Tag Archives: women

“…talking Away. I Don’t Know What I’m to say. I’ll say it Anyway” Lyrics from a-ha

08 Monday Oct 2018

Posted by in bipolar, caregivers, hope, mental illness, relationships, schizophrenia, stigma, Uncategorized

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I’ve spent much more time out in public lately, and I have noticed that I enjoy talking to strangers. I usually start up conversations with servers in restaurants, and with cashiers in coffee shops and grocery stores. I frequently say something self-deprecating or humorous in another way, to start up a little back and forth.

Yesterday, my husband and I went to four museums by our house, and we talked to people viewing art, people working the doors, and as usual, I complimented a few women on their outfits as we passed them walking through the park.

Years ago, I noticed that my dad would talk to everyone he encountered and I found it annoying. Now, I’m just like him. I like talking to people. I especially like it when we share a laugh, a few smiles, or impart some information to each other like a favorite place to shop for sales, etc.

These interactions with people are like little fuel charges in my day. They don’t take energy; they give energy. Unlike how I feel about most social media. So many of the writers I am friends frequently encourage me (and others) to find “your community” “seek out your community” “rely on your community” “build your community,” but the writing communities and communities for women are less than supportive.

Some of the women writing communities I belong to have a call out culture of shame and humiliation if someone makes a mistake regarding a social justice issue. I don’t know how all of us are supposed to learn the ever-changing language, norms, preferences, etc. of different groups if we don’t learn it from somewhere and that learning can mean making mistakes.

It has to be okay to make mistakes without calling the person’s intelligence, character, intentions, etc. into question. I don’t know everything about the LGBTQA community or racism, and I am willing to bet that the people who try to make others look bad so they can look virtuous and knowledgeable and “above it all” don’t know everything about the mental health community. For instance, I bet they don’t know what those of us with a mental illness find offensive, degrading, stigmatizing, etc. Yet, I don’t try to shame people who make mistakes.

Other communities of women are supportive of you only if you have social capital. In other words, if you are a well-known writer, you will get hundreds, possibly thousands, of likes on anything you post, no matter how mundane. But if you are not well known, or don’t have contacts, or something that others feel they want to be a part of you might get one like or two likes and those come mostly from people who know you in real life.

So these communities that we are often told to seek out, join in, get support from are often not welcoming or supportive at all. I have found the same to be true of the mental health community. You would think that I would be a natural fit in the communities based on mental health. I write about severe mental illness; I have lived experience, I put myself and my story out there as an activist.

In the mental health communities, I find that the same hierarchies exist regarding social capital. I also find that in many of the communities, it seems like it is just people looking for attention. They don’t want to start real conversations or help each other to move up, move beyond, challenge, live better, etc. Frequently it is about someone posting a picture (I see this at least twice a day) with the caption, “Everyone says, I am ugly, do you think I am ugly?” Of course, it will be a photo of a young woman in her early twenties that is attractive. I can’t say that no one has ever called these young people ugly, but I can say that this happens so frequently it just looks like a way to get attention and hear people say positive things. Which, I have to admit is sad and possibly does belong in a mental health group. I don’t know.

But for whatever reason, this “find your community” mantra that so many people suggest, espouse, and recommend to others trying to find support, friendship, camaraderie, etc. doesn’t often work, and people are frequently left feeling more socially isolated and alone than they did before. I know I do. I belong to a dozen groups online and don’t feel real support from any of them.

I do, however, feel real happiness from interacting with people in real life. Of course, I love having lunch with friends; I think I am going to love my new part-time job (working with the public) and I like talking to strangers even if I only encounter them for a few short minutes.

If your social media life leaves you feeling hollow, lost, lonely and isolated, know that you are not alone. I feel that way almost every day when I try to reach out. It doesn’t surprise me that anxiety disorders have skyrocketed in this country. When you judge your writing, your creativity, your problems or whatever you post by the number of likes you receive (support you receive) or when people try to shame you for not knowing the latest changes in the world of social justice, you can end up feeling depressed and isolated, misunderstood or not seen or heard.

If that happens to you, try going to the grocery store and ask the cashier what the best kind of ice cream is. They may not know, but they may give you a recommendation that makes binge-watching old episodes of Golden Girls or MASH a Saturday night celebration. In any case, you will have started a conversation and those small conversations, the little ones throughout the day can revive you, lift you, carry you through the downfalls of what people thought would connect the world and open us up to each other in life-changing ways. The experiment of social media has failed to bring us together, people are more lonely and isolated and divided than ever. I’m relying more heavily on the old-fashioned version of social media – talking, and I’ve already discovered two new kinds of ice cream, and that is just the beginning of the benefits.

Does it Scare You When I am Just Like You?

07 Saturday Apr 2018

Posted by in bipolar, caregivers, hope, mental illness, relationships, schizophrenia, stigma, Uncategorized

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Undeniably, there are times when I need special accommodations for my illness. There are times when I need people to be aware of the fact that I have schizophrenia and either help me out or give me the space to try and help myself. But there are those glorious times when I am not fragile, I am fierce and tough, and intelligent, and funny and I don’t need any special attention or care.

It is the space where I don’t need anything more than to be treated like any other human being that I live for and love. It is those people who treat me as if I belong, as if I’m not different, as if I won’t break or fall apart, or as if I am not fragile or needy or imperfect who makes me feel the healthiest, the happiest, the most energized, strong and capable. They help me in my healing and help me to become more and more of myself.

I have several people in my life who treat me this way both friends and family. I had an experience with a relatively new friend though, that was the epitome of empowering and normalizing and badassery.

I have a writing buddy who I have been talking to on Skype every Wednesday for months. We talk about our writing, share resources, occasionally read each other’s work, take classes together, and basically bolster each other up and along with our writing goals. She wanted to come out to California and see me. My husband was going to Miami to see his mother for a week, and he never leaves me alone.

My writing buddy, knowing about the fact that I have schizophrenia and that my husband doesn’t want to leave me alone for a week, offered to come and stay with me. She has never been to my house. We have never met in person. She planned on staying ten (which could have been long) days. And, the biggest part of this is my having schizophrenia didn’t scare her. Her coming across the country to stay with an almost stranger who she knows has schizophrenia is gutsy, brave, and speaks volumes about her as a person.

She obviously houses no stereotypes about my illness. She obviously expected things to go and be okay. She was not afraid; she was not reluctant. She just did it, and it was productive and fun. We were creative, talkative, ate good food, walked in the park, saw museums, and shared writing, writing, writing. We developed a morning routine together and worked well while we were both in the same room. We were two women together who love our art and are friends. We shared our passion, and we established our relationship.

I got to put my identities writer and friend before my identity as someone with schizophrenia. I got to be normal for ten days. I got to be a creative woman who loves words and can be a good friend.

I got to show someone my neighborhood, my home, myself and it went well, and I was well. And that is so much, so very much, it is a piece and a part of everything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Baseball is the Reason I am Voting for Hillary

02 Thursday Jun 2016

Posted by in Uncategorized, writing

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I try to ask my eighteen-year-old niece what it is like being a young woman studying biochemistry. She has no complaints. I try to engage her about being a woman in a traditionally male field, but she doesn’t see it that way. My niece is voting for Bernie Sanders. Most of the people I love are voting for Bernie, but I am voting for Hillary, and the reason is baseball.

At nine years old, I had three older brothers and a mother who worked full time. Our neighbors, an older couple, who lived across the street and down a few houses, treated me with kindness and went out of their way to spend time with me.

Mr. Carlson worked for the Department of Fish and Game, and he would bring me eggs from all kinds of birds. He would meticulously label them for me, much like my grandfather labeled rocks for me, and I had an impressive collection. My favorite was an ostrich egg because it was so big, but I didn’t pick it up often, afraid as I was of dropping it and having whatever was inside splatter all over the floor, and possibly, me.

Mrs. Carlson would invite me to their house and ask me to do her hair. She would allow me to put hot rollers in it and comb through the thin curls after they had “set.” While the rollers were doing their thing, I would look at Mrs. Carlson’s bell collection. She had hundreds of bells all lined up on shelves throughout her living room.

One day while I was styling Mrs. Carlson’s hair I told her my one dream was to play baseball. I wasn’t the kind of girl who dreamed of my future wedding, or going to Disneyland or being a princess. I wanted to play baseball like my older brothers even though it meant I would be the first girl in our town to play little league.

Mrs. Carlson laughed when I told her my dream was to be on a little league team. She told me that no girl who loved her would ever play baseball. It wasn’t something that girls do.

I had never given voice to my dream before that day, and I never would again. Silently and despondently I put the dream of baseball behind me.

Not too long after that, my mom got married, and we moved to another town. I would occasionally take out my baseball mitt and play catch with my new step brothers, or my biological brothers or neighborhood kids.

As I grew older, I never replaced the dream of being a baseball player. I wasn’t particularly passionate about anything.

When Hillary Clinton gets up to bat this November she is going to knock that ball out of the park and rather than be on the sidelines as a cheerleader, I am going to grab my mitt, get on the field and play whatever position I want.

That’s the way we do it now, Mrs. Carlson. Girls can finally do anything they want, baseball included.

My Latest on She Knows

25 Wednesday May 2016

Posted by in articles I wrote, Uncategorized

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Okay, I know you have heard whispers that I write articles on things other than schizophrenia, and it is true. In fact, I am doing it more and more (although my new column on Drunken Boat will have to do with mental illness but in a totally exciting and unique way).

So, here is a light article on aging.  I hope you will pop over and read it.

http://www.sheknows.com/living/articles/1122427/getting-older-is-great

Equality And Justice For All

28 Monday Dec 2015

Posted by in bipolar, mental illness, schizophrenia, stigma, Uncategorized

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Yesterday my husband and I watched Netflix all day because my back was hurting and the two of us came down with a cold. We watched an old movie, “Regarding Henry,” and we watched a documentary from 2007 called, “For the Bible Tells Me So.”

“Regarding Henry” is about an attorney, who isn’t a nice guy. He gets shot and has to learn everything all over again. It is about his transformation. It is a feel good movie.

“For the Bible Tells Me So” is a documentary about how many people in the church have treated their gay children and the things that many pastors and famous preachers have preached about being gay. It only got three stars on Netflix (probably because of a poorly done cartoon that explains studies scientists have done to find the cause of homosexuality, and it lists all the medical associations that no longer consider it a disorder). Besides the strange cartoon plopped in the middle of the documentary my husband and I both think it is worth watching.

Many people writing about mental illness call themselves advocates, and I want to suggest that if we are going to be effective advocates, we need to advocate for equality and inclusion for all people. I didn’t know this, but LGBTQ teens had a much higher rate of suicidal ideation and attempted suicide than the general population.

Suicide is a problem that should be on the radar of any mental health advocate. The other things that should be on our radar are the number of people of color locked in prisons and who suffer from a mental illness. Women should be on our radar too because it is a fact that doctors often dismiss their complaints or treat their pain in a much less aggressive manner than they do that of men. Also, the percentage of mentally ill women in prison is higher than that of men. 

I have known for a long time that there is an intersection between disability issues, feminism, racism, and LGBTQ issues. As someone who cares passionately about the issues regarding the mentally ill, and how we are perceived, treated, talked about, housed, etc. There is no way to move away from these other issues.

To be an educated advocate for the mentally ill and to understand all of the issues and how they intersect, collide, and combine with other issues, we need to start reading about feminism, racism, LGBTQ. The problems inherent in these movements are also our problems, not just because equality and justice are something we are fighting for, and we should help others to achieve – these issues have an impact on the mental health of Americans as a whole. The way I see it is that we must move forward hand in hand because if we leave one group behind that group will keep the rest of us from truly flourishing. Many of us are in this together.

It was the 70’s

04 Tuesday Aug 2015

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Some of our smallest acts last for a life time in the hearts and minds of those who witness them.

When I was in grade school, I had three older brothers (after my parent’s divorce and remarriages I would end up with nine brothers, but that was when I was older).

It was the 70’s and my mom worked outside of the home in various jobs while I was growing up. I don’t remember a time when my mother didn’t work. She worked, and she worked hard. My mom never complained about working even when she had two jobs, and our lights were turned off for not paying our bill.

You would think with all those boys, that I would have been the family princess, but the brother that was closest to me in age, definitely didn’t think I was a creature to be cherished. He enjoyed slugging me in the arm just to see me cry. We were very close growing up, and played together building forts, as well as, climbing trees, riding bikes, and playing kick the can with all the neighborhood kids.

I liked dolls though. I had Barbie, her Country Camper, and her kitchen. I also had little pink suitcase that turned into a studio apartment when I opened it up. When I was old enough to really read and choose my own books at the library, I picked books with females as lead characters like Little House on the Prairie and Nancy Drew.

On television I watched Gilligan’s Island, M.A.S.H., Bewitched, the Brady Bunch, and I Dream of Jeannie.  The choices back then didn’t exactly provide me with strong female characters to look up to and think about being.  The only women that worked were on M.A.S.H and very few of them were doctors. I loved the magic in I Dream of Jeannie and Bewitched, but in reality most of the magic was used to manipulate the male characters in some way.  Neither of the lead female characters in those programs had jobs.

It was a time when woman’s roles were changing, but most of the messages in toys, books, and on television were confusing at best. I never did figure out the answer to the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”  I really didn’t know my choices, and society wasn’t doing much at that time to help me figure it out.

I look at the 70’s as transitional. Many parents were getting divorced. Women were working. We were the first generation of “latch key kids.” And male dominated professions were beginning to open up to women for the first time, but not as equals, in fact, it has been over forty years and that still hasn’t been completely achieved.

Beyond my mother, I had my teachers to learn from, and there was one in particular that did something that changed my thinking.

In third grade, I had a teacher that went by Ms., not Miss, not Mrs. but Ms.

It was the first time I knew anyone that took that title. I realized even at my young age, that I didn’t know if my teacher had a husband, if she was single, or if she was a lesbian. The title she chose for her young class to refer to her as changed everything. She was Ms. Bush. She was singular. She was not a possession or attached to another human being.

Ms. Bush was one of my favorite teachers. As a young child, I loved her.

The choice she made in taking the title, Ms. has made a difference in my life. It opened my mind to possibilities, and it spoke about things I couldn’t yet define.

To her it may or may not have been a big decision, although I imagine in the 70’s she was trying to make a statement.

She made a statement to me, and it was one I have returned to over and over again as I have passed through different phases of my life as a woman.

I like to imagine that Ms. Bush is still alive and living a radical feminist existence somewhere even though it has been over forty years since I last saw her. I would like to believe she will see the first woman president. I would like to believe that, because she was more important to me than characters in books and on television, she was my teacher and she opened up my young mind to the importance of being my own woman, and the defining of self not by my marital status, but by one’s own accomplishments and imagination.

Society may have been sending mixed messages, but Ms. Bush was strong and clear.

Being Beautiful and Mentally Ill

22 Wednesday Jul 2015

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I would like to introduce my new blog. This blog, A Journey with you, will remain the same. My second blog is called, Being Beautiful and Mentally Ill. You can find it here. 

Being Beautiful and Mentally Ill is a lifestyle blog for (mostly) women who have a mental illness. I will discuss fashion, weight loss, travel, food, exercise, etc.

I am looking for bloggers who have a mental illness to guest blog a recipe, a craft, fashion, make-up, travel, art, photography, etc. on the site.

I want people to know we have a mental illness but that doesn’t keep us from being beautiful women. We are like all women – amazing.

Please visit the blog, leave a comment, sign up, or let me know if you have something to contribute.

This is a community blog, let’s make it exciting!

Disney got it Right, when will we?

21 Tuesday Jul 2015

Posted by in mental illness, writing

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I am not much of a consumer of pop culture. I rarely listen to music (I prefer silence). I don’t pay attention to what is on the bestseller list, but I do occasionally read books recommended or discussed on Facebook by writers in my network. I still own a flip phone, and I don’t have an iPad. I’m not addicted to movies or television either. I watch an episode of Orange is the New Black once a week, and at times I binge-watch the cop show Blue Bloods.  I haven’t been in a theater in over a year. So, when I tell you I watched Disney’s Maleficent this past weekend, please don’t be surprised that I am just getting around to it.

With all that being said, I loved the feminist twist of Maleficent. Sleeping Beauty was not saved by the prince on a white horse she was saved by the kiss of a faerie with a maternal-type love. It was a fantastic twist on a Disney classic. I told my niece, who is seventeen, and watched it with me, that I loved the fact that it was an “older” woman’s love that saved the princess instead of the kiss of a young prince. My niece told me that the movie, Frozen also had a character saved by the true love a woman, and in that case, it was the love of a sister.

As a woman who grew up with almost no other choices than a prince on a white horse, I am so happy to see this storyline change. I am sure the young girls growing up with other examples of true love, and heroines will have a bigger worldview than those of us who were raised that we would someday be swept off our feet by Prince Charming. I know women my age who still seem to be waiting for that prince to arrive so they can have that fairytale wedding and happy-ever-after.

I have been thinking about issues involving women for a very long time, but the movie Maleficent made me really curious about the mental health industry when it comes to both men and women.  In one article I read in the Guardian that women are 40% more likely to suffer from mental illness than men, and women tend to take action against themselves (eating disorders, cutting, etc.) while men tend to take action against their environment (substance abuse and anger problems).

Nearly 1 in 5 women in the United States will be raped in their lifetime according to a New York Times article.

1 in 5 girls and 1 in 20 boys are sexually abused according to statistics. 

I know it isn’t the only contributing factor, but these statistics have to contribute to the higher numbers of women with mental health issues. We know that rape and childhood sexual abuse contribute to depression, PTSD, eating disorders, alcohol abuse, and suicide.

I don’t know how to change the horrifying statistics of child sexual abuse and rape, but I am hoping that if Hollywood continues to give us something besides a damsel in distress and a male to save her, that having examples of women saving women and women saving themselves will help women to be stronger, more independent and will give women positive role models on how to heal from trauma instead of turning on themselves by developing an eating disorder, self-injury, or even suicide.

Of course I wish the trauma that often causes someone to experience mental health issues didn’t exist. Can we work on that, please?

In the meantime, let’s buy products where females aren’t objects or victims and stop supporting magazines that sexualize teenage girls.

Every dollar you spend is a vote for something, please vote for less violence against women and more positive role models for our young girls – their lives may literally depend on it.

Mental Health in Middle Age

28 Sunday Jun 2015

Posted by in bipolar, mental illness, schizophrenia

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When things are going well, the last thing we want is a sudden change.

When I saw my psychiatrist last week my feet were both swollen particularly around the ankles. My psychiatrist recently checked my kidney and liver function so I wasn’t worried about that, but I was worried (I am a big worrier) about congestive heart failure. Because of other symptoms that were present, he felt pretty confident that hormones (changing hormones) were the cause.

We talked about menopause. I’m at that age. The idea of swollen ankles, hot flashes and moodiness do not seem too bad. What seems terrifying is the possibility that my medication will stop working which my doctor said is a possibility. We talked about the fact that many women with a mental illness have a very difficult time with this change in their lives.

The thought of losing the stability I fight for every day is so frightening to me. There are times when I can put the thought of psychosis out of my mind for days, or even weeks. Now, I think about what it would look like if my medication stopped working and I needed a psychiatric intervention.

I hope that sleep would go first, because that is a clear sign that my husband and I could deal with. I hope if something does happen it is the very slow unraveling of my thoughts like the way  it happened the last time I became psychotic. Last time my thoughts became increasingly paranoid and delusional, and in some ways grandiose, over a year before I was actually suffering from the symptoms of a full blown psychotic episode.

I am terrified of it happening quickly like flipping a switch, the switch being the line between reality and psychosis. I struggle to be rational every single day, but if that switch gets flipped, I no longer have a choice. Fighting to stay rational is not an option once that happens. Psychosis is powerful and takes over every corner and level of the mind. I wouldn’t even know what a rational thought was or how to work my way toward one.  Paranoia, delusions and grandiose thinking would be my reality while I was unable to reach the world of reality that most other people live in.

To be relatively rational, and have the fear of becoming completely irrational is like a bad dream, but one I know is possible, one I know I may have to live.

As I sit here, writing this, I think of the nightmare like existence of being psychotic. I do not want to go down that road. I do not want to be suicidal. I do not want to be lost inside my own mind. I do not want to run away from my life with my husband, because I no longer feel the love, the care, the trust of our marriage.

I do not want to think of the worst case scenario, but I have paranoid schizophrenia and not thinking of the worst possible outcome is not in my nature.

I am under a lot of stress. It has rarely, if ever, crossed my mind that my medications wouldn’t work. I must find a way to make each day during this transition as productive as possible considering my limitations. I want to squeeze the joy I get from writing out of each day. It is possible I will lose that ability to read and write again, and be left voiceless in the sea of other voiceless people. To be left without the ability to write, like I was for nearly twenty years, will be a loss I don’t think my soul could recover from.

I used to think that this illness had thrown some pretty dangerous things my way. I hoped the worst was over, but I guess vigilance is required at all times in this life, a life of broken mental health.