You can have a mental illness and still make a positive impact on the world, in spite of the huge challenges. Living with mental illness does not define a whole person, and with the correct medicine, support and coping skills, life can be filled with accomplishments, purpose and happiness despite the enormous challenges and setbacks.
Those who live on in our minds, those ones we can hear eyes closed, are the familiar bonds that can never be broken or diffused. I’m a mutt, Black Irish, German with a pinch of Italian thrown in. I know this because I have always been curious about where I came from, and more specifically the people I came from. Family is heavy sometimes like the two tons of butter my grandmother’s father used to make his baked goods.
Some of my best ideas come when I’m outside in nature, walking, on an exercise bike, listening to music or observing my surroundings.
Write the truth, from the heart. Write because you love it, you may never be a famous author. Publishing is hard work and overwhelming at times, but never let anyone squash your dreams.
Thirty years later, my mom pulls out the newsletter I’d long forgotten. She’d tucked it away in a drawer for safekeeping, perhaps with a foresight I didn’t have back then. I’d hightailed it, traveled the globe, the gypsy desperate to expand my horizons and my own Mind’s Eye, only to return home again.
Video Exchange, the place of connecting with an expert commentator who can answer the questions you desire to know. No subject is off limits! Everything from loving your spouse to loving yourself and all subjects in-between are here for us to answer.
I don’t cry anymore, media men. Anchorman, you’ve washed up all my tears with your free-for-all, show it all, bad taste charade
I hate you, I despise you with the bitter guts and boiling blood that festers inside; It’s all a waking dream and I’m suffocating; Where, so where do I place the fear I carry so heavy too heavy to mind …
Years passed until one day I stopped, running, and actually gave a damn about someone other than me. The day I was down on my luck and couldn’t offer him a quarter, I finally understood the shame from his side.
Do you realize the danger of putting your competitive needs ahead of someone’s mental well-being? You are not playing games. This is serious business, you are dealing with people lives.
I made a pact to write everyday, stream of consciousness. The Red Bench was a coping mechanism, a way to hold onto to hope, and frankly to stay alive.
How was your day? Inside those four simple words lies the entire lifetime of one soul.
Who is to blame for the massacres, the sick individuals who walk into a school or movie theatre with mass arsenals readily available? I blame every single one of you. And myself.
I am in the throes of psychosis, the broken point. Balancing on an invisible barbwire tightrope barefoot bloodied and blistered. I am scorching star stuff too far and away floating free fall above solid ground. One foot firmly rooted to the earth while the other tests the waters dipping my toes into the swirling madness.
It’ll be over before I can take in and fully grasp one human breath. Maybe you could add a pause button, please, so I might be more than some other being’s fading memory? Perhaps I can stay down there, just a little while longer? Not forever, no, I know. I understand. Just long enough, enough time so I can get it.
Who is this person? She doesn’t recognize her at all. Oh yeah, She, The Master of Pretending. To live, to exist in the dark requires discipline. She was tenacious, loyal, and loved hating herself. It was what she knew, the one emotion she understood intimately.
Being real has little to do with how you’d like to be perceived and everything to do with who you are naked and exposed.
As Freud says, there are only two things. “There’s denial, and then there’s insanity.” And my life is lived somewhere in the middle. So, today I make this promise. I promise to smile at strangers, to allow myself some happiness, to chip away at the brick that has become my shell, and to hope.
All any of us wants is to be seen, really looked in the eye and acknowledged. Today, I’m hanging all the right mirrors in my house. Whether beveled, glass, wood, antique or modern, I’ll make sure they are a correct representation of who I am and where I come from and where I’d like to go. I’ll make sure that each time I look into them, I recognize my face looking back.
Praying for normal, begging and weeping for a sliver of routine. My beautiful, chaotic brain is burning. I see the words but cannot will the neurons to speak them from my mouth. I fear they will abandon me, the words, that is the fate waiting down the road. The fault line.
Mental Illness is the agonizing, paralyzing, uncompromising, anxiety-ridden, paranoid, numbing fear, night terrors in the daytime. It is the hideous, unforgiving, relentless, tedious, Ad nauseam unknown. Mental Illness is the unwanted safety net that stops me from believing I can fly.