HastyWords's Blog, page 53

#BeReal – DAWN (HARDLYBORED)

Today my #BeReal guest is Dawn (HardlyBored).

I have spent the last few weeks thinking about the future. Mostly because I have been sick. This is not the first time in my life I have wondered if I will have a future.

The first time I was 18 and my “husband” had just choked me nearly unconscious. Two weeks after our son was born I had told him I was too tired to have sex. That was also the first night he raped me. The next morning I found him standing over our son, crying. He turned and hugged me. He then told me that he loved us, and how sorry he was.  He vowed to me it wouldn’t happen again. I wanted so badly to believe him, so I did. I loved him. We all make mistakes. Right?! However, it wasn’t the last time.

That was just the first of many scary nights. Nights where I wasn’t sure I would see the sunrise. There was always something that would set him off; I was slow getting home from work, or I didn’t make what he wanted for dinner.  He would always end up saying he was sorry. He would be sweet, kind, and loving for a few days and then it would start again.

The only thing that changed after the first event was that it always became my fault.  He would say things like, “I am sorry I lost my temper, but you shouldn’t have done (fill in the blank).” I would try not to do whatever that thing was again but every time there was some new reason.

He was a master at hiding it too. He never left marks.  He never did anything where others could see or hear him. As this continued for over a year I would feel more and more like I deserved his abuse. I would repeat to myself “If only I were better he wouldn’t have to do these things to me.” I even convinced myself I was lucky to have him.

Some part of me didn’t believe I deserved the abuse though.  After a particularly bad night I started watching for a chance to get away.  Finally, he had gone to spend time with a friend and left me home with the baby.  I had no money, no ID (he took it when I was sleeping), and no way to leave.  But I did have a phone. I called my parents and begged them to save me. I loaded as much as I could into their car and went home with them.

However, after a couple of days I went back.  He called to tell me his family was full of lawyers (which is true) and that they could get him off for any charge, including killing me and my family in order to get his son back. I believed him. So I went back. Their lives were more important than mine. I knew I couldn’t defend myself much less defend them. I knew when I got into his car that there was a damn good chance I wouldn’t leave him again unless I was in a body bag.

The abuse escalated. He always kept me in sight.  I was either getting yelled at or hit for everything I did. But he was less careful. The verbal abuse became acceptable in front of others and at night, when nobody else was around, he hit hard enough to leave marks. There weren’t many nights I didn’t dreamed of leaving. I just wanted to take my son and find somewhere safe to just be a mom to my beautiful, smiling baby boy. These thought were short lived though.

If I looked even a little happy my husband would get really bad. Those nights I realized I had no future. One day he would kill me and probably get away with it. He would then be the sole caregiver to my son but at least he didn’t abuse him.

Then one day or son was sick and had been crying.  My husband picked him up and threw him into his crib. He hit his head and kept screaming so my husband left the house to escape the noise. I held my son, calmed his tears, and cried so hard.

It was that moment I decided the only way I could insure my son’s future was to leave. Shortly after this incident my husband got a job.  He was away for hours each day. He had a predictable schedule and after a few weeks on the job I finally got the nerve to leave.  Again, I called my parents.  This time I didn’t go back.

When he realized I was gone he called them. He yelled and screamed and I hung up on him. For weeks he continued his abuse, via phone.  He parked outside their house watching and waiting to get me alone. Every time I told him I was never coming back.

One day my parents went to work and he came banging on the door and screaming for me to open it. I refused to let him in and had started to walk away to call the police when he came crashing through the door.  He slammed me against a wall and grabbed my son. He dragged him, screaming, out of the house by one arm and threw him into the back of his car and sped away.

Two days later I went into a protected shelter for abused women. One of those shelters with a hidden address. I worked with children’s services and told them everything.  Eventually he agreed to meet my parents in a public place so they could make sure my son was okay. Child services was there and saw obvious signs of abuse. They immediately threatened my husband with charges if he didn’t allow them to take my baby into custody.

My son spent the next week in foster care while I sat in a shelter crying and begging them to, at the very least, let me see him.  My husband had alleged I was the abuser.  It took some time but the truth came out and my baby was returned. I still spent months hiding.  From the shelter I stayed with friends, slept on couches, and eventually back to my parent’s home.  Eventually, I got a gun and worked on feeling safe again.

I hardly slept for the next two years because every noise had me looking over my shoulder. Even today, more than twenty years later, I still wake up shaking and thinking he is near.

The divorce happened.  I got custody.  I grew. I healed.  I even found someone who could love me though I felt broken. I had 4 more beautiful boys and although life got better I didn’t. It took many years and so much patience from those who loved me for me to believe I was more than what he did to me.

I began to see I was more than the abuse, the rape, and the brain washing. I deserved to be happy no matter what he said.

I remember all those nights I had wished someone would save me. I wished one of the neighbors would have called the police.

No one did.

So I saved myself.

Dawn lives in rural Texas with 5 boys, 3 cats, and her wonderful husband. She has been blogging about autism, food and depression for a while as HardlyBored. Her passions are her boys, proving gluten free doesn’t mean flavor free, laughter, reading, teaching, and gaming. You can find her at http://www.hardlybored.com/ and https://www.facebook.com/hardlybored

Tagged: #BeReal, Abuse, BRAIN WASHING, domestic abuse, Domestic Violence, Physical Abuse, Rape, Strength, Trauma

#BeReal – ANDREA JOHNSON BECK

My #BeReal guest today is Andrea Johnson Beck

The authenticity of a human is rare and exquisite. Near mythical.

We live in a society of veiled glimpses and shadow puppetry. Social media allows many to glide between the obscurities of reality and present a life unfamiliar to even them because to be real is to be judged. How we present ourselves to the world is based on the fear of judgment.

I homeschool.

I write.

I pray.

I don’t attend church.

I love.

I believe.

I cry.

I hide.

I self-loathe.

I cartwheel in my driveway.

I am human.

What you see is what you get.

I know I’m a lot to take in—we are a lot to take in. My son, Logan is aware his quirks befuddle some, but our family doesn’t fit any box, in any category, anywhere. At times, it’s lonely but we are real. Authentic. Different. Weird.

I wouldn’t have it any other way. No matter what I do, others will judge me. I don’t homeschool properly. I don’t write enough books. I don’t belong to a church. I swear. I divulge too much. I feel too much. I don’t mother correctly.

Why should I apologize for not fitting into societal boxes? Why should I curtail my social media existence to appease others? Why should I restrain our quirkiness to silence the whispers?

Acceptance is our reality. It’s genuine and odd. It’s who I am. It’s who we are as a family.

And normal? Now, that’s mythical.

 

 

Amazon Best Selling Author

Andrea Johnson Beck was born in Sioux City, Iowa. From a young age, she enjoyed telling stories. Many her dad recorded. Writing was her creative outlet and at 10-years-old, her first poem was published in an anthology. Always curious, Andrea read and watched what was considered risqué in the 80’s and early 90’s, such as, books by VC Andrews. Dirty Dancing and Top Gun (snuck downstairs) raised questions and were brought to her parents for clarification. Understanding their daughter’s need for answers, they always replied truthfully.

Her curiosity and rebellious disposition has carried on. Andrea credits the strong woman in her life who guided her through difficult times. That and writing. Blogging about her marriage, her quirky son, and homeschooling helped her connect with others around the world.

In the past she has written for In-Depth Genealogist, Home & School Mosaics, and Home Educating Family.

In 2012, Andrea self-published her debut novel, Deadly Deception. A year later, the book was acquired by Montlake Romance and re-released in October of 2013. Deadly Deception hit #4 on the Amazon Best Seller List in overall paid fiction in the Kindle Store, it was right behind the Divergent Trilogy. Her second novel, Deadly Revelation, released April of 2014 and was #1 in Organized Crime and Crime Fiction and continues to hold a spot in those categories. Her latest novel, The Red Roots was released April 2015.

Andrea and her son collaborated and released a short story, Hush, Mary in October of 2014. Also, the mom and son duo are writing homeschool and autism spectrum books together. Over the years, Logan has impacted and inspired many with his own personal stories of how he accepted and embraced his quirkiness.

Andrea lives in Illinois with her husband Phil, son, and their deaf dog, Bear. Sarcasm is the oxygen they breathe, as is love and humor.

andreajohnsonbeck.com

 

 

Tagged: #BeReal, Acceptance, autheniticty, freedom, judgement, live, quirky, Self Confidence, Silly, wonderful

#BeReal – MARTIN BAKER

Please welcome my #BeReal guest today, Martin Baker.

 

A few weeks ago I was sitting at my favourite table—corner table, right at the back—in my favourite coffee bar and got into conversation with a fellow customer about writing and literature. I learned two interesting things about the city I’ve lived in almost thirty years. First, JRR Tolkien—a literary hero of mine—used to visit his aunt and uncle here. Second, there is something called the Newcastle Literary Salon which meets once a month to share live readings.

I checked the Salon’s Facebook page. The next event was only a couple of weeks away, and the topic was to be physical and mental health. This was perfect timing, given that I’ve recently co-written a book with my best friend Fran Houston to inspire and inform people supporting friends who live with mental illness. I contacted the Salon organiser before I could change my mind, to see if I could read from our book. It turned out the May event was already booked up but there were slots available for June. Just like that, from a chance conversation in a coffee bar, I had—I have—my first live speaking gig!

Reading aloud in front of a room full of strangers is way outside my comfort zone. But holding myself open to opportunities and challenging myself to do things I’ve never done before is an important part of what being real means to me. It’s a journey of self-discovery I’ve been on for a few years now.

In that time I’ve done a charity zip wire slide from the Tyne Bridge. Twice. A live radio interview about my experiences as Fran’s friend and caregiver. A Mental Health First Aid course and the Applied Suicide Intervention Skills Training (ASIST) workshop. I’ve spoken to the mental health group at a major UK bank, and—biggest challenge of them all—volunteered at a Time to Change event in the centre of Newcastle. Each time it involved me stepping outside my comfort zone and facing the outside world. Each time it was scary. Each time I chose—I’m not even sure how—to do it anyway. And each time I’ve met amazing people—real people—and learned something new about myself and my place in the world.

And so, last night I went along to the Literary Salon event at Bar Loco in Newcastle to get a feel for the venue I’ll be speaking at next month. Entering a bar on my own was a challenge in itself. Walking into the upstairs room and striking up conversations with people I’d never met before was even more so. I did okay. I talked with one guy when I first arrived, and a lady who arrived a little after me. I ordered food (great food!) and a pint, and settled into being there. As our host began the proceedings and introduced the first speaker I realised I felt completely at ease. It was a great feeling!

I knew nothing in advance about any of the people who came forward to read. That in itself was an exercise in realness: to hold each person without prejudgment, to hold myself open to whatever they’d chosen to share. There was poetry, a great short story with a twist, the opening to a new novel which completely blew me away. Some pieces were more to my taste than others but what struck me more than anything else was how everyone was introduced, welcomed, and received with equal warmth and respect: as writers and performers, but most of all as people.

And it struck me this is another aspect of being real: the awareness and acceptance of our common humanity, no matter how different our individual situations and life experiences might be. Two pieces in particular summed this up for me: Angela J. Kennedy’s powerful poem “Women’s Work,” and Jenni Pascoe’s “One Day I Will Die.” I spoke with Jenni at the end of the event. We discovered a mutual love of hats and she told me she’d noticed her poems seemed to resonate with me. She was right. We connected.

Connection is the third and most vital component of being real. Connected, we are more than we can ever be on our own. Fran and I are a great example of that. We live three thousand miles apart and are necessarily dependent on technology to keep the channels open, but we are connected by more than the internet. We are connected by a shared commitment to our friendship and the courage to be vulnerable.

Courage and vulnerability were out in force last night at the Salon. I heard—really heard—people sharing words from the heart, from the guts of their personal experience. I connected with people I’d never met before, who knew nothing about me and about whom I knew nothing. I had fun. I felt my heart open. I made a new friend.

 

I dared to be real amongst people who get what that means.

 

I can’t wait until next time!

 

Martin Baker (“Call me Marty”) was born in Liverpool in 1961. He settled in the north east of England almost thirty years ago. An ASIST trained Mental Health First Aider and member of the National Alliance on Mental Illness, Mind and BipolarUK, he is passionate about raising awareness of mental health issues.

His Collected Poems: 1977-1984 was published in 2008. With co-author Fran Houston, Martin has written a non-fiction book (currently seeking an agent and publisher) to inform and inspire others who support, or would like to support, a friend living with mental illness. Playing at Darkness, a goth novella set in and around Tynemouth Priory and Castle, is currently unpublished.

Blog: http://www.gumonmyshoe.com

Twitter: http://twitter.com/GumOnMyShoeBook

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/MartinBakerAuthor

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/GumOnMyShoe

Pinterest: http://uk.pinterest.com/gumonmyshoe

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/marty_at_gumonmyshoe

LinkedIn: http://uk.linkedin.com/in/martinbakerauthor

Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/b/100207189860914262452/100207189860914262452

 

Newcastle Literary Salon: https://www.facebook.com/NewcastleLiterarySalon

Tagged: #BeReal, Bravery, Comfort, Confidence, connect, Connection, Courage, Journey, life, live, Self Discovery, try, vulnerable

I BLAME MYSELF

Seems I have a lot on my mind today.  I hope you don’t mind me working through my own issues with you.  Maybe you can add your two cents.  Help me… help myself.

What does it mean to take responsibility?

For someone who gets it wrong quite often for one reason or another I’ve had to learn to take responsibility.  And it’s hard.  It’s hard to step back and view a situation without historical bias coming into play.

Mental illness is often seen as an excuse but it isn’t.  I may be suffering depression but I also know if I have a conversation while in that state it will have been my responsibility for the things I end up saying.  Should I isolate?  No, because that is dangerous.  But by forming safe relationships with people who understand your illness you can mitigate the damage.  For example, if I binge drink I need to take precautions to stay safe.  If I need to take a sleeping pill I know I shouldn’t drive.

If I have to have a conversation while depressed I need to make sure I make it very clear I am not thinking straight.  That is MY responsibility.  My best friend Lizzi is my person.  She listens and tells me when I need to step back.  She tells me when something I am thinking is “wrong” and that I need to “wait” on certain things.  Otherwise, I will have some blame accepting to do the next day.

If I know this happens why don’t I stop it?  I’d like to know how.  I have been through this cycle enough times to know I don’t have much control over my thoughts.  Although I am getting more and more control over how those thoughts leak out into the real world.

TIMING

I am not a fan of waiting to see if taking blame is necessary or not.  When I make a mistake I want to apologize as soon as possible.  I don’t want that mistake to linger because in my experience the more time expires the more likely the problem will get bigger.

Mistakes are like blisters.  You leave them alone long enough they will fester and pop and then they stings far worse than if you would have just poked a small hole in the skin to begin with.  Quick resolutions are more likely to have a less painful consequence.

EXCUSES

Don’t try to confuse the issue with excuses.  Excuses will just make you look like a selfish asshole.  If you are having a bad day and having emotional issues then just admit you are having a hard time sorting things out.  Make sure the person you jumped all over knows you aren’t blaming them and that you know it was your fault.    Ring-around-the Rosy is fun but not when it comes to taking responsibility for something you have done.

Sometimes I get defensive if I try to take responsibility and the other party isn’t open to hearing it.  I will often go to a previous situation and try to say, “Hey, remember when you did this and I was understanding and loving?”  That isn’t helpful.  I fall into this trap a lot and I need to stop doing it.  How I deal with someone’s apology is not how everyone else will deal with one.  And bringing up past scenarios is not only rude but can look like you are shifting the blame.  Your intention to apologize should stay focused on the incident at hand and should be resolved separate from any past experience.

PROBLEM SOLVE

Once a mistake has occurred and responsibility has been taken find ways to move forward.  I think maybe this step needs to happen a bit further along once both parties have time to digest all the things that happened and can be fully reasonable.  This process will take some explanation by the person who is taking responsibility.  I am sorry isn’t often enough.  I am sorry, but… isn’t good either because “but” is a set up for an excuse.   “I’ve been very anxious lately; however, I know it was wrong to hurt you and I am sorry.”

APOLOGY

Apologies are really hard because everyone has a different perspective of the experience.   Sometimes hearing an apology and giving an apology requires taking the time to understand where the other person is coming from.  There is no “right” way to see a circumstance.    Acknowledge the feelings of the person you hurt.  Start there.  Is that person “right” to feel that way?  It doesn’t matter.  Right or wrong they feel that way and therefore an apology is necessary.

I make the mistake of using the word “you” a lot.  I have to reread conversations to see that I have done this.  By using the word “you” instead of “I” you are shifting blame to someone else.

-I am sorry you felt hurt.      Restated: I am sorry I hurt you.

-I am sorry you don’t understand.     Restated: I am sorry I am not being very clear.

JUSTIFICATION

I am the queen of justifications.  I always want people to see what led me to do the things I did.  I want them to walk in my footsteps, not to prove I was right, or that I didn’t have a choice, but to help me figure out a better way to make a different choice next time.

That isn’t the best place to start an apology.  It looks like you are justifying the behavior you are trying to apologize for.  Whether or not there was miscommunication is irrelevant.  You want to say you are sorry for being an ass then say you are sorry for being an ass.

“I was an asshole yesterday.  I let depression get out of hand and I took it out on you.  I will try very hard not to let that happen again.”

Apologies won’t always be accepted and sometimes it takes the other person some time to think through everything.  Forgiveness isn’t something you are owed.  It is something that has to be given freely.  Once you have apologized then practice patience.  Sit back and let them process what happened.

CONSEQUENCE

Once you have stated your regret and apologized sincerely then you have to move on.  Take the consequences of your action with grace.  Thank your lucky stars if the other party accepts your apology and wants to find  a way forward with you.

Tagged: ANXIETY, apologize, Apology, Blame, Depression, genuine, Hurt, Pain, Responsibility, responsible, Sorry, triggers

MENTAL ILLNESS IS NOT AN EXCUSE TO BE AN ASSHOLE

People with depression will try to speak metaphorically about it.  You will hear phrases likening depression to a storm, a roller coaster, falling down the rabbit hole, or dancing with demons.  Metaphorically they are all accurate descriptions.

Depression comes and goes like a storm.  The length of the storm can vary and if it is a bad storm there will be debris to sort through.  Damage will need to be assessed and a real life clean-up will occur.  Some storms can be predicted.  Like weather there is a change in pressure.  The atmosphere feels different.  Do you ever feel the static build up inside you before you touch a doorknob and are zapped by the electrical discharge?  That is what anxiety feels like.  For me, and for many others who suffer depression, the anxiety is the prediction of the coming storm.

Anxiety is the moment right before the ride starts and you are fearful of what the ride will bring.  Imagine you just watched the Final Destination where the roller coaster flies off the tracks and crushes everyone to death on the asphalt below.  Now imagine you sit on the tracks for a bit while the workers do some “emergency maintenance”.  Chances are your imagination is running wild.  You are scurrying through all the possibilities until the bell rings and the ride starts.  Hands clasping tight you close your eyes and hope for the best because there is NO getting off the ride.

Once the ride starts your brain literally falls down the rabbit hole.  You are no longer living in reality.  All those things you worried about while waiting for the storm to hit or the ride to start are very real possibilities.  The rabbit hole is very much like Alice In Wonderland in that nothing has to make any sort of logical sense.  Your brain very literally, chemically, has been hijacked.  All the demons you fight will be in this hole.  They will convince you to stay with them.

I always think of the song by the Eagles, Hotel California

Last thing I remember,

I was running for the door

I had to find the passage back

To the place I was before

“Relax” said the night man,

“We are programmed to receive.

You can check out anytime you like

But you can never leave.”

 

All the things you fear.  The mistakes you’ve made.  All your hopes and dreams are fair game while the storm is raging.  A puppet show performs inside your brain trying to change your perspective and all the things you think you know.  It is like being stuck inside a war and the only thing that will save you is the knowledge that it isn’t real.  There is a tunnel leading out of the rabbit hole, an end to the storm, the music will stop playing and the demons will let you go.  But just like a roller coaster you have to let the ride finish before you hop out.

Being on the very tail end of my last bout of depression I thought I would jot down a few things that came to mind.

GRASPING FOR REASON

I seek help but because I don’t understand the why of the storm (nothing has to be wrong or has to happen to get depressed).  I grasp for reasons. Depression is all to eager to offer up several possible ideas.

For Instance: 

“You didn’t talk to me this morning like you normally do… therefore I did something wrong and you hate me.  If you hate me then why not just stop talking to me?  Oh… you slept in?  Now I feel stupid.:”

Then depression takes that stupid feeling and uses it to pick apart the situation above.  You are not good enough, you are crazy, and nobody in their right mind would put up with that shit.  You should save them and just leave… better yet everyone would be better off without you.  You shouldn’t exist.

LISTEN

I think it is really important that you are completely honest with your loved ones.  That you will get hijacked and as much as you fight for control your nasty self-pity will leak out.  The mistrust and questioning will hurt them so it’s important to let them know beforehand it isn’t about them.

Depression is extremely selfish.  It is easy for people that don’t understand to say, “Just make better choices, work harder, be better, take control, or love yourself more.” Depression is NOT an excuse to go around hurting those you love.  They shouldn’t accept that type of behavior and neither should you.  You may not be able to control the thoughts inside your head but you can create rules and boundaries for when the episodes take place.

This takes patience and time.

Every time will be different.  But I think I have learned something that could be very helpful.  When depression strikes… let the person you love know.  Let them know it is pointless to have a conversation when depressed and the best thing to do is to just simply listen.  That’s it.  Try to remember the things being said are tainted by irrationality and self-destruction.  Anything aimed at you can be written down and maybe discussed later when the depressed person is rational again.  There are so many things I have said that have no basis in reality and I feel great shame and regret in voicing them.

STAY THE COURSE

Keep working to get better.  Better understand how your mental illness manifests and start safeguarding yourself and those around you.  Don’t just say this is the way I am and if you loved me you would just deal with it.  If you love yourself and those around you enough you will do the work it takes to improve.  Go to therapy.  Find the right medication. Work through rough episodes to try to find ways to mitigate the damage.

SLEEP

Anxiety takes a lot of energy.  Mental energy is on overdrive for an extended period of time.  The brain is overheating and once depression sets in it needs rest.   If a person is working hard to stay on medication or is going to therapy.  If they are getting at least a little exercise every day and doing a few minimal chores then let them sleep.  Chances are they already feel guilty for being so tired.  They keep trying to do all the things but they are wearing themselves out even more and prolonging the length of the depressive episode.

Encourage them to rest.  If you can find the time lay with them.  Stroke their hair.  Rub their back.  There is no need to talk just be there.

 

I am convinced everyone has something they have to work on.  Whether it is a diagnoseable illness or just a strong personality formed by radical ideas that causes us to have relationship problems; I believe we can all try harder.  I have anxiety that leads to depression.  It is a cycle and I am learning the best way I can to live a productive life despite it.  We can help each other be better.  Having compassion and trying to understand will go a long way.

Having a mental illness is not an excuse to be an asshole. 

Being an asshole though will happen from time to time… learn from your mistakes and carry on.  You will not find any answers by digging through the rubble your damage caused.  Look for ways to contain the storm.  A safe place to ride it out.  Safe people who won’t let you drown.  And you will find there will be less and less damage to clean up.

Tagged: AGONY, ANXIETY, Depressed, Depression, Destruction, Mental Health, Mental Illness, Pain, relationships, suicidal

GIVE ME YOU

I love sharing your voices here at HASTYWORDS.

Whether in poetic form or as a submission to one of my series it is something I feel great pride doing.  I would really like to honor those who have been contributing to my site by keeping the space here for you.  I want you to feel proud to share your story and I want you to feel like it is important to me.

Therefore, I will be writing my poetry and stories exclusively at FEARINGCRAZY in order to keep this space for the real everyday feelings and battles we are facing together.

Please keep sending me your stories and poetry.  Whether they fit a submission guideline or not I want to give you just one more place to share that important voice of yours.

THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME YOU.

 

 

Tagged: #BeReal, Advice, ATTENTION, Lessons, life, POETRY, Sharing, Submission, Thank you, Writing

KEEP RIDING

The merry-go-round keeps spinning.

I used to think life was a roller coaster with all its ups and downs but when I look back I see it’s really more of a merry-go-round that spins at different speeds.

Merry-go-rounds are always more enjoyable when you have someone to ride them with.  And then you need someone to push you.  You spin just enough to sit and enjoy your friends and watch the surroundings slowly spin by.  Life just happens and it feels like everything works.  Everyone is enjoying the ride.  Life is good.

Sometimes the person pushing is spinning you too fast.  You lose sight of your surroundings and the only thing you can do is to hold tight.  You focus everything on trying not to fall off.  It feels like the ride will never end and you aren’t sure if you have the strength to stay on .  You know your friends are there but things are moving too fast to enjoy them.  Life feels like it is speeding by and you are out of control.

Then the merry-go-round stops.  Your friends all leave. You can rest.  You can focus on yourself.  Contemplate where you want to go and who you want to ask to take the next ride.  But sit there alone too long and the merry-go-round begins to rust.  It gets harder and harder to get spinning again.  You begin to feel lonely.

You won’t always be on the merry-go-round.  Sometimes you will be asked to push someone else.  They will need you to help them find that sweet spot where life is good.  Maybe you will find a group of people who will help you out.  You can all take turns pushing and riding.

One thing is for sure the ride is yours. Whether you are riding or pushing it’s yours.  Your choices. Your rides.  Your friends.  Your life. Your future.

My merry-go-round has been one heck of a colorful ride.

 

Keep riding. 
Tagged: Beauty, Family, friends, Friendships, Inspiration, life, live, love, Motivation, relationships, RIDE

#BeReal – PETER M. OLSEN

My #BeReal guest today is Peter M. Olsen.

 

Masks

We all wear masks.

Some are subtle. Some are hidden.

Mine couldn’t be more obvious.

Long hair, 20 pounds overweight, scruffy beard.

The mask I wear is made from self-hatred and depression and scars.

My mask tells me that I am ugly…So very fucking ugly.

My mask helps me to feel numb…I feel so very fucking numb.

My mask says to other people I meet that I’m un-loveable, invisible, and so very alone.

So sad to say I like it.

I’m comfortable behind my mask.

This poor, ugly, lonely mask of woe.

It conveniently hides the true me.

My self-esteem. My self-confidence. My self-worth.

I reach out to it and it’s not there.

Like sand slipping through my fingertips.

It escapes and runs away.

Runs away and hides.

“Come find me” it beckons.

No one’s here right now.

Leave your name and number after the beep.

And Peter will return your call as soon as he takes off his fucking mask.

I hide behind my mask.

Hiding my true self behind this mask.

Hiding from all of you.

Can’t you see me?

Can’t you see me behind my mask?

Can’t you see any part of the real me behind my mask?

PLEASE HELP ME

Is anyone there?

Does anyone fucking care?

Can anyone help me?

PLEASE HELP ME TAKE OFF MY FUCKING MASK

Masks

We all wear masks.

Please fucking help me take off this mask.

Peter M. Olsen is a blogger and a mental health advocate dedicated to helping people living with mental illness. In his free time, Peter is a loyal Xbox 360 addict, an unapologetic coffee snob, a PLUR warrior, and all-around pretty cool guy. Trance and house music keeps Peter very, very happy. Peter lives in the greatest city on Planet Earth. The Emerald City…Seattle, Washington

Twitter and Instagram: @banishedcougar

Web: https://razorcast.net

Tagged: #BeReal, Depression, Image, Insecurity, mask, Mental Health, Mental Illness, Self

#BeReal – DAVID ELLIS

Please welcome David Ellis to #BeReal.

Embracing Your Animal Instincts, Choose Love, Not Fear

OK, so here it is – the real me. Uncut, cut loose and out on the streets.

(Don’t you dare call the police – I’ll be good, I promise!)

For all of my sins, I’m a writer.

 

I’m a crazy cat lady.

 

And I’m also a crazy dog lady.

Let me be frank – I adore pets. And for me, that’s about as real as it gets. Just ask anybody who knows me on Facebook!

Making people laugh is one of my pet passions (along with puns – is it that obvious?)

Humor is terrific motivational medicine for the soul (and unlike actual medicine does not require a spoon full of sugar to make it go down).

I believe in being an inspirational beacon to others and to help them overcome problems and issues that they encounter in their lives. Animals help me to do this. No, really they do! Trust me on this. Allow me to explain. Pull up a chair and get comfortable.

Got some liquid refreshment? Put your feet up? Cleaned the gunk out from between your toes? Good, here we go!

Animals have a very real way of sharing their adoration and emotions. They are unencumbered by human traits of self-conscious fear, anxiety, hate, self-loathing or other negative emotions that often tangle us up in knots, affecting us to the point of self-defeat and endless procrastination. We’re a complicated species and it is refreshing to be able to observe how simple things are in the animal kingdom and how we can learn from them.

To me it is a very clear, raw and beautiful phenomenon, animals are completely not afraid to display their feelings in the way that they carry and express themselves. It’s something that I try to tap into when writing fearlessly because it is an honest reminder of how we should treat others as peers and equals if we too want to be treated with mutual warmth, endearment and respect.

I write poetry to inspire others in their daily lives. When I first started writing poetry, I was trying to make sense of the things that often don’t make sense in life. I wanted to embody all of the things that I felt at the time and to create a map to help us find a path out of the darkness that we inevitably face at key points in our lives. I’ve quickly realized that the poetry that I write and identify with the most is inspirational, philosophical and/or romantic in nature. By expressing how I am feeling in a given situation, I can quickly identify and empathize with others. As a consequence of this, I offer advice by encompassing aspects of kindness, strength, support and compassion.

To be real to me is to be generous and to share as much as you can, to display kindness and affection in everything that you do and to collaborate with like-minded individuals to help make the world a better and more enjoyable place for us all.

Let me tell you a story of what keeps things real for me and keeps me focused every day.

My father contracted bacterial meningitis that made him blind several years ago. He is also deaf in one ear, partially deaf in the other and has bad balance. We honestly thought he was going to die from his illness. He was hooked up to machines to help him to breathe but he fought his way back from the brink to be with us.

He has never let his afflictions stop him from being himself and creating great art. It is because of this that he is and will always be my greatest inspiration and my number one reason to succeed and to finish anything that I put my mind to. His animals instincts have kicked in and kept him going through thick and thin. He has chosen love over fear to be his anchor.

We are all going to have to bear terrible burdens in our lives and we can either chose to let them drag us down or we can anchor ourselves, make peace with the loss/heartache/sorrow the situation has caused and then move on, more determined than ever to make progress and put the past behind us.

Animals do not let fear hold them back when it comes to making decisions with their lives, they act with purpose and are therefore our best teachers, empathizers and role models.

I’ll leave you with a quote that Jim Carrey once said that has been my mantra for a very long time now.

Never be afraid to express your love for the people that mean the most to you and never be afraid to tap into your own animal instincts.

Take the steps you need to achieve your dreams, they are closer than you think.

 

Arthur Ellis – Blind Artist – www.blindartist.co.uk

David Ellis – TooFullToWrite – www.toofulltowrite.com

David Ellis is a Word Magician and Contemporary Poet. He is an author of poetry and humorous Short Stories. Indiana Jones is his spirit animal.

 

Tagged: #BeReal, Beauty, companion, Compassion, Focus, Healing, Kindness, love, pets, POETRY

#BeReal – DORI OWEN

My #BeReal guest today is Dori Owen.

On #BeingReal

I am a storyteller. This is the way I transform my thoughts into #BeingReal.

I came off the assembly line a little bit broken, a little bit funny, and with a love of all things creative. Art and writing are how I express my real. This is one of my favorite stories about me. And it’s about as #BeingReal as it gets.

It’s a little story called Bipolar Dinosaur that I hope will entertain you and show you my reality.

Bipolar Dinosaur

Having a bipolar disorder is like keeping a pet dinosaur.

You live your life everyday doing everyday things, while out of the corner of your eye, you keep an eye on your dinosaur. Let me give you an example. In the car, you buckle up your dinosaur into the back seat. Driving along, it’s as if he isn’t even there. I say he because my dinosaur is a boy. There are plenty of girl dinosaurs as well, I just happen to have a boy. I refuse to name him though. I do this as a power play. It is unfortunate, however, that he does know my name.

Most of the time I don’t even know he’s in the car. When I look in the rear view window, I don’t see him. He’s rather short. Yesterday, I was driving to my brother Danny’s house and had to make a quick freeway change. Even after all of my years of living in Los Angeles, I’ve recently become a reluctant freeway driver. It’s too far out of my comfort zone. As I made the final lane change to ease onto the 202 freeway, a small car moved into the lane at the same time I did, with no signal or warning, in a quick cut off move. The driver never even looked. My dinosaur flew into the front seat. “Honk your horn! Are you going to let him get away with that? He’s crazy. He could have caused a huge accident. You could have been killed!”

Settle down, little dinosaur. It happens. Everyone’s safe, I’m a defensive driver. I’d reacted in enough time. But this little guy holds the key to my bipolar rage. He looks so sweet and innocent on the outside, but I know the trouble he can cause. I ordered him to return to the back seat. I have to constantly remind him of who’s in charge.

I’m the only one who can see him. It could become very troublesome explaining why I walk alongside a dinosaur. He’s quite invisible. Last night I had to make a stop at Walmart, one of his favorite stores. I tried to think of any way I could avoid this errand. I was willing to go to two different stores. But, no, I feed abandoned cats in the neighborhood and it’s really the only place with affordable bulk cat food. Sigh, it’s 4:00 pm. I can just imagine the chaos inside. Surprisingly, it goes smoothly. I have the dinosaur seated safely in the cart and we careen through the aisles. I threw ice cream in the cart for a treat along with the cat food. I remembered I needed a birthday card. On a whim, I went into the hair salon and had three inches of hair cut off for the unbelievably low price of $12.88, to fix the mess I’d made earlier hacking away at my hair. Sidebar: Why do all prices end in 88 cents at Walmart? Has extensive marketing research been done to prove this is the most appealing price point? Another Walmart annoyance.

But nonetheless, I was looking good now, had gathered all my items, and my dinosaur had fallen asleep in the cart.

Self-checkout is the greatest new grocery innovation for controllers like me. I can check prices, bag my things properly, and take as long as I please. I feel like I’m playing a store cashier game and I find small joy in this role play. So I’m waiting for my turn. Half of the stations are for cash, half are for electronic payment. Most Walmart shoppers pay cash, I’ve noticed, so I rarely wait long because I use my debit card. I quickly climb to first in line. Happy happy happy at Walmart. Take my picture.

Out of freaking nowhere, Tall Blonde Young Man flies by me and runs for the electronic payment station that’s just been vacated. Dinosaur stirs. I’m still reeling from the wave of his wind tunnel in disbelief. I’m a person of order. Wait, what? I turn to the woman behind me and mutter that I suppose I must have moved too slowly for him. He had come up from at least three carts behind me. Dinosaur is now wide awake and watching me. Girl behind me says, well, that’s for credit cards. I respond yes, I know. I can’t even make eye contact with the dinosaur because I know he’s seething over this vagrant display of queue bad manners.

In a few minutes, another station opens, fortuitously right next to Rude Boy. My dinosaur has now climbed out of the cart and is jumping up and down next to me. “C’mon. SAY something. Tell him he cut in front of you. Cuts. He took cuts. No cuts!” I’m already well into the cashier game, separating my food and nonfood items, double bagging the ice cream. I’m still a little annoyed, too. But, shit. Is it really worth giving in to the dinosaur? If I give in to this tantrum, he’s just going to think it’s acceptable behavior. I really do need him to learn who has the power here. It doesn’t help that Rude Boy is kind of cute. I’m going to rag on that stuff? I think not. Get in the cart, dinosaur, we’re done here. It wasn’t perfect, but it is our nemesis Walmart. It’s as good as it gets.

So this is life with a dinosaur. And this was only yesterday. Just one day. It is a constant battle of wills. A never ending power struggle that I must always work to win. If I don’t, the consequences can be disastrous with immense collateral damage. He survives on pills that I feed him every morning and every night. Without this fuel, he becomes unmanageable. It’s very difficult for me sometimes because of the fact that he’s invisible. His foibles and follies appear to be my own. I’ve tried to explain to people—no, it’s not me, it’s my dinosaur who does these terrible things, who wants to stay home alone, who stays quiet for long periods of time and gets sad for no reason. And sometimes he spends my money on things I can’t afford and has not so great judgement in men. But no, all they see is me. Not my dinosaur.

In a funny kind of way, I do love my dinosaur and we’ve become quite attached over the years of a sometimes tumultuous marriage. We have known each other for such a long, long time. He makes me brave, creative, and so different from everyone else. Quirky. Sometimes we laugh at how ridiculous the world is and how they’d never understand our crazy relationship. Deep down, I think he knows I have the power and over the years we’ve come to a truce of sorts.

Having a dinosaur is actually rather amusing. Just remember who’s the boss.

 

BIO

Dori Owen blogs on arizonagirldiary.tumblr.com, is a columnist on FeminineCollective.com, a contributor/editor for The Lithium Chronicles, created the Facebook page Diary of an Arizona Girl, is an author on AskABipolar, was featured in the books FeminineCollective RAW&UNFILTERED VOL I and StigmaFighters Vol II, and is a zealous tweeter as @doriowen. She’s a former LA wild child who settled into grownup life as a project manager, collecting an MBA and a few husbands along the way. Dori spent her adult years in Southern California, with a brief stay in Reno, and has now returned to where she ran away from in Arizona. She is a shown artist, writer, and her favorite pastime is upcycling old furniture she finds from thrift stores. She lives with her beloved rescued terrier, Olivia Twist, and the cat who came to visit but stayed. The love of her life is her grown son in Portland, Oregon who very much resents being introduced after her pets. But she she does love him the most.

http://femininecollective.com/columns/dori-owen/

http://arizonagirldiary.tumblr.com

https://twitter.com/doriowen

http://thelithiumchronicles.org/2015/01/16/why-i-sometimes-rarely-never-tell-people-i-have-bipolar-disorder/

 

Tagged: #BeReal, Beauty, BiPolar, BPD, Creative, dinosaur, imagination, Inspiration, Mental Health, Mental Illness, Storyteller