Butterfly Cauldron

I am not, by nature, the sort of person who keeps quiet. If I have an opinion, I express it. I've gotten better at doing so in ways that don't get me in trouble as I've gotten older, but I'm really not good at keeping my mouth shut.

Some of the things I talk about make people uneasy. I understand that. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop talking. My opinions, at least 95 percent of them, are rooted in much more than impulse. I think about things, I roll them around in my head, I try to figure out what each side is thinking, I weigh things before I make a decision. So when I talk about something, I'm talking about something that matters to me, that I think is important.

I disturb some people when I talk about mental illness. I understand that. Mental illness is disturbing on all levels. If it wasn't disturbing, there'd be no problem with it. But it becomes more disturbing when no one talks about it.

As someone who suffered for half my life with debilitating mental illness, I feel that it's my responsiblity to talk about it. To not be quiet, to not let it be covered up. Because I'm incredible lucky. I can talk about it. I made it through to the other side. I survived. But so many others don't. So many others end up taking their own lives to escape the crushing pain. So many keep living, but they're living half-lives, afraid of admitting to anyone what they're going through. So afraid of disappointing their family or their friends or losing their jobs or being looked down upon.

I talk about my own journey a lot. I talk about having my first panic attacks when I was 8. Of having debilitating fears of water or religion or death. I talk about having to, compulsively, pray four times a day, read a chapter of the Bible every night, forgo all secular music and books and t.v. I talk about trying desparately to come up with a reason to go on living and coming up with one. Just one. If I die, no one would be there to feed my cats. And so, I didn't take the bottle of sleeping pills.

I talk about how my family didn't understand, even though my Mother suffers from depression herself. How they thought taking me to a pastor would fix the problem. How I faked being better for them, because it hurt too much to carry my own pain and theirs too. I talk about all the things I had to do. All the notebooks full of writing I was using to just get the pain out of me. About the cutting I did, how some of the scars people think came from me falling are actually from me cutting myself over and over. Because it feels so, so much better once I started to bleed. How people don't understand that, unless they've been there themselves.

And I talk about how incredible strong people suffering from mental illness are. How incredible strong and brave. You'd be hard pressed to find anyone made of tougher stuff than someone who has gone their entire life battling against themselves. You'd have to look far and wide to find anyone more self-aware. It's a vast misconception that the mentally ill are weak or flawed. A weak, flawed person wouldn't last a week in the sort of pain and confusion an mental illness can bring. A week or flawed person would wilt.

I also talk about how it's possible to move through it. You never get over it, it never leaves you. But you can carve a way through it, with time and medication and the right doctors. If you can find people who love you, who believe you, who support you, you can get through it. I'm not certain you can ever be cured of a major mental illness. Because I haven't been suicidal for at least three years, does that mean I won't ever be again? I don't know. I hope not. This is the longest I've gone and I'm on very good medication. But there's no guarantee that I won't have another episode again in five, ten years. I don't believe I will. I believe I've got this all behind me, at last. But I can't ever be sure and living with that uncertainty -- and going on anyway -- is another mark of bravery.

It's important that people know it's possible to survive. It's possible to survive and build a good life. I'm in the process of doing that myself. It's incredible to wake up and not be sad that you did. It's amazing to look around and see that the future isn't all darkness and doom. It's the most amazing feeling when the things you once loved start to come back to you, when you start to realize you can have them back. I feel like a kid again, seriously. Well, a teenager at least. Which makes sense,because that's when my life really went off the rails. But it's possible to have it all back and people need to know that. They need to know they're not alone, that there are other people who understand and who will help them, if they just reach out. And they have to know there are people who will not judge them, because they haven't done anything to be judged for.

Labels: depression, mental illness

I don't know why this surprises me. It's not like anyone with half a braincell believes this administration actually values human life, but this is kinda low. President Fratboy and his Band of Very Merry Monkies have plans to...reshape...1-800-SUICIDE. Pam's House Blend has the story.

So. Let's think of all the ways this could go wrong, shall we? Anyone remember FEMA? That worked really well, didn't it?

I never used suicide hotlines when I was, well, suicidal. But I could have. I could have used the reassurance that I wasn't insane or alone or as fucked up as I thought I was. Two million people helped by this hotline. Two million people. Or do they not matter? Does the figure 'millions' only count when it's totally terminated pregnancies or dollars spent in Iraq? I get so confused, what with that crazy womb of mine making me all fuzzy-headed.

And can I just scream at the notion of "faith-based" suicide prevention??? That's what my family tried with me and frankly, it only made it worse. I have a good idea of what those sessions will be like.

Preacher: Now, Susie, why do you feel like killing yourself?
Susie: Well, I just....I just hurt all the time. And I'm sad. I can't stop crying and I think sometimes I hear voices and...
Preacher: Voices? Oh, Susie, that's just Satan trying to tempt you! You can't let him win, Susie. Here, read these Bible verses everytime you start to feel a little sad.
Susie: But, I don't just feel sad. I want to carve HELP ME into my skin with a rusty knife and...
Preacher: Susie, do you want to make Jesus cry? Aren't you grateful for his sacrifice on the cross? How can you be so selfish?
Susie: *blinkblink* Can I borrow that letter opener?

And really, do we need this government having access to personal information? Of people who are in pain and apt to be...less than themselves? I know that when I was suicidial, the things I said and felt and did were not reflective of who I truely am. If those things had been recorded, put in a database and pulled up years later? Shit. I was the most unstable person on the planet, a far cry from where I am now. And I'm grateful that no one has a record of that, that it's all in my mind. Because otherwise, there'd be all kinds of reasons to deny me jobs, medical treatment, loans, whatever.

This is fucking scary, the way this government keeps collecting data on people and most people just...don't notice. Sure, today they're not coming after you, but who do you think is going to protect you when the rest of us have been collected, cataloged and put on a shelf?

Labels: culture o'death, depression, lies, mental illness, suicide

I know this will not be a popular verdict in may places, but Andrea Yates was found not guilty by reason of insanity in her re-trial today.

The 42-year-old will be committed to a state mental hospital, with periodic hearings before a judge to determine whether she should be released. If convicted of murder, she would have faced life in prison.

Yates’ attorneys never disputed that she drowned 6-month-old Mary, 2-year-old Luke, 3-year-old Paul, 5-year-old John and 7-year-old Noah in their Houston-area home in June 2001. But they said she suffered from severe postpartum psychosis and, in a delusional state, believed Satan was inside her and was trying to save them from hell.

I can think of no greater punishment for this woman than to live with the knowledge that she killed her children. A lot of people will doubtlessly say that this verdict excuses her crime, or does not bring justice to her children. I disagree, but I can see their point. However, I'd say to those people that they've probably never lived with a mental illness and felt firsthand it's crippling effects.

Yates had a documented history of severe mental illness. She had been to multiple doctors and hospitals, on many, many medications. She needed to be committed for longterm care, but that never happened for her. I've heard reports that her husband didn't want that for her, I've heard reports that other people in her family didn't want that and objected. I cannot say if those stories are true, but if they are, I would not be surprised. Most people have no real concept of just how sick mental illness makes you. There are diseases that you can't just take a pill for. They don't go away because you want them to, they don't go away because you get a prescription. Complex mental illness requires medication and therapy, sometimes intensive therapy away from the typical living situation.

I get a little angry at her ex-husband. She was told after the birth of her fourth son not to have any more children, because of the severity of her PPD. Her doctors warned her that a recurrance was almost guaranteed and would likely be worse, if she had another child. And yet...and yet, they had a fifth child.

I get angry knowing how very religious her family/friends/she was, how unhealthy that was for her. Demanding, fundamentalist religions are bad for women, clearly, but it's very hard to make people understand that when they're in the middle of them. For years, the Yates' family lived in a small travel-bus. They were deeply committed to their faith, and the gender roles it proscribed. On it's own, that's something a person can survive. But combine those teachings with severe mental illness and you've got the makings of a tragedy.

Once she had been on medication consistantly and under treatment by doctors, Yates came out of her PPP. She knows, now, what she did. Can you imagine, just for a moment, what it would be like to know that you held your children under water until they died? Can you imagine, just for a moment, what it's like to realize that you're responsible for that? Does anyone think, really think, that this verdict does anything to ease her guilt and grief? I don't have children, but if I did, the thought that I had hurt one of them....I'd probably kill myself.

I say this is compassion, because at least she can get treatment and medication. At least she can have the chance to pull some kind of life together. There are people who believe she shouldn't be allowed to do that, that she should be allowed to do anything but suffer endlessly. Sadly, most of those people claim to be Christians. But I remember Jesus talking about forgiveness and redemption and second/third/1,000th chances. Five lives have already been lost, what good does it do to throw away a sixth? No amount of retribution is going to bring any of those children back. Doesn't Andrea Yates have a soul? Doesn't she have value, even as flawed as she is?

I don't mean those questions to sound like some flaming liberal (even though I am.) I mean those seriously. I don't see how there are easy answers in cases like this for truly thoughtful people.

Labels: crime, death, mental illness