Uncategorized – Page 10 – It’s All in Your Head

I’m Gonna Love Me Again” ~ Bernie Taupin

white black and red person carrying heart illustration in brown envelope — Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

So, any of you who know me even just a tiddle know how incredibly much I like the film “Rocketman”. I think I’ve watched it at least 20 times, because the music, and the inspiration of the story is just so damn good. My favorite song is the final one called “I’m Gonna Love Me Again” by Bernie Taupin, and here are my fave lyrics from it:

Singing, I’m gonna love me again
Check in on my very best friend
Find the wind to fill my sails
Rise above the broken rails
Unbound by any ties that break or bend
I’m free, and don’t you know?
No clown to claim he used to know me then
I’m free, and don’t you know?
And oh-oh-oh, I’m gonna love me again.

Here’s why I was thinking about these words today: one of my sweetie students wrote me and asked me how you go about loving yourself. She said she has always heard you can’t love others unless you love yourself which is something she struggles with, and she was scared she’d never be in a relationship because of that. So, I’ve been thinking a lot about loving yourself. How can you learn to do it, and why isn’t that love already there? Also, is it really true you can’t love anyone else if you don’t love yourself.

I don’t know about you, but my love for myself fluctuates…it waxes and wanes based on what’s happening in my life. I think it’s much more fragile than the love I have for others. Much more conditional based on my standards. Much more unforgiving based on my ideas. I wonder why that is? Why it’s such a challenge to love ourselves as openly and non-judgmentally as we do others? Why is it I can quickly forgive another person and my love never wavers, but I just as quickly berate myself and lose self-love in the same situation?

Maybe some of it, or all of it, has to do with being bipolar. I’m a ruminator. An overly sensitive person. An empath. But the last 2 of these wonderful qualities (🙄) seem to only be for others.

I can hate myself so easily. Years and years ago, I had a mutt named Scooter and he was 15 when I had to put him down. For a few weeks prior to that, his kidneys were failing, he was deaf and going blind, and he had cancer. Because of all of this, he had a lot of difficulty with bladder control and he was quick to snap at me since he couldn’t hear or see me approach before I touched him. I had to crate him when I was gone and it was a horrible and stressful time. One day, out of frustration, I got angry (and I’m not going to tell you specifically what I did…it wasn’t terrible but still wasn’t right) and scolded him too harshly. It’s literally been 17 years since that time, and I still haven’t forgiven myself for it. Seventeen years. If someone else had done it, I would have forgiven them in a heartbeat. Understood the frustration, the stress, the fear. But not me. After little Scooter was gone, I went over it and over it in my head and truly hated myself for making those couple seconds in his life crummy.

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I can think of so many other things I’ve done in my life that I’ve hated myself for, that I would have accepted in others with no loss of love at all. I’m the first person to say that love isn’t a ‘switch’, if it can be turned on and turned off easily (meaning I love you today, but don’t tomorrow) then that’s not love. Love is supposed to sustain us through the bad times, not suddenly go away. It’s supposed to grow during the ‘worse’ while celebrating the ‘better’. If it doesn’t…if it disappears when there’s a bump in the road…how can that have actually been love?

So, is it really love I have for myself if I do turn it on and off based on my behavior? My words? Even my thoughts? I don’t think so. When I’m in bad situations, that ‘love’ leaves me at a time I need it the most. When J cheated on me, I continued to love him. But I started to hate myself. What was in ME that compelled him to cheat (I know this thinking is wrong NOW, but that’s what was going on inside my head at the time)? Was I a bad person? Ugly person? When Hubby 3 left, I hated myself. I would spend hours doing ‘reruns’ in my mind about fights we had and issues we should have worked on, and I criticized myself harshly and was convinced it was my fault he walked out the door (which I have since painted and it looks awesome).

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It’s sad to me how hard we are on ourselves. My sis is the curvy one in our family and I think she is beautiful…I truly do. But, she’s so hard on herself when she gains a pound or two. I guess I’m the same way too though. We tell other women that no matter what, they have a unique beauty all their own and they are special just the way they are. Then we look in our own mirrors, and catalog our flaws one by one and say things like “Oh Lord, I hate the way I look” or “Dammit…if I didn’t have these thighs I’d love myself so much more.”

So, if I’m hating on myself or at least not totally loving myself, can I not love others? See, you may disagree, but I believe you can. No matter how I’m feeling about myself, I still love others. When I was married to Hubby 2 (keep up…I know how hard it is to remember all of these) I had periods of depression and didn’t like myself as a result of what I couldn’t do. Hubby also disliked it when I would say how awful I felt…how down…how helpless I was. It was hard for him to understand the organic basis of depression and in his family, when you aren’t feeling ‘right’, you hear “Get to work…it’ll help!” or “Ignore it…it’ll go away!” But through it all, I loved him. Very much. How I feel about myself might affect my interactions, but I never stop loving. Ever.

Maybe talking about having to completely love ourselves is unrealistic. Maybe it’s simply that we should be more LOVING towards ourselves. Maybe the key is forgiving ourselves like we forgive others. Letting go of things and consciously catching ourselves when ruminating on them. Allowing ourselves to make mistakes, with the understanding this is something everyone else does as well. Talking kindly to ourselves. Looking at our bodies and saying, “Yes…I have a belly, and thank the Lord I do. It carried my baby boy!” Accepting our mental illnesses that cause so many of us to feel shame, self-doubt, less self-worth, more guilt, and feeling we are less than because of them.

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In other words, being as loving to ourselves as we are to others; I guess I’m just not there yet. But I’m thinking that might be OK because I see this as a process. A day by day challenge. And no matter how ‘loving’ I feel towards myself at any particular time, I still accept me for who I am. Someone who tries their hardest, does her best to make the world around her just a little bit better, and can’t help but to see only the positive in people.

So, Bernie…I love what you wrote, and I’m working on what you ask. I’m gonna love myself again. And again and again and again. But just understand, it’s a lot harder than we might think.

Kristi xoxo

“Schools for Fools” ~ Jamie Kennedy

So, in a perfect world I’d write to each and everyone of you, but since that’s almost 3000 and counting, I figured this would save me from carpel tunnel syndrome. Here goes:

To My Amazing Students:

First, I don’t use that word lightly and you also know I am brutally honest so there you go. You are all freaking marvelous to me.

I’ll never forget the first day I walked into my classroom at Hutchinson Community College in KS. I had just had my son 6 months before and needed to get out of the house once in a while so I wouldn’t lose my mind. I knew that was happening when I would continue watching “Barney” long after my son was asleep. Anyhoot, I got a job teaching a psychology class a couple of nights a week, even though I didn’t have my Masters degree yet, and I was a wreck. Back then, in the olden days (1994), we had what were called ‘paper rosters’ (ask your grandparents and quit rolling your eyes) and when I tried to take attendance that night, my hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t read the names. So, I took a deep breath, braced myself against the overhead (google it…there still might be a couple around), and dug in. I know I did terrible…what the hell did I know about lecturing? I was used to teaching 5th graders how to write a paragraph. I was young and scared and after doing so bad in high school, never thought I’d be in front of a college class as the instructor. Lucky for me, my students were extremely patient and kind that first semester, and had mercy on me for the evals. I was so thrilled when I got hired again and again for more classes.

18519507_10158665370275082_7669739309193944420_n — Eating lunch out with 2 of my students because we just had so much more to talk about!! They are an amazing couple!!

Every semester was better as I gained confidence in myself (and didn’t have leaky boobs because my boy was still breast-feeding), and I even started doing this very new-fangled thing called “Distance Learning” where I was ‘beamed’ to other locations and kids were in those classrooms too. I had to keep track of my ‘real’ students in the studio, monitor 4 other classrooms, and deliver a lecture. OMG…I felt just like Dianne Sawyer (if only I would have had her blonde hair). The technology was amazing! I was actually on TV! Wow! 🙄

There were so many awesome experiences there, and I realized how much I adored teaching college! I had a lot of students take me for more than one class (suckers!) and I realized how easy it was to build relationships with them. But there were some sad times too. Once, a student went into labor in the middle of my class. We were so excited for her and called security etc. It was her 4th baby and we all had bets on the gender. She is a wonderful woman, and as you know, I like nicknames and called her Knickerbocker Bear! Sadly, I got a call that night from her hubby, and he tearfully told the baby had suffered distress and was still born. I was so devastated for her. When she returned to class a couple of weeks later, we all rallied around her and cried. I realized then that a class can be a family too.

13062274_10156804969805082_9091811536014234582_n — My student and I clicked from the beginning…I was so sad to see her graduate! How selfish is that?

I also had my first totally blind student. She hated me in the beginning because I had no clue how to deal with her lack of sight. The internet (invented by Al Gore) was in it’s infancy and I just couldn’t ‘search’ to see what strategies I could use. I did everything wrong and she let me know! Finally, I asked her to help me learn how to interact with a blind person appropriately and she did! She let me get close to her seeing eye dog and we became great friends after she took a couple of my classes. She taught me more than I ever taught her, and her understanding of how people aren’t rude, but ignorant at times, turned her attitude around too. When I left Hutchinson, she was the last person I visited.

Hubby and I decided to come back home after our 3 year stint in Kansas (where he had been transferred) and after I got my M.S. I had graduated community college from where I teach at now, and when I applied, I was so so excited. I was back on my old stomping ground.

It’s been 24 years, and I can honestly say I’ve never, ever, not wanted to be with y’all every day that I am. No matter what’s going on in my life, you are my bright spots. My sunshine. Once, when I told Hubby 3 (yes, I know, they are hard to keep track of, just try) I wished I could have had more kids, he said: “Honey…you have hundreds of kids. Thousands!” and he was right (at least about that). That’s what I think about all of you. Yes, you are my students first, but you are more than that. Much more. You are ‘people’ struggling with so much and to be a part of that side of your life, makes me a more compassionate, understanding prof who learns what you need and how to present it best.

288118_495027130512133_1762728789_o — My student and I who ran a 10k together while my son, his friend, watched! It was so hot and hilly, but we did it by encouraging each other the entire way!

In my classes, as you know (quit skimming this…for goodness sakes, read it all) we talk about really shitty things (I can cuss here…it’s my blog, so there). Domestic violence, rape, child abuse, sexual abuse, divorce, alchoholism, mental illness, war, death, suicide, and the list goes on. It’s such a joy 🙄. But it’s necessary for the classes I teach. I tackle the hard stuff because that’s what can happen in the world. And here’s the thing: I’ve never taught a class on any of these issues without having a handful of you e-mail me to tell me your story. I know you can’t see my tears, but knowing what you’ve been through, how you’ve found the strength to go on, and how so many of you want to use these experiences to help others overwhelms me. I’m humbled by you.

But at the same time, I was lying to you. I was letting y’all share, and I was still the consummate professional (look up that word and quit rolling your eyes at my vocabulary) that wanted to be seen as your ‘guru’, like I saw my profs as being mine. I’m not worthy of that though. None of us are. So when I had a breakdown 3 years ago, I stopped lying (to me and you) and started sharing with you about my having a mental illness and things I’ve experienced in my life. I had too. I was actually teaching summer school during this time, and we were in the tail end of the semester. There were days I’d get up at 4 in the morning (yes, life starts before 7…you’ll find out when you have kids) and would have to force myself to shower and dress and then drive to teach you. Some days I didn’t think I’d get through the couple of hours we had together, and some days I’d have to take a break. I was embarrassed and ashamed but you all took me by the hand, gave me an incredible amount of support, and showed me that the love I feel for you goes both ways. In so many aspects, you were part of my salvation.

10363955_10154124726995082_8691975107848878302_n — Yes, my student is as gorgeous as this pic shows, with a heart to match!

Then my nephew was killed on a Navy ship. Only 1 colleague acknowledged the pain and grief I was feeling. One. But not you. EVERY day y’all would ask me if I had heard anything about him since things were so confusing with missing sailors, and once I learned his body had been found, I was devastated. When I came to school the next day, you started hugging me and comforting me as I cried. Sobbed. Because you were the only support (outside of my ma and son) I had. When older folk say that you ‘young people’ are self-centered, I say bullshit (don’t say that in front of your own ma…it’s not respectful). You are the opposite. You did so much for me, and I see you do so much for others as well.

I had a student threaten me, and like anything on a campus, word leaked out. When I wasn’t taken seriously and was ‘victim blamed’ for him threatening to rape and kill me, so many of you said how you lost respect for the institution as a result. I had dozens of you want to protest and do a walk-out to show your support of me. I told you not too and that I was OK (you knew I was lying, my perceptive sweeties) because it was my battle (that I lost) to fight, not yours. Just knowing you felt so strongly and so protective of me helped diminish the blow that treatment dealt me after so many years. YOU are the reason I came back day after day. I still don’t feel totally comfy there anymore. Not totally safe. I know that people will turn on you in seconds regardless of what you’ve done. But not you…not at all. And you kept my faith in people. Literally. Thank you for that.

97402524_1585487618269561_205898232499273728_n — My student who is graduating tonight! I truly love her like a daughter and am so proud of her!

OMG….we’ve had so many fun times too! Donut days! Saying ‘anyhoot’ to make you smile. Having students say “In the name of all that is holy” in a high pitched voice to preface my comments! Teasing students who laugh the hardest. Laughing so hard in class we can’t continue until we get control again. Talking about weird stuff like serial killers where we feel guilty for being so interested. Having you come to my office and eat lunch while helping me pick out a dress for a wedding (not mine 🙄). Bringing candy to school around Halloween and Easter so we can get all chocolaty and sticky before the next class. Rolling our eyes at each other as we pass in the halls. Being in clubs together and having bake sales where we eat more than we sell. Giving high fives to each other after a super great comment or grade. Watching funny video clips at the end of class to get you on your way in a better mood than when when you came in. My wonderful jokes I tell so well (shutty…and remember my best one about the nuns?). And the list goes on and on and on. There hasn’t been a day I haven’t smile with you or laughed with you…no matter what!

And now I’ve been teaching so long (yes, I’m still 40…I started teaching college when I was 12 and quit doing the math 😜), that I get to see your engagements on FB, your wedding pics, your precious babies, and all the amazing degrees and jobs and things you’re accomplishing! It’s so fun for me! And in the spring and summer? I get so many wedding invitations I can’t go to them all, but I love love love buying you something! Following your lives and still interacting with you is a joy…whether I had you 20 years ago or 1. Truly!

So, on this graduation day for my current students, I wanted to tell you all this: thank you for letting me be a part of your lives. It’s been not only a pleasure, but a privilege as well. Whenever I get feeling blue about the state of the world, I think of all of you: the amazing, talented, intelligent people who are working to make changes, and then my hope in humanity is rekindled. You all have so many gifts, and don’t let anyone tell you different. You are loved. You are appreciated. You are important. You matter. Professor K says so. And remember, I don’t lie.

Kristi xoxo

P.S. I have permission from each student to use their pic…just sayin’! 😀

“You Should Have Seen His Face When I Started Taking My Clothes Off. Priceless.” ~ Stephenie Meyer (Breaking Dawn)

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So, one of my Facebook buddies I’ve known since the 7th grade sent me a message the other day and said this:

“And you are so easy to support. You just put it out there!! You never ask or demand, and you have this thing with honest reflection of the places and moments that make you whole. I thought I was the only one with questions attached to things like joys and regrets.”

I loved getting this and it showed me that opening up on this blog really is helpful to others. We all have our challenges…our burdens…and to write about them and share them maybe helps to distribute that weight a little more easily, or eases the heaviness on some on our shoulders.

When you hear the phrase ‘coming out’, you think of those who have revealed to their family, friends and colleagues about their sexual orientation or gender identity. And that’s a wonderful thing! For so long, members of the LGBTQ community were forced into ‘hiding’ so to speak. To talk about their orientation was societal suicide and often still is. They can lose family and friends, be fired from jobs or denied promotions, be denied housing or custody of their children, be a victim of a hate crime, be an outcast in a neighborhood or community and the list goes on.

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What’s so sad to me is that even though things have ‘gotten better’ more than 50% of LGBTQ have faced discrimination in just the last year, and even more frightening is there’s no federal law against this (Center for American Progress, May 2nd, 2017). What the hell?

The term ‘coming out’ regarding the mentally ill is similar. Like the LGBTQ community, there’s a lot to lose and a lot of discrimination tied to having a mental illness: housing, health care costs, work issues (yeppers), criminal justice issues (receiving longer sentences, etc.), loss of friends and difference in treatment among colleagues (been to that freaking rodeo) to name a few (National Alliance on Mental Illness, March 11th, 2020).

So why did I do it? Why do any of us do it, regardless of the issue we’re coming out for? Because it’s not only hard to fake your way through life, it’s simply not fair. Pushing down who you are to pretend to be who you’re not is exhausting, and shameful to the person. You aren’t ‘good’ enough…’normal’ enough…’right’ enough to be fully accepted in our society, and feeling that way leads to self-stigmatization as well. It also impedes seeking help/recovery and following through with it, as well as asking for support from others which leads to more feelings of low self-worth. In other words, your ‘person’ is thwarted and you feel less than.

Of course my family knew about me being bipolar and so many of them were supportive and accepting of the mentally ill ‘me’ which was such a relief and validated my worth. I also share with my students, when it’s appropriate and in the context of what we are studying. When I teach about mental illness, if I can’t talk about something I have openly, how can my students believe my lecture in which I state there needs to be acceptance of those with mental illness, education about the various illnesses, and a real effort to end the stigmatization of this population (which is quite large, by the way). If I can’t talk about being bipolar without shame and share my experiences, everything I teach them is a lie.

But there have been consequences for ‘coming out’ too. Colleagues look at me differently. Some are so supportive and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. Others have told me that it’s all in my head (hence the title of this blog!) and if I just got off those meds and kept a positive attitude, I’d be fine (oooookkkkkaaaayyyyy). A couple told me to ‘pray it away’ (what the fuck? I believe I was given this for a reason, peeps…and I would prefer these particular people pray away their ignorance instead). I think the worst I’ve experienced at work was when I was having a very serious issue with a student at the same time of my mental breakdown and when I was at the bottom of the most serious depression I’ve ever had. I was treated horribly (after 23 years of perfect service) and my mental state was obvious. This was used against me as proof I was the cause of the stalking and direct, written threats I received. I couldn’t fight it. My illness was too strong right then.

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How transparent should I be though? Should I share everything? My sissy and I were yacking about it last night (after I admired her highlights…they freaking rock), and she said I wasn’t being honest when I didn’t share everything going on in my life. And she’s right. I promised candor, but I realized there are some things I just can’t do that with. I have my secrets…and I think we all do. If I share every piece of me, what’s left that’s just mine? It’s kinda like when sis and I would go trick-or-treating and take a look-see at our candy after. I’d keep some of my treats hidden from her (I’m sorry T…I’ll buy you some Reeses peanut butter cups to make up for it) because I wanted those all for myself. Likewise, it’s not always easy to be completely transparent. Accountable. And like all of us, it’s just too hard to be ‘out there’ all of the time. I guess I just need to keep some of my ‘me’ inside too.

I know my ‘coming out’ has helped people, and that quote at the beginning is only one of scores I’ve received. Every time I hear that I’ve encouraged others to lessen their shame of having a mental illness and assured them it’s absolutely no fault of their own, I feel justified in this openness. Is it worth the negatives? You betcha.

Like I’ve said in previous posts, ‘coming out’ has freed me. Removed so many of the masks I was hiding behind. Helped me to live more authentically which has bolstered my self-confidence and worth. It ain’t always easy doing this, and it ain’t always everything in my life that I put out there. But it’s real. Something I wish we could all be, no matter what it is we’re struggling with.

Kristi xoxo

“Someone Call the Doctor. Got a Case of Love Bipolar.” ~ Katy Perry

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So, I’m reading a book about a school shooting, and during the trial of the shooter, a psychiatrist is testifying after interviewing the boy. The defense attorney asks what the psychiatrist was looking for in terms of mental illness, and he states ‘bipolar and schizophrenia.’ Heh? Bipolar (I’m going to focus on this one since I have it)? Really? It’s perceived as being that dangerous it needs to be ‘looked for’ in a school shooter? I’ve had a LOT of ups and downs with this illness, and it hasn’t been a bed of roses, peeps, but I have never entertained the thought of hurting others.

After reading this I decided to peruse the web (you know, the one Al Gore invented) to see what is said about bipolar out there, because this particular illness really does have a lot of stigma attached to it. So, I googled (that’s a search engine, ma…don’t monkey with it or you’ll get confused) ‘what are some questions people have about bipolar’ and I was gobsmacked (Lord, I love that word) about the way it’s perceived. Let’s dig in, grasshoppers.

stack of love wooden blocks — Photo by Ylanite Koppens on Pexels.com

One question was: “Can bipolar people love?” (Skip over these next few words, ma) but what the fuck? Really? There’s the idea floating around that you can’t LOVE if you have bipolar? No. Not true. Here’s where I think this came from: when we’re in a manic state, everything looks wonderful and exciting, including potential partners. We might feel that initial intoxication very quickly and be giddy in the romance. Yes, some might become very promiscuous too. However, what the person feels during the manic state may not be love; we are so emotionally bombarded with energy that’s overwhelming us, we might say it’s love when it’s really just sexual infatuation. 🤩

But, you gotta remember that us bipolars are not always manic and not always depressed. There is a state in-between where we are ‘relatively’ stable called euthymia and this, at least in my case, is when I can really ‘fall in love’ (whatever the hell that means) and know that it is love. When I love someone, I love ’em whether I’m manic or depressed, and I love them hard!

Another question was: “Can people with bipolar be faithful?” Short answer? Yep. Long answer…well, here goes: when we’re manic we’re not making the best decisions and are usually very impulsive with no thought of consequences. So, during those times, yes, it’s possible. Sometimes the mania is so strong, there is no ‘you’ left inside to help mitigate what the mania is wanting you to do, but sometimes there is and that reigns you in.

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However, a medicated bipolar (me!) who is on a mood stabilizer (I love Lamotrigine…if I could marry it, I would 😳), then the ups and downs are so much more calm; it’s like the roller coaster becomes a bunch of small, rolling hills and your thought processes are much more clear. You have to keep in mind though peeps that 40% of people cheat on their spouses and I can guarantee you they ain’t all bipolar!

How about this question: “Are bipolar people violent and dangerous?” Yes. I keep a roll of duct tape and some tarps in my trunk. 🙄 There are so many mental illnesses that can can cause a person to be dangerous including psychopathy, sadism, narcissism, borderline, etc. However, people with bipolar are either really really happily manic or we’re pretty down in the dumps, and neither one of these states has violence as a feature. Of course, someone with bipolar ‘could’ be dangerous, but so could anyone. Right?

Last one: “Is it safe to live with a bipolar person?” For piss sakes, yes. Hello! I raised my son very very lovingly…I adore each and everyone of my students…I’m the best dog ma around…and my house is comfy cozy with me sitting on the couch at 7:00 every night, in my jammies, watching Netflix. YIKES! Sounds horrible! Now, people who live with someone bipolar need to understand there are going to be issues, but through education, patience, and counseling, these can be handled well.

You know, when you see how stigmatized bipolar is and how it’s perceived by others, you might believe we’re just dangerous people who fool around and will bitch slap you at anytime. Nope. But, we do have some serious issues affect us that should garner some sympathy: bipolar people have a reduction in life expectancy of 9-20 years (more than a heavy smoker) and this is scary as hell to me. Particularly since I don’t have a grandbaby yet (did you read this sentence, son?). We are also at greater risk for dementia as we age, as well as seeing an increase in the severity of our depressive episodes. These things are disheartening to me and should show people that we have more fears about being bipolar than others might have regarding the myths about it.

Look, people with mental illnesses struggle. Right? So many of you reading this are battling everyday and we need support, understanding, love, patience, and encouragement from others to get through. What we don’t need is misinformation circulating about that causes yet more problems in our lives. We need to be seen as people. Individuals. Folks who are sometimes good. Sometimes naughty. Sometimes happy. Sometimes sad. We’re ma’s and pa’s and sisters and brothers and teachers and CEO’s and nurses and doctors and electricians and sales people and on and on and on. In other words, in so many ways, we’re really just like everyone else.

Kristi xoxo

“…But I Grew Strong, and I Learned How to Get Along.” ~ Gloria Gaynor

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So, something happened last night and when it did, I was quite gobsmacked. A friend and I were chatting about relationships, and she said, “You know the saying… no one wants a woman who has ever been abused.”

What? I guess when she said that, 2 things quickly ran through my mind: first, that a relationship with me is probably not advisable, and second, I am ‘dirty’ or ‘shameful’ for having been in abusive situations.

I guess I can understand the idea of a relationship not being the easiest thing with someone who has been abused…whether man or woman. There is a lot of baggage we carry and although time can soften those memories or even push them down so far you aren’t really conscious of them, I know how easy it is for those to affect others. My friend and I have been discussing trust lately and both of us have struggled with situations that have broken it, and let me tell you peeps, nothing breaks trust more than abuse. Once that happens, and although you tell yourself again and again the next relationship is a new playing field, it’s easy to be wary of how the game is going to be played.

Take cheating. Please. Before J cheated on me the first time, I would ask him if he was talking to his ex. He would look me in the eye, tell me a firm no, and also made me feel that questioning him was wrong because I had nothing to worry about. And? Those words meant nothing, because all along he was planning for the moment. After, when we got back together, he said the same. He had learned his lesson…saw how much it hurt me…and vowed, eye to eye and holding hands, it would never happen again. The next day, it did. Of course, through this all he was emotionally and verbally abusive to me. In retrospect, which truly is so much clearer than when you are in the midst of something, I could see the purpose in that: the worse I felt about myself, the more likely he could proverbially have his cake and eat it too.

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How do you get past that? How do you allow yourself, in a new relationship, to believe the person when they say the same? Once you’ve been burned, how do you not assume that all stoves are hot? It’s almost reflexive…an ‘instinctual’ reaction that has been created to protect you from this happening again. It’s not that you are ‘blaming’ the new guy/gal for something they haven’t done. It’s not that you don’t want to believe what they are reassuring you of. It’s not that they have hurt you. But unfortunately, our past experiences dictate so many of our future ones, and when something has made such a lasting impact on you, it’s hard to brush it aside.

Now, the idea you should never be with someone who’s been abused? Hmmmm…gonna narrow your playing field, that’s for sure: 1:3 girls and 1:5 boys will be sexually abused by 18 (scary as fuck, isn’t it?), and about 3 million cases of child abuse are reported each year…and these are only the ones recognized and turned in for help. So there are an awful lot of victims out there walking around as adults.

What upset me the most about the comment of never being an a relationship with someone who was abused made me feel disgraced. Embarrassed. As if I was at fault for what happened. As if I could have stopped it anytime.

With J, it seems I should have been easily able too. But like anyone who has been abused by a partner, once you have been manipulated, broken down emotionally, made to feel less than in every situation, it’s tougher than it sounds. You see, I liken an abusers tactics to fishing (something I actually love to do): the victim needs to be hooked and then played with so they don’t fight what’s happening. That’s what abusers do. They bait their hook based on what they see in you (vulnerability, sadness, loneliness) and use that to catch you and reel you in, all the while making you think you are in a better place. But it’s not, because it’s a net where everything you wanted was just an illusion. Then, abusers break down their victim. It’s not as dramatic as cutting off your head and scaling you, but it’s damaging none the less. Once you’ve been broken down to the very bottom of who you are, it’s very very tough to pull yourself up…or even believe you should try. This is so hard for people who haven’t experienced abusive partner relationships to understand.

And then with the psychologist. I was a teenager when he started sexually abusing me. I had come to depend on him to where I trusted him with my life. The power dynamic between a psychologist and client is very one sided, with the professional having all of the influence and advantage. People seek out help because they are dealing with something that is insurmountable to face alone, and the person they seek help from becomes something of a guru. A savior. And once that’s been established, especially in a 15 year old and for 2 years, being able to see it any other way is almost impossible to do. Then, to be told you owe them…that’s it’s going to be healing for both of you…that it puts you on a higher level than his other patients, is something I needed to hear at that point in my life. It made me feel like I must be special, and that I must have some power over him too. I mistakenly believed I was so much better than I had thought for him to see me in a sexual way. That was a heady thing to someone who desperately needed that validation.

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But it leaves a mark. A scar. Like a smudge across your face that everyone can see. You perceive yourself as being different, because you are. You’ve been through something that was dirty. Wrong. Degrading. Humiliating. Hurtful. The feeling of powerlessness that goes along with such abuse stays with you, whether it’s been 5 or 35 years. And since having a mental illness feels the same way in terms of feeling different (for lack of a better word), it’s a double whammy. Having bipolar makes me more sensitive, emotional, more likely to ruminate, etc. so processing the abuse, and then putting it in a compartment to try to ensure it’s effects on new situations are minimal, is tough to do.

When ma was going through her divorce with R who had abused her, she would say how she never addressed it because of the shame it wrought inside of her. I told her, time and time again, that the shame was on R, not her. She was the victim. Not the perpetrator. I wish I could listen to my own words.

Those of us who have been abused already feel guilt, a sense of betrayal by those who have hurt us, feelings of stigmatization, and damage to our perceptions of our self-worth. We don’t want to be seen different or damaged. We want to be seen as survivors who have come through abusive situations with strength. With lessons to share. With an experience that allows for empathy. With more compassion for all who have faced such dark periods in their lives. Maybe others will never ultimately see it the way I do, but I think it’s admirable.

Kristi xoxo

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‘Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps) ~ David Bowie

So, one of the most short-sighted, but often quoted saying to me is this: “There’s nothing to fear but fear itself.”. Now, when Franklin D. Roosevelt said this in his inaugural speech in 1933 (didn’t know you were going to get a history lesson today, huh?), the country was in the midst of the Great Depression and he wanted to rally the people to not let their fear paralyze them or beat them down further than they already were. OK. I understand the circumstance and the need of FDR to challenge the people to be as pro-active as they could, but today I think this saying is used too freely.

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We all have fears, don’t we? Fear of falling, heights, snakes (ME ME ME), public speaking, being alone at night, being the victim of a crime, clowns (ME ME ME) and the list can go on and on. And to say there’s nothing to fear but fear itself assumes that all fears are irrational. Hey, if I’m confronted by a bunch of snakes slithering towards me, my fear is justified, peeps. My cold sweats and elevated heart beat says it all. If we don’t validate that people have ‘real’ fears and recognize that so many times they come from a very justifiable place, then we aren’t addressing how we can help the person deal with them more productively (damn…that is a very impressive sentence…textbook quality?).

And fears aren’t always about actual, physical danger, are they? I’m a believer that many of us have fears regarding ourselves, our relationships, our mental illnesses. I also believe that these fears just don’t come about quickly, but develop over a period of time through, I could say situations here but it sounds too ‘light’ so I’m going to use the word shit. The shit we go through that shapes us into fearful beings.

Take me (ok…that’s not literal, but if you’re rich and single, give me a call): I learned over the years that to be in a fairly stable place, I needed to make sure I was aquiescent to the people who could hurt me or the people I love. When ma was married to her 2nd husband who was domestically violent, I learned very early in their marriage to give in or go along with whatever R was saying, no matter how irrational or wrong it was. If I didn’t, he’d become enraged and the target of this anger would be ma. In order to keep her safe, I bowed down to him. Knowing ma could get hurt because of me was a tremendous fear in my life every time I was around him.

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So, guess what? That fear became a part of me. It was so deeply ingrained that I still believe that ‘people pleasing’ is a necessary thing in relationships and that it’s important in order for that relationship to be ‘happy’ (whatever the hell that means). I need to make sure I say what I’m supposed to say, or act the way I’m supposed to act, based on someone elses wants or needs.

When that psychologist was sexually abusing me, I knew it was wrong and I felt dirty and shameful because of it. But, he had saved my life…gotten me to open up about things I needed to face. He helped me reign my eating disorder in, talked me down after my first suicide attempt, and the more I depended on him, the more I strove to please him as much as I could. I didn’t know if I could live without him or his office and the sanctuary it had once given me. When he began touching me, I didn’t say no. In so many ways, I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to upset him. Reject him. Give him reason to ‘hate’ me. Abandon me. Throw me away. So, I said nothing.

Hubby 2 has a GREAT mom…she truly is the best and can do most anything and everything. She was “Supermom” and worked 24/7 in such a selfless way. When we had been married for 6 years, we built a house on Hubby’s parents land and I lived next door to my in-laws for the next 7 years. Because we were so close, I felt I was put into a competition with mom. She washed her windows every season, planted a huge garden, took care of acres of property, hung her wash out to dry, cooked nice meals that I couldn’t emulate, and never sat down to read or rest. After hearing for years how terrific she was (and I know she is), I began to feel I had to live up to the bar she set. When I lived next door, I struggled to keep up. If I laid down in the afternoon, I felt guilty (sometimes I still do) and not getting a chore done was unacceptable.

So I did all of this with a smile on my face, wanting to please Hubby and let him know I was up to par with this woman he idolized. And the entire time I plastered a smile on my face. I was ‘person pleasing’ him and I feared the consequence of not doing this would be his disapproval and criticism (something I’m ill equipped to handle thanks to my ‘sensitive’ personality 🙄).

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This pattern, based on the fear of retaliation, hurt and rejection, truly has followed me my entire adult life. The most recent rendition of it was with J. After he cheated on me the first time, I forgave him quickly and with very little effort of apology or him showing remorse. If I voiced my anger, my sadness, or my distrust, he’s the one that became offended and annoyed. You see, my nagging was what was dragging us down. My feelings of distrust and needing to know where he was or who he was texting made him feel resentful, which once again, was the cause of our relationship not being ‘perfect’. It didn’t matter what he did. It mattered what my reactions were. And since I’ve attended this shitty rodeo before, I tried, as hard as I could, to ‘person please’ him. “No honey…it’s ok. I’m sorry I was worried.” “Babe…it’s my fault you’re upset. I shouldn’t have brought her up.”

Sometimes I wonder if so much of this people pleasing, which is founded in the fear of me being rejected, is a big part of the breakdown I had. I had given in to so much over the years and lived my life based on other expectations while sucking up my own wants and needs, that it became too much. Think about it. I was a pleaser in all of my marriages (shutty the mouthy…I’m not Elizabeth Taylor yet 😳); I gave everything I knew the Hubby of the decade wanted, yet they still moved on to apparently greener pastures. (They’re all greener until you start crapping in those too). I gave in to so much of what J wanted throughout our relationship because I loved him so stinkin’ much and didn’t want to lose him, and look what I got for my effort. Nada.

I’m kinda starting this pattern again with my old friend I’ve been yacking too. Trying to be what he wants me to be in order to please him. Trying to say the right things. Agree to the right things, but this time, I’m stopping myself. I’m recognizing it. I’m seeing that if I continue this pattern, it ain’t gonna work out. I think I finally understand that I’ve never wanted someone to be a ‘yes’ man for me. I want their genuine, muddied, real self. By the same token, I can understand how me being a ‘yes’ woman can lessen respect someone might have for me. I guess I’m just scared to put my real self out there. When you have a mental illness, your genuine self isn’t always your best self. Your intentions may not be what your moods are dictating that day. Your responses and behavior may be a done deal before you reign in that fucking brain of yours and try your best to fight it. Sometimes your real self can be very overwhelming to the other person. Sometimes, it can even be a deal-breaker.

So, I learned early on that you can’t rock the boat. You can’t disagree. You always have to nod, smile and say yes on the outside, while saying no to yourself on the inside, no matter how much it hurts or how much it might cost you. But, as I have found, people pleasing isn’t the key. Maybe trying to be whatever the other person wants you to be isn’t the strongest foundation for any relationship. And maybe what I’ve been doing all of these years is backwards – that the key is simply pleasing me and them much more equally and hoping the other person can accept that as being enough.

Kristi xoxo

“We Don’t Need No Education” ~ Pink Floyd

Growing-up-FB — National Alliance on Mental Illness

So, I’ve been teaching since I was 24 years old: 2 years olds (who scared the crap out of me), 5th and 6th graders, high schoolers, and of course, college, and through these experiences, I’ve learned there are 2 types of students – those who memorize and learn what they need to know for the subject, and those who take what they are learning and apply it to their lives in ways that allow for change and more insight to come about. I think a lot of us are actually both. There were classes I took where my main objective was to do all I could to get my grade and then scoot the hell on. Ask me what I ‘learned’ in College Trigonometry. The answer? Not much. I got my A and was very proud of that, but I never applied the info after my final exam; it wasn’t ‘important’ enough to my life and what I wanted to do, so the info has fallen by the wayside (Note to Dr. S: you were an AWESOME professor to teach me something that was so hard for me to pick up…bless your heart in heaven!).

I guess I’m feeling this way about what I’m trying to do with blogging: to educate others and help people see the inside perspective and challenges of mental illness, and then to take that info and run with it. But I also understand this is very hard to do, particularly for those who have no experience with these issues themselves.

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Besides my brain (🙄), I’m really quite healthy, and so it’s difficult for me to understand what it’s like to have diseases and physical illnesses. For example, diabetes. I have a friend with this, and he is struggling with a bit of a weight problem . At times, I nag (yes, I said nag…I’m quite good at it actually) him to walk more, ride his indoor bike more, and eat better because I’ve read that losing weight and exercise is a great help for a diabetic. And for me, this would be easy. But I’m me…not him. I don’t have any idea what it is to struggle with low blood sugar, to have to wear a monitor that’s showing insulin levels which must be checked dozens of times a day, to have diabetic neuropathy which makes balance and walking difficult. I simply haven’t had this so I have no clue what it’s like to walk in his shoes, and the ‘advice’ I give to him is much more demanding to do than I can ever imagine.

But by the same token, it’s the same with mental illness. You can read all you want on it…show greater acceptance of people who suffer from it…vow to be kinder to those who have it, but actually doing these things is tough if there’s no personal experience to draw from.

I’ve written a lot about how bipolars have heightened sensitivity and stronger emotional reactions, and research shows that even during our ‘middle’ states (called euthymia – where we aren’t too high or too low but experiencing more stable moods), we are still ‘hypersensitive to emotional stimuli and higher arousability.’ In other words, I’m a potentially hot emotional mess, regardless of my cycle (that word always makes me think of my old menstrual cycles which I’m happy to say menopause has taken care of, thank the Lord). I’ve also written about Rejection Syndrome which once again (if one has this particular symptom which I’m lucky to be blessed with myself 🙄) is always a part of a bipolars life regardless of cycle (but more pronounced when depressed ).

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So, people have learned this from me and understand I have a brain disease that doesn’t affect my liver or my heart or my bones. But, how can someone understand what it’s like to have a brain that is so ‘much’ unless they’ve experienced it themselves?

Instead, those of us with bipolar might hear: “OMG, don’t be so sensitive.” OK…”OMG, don’t be so diabetic.” Or, “OMG…you are so emotional and moody…you need to have better control of these things.” OK…”OMG…you are so low on insulin and have nerve pain in your legs and feet that you need to have better control over those sugar levels.” When it’s put this way, how silly and indifferent it sounds. But to us with mental illness, the comparison is real. (P.S. If you grew up in the 80’s, feel free to say OMG like a Valley Girl).

Look, I can’t control my moods…my emotions…my sensitivity anymore than someone can control what their pancreas is doing right now. And yelling at us, or accusing us of using our disorder (yes, it’s very fucking fun to be on an emotional roller coaster all of the time) or ridiculing us for having ‘something in our heads’ compounds our symptoms even more. The above is hard enough: add guilt and shame to the mix and it can be deadly. Literally.

No one asks for a mental illness (and if they do…well…they’re nuts). Whether it’s major depression, generalized anxiety, a personality disorder, ADHD, schizophrenia, etc., we were just lucky enough to have been dealt that card (or often times, cards). So, why are we blamed even though we’re the victim of the disorder?

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I had a really sweet person talk to me on Facebook not long ago and they said this (with truly the best intentions): “But you seem so normal. I thought bipolars were like, more crazy, than you are.” Hmmmmm. Do you know what ‘crazy’ actually means? Deranged. Insane. Mad. Unless we’re channeling Ted Bundy, that’s not what mental illness is. We are ‘normal’ people in that we love, work, read, garden, run, raise kids, clean our houses, mow our yards, ride our bikes. Bipolar and all mental illnesses/disorders are always with us and these things can be a huge struggle at times; but we’re not ‘always’ the disease. Major depression is always with my sissy, but she’s not always at the mercy of it. Schizophrenia is always with my nephew, but he has stable times when you wouldn’t ever suspect he could be psychotic.

Look, I love love love that y’all who don’t have a mental illness are reading this blog. It shows you have a desire to learn more about these issues, as well as enjoying my incredible wit 🙄. But may I ask you a huge favor? Will you please do more for me? For all of us who have these illnesses and disorders? Try to use the info for more understanding. More compassion. More accurate perceptions that being mentally ill doesn’t mean being crazy. Help others understand that too by correcting them when you hear stereotypes or misinformation.

My goal here is to stop the stigma of mental illness. I guess it started with me on these pages…but it ends with all of us.

Kristi xoxo

“Someday I Hope to Write Something That’s Worth Plagiarizing.” ~ Author Unknown

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So, my son said something so adorable the other day (yes, I know he’s 26 but he’s still adorbs to me) regarding my blog: “Ma, you are blogging so much you are going to run out of things to say.” I looked at him dumbfounded for probably a solid minute and responded: “O, in the name of all that is holy, do you REALLY think I would run out of things to yap about?”

C’mon. I’m a talker. The biggest complaint my teachers had about me in school was how much I talked to the other kids. But the ironic thing is I really didn’t care if they were listening or not because it didn’t matter to me. I wasn’t talking to get information or ask a question, I was talking because I’m the type of person that needs to talk. My ma says I always talked in my sleep, and one of the hardest manners I had to learn was not talking with my mouth full. And if I’m being honest, I still find that very hard to do. I will swallow a glob of food without chewing if I can’t wait to say something I need to get out.

Related to that, I love love love to write and I always have. In early grade school we would copy things from the board to learn our letters and such, but I would always take my paper and write stories instead. I didn’t want to copy, I wanted to create my own story; even at that young age, I wanted my voice to be heard. Bless my ma and dad’s hearts because they saved all of sis’s and my report cards, papers, etc. and I have so many stories in my school box.

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Take a look at these: I know the Spotted Apple was written in the 3rd grade and From Outer Space (my personal favorite because of the green yarn binding) was in 4th. Why these 2 tomes didn’t win a Pulitzer is beyond me.

But now, here’s a couple of huge issues: “Sue Ann Gets Married” sounds very much like the hit movie “Peggy Sue Got Married” which was released in 1986, more than 10 years after my ‘book’, while the “Harry Potter” series sounds eerily like my “Harry and the Spider” novel. Now, I’m not saying these original ideas were stolen per se, but I do have a literary lawyer looking into the matter. P.S. If you are reading this J.K. Rowling, I can show you how to shave off a few hundred pages…Harry and the Spider is 4.

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As I got older, whenever I needed to vent something, I’d write it. Not in journals (like I’ve said before I’m horrible at keeping those) but just on random sheets of paper, the back of ads, on scraps I’ve pulled out of the garbage can. It’s like I have to get the words out and sometimes, for me, writing is the best way to do it.

Maybe because I’m bipolar I feel the need to do this. When I’m manic, there is absolutely no way I can keep up with the thoughts that are swirling around my brain (my new mood stabilizer is helping!). Sometimes people have asked me what it’s like to be so ‘high’ and it’s kind of like the teacup ride at Disney. You sit in these cups and there’s a wheel in the center that you grab and turn, and your cup goes around and around faster and faster until it feels like you’re almost flying. That’s what it’s like (except you don’t puke in the end). So because of that swirling, writing gets things down for me that I can’t keep up with otherwise. I have notebooks all over the house and if you tried to read them…good luck! But I can read every word I scribble down.

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And when I’m depressed? I need to get out things that choke me up to talk about and that I can’t face any other way. Writing allows me to say my thoughts in a way that won’t put off or scare anyone else. These often macabre thoughts are safe on my paper, and seeing them in writing releases them a bit from my brain.

That’s why this blog is so great for me because it gives me an outlet where I can just talk. When I used to sit down in front of a computer as an adult, I would think about perfect sentence structure, perfect grammar, etc. and would be so concerned with the mechanics of the writing and whether or not it sounded perfect, that it was constricting. But now, I just write. Just talk. I don’t care what the sentences look like. I just care about getting down what I need to say that day. That’s what writing should be. Talking…telling stories…sharing ideas. Who cares if it’s perfect?

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I wrote a book a few years ago on marriage (go ahead and roll your eyes…but really, after 3 of them, at least I’m experienced in the subject) and I wanted it to be like other self-helpy type books out there. Lots of chapters with cute tables or graphs, illustrations, references, etc. So, that’s what I sat down to write, and I’d get about 5 sentences in it and give up. It wasn’t ‘sciency’ enough and I’d get so nervous about making sure it was up to the standards of the ‘experts’ that I’d just quit trying. Finally, I decided to talk, like I do in class. Just say what I wanted to say and that’s what I did. I talked about what I thought were important aspects of marriage and instead of worrying about it being perfect, I simply let it flow. When writing goes like that with the words coming easily, it feels so freaking good to me!

I have a couple things in the works right now. I’m starting to write a book about being diagnosed bipolar, etc, and I also have a lot of children’s books I’ve written over the years. When my son was a little guy and we’d run out of library books to read, I’d make up stories for him and then write them down later. I’d really like to get an agent to see if they think they’re good enough to submit to a publisher; it’s always been a dream of mine to be a children’s writer. We’ll see!

Anyhoot, I’m having such a great time writing, talking, getting things down I need too, expressing what I’m feeling, and the best part is that y’all are kind enough to take this ride with me. You don’t judge it, or critique it, or try to tell me what I’m doing wrong. You are a wonderfully accepting audience that motivates me to sit in front of my keyboard everyday. Thank you so much for that. I know this blog is light years away from being perfect, but you know what? That’s just fine with me.

Kristi xoxo

Maybe it’s About Starting Over and Creating Something Better.

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So, I was thinking a lot today about what I would have changed in my life if I could go back in time…you know, have a do-over. ‘Member when we were kids and we did something we didn’t like: a painting where the eyes didn’t line up or missing the kickball on the first pitch. When that happened, we could always have a do-over; just wad up that paper or take another pitch and suddenly, things were set straight. Wouldn’t that just be fucking awesome to be able to reverse your life a bit whenever you needed and get things done right the second time around?

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If this was possible, and I could go way back, I really don’t know where I would start! Hmmmm. Maybe Kindergarten? Instead of watching the other kids and trying to figure them out, I could just jump in the fray and simply be me. Or, when I was in 2nd grade and my teacher (who really was a sweetheart, but strict) wouldn’t let me wear my pink ‘see behind glasses’ I got in a box of Alpha-Bits that day (and sis wanted them but had her own real glasses). They were so cool and I felt like a movie star in them. But, Mrs. M. said they looked silly and I had to take them off in class. Being the overly sensitive girl I was, this crushed me. I translated this to be that I looked awful and disappointed my teacher. I would like to go back and change my perception of that day (as well as my bangs and God awful clothes my ma made me and sis wear) and understand that not everything in life is personal. That not everything revolved around me. I think that’s when I really started having a stronger sense of being self-conscious; it was the first time I can remember where what I saw wasn’t what others did.

Or, I could go back to my 5th grade class where I was badly bullied; one day he caught me behind a tree and wrapped his hands around my neck. I was petrified but didn’t speak up because of his threats. If I had, would I have been more apt to stand up for myself later in life too?

I would definitely go back to Jr. High, which was actually the best couple years of my teenager-hood, and not try out for pom poms. I sucked at it. BIG time. Not only did I have no sense of rhythm (like I do now…not) but I also looked like a Burger King sack in my red and yellow skirt and vest that was created from the most icky piece of polyester ever known to man. Believe you me, that is something I would love to forget!

96386754_516252455921935_3008065197127499776_n — Yes, I circled my own face in my yearbook because I might forget myself otherwise. Please insert eye roll here.

And high school. Oh Lord, where do I start? I think during my freshman year, I would want a do-over that probably would have affected all the rest of my life: not caring about what other kids were saying. If I hadn’t listened to them making fun of my looks…my body…my clothes. If I hadn’t held my head down instead of up that year. If I would have walked with confidence and shown pride in who I was, would that have changed the trajectory of my life?

I would definitely go back and run out of the psychologists office (for you newbies, he sexually abused me for 2 years) the first time he touched me. Period. I also would have let my mom report it, and get that son of a bitch punished for what he did to all of us girls. And letting that be a do-over might have made me more positive about relationships, more trusting, more open, less ‘needy’ (for lack of a better word…that one sounds pretty bad) and much more likely to better understand I don’t have to give anything to be loved, I can be loved just for little old me.

Another thing in high school I would change (besides dying my hair orange along with my sis when we used too much Sun-In and then lied about it to our mom) would be my grades. I sucked in my classes because I simply didn’t care. I wanted to pass notes, doodle in my notebook, decorate the cover with Mrs. So and So to see what it would look like if I married any of the guys I drooled over. I wanted to read novels instead of textbooks, and I wanted to spend time at my grandparents playing cards, riding bikes, and shooting baskets rather than doing stupid homework. See, I love animals and I think I would have been a great vet (if I got over puking every time I see blood) who did a lot in terms of animal rescue and care if I would have gotten great grades and a scholarship to university.

And as an adult? OMG. Can you have a do-over on a decade or two? Hmmm. I would definitely do-over marrying Hubby 1 (I know, they are so freaking hard to keep straight…I have flashcards in front of me to help). We were so young and stupid when it came to what a marriage entailed. And with Hubby 2? I wouldn’t have avoided conflict like I have a tendency too, but would have faced our problems head-on instead of letting every little thing build up to an explosion that was way too much to handle. And Hubby 3? I would have drawn much stronger boundaries in terms of his motorcycle club and our life. Sitting at home every weekend, and most nights, really wasn’t much of a marriage…in fact, it was pretty darn lonely.

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I definitely want a do-over with J. The first time he was cruel to me: bye! Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out! Or, at least the first time he cheated: Buh Bye! I would do-over the last time I saw my nephew and hugged him tighter. So much tighter. I would have fought how a threatening student was handled in regard to his treatment of me; I would have gone way further (like ma wanted us too, badly) in clearing my name, which up to that point at school was literally perfect after 21 years of service.

Doesn’t this all sound so freaking good? Doing all of this over so the related issues simply don’t exist anymore? It would almost make life perfect, wouldn’t it? Taking care of these pesky things that might haunt us to this day.

But wait. Let’s really think about this a tad bit more. What if I had jumped into the fray in Kindergarten? Would I have just followed anyone after that, or still have marched to the beat of my own drummer? What if I would have reported the psychologist and been put on a stand and torn apart by a sleazy lawyer? Would not being believed devastated me even more, with the lesson ‘never trust authority’ learned as well? And what if I would have looked at those jerks in high school and said, up yours assholes. Would I have gotten worse treatment for that?

And doing my homework? Why would I want to go back and do that for piss sakes? Because I did screw up so bad, I went to community college and it gave me a love for how they allow people to find their footing while being in a smaller, more comfortable classroom. It opened up so many possibilities for me and proved I could actually succeed in school. If I would have become a vet, I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of the thousands of students that have been in my classes and all who have become one of the most important parts of my life. When I say I love my students, I mean it.

Hubby 1 and I had no kids so there’s nothing connecting us now. But does that mean our marriage wasn’t worth it? Or, did it help me go to Hubby 2 with more maturity and realistic expectations for us? And my God, I would never ever do over my marriage to Hubby 2 no matter what it ended up like: I got my boy. And Hubby 3? He actually did show me a new world and to be honest, he helped me to see that the men who look to be the meanest or toughest, are often the softest and sweetest; and that you have to get to know anyone before you can make a determination as to who they are.

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And J? Hmmmm. That’s a toughie. He really is the one who haunts me the most. I think it’s because of all we went through…all he put me through. Actually, it’s time I took equal responsibility: all I allowed him to do (and I was no angel either). But you see, we had really great times too. So many little jokes, and affectionate names, and things only he and I could understand and laugh about. I could bawl in front of him, sing my loudest, talk my dirtiest and he accepted it. He didn’t judge. I cherish the time I spent with him and his kids, because I felt like I was getting a 2nd chance at a young family again which I loved. And anytime I’d say, “Can I ask you something?” he’d always say: “You can ask me anything.” He was very open to hearing me, listening to me. Were those times worth the bad? I’m starting to think in some respects, they were.

I was telling my son about this post while he was rummaging around the basement and here’s what he said about do-overs: “Every decision you have ever made has led to where you are right now.” So many of my decisions in life have been crummy…so many of my perceptions have been skewed. But I’ve learned from them. Sometimes suffered because of them. And I am who I am. These decisions have taught me compassion, how to listen, the value of education, the importance of always saying I love you before saying goodbye.

But, there is one thing I would like a do-over on. And I would take it if I could. Asking for help when I knew I was really spiraling downwards in my teens instead of channeling my sickness into the ‘crazy’ Kristi who partied. Going to a psychiatrist to be diagnosed with bipolar so much earlier and then put on meds which would have lent a stability to everything else. Taking off the masks I had to wear to hide this mental illness I knew was inside of me, but I was too much of a dumbass chicken to face. Not being ashamed to let out the tears instead of pasting on a smile. Being able to say “Hey, I’m mentally ill…that’s just a part of who I am” instead of saying “Hey, I’m trying to be as perfect as I possibly can because it diverts attention away from the imperfection inside where at times I don’t know what the hell is going on in my head and I’m scared out of my fucking mind that I’m crazy and this mania will never stop and the depression will get worse and worse until there comes a day where I simply give up.” Would have made a big difference, huh?

Look, I know this isn’t possible. No matter how much I want it…how much it would have eased the burden on ma, O, sis and my family…how much it would have made my life easier, this is definitely one thing that will never get a do-over. But maybe that’s OK. Maybe I had to go through all of this until I was ready to face it, have the courage to talk about it, open up and speak about it, and finally write about it. I have you peeps tell me that reading about my experiences helps you; that it makes you feel less alone and more accepting of yourselves. Helps you to understand it’s ok to ask for help. That it’s all right to take off your masks. A do-over would take this away from you, and you know what? That’s something I just won’t allow to happen.

Kristi xoxo

“The Greatest Loss is What Dies Inside Us While We Live.” ~ Norman Cousins

So, here we are as a nation having to be isolated from one another and then knowing we are taking a chance at getting COVID when we go out to get what we need. Today I was at the grocery store and to be honest with you, I was scared by what I was seeing. There were people there with not only masks on, but with huge bandanas wrapped around their faces so only their eyes showed. When I would reach for something and my arm wasn’t exactly 6′ away, I’d get a dirty look. The instant we let go of something, it’s sanitized. Now, I know the measures need to be taken. I get that, and I would be devastated if someone in my family contracted this. But here’s my point: we are taking so many measures to fight this virus. This crisis. And that’s the right thing to do. I guess I just want to see the same measures taken for a crisis that has no ending in sight.

Now, hear me out. In 2018 (the most recent data I can find), 48,344 Americans died of suicide, which is about 132 people every day. Further, 1.4 million people attempt suicide every year (American Foundation for Suicide Prevention). What scares me the most is this: between 2007-2017, the suicide rate for teenagers (15-19) went up 76%. Read that sentence again, grasshoppers. Seventy-six percent. For KIDS ages 10-14, the suicide rate tripled during that same time frame. For both age groups, suicide is the 2nd leading cause of death and takes more lives than anything except accidents which include motor vehicle deaths (Centers for Disease Control). Finally, men over 65 are at the highest risk for suicide, and people 85 and over are the 2nd most likely age group to die (NPR).

sawyer-sweeten-suicide-secrets — Sawyer Sweeten (Everybody Loves Raymond) Gunshot wound – age 19

Obviously, I could go on and on with other statistics, but I think I made my point: suicide is a public health crisis in America ALL of the time, and I think attention needs to be paid to this; particularly when it’s taking the lives of so many of our kids and teens, as well as adults. Do you realize we are twice as likely to die by suicide than homicide, while cancer, heart disease and stroke deaths are lessening?

Think about this: suicide is preventable. Yes, I said preventable. Suicide is not about death, it’s about ending pain in the person’s life. No one truly wants to die, we have a huge survival instinct. Think about the Jews in the Holocaust, or the POW’s in Japan during WWII or Vietnam. When I think how so many willed themselves…forced themselves…to survive in spite of the abhorrent conditions they faced, it astounds me.

I teach about the Donner party in my Sociology classes, and most people joke about this: “Hey…what are the Donner’s going to have for supper? Aunt Jane!” Actually, it was tragic. These poor people who had lost the great majority of their food and supplies because of the Great Salt Dessert crossing and Paiute Native Americans who attacked them, got stuck in the Sierra Nevada mountains for an entire winter where literally, scores of snow fell which made climbing these impossible. They tried numerous times though, but failed. The first person that was eaten was a man who had begged his daughters to do so. If they lived, he said, so would the rest of their family. But no one ended up eating their kin, and no one consumed meat unless everything else had been used: bark, leather, fur, etc. That’s survival, peeps. That’s what life means.

Go back to those stats. For kids and teens to be in such pain they end their precious, young lives is unacceptable to me. Overall, not only do we have a suicide epidemic (literally) that cuts across all ‘lines’, but we have a mental illness/mental health crisis that is behind these horrific losses. It’s a 2 fold problem: a society that’s in so much pain, people of all ages are killing themselves because of problems bigger than they are mentally capable of handling at that point, and a lack of resources.

12-Quotes-From-Anthony-Bourdain-We-Will-Never-Forget — Anthony Bourdain – Death by Hanging (1956 – 2014)

Look at this: The National Institutes of Health are the largest funder for biomedical research in the entire world. In 2016, they spent $68 million on suicide, but 5x more studying SLEEP (what the fuck?), and 10x more on breast cancer which actually killed less people than suicide. Something has to give. We are spending more money on killers that take fewer lives. Isn’t there something very wrong with that? Doesn’t that show the value we place on mental illness and mental health issues?

And like I said, the kicker is that suicides are preventable, primarily with hotlines where the counselor establishes connection with the caller quickly, shows care and empathy, and let’s them know there are other ways to end the pain they are overwhelmed with in their lives. Another prevention? Breaking the stigma of mental illness by making is less ‘risky’ for people to say they are battling depression, or feel like they are outside their bodies looking in, or are experiencing so much anxiety, panic, or mania, they don’t think they can handle it another day. Men are 4x more likely to commit suicide, and are also less likely to receive help for mental health issues. Hmmmmm. Plus, these approaches don’t require social distancing, masks, or staying at home in isolation: it requires work in terms of funding and education. In my mind, that’s doable.

I know these things all too well from my own experiences at attempting suicide – when you are in such a fucking dark place where you look around and see only this black hole enveloping you more and more, you have no way of seeing anything else. That monster has you, and it takes someone outside of yourself to start the journey of climbing up those walls. It takes someone showing you that you matter. That you can survive. Saying: “Things will get better…we all go through stuff.” or “You just got to look on the bright side.” or even “Don’t be so dramatic” are just going to make the person feel guilty for what they are feeling. But saying “Hey, I care about you I want to help you” can.

2908768_1 — Kate Spade – Death by Hanging (1962 – 2018)

Edwin Schneidman was the pioneer in the study of suicide, and stated there 10 commonalities of it: seeking a solution, cessation of consciousness, intolerable psychological pain, frustrated psychological needs, feelings of helplessness-hoplessness, feeling ambivalent, a feeling of constriction, a want of escape, communication of intent, and the coping skills the person has. (The Suicidal Mind – Oxford University Press)

Look at some of these closer. How can we help ease people’s psychological pain? By maybe recognizing and helping those with it? By reducing the stigma of expressing this? What about feelings of helplessness & hopelessness? By giving people, such as the homeless, lonely, and sick something that gives them meaning? Something they feel some control over? Something to feel they are needed?

And communication of intent? Maybe we can help by addressing it. Believing it. Showing empathy for the person. Helping them while standing beside them all of the way. That’s what my ma did for me, and it obviously worked.

Lastly, the coping skills the person has. Mine suck balls, like a lot of others with bipolar. I haven’t been able to cope with much since I was a gangly little girl. Normal things hit me hard. Very hard. Just having a friend pay attention to someone else would devastate me (and I don’t use the word devastate lightly). Having my ma or dad express disappointment in me would crush me down to where I felt incapable of being loved. Having a guy reject my feelings in HS would get me so emotionally distraught, I felt I was a ‘nothing, like an invisible girl no one really saw. Is it no wonder the first time I attempted suicide was when my first love told me he didn’t want to be with me anymore? And my second time when too many things piled up on me at once that I totally collapsed under the weight of it all?

We need so much to understand what some people can handle, others can’t. When my ma would say “Honey, you’ll get over J and move on with someone who loves you back” I know her intentions were very good, she simply hated seeing me in so much pain. But I couldn’t ‘just’ do that, no matter how much I tried. Her coping skills are amazingly strong, while mine are amazingly weak. When people would say “Kristi, your nephew is in a better place”, I knew that to be true. But guess what? Maybe understanding that does comfort some, but it didn’t do shit for me when mourning a boy who had barely grown up.

Look, peeps…we are in the midst of a pandemic. We all need to stay healthy and safe. We all need to be diligent about washing our hands, wearing our masks, and staying away from others. But let me tell you something and I want to make this very clear: suicide will still be around. Long after this fucking Covid has either ‘run it’s course’ or we develop a vaccine for it. However, suicide will still be taking lives, young and old. Every single day we’ll see another 129 people kill themselves, all preventable deaths.

I don’t know about you, but I want this epidemic to be over too. Badly.

Kristi xoxo

The National Suicide Hotline is available 24/7 – 1-800-273-8255