reading “Wild,” by Cheryl Strayed. Usually, I have two or three books I’m reading at the same time.
I also enjoy exercising, though I’m not always on schedule. I’ve really tried to get into a good habit since April of this year. So far, so good.
I know you are writing a new book about your PTSD, without giving too much information, what can you share with us.
I’m so excited about my new book. The book is really about resilience, as illustrated by how the impact of past traumas (primarily sexual assault) interrupted my life and caused symptoms of PTSD, even though the traumatic events had occurred decades prior. I talk about the collision course between bipolar disorder and PTSD and how my past traumas were overlooked by many mental health care professionals until they couldn’t be overlooked anymore. My number one goal is to give a voice to a woman who may not have had one.
I’m overjoyed to announce that Beauty from Ashes has joined Survivors Blog Here. Tiffany has been thru the extreme trauma of Human Trafficking and Domestic Violence and is rebuilding her life. She’s a survivor, strong to the core, wants to help others, and is very nice. We’ve been following each other and talking often, she […]
This post is very special to me, first Margie shared her story and allowed me to post it. She is an educated woman who wants to help others who experience Postpartum Psychosis. Please share this post with anyone you know who is pregnant or in the first few months of a baby’s life. M
Postpartum depression accompanied by Psychosis
This is not a war to win. It cages a soul and will not allow reason of any kind. I prayed, I begged and I pleaded. You can have me, but you cannot have my daughter.
On this particular morning, I thought I’d heard a knock at my front door, or was that coming from the back door? I trusted nothing. I sat in the nursery until the pounding stopped, and the sound of what I thought was my name being called, ended. Rocking my angel. I sobbed so violently. I wanted the voices and the visions to go away. I wanted nothing more than to save my baby from myself.
Something made me pause. Was that the front lock-set being opened, the door flinging open, were those real voices?
They found me. Jo and Priscilla. They found me, and they did not let go of me. One took the baby, and the other took the phone directory.
And every chance I get, I tell them, “Thank you.”
I spent the following three and a half months in a locked Psych ward.
Each one of us has a story that shames us, it can trap us in a sort of hell, but sometimes to escape hell, we must find words to express our grievance. I used to think this would be one that I could not share for fear of losing someone whom I love(d). Now I fear that if I don’t share it, someone may lose their way, they may find themselves lost, alone, aberrant, and of course, crazy. I would rather lose every friend I have for the sacrifice of gaining that one that reached out to me in need. The one that discovered hope, when they felt there was none left. But, if you can find clarity if you can trust that there are people in this world that care first for others, and second for themselves, then you, and they will walk with you through hell. When we have true friends, they don’t leave us when the going gets rough. They stop at nothing to see that we realize how important we are, in their life. They don’t call you, Pyscho, MisFit, or Crazy. They call you, Friend. That having us is a joy, a blessing, a God-send. A true friend does not judge, does not keep a scorecard, and knows that we are them, should they ever need us, and not out of guilt or because a favor needs returning. No, a true friend stands by knowing that without our connection we are only half of ourselves.
When others walked out, you walked in. You asked for nothing in return. You never used my illness to shame me, to discount me, to write me off. You stood beside me and carried me through my darkest hours. Priscilla, Senn, and Jo McCormack thank you for seeing me when I could not see myself. But more than anything, thank you for saving my Megan from the psychotic lunatic that I had become. We have fought hard to win, and without each of you, I would have lost. It took three and a half months, out-of-state, in a mental institution, a number of medications, and therapy sessions, but I came home, loving and vowed that one day I would share this story.
Never give up hope. When you are at your weakest, grasp for straws. Dial for help. Swallow your pride. Do not fear that you will be labeled, CRAZY, for the rest of your life, even by those you thought would stand behind you through thick and thin. One of the best pieces of advice given to me was these words:
“They already think you’re crazy. Nothing you do, or say, will change their opinion. Absolutely nothing, therefore, be yourself. Only you know the journey and the victory.”
To Megan,
I promised you I would finish a tale that I had begun earlier in one of my posts. I think I even noted Day 16 as the day that I would write it. Day 16, arrived, but the time didn’t feel ‘just right’. Today it does. I believe you will recall the post, original, and if not, I’ll help you retrieve it.
I spent three full days in bed making Pom-Poms out of tissues. And not intentionally. “No, Martha, I did not use your official cut-and-twist guide.” I fashioned mine while I tried building a dam to nowhere, for my sinus drainage. I took my temperature so many times I killed the battery in the thermometer. I’ve never slept so many hours in my life! This comes from someone who suffers extreme bits of insomnia. Food? I found two cans of soup at the back of the cupboard and considering we don’t eat processed canned items I can’t help but wonder where they came from, much less, why I consumed them.
I’d had enough of this Chit, so by 10:00 a.m., I drug my lazy self out of bed and into the steaming shower, threw on some clothes, and asked Hannah if she’d like to go for a walk.
I thought I’d heard a lot of commotion over the roar of my blow dryer, but I wasn’t in the mood to go ‘seek-and-find,’ what all the mischief was. Once dressed, and out the door, I looked up the street to see the fire truck. What the heck?!#&@
Okay, right off the bat I have to confess. I’m not into seeking out horror. I can’t handle it. Put me in a car, drive me down the freeway, and have someone shout, “Look! There’s been a car accident!” What do I do? Slither down in my seat and turn my head in the opposite direction. If I’m the one who happens to be driving, you won’t find me rubbernecking.
Where was I going with this?
The Walk…(and not on the wild side.)
Finally, on our way, we journey toward the coffee shop. I realize I can’t enter, doggie and all, but then I remember the new app I have downloaded on my phone. Hannah and I mosey up to the patio and sit down. Attempting to order, I realize this app needs a few software upgrades, but I’m not in the mood to hack up the menu in broad daylight, much less try to find a work-around on the store’s wi-fi firewall. Dang, I can’t just walk away, the pup is looking at me with those sweet, begging eyes as if to ask, “How much longer, Mummy?”
Thinking comes quick when smitten by a man’s best friend. I lasso a chair with her harness and tie the pup securely to it, placing her in full view of any area I’ll find myself at once inside the store.
…..Admit it, you’re just a wee bit bored, but you just can’t seem to pull yourself away from all the action. Consider yourself a rubbernecker and let’s get moving…..
We are at a junction in the road. If we take the route we came, we’re out 1.5 miles, but if we journey the alternate route we are out 1.5 miles. Decisions, decisions, oh, and the trick math question at the end. (Find your calculators.)
Let’s go rogue. I’m caffeinated and jet-packed by toxic chemicals from eating rancid soup. What could go wrong?
The Traffic Light!…(into the jungle)
The sucker must have been rigged for red-light runners! Hannah and I were caught in the median of a crazed intersection. Everyone dreams of a cuppa joe or a fuel tank of $2.35 gasoline. I think the only thing that saved us was the California Highway Patrol t-shirt my son (in-law) gave me. I looked, OFFICIAL!
Okay, I was only a third grey, now color me white-headed. I match the dog now. Lesson learned: Rubberneckers. “You folks are everywhere!” One of you almost put tire tracks on my bright orange and pink sneakers. Tell the truth, “We’re you wanting my eye color or that close-up of fear earmarked across my face?”
…..This painstakingly will end at some point. Why don’t you take a snooze and check back later for the mischief of the last mile and a half?….
Safely in a green space, we walk among the oak trees listening to the sound of acorns dropping in our midst. (Note to self: Bring bike helmets in the future.) Meandering along and I look up to see we are at the high school. My heart skips a beat, and then another. “Wasn’t it just yesterday?” Oh, how time does fly. But I won’t let this moment go. I grab my phone and take a couple of photos. I zip them off to my two beautiful daughters. They’ll open their messages and go back in time themselves. I wonder at what moments their day will stand still? I knew mine. I know it well. I’ll cherish it forever.
There I sat awaiting the dismissal bell. The bell echoes. Oh, I miss that bell. I miss all the ringing of that far-off bell.
Saturday my youngest daughter moves away from home. Off to her grown-up home. Not a dorm room, no, those days are gone, too. There’s part of me that wants her to go, but then there is that part of me that knows how far away she may one day travel. And yet, I must give her the pieces of the apron strings, the wings to fly, to soar, to dream and dare.
Did anyone find me a pen and some paper? Did you find your calculators? Get ready, here she blows:
If I live 1.5 miles in one direction, yet I am able to travel in an opposing direction 1.5 miles and arrive at my origination, what direction am I traveling? We set off to run errands. Hannah’s errands, actually. I should just admit that some days I simply say to hell with the housework, laundry included, and I put my best friend in the car and we set about finding mischief.
We ran thru the CVS drive-through to pick up some of my meds and beg for the usual dog biscuit. FAIL! They were out of treats.
Starbucks redeemed her spirit though when they gave her a Puppy Whip. It’s a small cup container filled with whipped cream.
Across the railroad tracks and we head into Southlake. The outdoor shopping mall is always fun. There are fountains galore and hundreds of shade trees. Unfortunately, they have no outdoor drinking fountains. Hannah drank a bit of my iced tea as I cursed myself for not having brought along her collapsible water bowl and some water. Finally, I recalled the Whole Earth Provisions Store allows dogs in their store. I took my girl in and she made a group of newly found friends, all human and eager to dote upon her. Someone snagged a dog treat for her and everyone took turns petting her.
The girl is worn out. Now resting with a full tummy of treats and back inside to the cooled air conditioning.
___________________________
Post-Partartum Psychosis has to be taken seriously. I ask you to reach out for help and keep an eye on a loved one or signs of Depression or Psychosis.
She’s a survivor and an extremely strong woman. I’ve never met someone as strong as she is, it blows my mind what she’s been thru and the pain she must feel.
I was reminded today that I had Lyme and thought I would share with you the first post I wrote in 2014.
It’s been a long time since this first Lyme blog, I found it interesting and naive. I hope you enjoy reading. If you’re at the beginning of your Lyme journey. I’m always here for you. M
Scheduling probiotics, medicine, and supplements is a challenge. With probiotics, you have to wait before eating or taking meds, then juggle what goes on an empty stomach with food. Can’t forget the shot to the stomach three days a week. Adjusting the new meds has not been fun, I’ve been stoned out of my mind the bulk of the day, then a massive headache moves in, and then time to get stoned again before bed with the headache.
My gripe is it’s not being stoned, it’s brain fog with the floor moving under your feet. David has to take me to appointments since I can’t drive. I’m a sight to see, a woman, stoned out of her mind trying to maneuver a cane while walking.
I had my first appointment with a new Cardiologist yesterday, he has Lyme Disease experience with a specialty in blood flow. He is one of three doctors who will manage my Lyme journey. The RN performed an EKG, and then his Assistant reviewed my medical history, asking what seemed like 1000 questions.
The doctor is next, we talk about how Lyme can affect blood flow in the heart and the entire body. The general exam with discussion on the test he has ordered. I left wearing a Holter Monitor which comes off at 2:45 PM today. I push a button on a small device and put it up to my chest anytime I feel dizzy, have cardiac pain, trouble breathing, etc, etc.
I leave with the schedule of tests for next week which takes 3 1/2 hours when to pick up medicine for tests and the great news is to show up fasting. A couple of tests I’ve done it multiple times due to my heart condition. The Tilt Test is what it sounds like, the table moves to a head-down position for 30 minutes. The test is more frightening than giving me a shot. They may see a panic attack instead, that’s a lot of time without control and no way to escape.
Echo Cardiogram
Q Sweat Test-Study of Sudomotor response assisting in the diagnosis of small fiber neuropathy
Tilt Table with Trans Cranial Doppler monitors mean blood flow velocity
Tilt Table with ANSAR-Determines how well the Autonomic Nervous System is functioning
Tilt Table with BIOZ-Determines the heart’s ability to deliver blood to the body
Tilt Table with QST-Assesses sensory neuropathy
Metabolic Stress Test
Lipid Profile
I have blood work from last week to complete, 20 plus vials get me as excited until she says the stool sample requires freezing! I’m now 1 hour 45 minutes before the monitor comes off. The time for a shot and a handful of pills. Are we having fun yet?
My heart and soul go out to those struggling with Lyme, it’s a long complicated journey. I know you’re strong enough to fight the virus in your body, though it may not feel like it today.
This is an example of how trauma represents itself long after you’ve worked out the worst in your head and heart.
People who have read my About Me page know I’ve had my share of trauma and that I’ve worked hard to overcome my demons. The truth is they never go away, some piece in your heart or brain still remembers. It’s not something you feel, it becomes a trigger.
Photo by u0422u0430u0442u044cu044fu043du0430 u0427u0435u0440u043du044bu0448u043eu0432u0430ud83cudf52 on Pexels.com
Here’s some backstory
My husband works for an International company and they’ve gone thru a major reorganization recently. It is a bit chaotic right now, he is working many late-night meetings so his counterparts in the other country can participate. Because of this, my husband doesn’t get a chance to unwind from the stress. Fact of life right?
We all have to find a way to deplete stress from our day in order to feel restored and for our long-term health. Last night he didn’t finish his day, minus looking at emails all night, until after 7PM and he was trying to destress for the day.
I saw him from the corner of my eye, he was maxed out. I said to him not in these exact words, that I was concerned that he was not getting a chance to destress every day and that maybe there were other options the doctor could offer him. Like anxiety meds.
During our conversation, he said, “I’ll think about it”. Sounds harmless right? It triggered me. At that moment, “I’ll think about it” meant, either I’m not going to do it or shut up about it. I got upset and we had a breakdown in communication.
He has no way to know that comment would trigger me, I had no idea.
The post isn’t about how our communication went sideways, it’s an example of what’s under our skin that remains after trauma. It’s impossible to see triggers when you’re still working thru trauma, the nerves and heart are like a live wire. When you’re in the middle of the storm it’s pure survival, whatever it takes.
Those who make it thru the storm come out with deep scars, you have no idea how those scars will represent themselves as you move forward in life.
As we learn what is a trigger, we can better learn how to deal with the emotion it brings up.
Give yourself and other’s some grace in those moments.
I woke up weeping this morning, the reasons are never known. I sit down to write and start to cry. Unsure of what I need emotionally, my focus turns to the computer. Today I needed to hear I was loved.
Josh Groban fills my soul, maybe he can fill you with love today.
After the big showdown with my stepfather, my mother finally relented and let me move to my dad’s. I knew living with my dad was not going to be peaches and cream but at least the beatings and emotional abuse would stop. I was in for a completely different ride but it was bumpy.
One important piece of information is my dad had been taking me to bars since I was nine years old. I’m 12 years old, it’s summertime, and I know no one except the neighbors. There were a couple of neighbors who drank or smoked pot so I hung around their place.
My dad could see I was going crazy without friends. So, my dad start taking me to the club every weekend and sometimes to parties. These parties were for adults, not children. I saw things no 12-year-old should see. At one party, my dad and I were sitting at the bar drinking and I was smoking pot. I had to go to the bathroom and it was upstairs, walking up the stairs was a full-on orgy taking place. I had to walk over people to get to the bathroom.
My dad was married and had a girlfriend, so he would go to the 7-11 every day to call his girlfriend. There were a group of young people who hung around the 7-11 and he thought if we met I would be happy. One night he drove me up there and introduced me to the group. They were all older than me and out of high school. What was my father thinking? Maybe it made sense to him because I had already been hanging out with many older people. Knowing what I know today, he was not well mentally.
Now, this was my gang, even started dating one guy who was 21 years old. In what world do a 12-year-old girl and a 21-year-old man make sense? Not in America. He was the local drug dealer, every week we would break down a kilo of pot and sell it to our friends. Friday night was distribution time, back then you could buy a four-finger bag for just $10! Sometimes I would stay at a friend’s house while he meet some other people. We partied and lived in a world of smoke. Because he had access to other drugs he would ask me if I wanted anything special, it was always hash, speed, or LSD. I had one bad trip on LSD and that was the last time I took it. I was eventually addicted to speed.
One night my boyfriend and I were at my dad’s watching a movie on television, my dad came out of his room madder than hell and put a 357 mag to my boyfriend’s head and told him to get out. Of course, I was mad as hell and a bit frightened so I ran away. My father drove around with that gun and threatened all my friends to tell him where I was. He was pointing the gun at them. I was on the passenger side floorboard when my dad approached one of my friends and I saw the threat playing out. My friends didn’t think anything about it. Now my boyfriend and I started planning how we would kill my father, in the end, God must have said no.
At this point, I was 13 years old and in eighth grade. I didn’t care much for school and would hang out with my friends instead. After missing 34 days of school my father found out and had me put in juvenile detention for three days. My stay was an eye opener to the violence out there, so many girls were in solitary confinement. The stay didn’t affect me, I got out and talked my dad into letting me go to the Eagles concert with my boyfriend just a few days later. It would have been fine except my boyfriend drove a motorcycle so we borrowed a friend’s car. The car broke down as we were almost there. We walked the rest of the way and said we’d figure it out after the concert. After the concert, I used the toll booth phone and called my dad. The worst part is it was freezing outside, my father had never been to that city over an hour away from him. Trying to give directions, I said right before the toll both look for the car. It took him hours to find us and he was pissed.
Right after that, he put a restraining order on my boyfriend, like that would stop me from seeing him. I was in love and we were going to get married. The fights with my dad kept escalating until he put a gun to my head. That was the last straw, I tried and almost succeeded in killing myself. My dad was so out of touch with reality, he took me by the cub to get a glass of milk. He drove 20 minutes to the club when he could have driven five minutes to the hospital. He’s not able to connect with reality.
By this time I was on probation for carrying a gun and saw my probation officer every month and never spoke a word for seven months. She would tell me that the state was already looking for a boot-camp type of place to send me, that was for kids who could not be reformed. She felt I could be reformed and kept talking to me until the eight-month when I said send me somewhere that is not a boot camp and I’ll go. It took a few months but she found a convent that ran a bad girl boarding school, Mount St. Michaels.
Luckily for me, it was only thirty minutes from my grandparents. My father was not allowed to see me for a year, and my mother was allowed but she never came. Every Wednesday night there was group counseling, and my grandparents came every time. I couldn’t visit with them but over time they let me say hello and my grandmother would bring goodies for the entire dorm.
I was in a boarding school for a year, and I cherish my time there. The nuns were always complementary, positive, and reassuring. One day hurt my thumb, and several nuns circled me, held my thumb and they prayed the pain would go away. This was new to me but it worked.
I started going to the Catholic church on-site every day and eventually converted to Catholicism after completing my studies. Father George and my counselor Jim were my teachers and at Baptism, I chose my Catholic name, Catherine, and name Jim as my guardian.
As always my mother fucked up another big moment for me. I was scheduled to leave on the 10th, we had a big party planned and say our goodbyes. Instead, my mother shows up on the 9th, I’m hauled out of class not knowing what was going on until I saw my mother’s car. No goodbyes, nothing. Someone had finished packing my room and off we went. It wasn’t until years later I realized the reason she came early is my brother’s birthday is on the 10th, she couldn’t be bothered the day of his birthday so she showed up unannounced.
I didn’t want to go back to my mother’s and talked with my grandparents about coming to live with them. Behind the scenes, my grandparents put everything in place to take custody of me. My mother never blinked an eye.
Reformed, I was to a point but still drank and did drugs. My grandparents ran a tight ship and my opportunities were limited to weekends. I wasn’t doing many drugs just smoking pot when it was around. Drinking was another story. This was a continuation of my drinking which lead to addiction. My granny knew I drank and if I were taking medication, she would tell me not to take my medication since it was the weekend. I did pretty well at hiding it except for the night I was skunked, hit the washer, and threw up. Gramps knew then I was drunk but no punishment.
I guess they looked at the trauma I grew up with and gave me a pass at times. With my grandparent’s love and strict rules, I went to 10th grade with confidence. I was your typical teenager except I was hiding a horrific past.
I was also sexually abused by my dad but am not ready to say it out loud.
During the past two-plus years of living with the pandemic Domestic Violence has increased dramatically. We have to keep the topic of Dometic Violence in our lawmaker’s front mirror in order to enact change.
I flipped to the National Geographic channel to find Alaska State Troopers one day. Watching was a blessing. The show opened my eyes to ending domestic violence. Ending domestic violence is happening now, not somewhere in the future. We have to raise our voices louder and demand the same protection for all abused in other states. Below are notes were taken while watching several episodes.
Fairbanks, Alaska has the highest number of domestic violence cases in America.
Domestic violence calls are dispatched to Troopers as top priority status. Everyone on the scene was interviewed, once established as a domestic violence case, it’s an automatic assault charge and trip to jail. Other charges will follow based on the situation.
This is a very condensed version of what I watched:
A fight escalates, and the female screaming loudly to get out of the house. Punched multiple times, raped, and once outside pulled by the hair back into the house. When the police arrive she’s in the front yard in bra and panties, visible marks of being hit in the face, crying and trying to convince police nothing happened. Troopers receive education on domestic violence behavior. One officer goes into the house with a gun drawn. The second keeps lightly pushing, why is she in the front yard in her bra and panties with visible marks on her face. The male was taken to the side of the house, interviewed, handcuffed, and lead to a car. Officer provides a jacket to cover herself and support her, and she tells her what happened to leave out being raped. Her disheveled appearance tips one officer to ask what else happened. She bows her head crying not wanting to go to the hospital and tells of being raped. Thru the support and gentle urging, she agrees to hospital. The male was charged with assault and kidnapping for not allowing her to leave.
A neighbor hears a woman screaming, and goes to investigate. He witnesses a man beating a woman which quickly spills to the front yard. The neighbor calls the police, and they arrive to see a man running into the woods. One head into the woods with a gun drawn. The second officer discovers the male running is jealous of her other boyfriend. He looked thru the window to see another boyfriend there and breaks into the back door. He also assaulted the man. The abuser was charged with assault and taken to jail.
In Alaska, there is no first-time pass, first time, and every time abuser goes to jail. The top priority status given to DV calls backed by state laws written to protect all citizens, gives me hope. The laws in other states sound good to those who turn an eye to the problem. When states charge a teen for smoking pot with a seven-year jail term and a murderer walks out in less than two years on good behavior, the legal system requires an overhaul. As paying taxpayers we have the right to vote, speak out and advocate for change.
Be sure you know where your lawmaker stands on Domestic Violence and vote accordingly.
I want more people to see what can be done to stop Domestic Violence.
I want to send a special thanks to Laura Sebright at Tigger Publishing for sending me Mind Over Mountain-A Mental and Physical Climb to the Top by Robby Kojetin to review.
About the Author
Robby Kojetin lives in Johannesburg, South Africa, and is a high-altitude adventure. Since his accident in 2006 which resulted in him breaking both of his ankles, he has gone on to become one of only a handful of people to have stood on top of the world’s highest mountain, Mount Everest. He has also climbed Kilimanjaro nine times, completed the Ironman triathlon, and scaled five of the Seven Summits. Known as an inspirational and engaging speaker on stage, he presents on the topics of failure, self-doubt and persisting against all odds, in the hopes of inspiring people of all ages and backgrounds facing the daunting mountains and obstacles in their own lives.
Robby is a proud husband and father who also coaches people to reach their personal summit goals. He is a regular contributor to a number of radio programmes, magazine articles and TV features, including DiscoveryChannel’s Everest: Beyond the Limit.
Blurb
A simple mistake at an indoor climbing gym sentenced 28-year-old Robby to a year in a wheelchair, shattering his aspirations of becoming a mountaineer. In the months that followed, Robby faced depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts and a complete loss of his sense of identity.
But from somewhere deep inside him, he summoned up the strength to keep going even when all seemed lost; he embarked on a monumental journey, a feat of mental and physical strength. His weakness became his power. This story is more than a biography or an account of a mountaineering expedition – it showcases the human spirit and shows us all how it is possible to rewrite the definition of what is possible. From those dark days, Robby has become the embodiment of perseverance and possibility, overcoming the odds to join the handful of people who have summited Mount Everest.
One reviewer said “I laughed, I cried, got angry at why something so terrible could happen to someone so good, but most of all I was in awe of what Robby overcame!! A must-read for anyone!!”
My Thoughts
At 22 years old Robby’s identity and self-confidence were tied to rock climbing and all the adventure it brought. He was paving away in a career that he enjoyed that gave him the time off needed to continue his climbing adventures.
Until one fateful day, while practicing on a climbing wall, he jumped off as he had done many times before, the floor gave way causing Robby to shatter both ankles, fracturing several bones and rupturing the tendons from the shin down.
This is a devastating blow to anyone but for an avid rock climber, this could be the end of the adventure. With the love and support of family and friends, Robby concentrates on recovery and walking again. The recovery period is slow, very painful, and takes a toll on his mental health. Some days are dark with no light at the end of the tunnel but he pushes forward.
What Robby does from here is miraculous, not only does Robby walk again but goes on to climb the highest mountain in the world Mount Everest. This book is a fast and very enthralling read. It’s a story of grit and what the mind can allow us to accomplish. I would recommend this book to anyone.
Trigger Publishing
TriggerHub.org is the first mental health organization of its kind. We are bringing mental health recovery and balance to millions of people worldwide through the power of our books.
We have built a first-class resource of curated books produced and published in-house to create a unique collection of mental health recovery titles unrivaled in quality and selection. We work with experts, psychologists, doctors, and coaches to produce our books, but we also work with real people looking to share their stories to reach out to others and provide hope, understanding, and compassion. These brave authors also aim to raise awareness of mental health’s “human” face and its impact on everyday lives.
May is Mental Health Awareness month and I wanted to share a post written in 2015. Suicide is one of the reasons we need awareness, it can happen to anyone, with or without notice.
All he said is your daddy has done away with himself. I screamed then said I’m on the way. Calling right back to ask were they sure he was dead? Yes. I think years of abuse left a permanent hole in my heart. I go there to do actions requiring no emotions. It’s like autopilot, it has served me well. I started to think about work, and who I needed to call. I’m driving with emergency lights on going 100 mph calling my work team. I stayed on autopilot until I pulled up to my grandparents.
Estranged since a teen, I thought it odd when he started calling. He sounded delusional and extremely paranoid. Nothing made sense, he was not talking in sentences. I pieced together he didn’t have any money and couldn’t work. Why he could not work must have come from the madness.
I would do anything to avoid my granny being hurt. I paid his bills. Over the next several months the phone calls were my hell on earth. He would threaten to kill himself and then go off on what didn’t sound like words. I couldn’t make out anything he was saying as he yelled on the phone. I would keep trying to redirect him back to our conversation. I did not tell anyone what daddy said. He was mentally ill. It had been years since we talked, maybe this was his norm. I didn’t know.
Everyone sitting on the floor when I entered the door. The first words out of my mouth were what he told me. I felt overwhelming guilt, I let my family down. I knew it wasn’t logical but emotions rarely are. My mind scrambled, my father sexually abused me and I’m feeling guilty. I forgave my father, cut him out of my life, paid bills, and feel guilty.
My grandparents and I went to daddy’s the next morning. The disarray would alert anyone that something was wrong. On his coffee table, his lockbox opened with every card I had ever given him, every school photo. The divorce paperwork to my mother laid on the table, his bible open to Job. You could see tear stains on the pages. The house had papers scattered everywhere, dishes piled up, and everything was thrown around. My father had reached the bottom long ago and no one knew.
I found a shoebox full of cassette tapes from recorded phone conversations. It took seven months to listen to every tape. I would have a couple of drinks, listen and cry. Like a tornado in my head, being in the house my sexual abuse took place, daddy putting 357 mag to my head, being a drug addict, and my boyfriend and I planning how to kill my father. These are the times the hole in my heart is useful. Granny didn’t know about the abuse and went to her grave not knowing. To help my granny cope, I would not cry or show emotion around her. I wanted to piece her heart back together. Holding emotions inside extended my grieving process for a long seven years.
A couple of weeks later the morgue called asking me to pick up the gun. Ring the side doorbell, someone brought the original suicide note, autopsy report, and gun with dried blood. My mind could not prepare for reading the autopsy report. Every detail of how he shot himself. The trajectory of bullets, lobes damaged, bones crushed, and exit wounds.
I believe my father died so I could live. Learning about his mental illness pointed me to my own. Thru ancestry, I connected with daddy’s half-brother and several family members. There were over ten suicides in only three generations and many are now with severe mental illness.
I was 9 years old when four boys I knew invited me in for a soda. This was nothing new for any of my friends so I didn’t think anything about it. Once in we had a coke and began to shoot the breeze. What happened next was not expected.
All four boys grabbed me and tore my clothes off and held me down while one boy put his penis in my mouth. I wasn’t smart enough to bite it, I was too scared. I screamed and wiggled around while boys held me down and then, they were down.
I put my clothes on and went home. I never told anyone, my mother is the last person I would tell. She would say I instigated it.
For many years I didn’t think it was rape because I wasn’t penetrating but that is not what rape is. Being sexually assaulted is being forced or pressured to endure any sex act. I’ve never written about that day but have been feeling very raw lately and want to share to help someone else.
Sexual assault is an act in which one intentionally sexually touches another person without that person’s consent, or coerces or physically forces a person to engage in a sexual act against their will. Wikipedia
National Sexual Assault Hotline
1-800-656-4673
This was my first experience sadly it wasn’t my last. Maybe I’ll write about them someday.
This is what child abuse looks like. Just like any other parent is what it looks like until you peel the layers back.
Melinda
Original post 1/2015
I found photos of myself starting at birth. As I looked at each photo my mind was asking who could hit this child. I began to sob, continuing to look at each as I grew older. The question of who could hit this child grew louder in my head. People who don’t know me are probably thinking I was crying for myself. The truth is I didn’t think about my circumstances once. I looked at each photo as any child being abused, not even seeing myself in the photo. I knew logically they were me but my mind turns off. I had a similar experience after seeing a news report of a 9-year-old girl abused, starved, and killed by her parents. She died chained to a post on the front porch. I was heartbroken and wished someone could have helped her. There were no tears at home. Several days later I started talking to my Therapist about the girl. I cried, expressing a range of emotions, and it took a few minutes to compose myself. I asked my Therapist if the emotions were suppressed, and I didn’t think so. After 16 years she knows me and explained I feel deep compassion for others.
I read my Baby Book, I wanted to show that abused children and abusers don’t look any different. The parents can say sweet things to cover the abuse at home.
My Mother’s Message To Her Child
To my beautiful young lady. I wish you all the happiness and grace to you. May God fill your life with all his richness and love. May your path be filled with roses and your heart be filled with the pureness of God.
New mothers often write their child’s milestones in a Baby Book. Here is my Mother’s observations and comments mine starting at birth.
Lock of hair from the first cut at 12 months old
The first baby ring at 18 months
Hand and footprints traced, right hand at 8 months and right foot at 3 months
My first toys were a baseball bat and glove from my gramps
I learned to ride a bike at 4 years old
Started walking at 8 months, potty trained at 19 months
Notes: Happy birthday my sweet little kitten, likes to blow bubbles with her food, first school play 5 years old, I was so proud I cried, she has a little temper, she has a big beautiful smile, at 16 months loves music and dancing
This post was from the 2020 Mental Health Awareness Month and I believe it’s still relevant for Mental Health Awareness Month 2022. I’ve been stable for a couple of years and am thankful for every day that I’m healthy. This is more an opinion piece than a post.
Second Birthday
May is Mental Health Awareness Month and mental health has been on my mind more than normal. I come from generations of family members with mental illness including my father who had Bipolar Disorder and eventually committed suicide.
I expect this to be an unpopular post, but that’s okay I want to hear all your comments.
All people have to be held accountable for their actions. The thought that came to mind this morning was a murder case that disturbs me to this day. A woman in Texas drowned all five of her children in the bathtub. She pleaded temporary insanity. I would have to agree she was insane, how could someone kill their five children? She only spent five years in a mental health ward in the prison and was then released from jail. Is five years of medical oversite enough punishment? Is she no longer insane? I think not. I’m responsible for all of my actions regardless of my mental state. She should have been moved to the regular jail system to pay for her murder charges.
My father sexually abused me, was it ok because he was mentally ill? It wasn’t his fault? I don’t buy into that theory. My father never sought help for his mental illness and committed suicide at 52 years old. He made the decision to not seek treatment, at the end of his life he was too sick to see how far down he was. He’ll be held accountable by a higher power than me.
I was nine years old the first time I attempted suicide, it was the first of many attempts throughout my life. As an adult, I educated myself on my illness and have a support system in place. I have to be disciplined in taking my medication, going to therapy, seeing my Psychiatrist, and communicating with my husband or paying the price of becoming unstable.
Mental health matters and people with mental illness need medical help if not for a crisis, for knowledge, and for heading off a problem.
What do you think? Are five years in a mental hospital punishment enough for killing your five children?
April is Sexual Assualt Awareness month and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate than to introduce you to a very brave woman and mother, Christine.
Keep your eyes peeled for a new Blogger Highlight next week.
I can’t stop thinking about my sexual trauma without actually thinking about it. I feel the filth and pain from all of those events. I think it’s time to confront it. But I’m afraid of who I’ll be when I’m done.
Sometimes life is messy, downright ugly and it happens to good people. I love the way Christine is so raw with her emotion and doesn’t edit herself. We see the authentic person.
SHE IS A BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF BROKEN POTTERY. PUT BACK TOGETHER BY HER OWN HANDS A CRITICAL WORLD JUDGES HER CRACKS WHILE MISSING THE BEAUTY OF HOW SHE MADE HERSELF WHOLE AGAIN.
The NO MORE Foundation is a nonprofit organization dedicated to ending domestic violence and sexual assault by increasing awareness, inspiring action, and fueling culture change. Every March, we celebrate NO MORE Week, which coincides with International Women’s Day on March 8th. During this week, our goal is to inspire everyone to take action and help create a culture of safety, equality, and respect in our communities.
In honor of the ninth annual NO MORE Week, we invite you to #JoinTheChorus and get ready for a virtual 5K! Whether you love running trails, conquering the treadmill, or walking around the neighborhood, this COVID-safe virtual race is for you. Tighten your laces and get active to support the elimination of domestic and sexual violence. You have all of NO MORE Week—March 6th through 13th— to complete your run or walk on the route, day, and time that works best for you. Register, track your progress, and compete with others to reach your goal!
Your safety is important to us, and we all have a role in continuing to slow the spread of COVID-19. Please follow all COVID-19 safety guidelines required by your state and local governments. View updated information on COVID-19 from the CDC here: https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-ncov/index.html.
We’re proud to be teaming up with State Farm for the second annual NO MORE Week Virtual 5k, and we’re grateful to the National Football League for its support of the race. VIRTUAL RACE CONTACT INFO
If you have any questions about this virtual race, click the button below. Questions?
Being a trauma survivor myself, mindfulness has always been integrated into my treatment. Recently I was enrolled into a mindfulness based CBT group where I’ve met like minded people who are struggling with trauma and struggling staying present. So, what is trauma and why is mindfulness so important in regards to it? According to the […]
You would be celebrating your 101st birthday today if God hadn’t called you home at 85 years old. Boy, what life you had. From being born very poor, to losing your father at nine years old, being a single parent with a newborn baby, raising my father single-handled until he was 10 years old and burying your son.
One of the most important lessons life taught you at a young age is to appreciate what you have and to work hard for what you want. You passed those lessons on to me and they are my foundation.
You were shy, not easy to get to know, and liked to be home. You didn’t need things or places to make you happy as long as you had Gramps. I’ve never seen someone love another so much as you two loved each other, every day until the end.
You saved all the cards Gramps bought you over the years, he didn’t know and one day we were cleaning out a cabinet and there they were. He melted, his blue eyes were shining so bright.
You were my backbone, you loved me when my mother didn’t. You raised me, worked hard to provide a better life than you had, and taught me lessons that helped me in life.
I’ve never known the unconditional love of another like yours.
I miss you every day and have so many great memories of our time together. Like when I was three years old and you were teaching me how to do laundry and I had my sunglasses on and dropped them in the washer. I just knew they were ruined. As I got a little older you put my little step stool by the sink next to you and I would rinse the dishes and put them to drain, as you cleaned the stove I would dry.
As I grew older, you knew what I was doing on weekends, so you went behind Gramps back and would tell me not to take any medicine if it might interfere with alcohol.
You let me make my own decisions and let me deal with the consequences. When I said I wanted to get married at 18 years old, you approved. When I divorced at 19 years old you told me life was hard.
Thank you for every lesson and every day we had together, I would not be the person I am today without your love and support.
Originally posted on Don’t Lose Hope : “You can be healing and feel broken at the same time. Healing isn’t a destination we reach where we’re perfect and at peace all the time. Healing is a journey which involves accepting and embracing ourselves as we break, as we heal, and as we reconstruct.” Najwa Zebian…
A socially awkward doctor called with the news. The call I had been dreading. Cancer. When the short call ended, I just sat there, dumbfounded, until I mustered up the courage to call my mom. To this day, sharing the news of my diagnosis has been one of the worst things I’ve had to do. […]
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October 16th: National Mammography Day
National Mammography Day is a part of Breast Cancer Awareness month and is celebrated on the third Friday of October every year.
Mammograms are a hugely important aspect of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, as millions of women across the globe are encouraged to attend Mammography screenings as part of the defence against developing breast cancer.
According to the CDC, cancer is the second biggest cause of death among Americans. Breast cancer is among the most common diagnosis in women, and screenings and exams are crucial for early detection and treatment.
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I had my own scare years ago when a lump was found on my breast. My doctor did advanced testing and felt certain it was not malignant and watched it for ten years. Last year I went to a new doctor for my exam. I was called back in three times and told on one appointment it had grown. I became very worried and like many thought about the outcome.
Another doctor did an ultrasound and compared my images to the previous one and discovered it had indeed not grown. What a relief. I still have to be closely monitored every year with advanced screening and ultrasound. As it turns out, every October is when I have my annual screening. A perfect reminder.
Get your annual exam and do monthly breast exams at home. If you are unsure how to do them, ask your doctor for the proper way to look for changes in your breast.
Growing up in a household of Domestic Violence is traumatic, lonely, heartbreaking and forever changes the person you are and who you become.
My step-father would regularly drag my mother down the hall, beating her head from one side to the other, calling her vial names. The hall ended at my bedroom door. I heard all saw the brunt of her pain.
One evening after he was drinking heavily again, he dragged her down the hall, only this time when they stopped at my bedroom door I heard her begging for her life. I peeked out the door carefully and found he had a knife to her throat. I knew he was going to kill her. Then what?
I ran away that night, I was nine years old. That’s more than a child can handle. I went to my boyfriend’s house across town and told his parents what happened. Of course, they had to call my mother after I calmed down. I received a beating for that before we even turned the corner.
I was also emotionally and physically abused by my mother and stepfather which added my train wreck of a life.
It took years of therapy and medication for me to clearly see I was not to blame and even longer to grieve for the little girl whose childhood was ripped away piece by piece.
It was almost 20 years later before my brother had to pull a gun on my step-father to make him leave while beating my mother.
If you’re in a Domestic relationship that is violent, have a plan for the day you need to leave and only tell the most trusted person where you are. Get a new cell phone and don’t use joint credit cards. Get as far away as you can and take your children.
Keep your eyes and ears open, most importantly look at the children, their actions and remember the eyes can tell you everything.
You’re out in public and see a couple fighting and yelling or you’re at home watching television when you hear the neighbors going at it, if you see or hear things escalating call the police. It may be a call that saves someone a trip to the emergency room or far worse.
Everyone has a role to play in stopping Domestic Violence.
Here are some startling statistics:
Talking about these issues openly will help end the shame and stigma that domestic violence and sexual assault survivors are burdened with. The next time you’re in a room with 6 people, think about this:
1 in 4 women and 1 in 9 men experience violence from their partners in their lifetimes.
1 in 3 teens experience sexual or physical abuse or threats from a boyfriend or girlfriend in one year.
What is Domestic Violence
Domestic Violence is a pattern of behavior used to establish power and control over another person through fear and intimidation, often including the threat or use of violence. Some signs of an abusive relationship include:
Exerting strict control (financial, social and/or appearance).
Needing constant contact including excessive texts and calls.
Emotional abuse including insulting a partner in front of other people.
Extreme jealousy.
Showing fear around a partner.
Isolation from family and friends.
Frequent canceling of plans at the last minute.
Unexplained injuries or explanations that don’t quite add up.
Of course if you see, hear, or suspect that someone is in immediate danger, call 911 immediately.
Melinda
All information is taken from the No More website.
NO MÁS – a collaborative effort between Casa de Esperanza: National Latin@ Network, the nation’s leading Latin@ organization on domestic violence prevention,and NO MORE – provides tools and resources tailored to the needs and strengths of the Latin@ community. Visit https://www.decimosnomas.org/en/ to learn more.
The NO MÁS Study, conducted by Lake Research Partners, is a groundbreaking, in-depth study of domestic violence and sexual assault in the U.S. Latino community.
Among the key findings:
More than half of the Latin@s (56%) in the U.S. know a victim of domestic violence, and one in four (28%) know a victim of sexual assault.
41% of Latin@s believe that fear of deportation is the number one barrier preventing Latin@ victims from seeking help, followed by fear of more violence for themselves and their families (39%) and fear of children being taken away (39%).
Lack of respect for the opposite sex was seen as a stronger driver of domestic violence and sexual assault than traditional gender roles.
Nearly two-thirds of Latin@s who knew a victim of domestic violence (61%) and sexual assault (60%) say that they intervened and did something for the victim.
“Debo aprender de lo que voy a hablar, porque muchas veces yo no puedo hablar algo que yo no conozco”— RECENT IMMIGRANT LATINO, LOS ANGELES
When compared to the 2013 NO MORE Study, the NO MÁS data reveals that Latin@s are more likely than the population at large to take action to intervene and help prevent domestic violence and sexual assault. The NO MORE study, conducted by GfK Public Affairs and Corporate Communications, looked at attitudes of teens and adults on domestic violence and sexual assault in the population at large and was commissioned by the Avon Foundation for Women.
Key findings – 2015 NO MÁS Study and 2013 NO MORE Study comparison:
Latin@ parents are much more likely than parents in the U.S. population at large to talk to their children about domestic violence and sexual assault. More than half (54%) of Latin@ parents have talked to their children about these issues, compared to just 29% of parents in the population at large who say they have talked to their children about domestic violence and/or sexual assault.
Over half (57%) of U.S. Latin@s report talking about domestic violence and sexual assault with their friends. In comparison, only 34% of the U.S. population at large say they have had a conversation about domestic violence and/or sexual assault with their friends.
Latin@s are more likely than the population at large to say they intervened and did something for the victim.
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