We had a speaker at work a while back, during one of our many tedious and markedly unproductive in-services. Unlike many speakers in the past, which have included a ridiculously bad motivational speaker and one dude seemingly trying to mobilize us to join his army to overthrow a small government in Africa, this guy had the attention of everyone in the room, which is saying a lot considering that it was a room full of unionized folks.
He was talking about mental illness. More specifically, HIS mental illness. The thing that resonated most with me was when he was talking about when he (also) got diagnosed with MS (this dude not only is bi-polar, severely depressive and occasionally manic, but MS? Really?). He had been battling severe mental issues since he was a teenager, a fact which no one (not even his parents) acknowledged or had empathy for, but the second people learned that he had been diagnosed with MS, the cards, hot dishes, flowers and favors surged. No one ever sent a card or flowers, or even acknowledged for that matter, his mental health issues.
And he raised a valid point- why do we look away, fiddle with our phones, or feign an emergency when someone has the balls to mention/discuss mental health issues? I'm guilty of it myself. Why is a disease that attacks your body so much more valid than one that attacks your brain, your psyche, your soul? Why are mental health issues still a dirty little secret, and why do they have to be? Just like no one goes out TRYING to get cancer, no one goes out and tries to get mental illness.
You don't attack it, it attacks you.
One person in four has mental health issues.
That's a lot, right?
I'll put it out there, for the sake of transparency/honesty: I suffer from ADD and occasional depression. Whatever you think of those two things (and I know some of you think one or both aren't real- you can just keep your stupid opinions to your stupid self in this instance), I will tell you this: it was neither easy nor without a sense of deep, crushing shame that I finally approached a medical professional about both things. One I medicate for, one I don't.
Whatever you think of the validity of ADD (not ADHD), this is the reality for me- when things got so bad that I: 1) drove through a red light at a busy intersection because I was distracted by someone in a bad outfit on the sidewalk, 2) would not make it to appointments/etc... that I had MANY reminders in place for on a twice-weekly basis, and 3) had no sense of control whatsoever over my own life to the point where I broke down in tears once or twice a week, then I knew something was happening that was beyond my grasp.
The depression? It comes and goes. This one is a bit easier to manage for me. I can acknowledge it, recognize it, and try to power through it. Sometimes that works, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it sneaks up on me and manifests itself in less recognizable ways, like self-esteem issues or being physically drained. Sometimes it disguises itself in happiness that takes a sick turn. Sometimes it disguises itself in something wonderful happening or big challenges met, that are immediately followed by self-doubt and the inability to do ANYTHING for days. Sometimes it is proceeded by social anxiety that brings a whole new set of behaviors, all of which end in shame and...depression.
I hold down a really good job and am respected in my field, I have an active social life, I have great friends and family, and I put myself out there on a daily basis.
I function. 95% of the time. Sometimes even like a normal person.
But it's not always easy, and it's not always what I want to do. I'm no expert on the topic, I just know what I know.
I didn't choose this, it chose me. It's not all of who I am, but it is part of me.
Keep that in mind next time you are dealing with someone who is dealing with these or similar issues. Just because we can walk, talk, function and get through the day doesn't mean we're always ok.
Have some empathy. Ask us how we're doing. Actually listen when we answer. Let us know you care.
Just an FYI, I'm not in any danger ever of hurting myself, that's not going to happen here, but there are plenty of people who are. There are plenty of people that, if just ONE person took the time to acknowledge them, engage them, or open up a bit, that they would maybe change their mind. That maybe that day wouldn't be the right day to take themselves out of the running. Because the reality is, for many people with more severe mental health issues, that's the result. That's the answer. That brings things, finally, to an end.
Let's agree to try to not let that happen, if we accomplish nothing else. Ever.
Not trying to be a downer here, but that's just what has been on my mind. I promise inappropriate language, photos, maybe costumes and suchandsuch are to come. I think I needed to purge a bit first. Sorry to puke on your brain.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
Kick 'em in the family rules!* (Part 1 in a maybe series. Maybe not.)
I'm a woman who doesn't like to be told what to do.
Unfortunately, holding myself to this idea 100% (at times) has proven to have consequences, including (but not limited to) screaming, pouting, prosecution in other countries and flogging. Not to go into details, but let's just say I won't be joining any knitting clubs or traveling to Denmark anytime soon and leave it at that.
So, turns out it isn't such a bad idea to hold yourself to a set of rules and regulations, much like the ones posted at the pool. However, unlike the rules at the pool, these are ones I should/will probably actually follow. No one is gonna tell me I need a bikini top to "cover my feedbags", dammit!
Here are a few rules/concepts resembling rules from my extensive life manual, titled "I'm OK, you're OK, they're OK. Hey- aren't we all the same person?" They are mine to follow, but we all could benefit from a little life guidance, right?:
#1) Never choose your undergarments for the day prior to choosing your outfit. You never know- the situation may call for something in a different color or with more support than you originally anticipated. Nothing is worse than being stuck, mid-day, with your "Hello Kitty" bralette peeking out from your blouse or realizing that everyone can see your sparkly black mesh stripper thong through your conservative "dress khakis". Though, bonus points if anyone notices your latex spiked harness that you just happen to be wearing under your Sunday church outfit.
#2) Never trust anyone with your secrets that has less to hide than you do. This one is simple enough. Learn it- live it. We don't want to be having to find new places to bury the bodies (AGAIN) now, do we? Though, my tomatoes are growing like gangbusters this year!
#3) It is not necessary to tell people everything that is wrong with you within the first 20 minutes of meeting them for the first time. You need to dole this shit out sparingly- to just throw it all at them like a monkey flings poo will only result in a shitty, shitty mess, metaphorically (and sometimes actually) speaking. Take your time, ease them into it. Give it at least an hour, for christ's sake.
#4) Keep kleenex in your purse/available at ALL TIMES. NO EXCEPTIONS. Given the fact that I've had to use (in no particular order): paper towels, mittens, shirts I was wearing at the time, tissues "rescued" from the garbage, (clean) socks (OK, not always clean, per se), towels, newspaper, and just one time- a grocery bag, this one should be obvious.
#5) Face picking and nose picking are only acceptable in complete privacy, and no- your car does not count as "private." I know that the situation always SEEMS dire, but please spare us all the visual of seeing someone pop a zit or pluck a stray chin hair at a red light. Do it in the privacy of the mall restroom or your work cubicle like a normal person, weirdo.
#6) Pointing out that your squeaky shoes are making farty noises is only going to make people think that you're actually farting. There's no real solution to this one other than to get new shoes, or just suck it up and walk proudly in your farty fart fart shoes.
#7) Look at yourself thoroughly in a mirror before leaving the house- front, back, teeth & nostrils. Leave nothing to chance. No one wants a repeat of the "blown out butt seam unicorn underpants" incident. Ditto the "grease stains right where your nipples are at a work meeting" incident. As a grown-assed human, we owe it to ourselves to do this much, given the astounding amount of things that can go wrong once we walk out the door (think: bird poop/stealth boogers).
There you go- a few bits of WM wisdom to start your weekend out right. Stay tuned for further installments. Maybe.
Happy Friday, my inappropriate little bats in the cave. Happy Friday.
*These are not actual rules. I'm not the boss of you, though maybe I should be. Yeah- I'm looking at you, Mr. Boogerfinger.
Unfortunately, holding myself to this idea 100% (at times) has proven to have consequences, including (but not limited to) screaming, pouting, prosecution in other countries and flogging. Not to go into details, but let's just say I won't be joining any knitting clubs or traveling to Denmark anytime soon and leave it at that.
So, turns out it isn't such a bad idea to hold yourself to a set of rules and regulations, much like the ones posted at the pool. However, unlike the rules at the pool, these are ones I should/will probably actually follow. No one is gonna tell me I need a bikini top to "cover my feedbags", dammit!
Here are a few rules/concepts resembling rules from my extensive life manual, titled "I'm OK, you're OK, they're OK. Hey- aren't we all the same person?" They are mine to follow, but we all could benefit from a little life guidance, right?:
#1) Never choose your undergarments for the day prior to choosing your outfit. You never know- the situation may call for something in a different color or with more support than you originally anticipated. Nothing is worse than being stuck, mid-day, with your "Hello Kitty" bralette peeking out from your blouse or realizing that everyone can see your sparkly black mesh stripper thong through your conservative "dress khakis". Though, bonus points if anyone notices your latex spiked harness that you just happen to be wearing under your Sunday church outfit.
#2) Never trust anyone with your secrets that has less to hide than you do. This one is simple enough. Learn it- live it. We don't want to be having to find new places to bury the bodies (AGAIN) now, do we? Though, my tomatoes are growing like gangbusters this year!
#3) It is not necessary to tell people everything that is wrong with you within the first 20 minutes of meeting them for the first time. You need to dole this shit out sparingly- to just throw it all at them like a monkey flings poo will only result in a shitty, shitty mess, metaphorically (and sometimes actually) speaking. Take your time, ease them into it. Give it at least an hour, for christ's sake.
#4) Keep kleenex in your purse/available at ALL TIMES. NO EXCEPTIONS. Given the fact that I've had to use (in no particular order): paper towels, mittens, shirts I was wearing at the time, tissues "rescued" from the garbage, (clean) socks (OK, not always clean, per se), towels, newspaper, and just one time- a grocery bag, this one should be obvious.
#5) Face picking and nose picking are only acceptable in complete privacy, and no- your car does not count as "private." I know that the situation always SEEMS dire, but please spare us all the visual of seeing someone pop a zit or pluck a stray chin hair at a red light. Do it in the privacy of the mall restroom or your work cubicle like a normal person, weirdo.
#6) Pointing out that your squeaky shoes are making farty noises is only going to make people think that you're actually farting. There's no real solution to this one other than to get new shoes, or just suck it up and walk proudly in your farty fart fart shoes.
#7) Look at yourself thoroughly in a mirror before leaving the house- front, back, teeth & nostrils. Leave nothing to chance. No one wants a repeat of the "blown out butt seam unicorn underpants" incident. Ditto the "grease stains right where your nipples are at a work meeting" incident. As a grown-assed human, we owe it to ourselves to do this much, given the astounding amount of things that can go wrong once we walk out the door (think: bird poop/stealth boogers).
There you go- a few bits of WM wisdom to start your weekend out right. Stay tuned for further installments. Maybe.
Happy Friday, my inappropriate little bats in the cave. Happy Friday.
*These are not actual rules. I'm not the boss of you, though maybe I should be. Yeah- I'm looking at you, Mr. Boogerfinger.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Ample-bottomed ladyfolk help ease the spinning of the earth.
First off, I'm going to share with you the most awesomely awful yet can't-look-away video that I've seen in...forever. Watch the whole thing- your brain will hurt and you may go blind*, but it will totally be worth it just for the memories.
Ladies and not-so-Gentlemen (because I like it that way), I give you W.A.S.P:
And, you're welcome.
The Mr. is reading the Game of Thrones books, and he seems to be discombobulated by the whole thing. We figured out pretty quick while watching the first season of the teevee show that pretty much anyone you liked got killed. Not "Lifetime touching movie where they get cancer and have time to reconcile their life" killed, but "Holy shit I didn't see that beheading/evisceration coming" killed. I guess that in the books this charming feature is amplified x1,000,000, and I don't think he's too pleased with it and may stop reading. I tried to reason with him (having not read the books and not giving of a shit if I do), reminding him that this particular scenario plays out on big and small scales every day: The thoughtful, reasonable, likeable people usually have some unfair and unfortunate malady/killing/circumstance befall them, while the grossly narcissistic/shallow/evil/douchebag contingent somehow seem to keep on keepin' on. Basically I told him that life isn't fair, and I was rewarded with an eye roll and a sigh. Joke's on him, though- tomorrow I'm going to burn all his books. That'll show him.
I met my girl Blondie for a few afternoon cocktails at a lovely establishment near my palatial estate this afternoon, and since it was close I rode my bike. While we were there we witnessed an elderly woman drinking martinis who was clearly addicted to video poker, a wedding party that was stopping in post-wedding/pre-reception that looked like one or more of them would be arrested for drunk & disorderly before the night was over, and one guy that the bartender swore drank approximately 1 drink per 5 minutes, which I totally wanted to see. Sadly, we both needed to get home for various reasons, so we exited and I unlocked & began to mount my bike as Blondie hopped in her car. As we both were driving/rolling away, she had her windows open & "Fat bottomed girls" came on the radio. I shit you not. The best part was, she drove slowly alongside me for a bit, stereo cranked and windows opened, while I biked my amply-bottomed ass home. "Get on your bike and ride!"
My friends ROCK and can kick anyone else's friends asses. Don't test me on this.
I also finished teaching an Artisan Baking class, and I can say this: holy shit I'm glad it's done (as is my ass). It was fun, I was awesome (as usual), but A) teaching a baking class during a heat wave? Yukko. And B) Being around carbscarbscarbsfattycarbs all day long? Yukko.
I love me some bread & butter, but lettuce and protein are looking pretty good right now.
Oh, and I got botox again.
That pretty much sums up the time we've spent apart, my lovely little fartnuggets.
Get on yer damn bikes and ride!!
*Vonpartypants, Inc. considers your reading this waiving your rights to sue for any potential blindness or queasiness. Reading this also absolves VPInc of any complications due to you joining a terrible heavy-metal band or wanting to dress like Freddy Mercury. VPInc would also like to remind you that you are loved, mostly on Mondays and every other weekend when we're court-ordered to not get drunk.
Ladies and not-so-Gentlemen (because I like it that way), I give you W.A.S.P:
And, you're welcome.
The Mr. is reading the Game of Thrones books, and he seems to be discombobulated by the whole thing. We figured out pretty quick while watching the first season of the teevee show that pretty much anyone you liked got killed. Not "Lifetime touching movie where they get cancer and have time to reconcile their life" killed, but "Holy shit I didn't see that beheading/evisceration coming" killed. I guess that in the books this charming feature is amplified x1,000,000, and I don't think he's too pleased with it and may stop reading. I tried to reason with him (having not read the books and not giving of a shit if I do), reminding him that this particular scenario plays out on big and small scales every day: The thoughtful, reasonable, likeable people usually have some unfair and unfortunate malady/killing/circumstance befall them, while the grossly narcissistic/shallow/evil/douchebag contingent somehow seem to keep on keepin' on. Basically I told him that life isn't fair, and I was rewarded with an eye roll and a sigh. Joke's on him, though- tomorrow I'm going to burn all his books. That'll show him.
I met my girl Blondie for a few afternoon cocktails at a lovely establishment near my palatial estate this afternoon, and since it was close I rode my bike. While we were there we witnessed an elderly woman drinking martinis who was clearly addicted to video poker, a wedding party that was stopping in post-wedding/pre-reception that looked like one or more of them would be arrested for drunk & disorderly before the night was over, and one guy that the bartender swore drank approximately 1 drink per 5 minutes, which I totally wanted to see. Sadly, we both needed to get home for various reasons, so we exited and I unlocked & began to mount my bike as Blondie hopped in her car. As we both were driving/rolling away, she had her windows open & "Fat bottomed girls" came on the radio. I shit you not. The best part was, she drove slowly alongside me for a bit, stereo cranked and windows opened, while I biked my amply-bottomed ass home. "Get on your bike and ride!"
My friends ROCK and can kick anyone else's friends asses. Don't test me on this.
I also finished teaching an Artisan Baking class, and I can say this: holy shit I'm glad it's done (as is my ass). It was fun, I was awesome (as usual), but A) teaching a baking class during a heat wave? Yukko. And B) Being around carbscarbscarbsfattycarbs all day long? Yukko.
I love me some bread & butter, but lettuce and protein are looking pretty good right now.
Oh, and I got botox again.
That pretty much sums up the time we've spent apart, my lovely little fartnuggets.
Get on yer damn bikes and ride!!
*Vonpartypants, Inc. considers your reading this waiving your rights to sue for any potential blindness or queasiness. Reading this also absolves VPInc of any complications due to you joining a terrible heavy-metal band or wanting to dress like Freddy Mercury. VPInc would also like to remind you that you are loved, mostly on Mondays and every other weekend when we're court-ordered to not get drunk.
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