lies, lies, everywhere the lies, blocking out the scenery...

My heart is broken today and my stomach in knots, like so many, as we mourn yet another death to mental illness, another person that seemed to have it all, and seemed so happy to those on the outside. Another family left grieving and heart broken, alone, with thoughts of the overwhelming sadness that this loved one felt, and the despair and loneliness that filled their last moments. I have sat with those families. I have loved those friends, and I live with the threat of mental illness. Everytime my husband who suffers with major depression fails to return a text for too long, or comes home too late, I see those families. I wonder if the faces of those children will match the faces of my own kids. I worry about how much despair he might be feeling, what he might be doing. I worry that his body might succumb to the very real disease, that threatens him. Like those that have recently passed from mental illness, people look at my husband, and have no idea the torture he lives through. He is so fun, so creative, he lights up a room. His art has inspired and brought joy to many. They don't know the depth of pain that fuels that creativity. They don't know how his mind lies to him over and over again, telling him he is worthless, and the world is better off without him. They don't know the chemistry in his brain that makes it impossible sometimes to turn those negative thoughts off. They don't understand how the lies crowd his brain, and make rational thought a struggle.

Those of us who are lucky enough not to have our brain biology be out of whack, only experience a piece of the anguish. We hear the lies all the time from our own minds and from the advertising and culture around us. We don't have everything, everything we do have can be better. We aren't successful enough, we don't have enough followers, no one cares, for us, no one knows who we are, we aren't making a difference, what we do doesn't matter. Those thoughts gnaw at the back of our minds, threatening to take over, and sometimes they do. Sometimes. Sometimes we can't be satisfied, we see what others have and we feel like we have failed, for not having the same. We wonder where we went wrong. We give into those lies, and we get depressed. But soon enough, we are reminded of our blessings, we are encouraged, we are pulled out of our self pity, our anxiety, our failures and reminded of our successes. We see the truth, that our lives our good, what we do does make a difference and we are loved. And that is enough, at least for a little while to keep the lies at bay. We are the lucky ones. 

For those that suffer with major depression, it's not so easy. The lies crowd out the truth, they are relentless and unforgiving. They overcome, and they sap what little strength they have left. Just as cancer eats away at the body, the lies of the brain's whacked out chemistry eat away at their souls. They pray, but feel God is not there, or he hates them. They struggle to get out of bed, to walk into work, to make it through a conversation. They try to find joy in others, but just end up feeling irritated with them and even more upset with themselves. They hurt the ones closest to them, and believe a lie that says they need to distance themselves, and spare their loved ones more pain. Everything turns into another lie, another awful feeling and it compounds, until the only joy they can find, is in putting it all to rest, and removing themselves, unburdening others even from the pain they might cause by continuing to live. The lies overtake them, they block out any possibility of truth. 

It seems too hopeless and helpless. So what can we do? In the wake of one tragedy after the other a young mother and a gifted artist, how do we move forward and try and prevent more? I wish there was a simple answer. How do you combat the lies in someone's head, or in your own? 

I think, and i am by no means an expert, part of the answer lies in some simple things. I think it starts with all of us suspending our judgement of others and ourselves. Quit measuring our value and their value on the have and have not, the did and did not, and find the beauty in everyone. Celebrate and encourage the people around you. Even if they look like they have it all together, I think we have seen, that often they do not, they may be hurting too. The Bible is pretty great at giving wisdom on how we should interact with others and it says, "Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful to others to build them up according to their needs." Ephesians 4:29. I think sometimes we need our own inner monologue to follow this advice, as well as what we say to others. We need to quit beating ourselves up and focus on being an encouragement to others. We need to remind those we love, just how much we appreciate and love them. When we start believing the lies around us, we need to call ourselves on it, and then remember that someone else is probably struggling with the same thing, and reach out with encouragement. With social media we have all of our friends literally at our fingertips, it only takes a minute to reach out and message someone, and let them know how much you value them, and love them. You can build them up, even if it's just a little bit, you have no idea the impact it might have. 

If someone tells us they are struggling with mental illness of any form we need to be very liberal with our listening and compassion. It may not make any sense to us, what they are doing, or how these things are manifesting in their lives, but we need to understand that it is hard for them and they are trying their best to live "normally". Encourage them to share the lies they are hearing, and don't necessarily jump in with the truth, listen first. Try and understand where they are coming from, the battles they are struggling through. Encourage them not to hide those things or feel ashamed, but let them out. We all have something we struggle with, and there is no shame in that, that's reality. So let's be open about those struggles. Hiding those things is very dangerous. 

We need to have compassion, and we also really need to support them in getting help. We can't just offer to pray it away, we need to help connect them with counseling, we need to support them if they need to use medication. We need to help them see that self medicating is not the way to go, and that seeking professional help is not a sign of spiritual, physical or mental weakness, it's a strength. We need to compassionately hold them accountable in that process too, making sure they are following through, finding ways to be an encouragement. Unlike with other physical illnesses they have a lot of responsibility for choosing to continue treatment and choosing to make healthy choices, but like cancer, sometimes treatment is not enough. So we need to be there to bring encouragement, accountability and love as they get the help they need. 

We who are battling the littler lies, need to make it easier for those in a death match with the big ones. We need to make the world a safer place to express the pain of their illness. A place where talking about mental illness is as safe as talking about your sore throat. Where you can share your real feelings, doubts and insecurities, and not have to worry that you look like less of a person. We need to make treatment for mental illness as normal and noble as treatment for cancer or diabetes. Those things are awful, but we often, look at people battling through them and think, how strong, how brave, and we readily hand out encouragement (or at least I hope we do). So why can't we do the same for those people who struggle to go to therapy, who take medications for mental illness? 

We can't save them, but we can help. Let's all do our best to clear away the lies...

15 yrs later my eyes are open, but my choice is still the same

So blissfully unaware these two are. So happy and so excited and so clueless to everything the next fifteen years would bring. They happily and easily said their vows, to love, to serve, to treasure till death would they part. It was so easy to say those vows. The wedding really is the easy part of marriage. It's exciting it's fun, it's a fantasy world. Real marriage is in the day to day. The ignoring the piles of laundry and dishes, the doing those piles of laundry and dishes. The sitting at the hospital bedside and running to fill the prescriptions. The battling through the disagreements and letting go of the hurts and wrong doings. That is what marriage is. I've said it before, but each anniversary as I look at these pictures, I realize again, It's not the party, it's not the dress, it's not the favors.

Marriage is living out the vows and promises daily, yearly and choosing to keep them sacred. It's saying, I would choose you all over again, knowing what I know now about who we both are and what we have become.

Gone are the days of constant love notes, and little gifts, song after song and email after email about how much we love one another. Acts of love today are more about doing the dishes and having fun with the kids than serenading me with a song from stage. It's about the partner and dad he is, not how hot or entertaining (although he is both of those things). Back when that photo was taken, it was all about how quickly we could get to that hotel room and get our hands on each other.  These days we are lucky to get an hour together at the end of the day to sit next to each other and watch Grimm before one of us falls asleep. We have grocery dates now, romantic right?  We don't go to the beach for a whole weekend anymore on our anniversary and that trip to vegas to renew our vows, never going to happen. Big ceremonies aren't the important parts of marriage, it's about big commitments, big sacrifices and lots and lots of little things. Little things like picking up those prescriptions, walking dogs and picking up the kids. Knowing how to stack the dishes next to the sink, although I still haven't figured that one out. Now it's about a text on a busy day to let him know I am thinking about him, or making sure the kids have everything laid out before I leave for a weekend at work. It's about him ignoring my stressed out snaps and not taking them personally and vice versa.  It's about enjoying grocery errands, because we are together, and even grocery errands can be fun with the right partner. It's thinking the same thing at the same time over and over again, because we know each other and enjoy so many of the same moments and parts of life. It's about being comfortable, vulnerable and loved so completely by another person even when they know how truly awful you are.   I don't mean to say that marriage isn't great, and that it is absent of romance and awesomeness. Those old habits and grand gestures still happen sometimes, but now there is so much more to appreciate and enjoy, so many more ways to understand that we love each other. It's a new kind of awesome this everyday marriage.

We are aware now, our eyes are open, at least to some things. We chose each other today, and hopefully for thousands of more days. We will fight, we will disappoint each other, but we will also be there. We will have moments of great joy, and lots of fun. We will also have moments of crisis and sorrow.  We will support one another, and we will start dreaming new dreams, blissfully unaware of the troubles the next fifteen years might bring. We choose each other, really knowing things won't always be blissful, but we will choose both the bliss and the beauty, the awful and the ugly together.

Guest Post: This is Not a Suicide Note

Written by the other half of me, the better half, who turns 40 tomorrow, Valentine

“Every generation wants to be the last. Every generation hates the next trend in music they can’t understand. We hate to give up those reins of our culture. To find our own music playing in elevators. The ballad for our revolution, turned into background music for a television commercial. To find our generation’s clothes and hair suddenly retro.” ― Chuck Palahniuk, Lullaby

I read that today and thought that it echoed my sentiments up until about a month ago. A lot has changed in the past month as I have had some breakthroughs in my therapy and improvements from my meds. Over the past year before this I had been journaling a lot to help get through some of my depressing (and darker) times. Sometimes I would put some of my thoughts on the internet – sometimes I would not.

My thoughts returned to the theme of getting older over and over again. I started continually working on one of my journal entries turning it into an essay of sorts. I think I am done with it now. Here it is, along with a couple of other things I wrote/worked on while being depressed.

This Is Not A Suicide Note

As much as you would like them to be, neither your mind nor your body are, or ever have been, lean, efficient machines. Mental illness has plagued you all of your life, and you have constantly had issues with your stomach throughout the years. You have never been naturally coordinated. In your twenties you managed to get a workout plan down that made you seem almost athletic. Years pass though. Time moves on and after 30 everything starts getting harder.

You start moving at a progressively slower and slower pace. If it took you five minutes to walk down the block last year, it takes seven minutes now – but you feel like you’re exerting the same amount of effort. You don’t make any changes to your diet or exercise but you start gaining weight. Muscle groups that don’t get used on a regular basis hurt the next time you use them. Playing a pickup game of basketball leaves you aching and sore.

You try to run a little farther, and eat a little bit better. Things don’t work right anymore and a pain shows up in your knee that was never there before. You give up.

Having a mortgage and family requires more ambition at work.

Kids need stuff.

Kids get hurt.

Kids get sick.

You find yourself at a desk in a cubicle staring at spreadsheets and numbers. Career moves happen. One workplace is traded for another. Income increases but the cubicle walls stay the same. You are stilling staring at spreadsheets and numbers. This was never the way you imagined your life - this was not a part of “the dream.” But here you are, helping support your family. You love them and this is what you are told you must do by the people around you. Stable job equals stability.

Time keeps moving. Now that you are pretty sedentary and don’t really watch what you eat, it shows. People make comments about your belly. You start riding you bike to work because you’re self-conscious and you’re insecure about your body.

The mid-thirties arrive and things are still harder and harder. You’ve made some strides here and there but your body doesn’t always cooperate. Playing basketball hurts more. You take up running again, and you start running farther and farther but then injuries happen. You buy special shoes and take other precautions. You workout more than you ever did before in your life. Even though it is harder than it ever was before, it makes you feel better about yourself. You actually lose the belly.

When you were younger you could eat whatever you wanted at any hour of the day. Now you eat before bed and you wake up with a burning feeling in your chest. Now you’re taking medicine to keep your stomach acid under control. It turns out other things bother your stomach too, and you start cutting those out. No more alcohol, no more peppermint, no more gluten. People tell you to quit drinking coffee… But you ignore them. It’s your only vice anymore.

Work is stressful, but…

You want to have cable and high-speed internet.

You want to have those special shoes for running.

You want your iPhone.

The harder you work at work, the more stress you have. Buying more things helps – momentarily. But then you need a little more money. You work a little harder, you climb up the ladder a bit, get a little more money to pay for stuff, you buy more stuff and then you need a little more money.

You have had anxiety attacks all your life. They got worse and worse, and you taught yourself to deal with them. But now they are happening all the time. You are having them so much the muscles in your chest start getting sore. There are knots in your shoulders and back. It becomes another pain you learn to deal with. Lying in bed at night your wife puts her hand on your chest and asks in alarm why your heart is beating so fast. It’s just another anxiety attack. You have a presentation tomorrow, or you ate too many cookies, or that one person in the office that you can’t deal with is in your head and you can’t think about anything else.

Mental illness is taking its toll - depression, OCD, anxiety disorder. It was always there, you just didn’t recognize it for what it was. After your first child was born you started having suicide fantasies more often. You weren’t sure how you could be so sad when you should be so happy with your life.

Different therapists have had different solutions. Some fell asleep while you were talking to them. You quit some of them. Eventually, you find one you like that helps you deal with these things in productive ways.

Therapy helps, but it is apparent there are chemical issues. There is a family history of mental illness. You’ve started different meds in the past, and quit different meds in the past. You worried about their effect on your creativity. You worried about society’s perception of you. You don’t worry anymore –they are a necessity. They are your new normal. You still don’t tell people though. You try to keep it a secret at work and amongst acquaintances. Only your friends ever get told the truth – if you tell them. You don’t want it to be a secret, but it isn’t exactly a conversation starter. Writing about it on the internet helps.

Depression is the hardest to deal with. The broad spectrum light on your desk isn’t helping as much as you hoped it would. The meds you’re on don’t seem to be effective anymore. Melancholy comes in waves, lasting weeks. Sadness doesn’t even seem to have a reason any more – it is just your state of being. Paxil, Neurontin, Zoloft, Sertraline… 50 milligrams, 100 milligrams, 150 milligrams, 200 milligrams… None of it keeps the suicide fantasies away.

You imagine getting a gun – you know plenty of people that have them – putting the barrel in your mouth or under your chin and pulling the trigger. You heard that if you wrap a towel around your head it keeps the brains from making a big mess everywhere; a courtesy to those that will find you.

You imagine slitting your wrists. To do it right you have to make a horizontal cut, and then a cut perpendicular along the vein to really let it bleed out. If you do it in the bathtub they can just pull the plug and let it all drain away.

You imagine jumping from the Hawthorne Bridge into the Willamette River. The current is strong and supposedly un-swimmable. It’s supposed to drown you. Turns out the Willamette River is pretty swimmable though. That won’t really work. Maybe walking out into the surf at the beach and letting a riptide get you?

You imagine filling the bath, getting one of the radio cassette decks and an extension cord and dropping it into the tub after you’re in it. That might be easier than slitting the wrists - easier to follow through with at least. Once you let go of the radio that’s it.

You imagine running the car in the garage and letting the carbon-monoxide build-up. Someone down the street from you did that in high-school so you know it works.

People keep jumping from the Vista Bridge. That seems to be a sure fire way to get it done. A long drop onto concrete. You haven’t heard of anyone surviving. It disrupts traffic and MAX though – depending on where you land. That makes it hard to keep the suicide low profile. Some people want to put up barriers to stop the jumpers.

When you were young you were idyllic. You thought the world could be changed. Now that you’re older, you’ve seen more of the world. You’ve become jaded to try and protect yourself from the disappointment. Change might be able to happen but it takes time. Nothing much will be different when you die. People will still hate each other and treat each other like crap. Humanity will keep destroying the planet we live on, bringing everyone closer to an inescapable apocalypse that no one can survive because the planet won’t be able to sustain life. Everyone only cares about right now and pays no regard to next year, next month, tomorrow or even later today.

You can’t watch or listen to the news anymore. Even the least biased seeming reports can set you off. Certain music can take you back to another time and place in your mind and some songs can almost make you cry. Like your diet, you have to be careful about what media you consume and when you consume it.

You’re tired of trying to ignore the problems in the world that have no direct effect on you.

You’re tired of pretending the ones that have a direct effect on you don’t.

You’re tired of the extremes on either side of an issue being the loudest and getting all the attention.

You want to be able to yell at all the selfish destructive people in the world, but you’re one of them, doing the same things in a slightly different way.

Even if you do yell, no one will change.

Not overnight.

You turn 40 this year. You have a marathon under your belt – running helps relieve the stress. You want to run another one. In fact, you want to run an ultra if you can. 40 miles on your 40th birthday. You track your mileage and speed and weight and calories. It’s better than obsessing over real problems. 40mg of Citalopram seem to be making you less anxiety prone, but it’s not doing anything for the OCD.

As 40 approaches, you’re getting better at being crazy. (No one else likes you calling it that but you don’t care.) If you make an effort you can catch negative thoughts and challenge them. You can redirect them and avoid the spins and spirals of the past. It is harder then you thought it would be though. It takes a lot of effort and is mentally exhausting. It is harder to wake up in the morning. Once you do get out of bed it is hard to get moving. Some mornings you miss your run. Some mornings you don’t even manage to walk the dog. That dog is your baby and this is the only thing she needs from you and you can’t make it happen. But you don’t spin on it – you challenge. The dog will be okay – she has her pills too. She will get a walk tonight or tomorrow. She is not neglected.

That right there – that was hard for you. That took effort and it made you feel a little more tired. Just writing this makes you tired. Writing this is a way of processing these feelings. You journal to help challenge and redirect the negative thoughts. It works – but sometimes you journal like this. You pull out this document and edit and rework things. This document is a good representation of how you feel, and how you have felt.

This document is not your suicide note – this document is the turning point. You turn 40 in three days. You may have convinced yourself that it is just a number. Yes you are slower. Yes, things are harder. Everyone else goes through the same things. You know this.

On Sunday, when you are 40 years and one day old, things will not be different. You will be the same as you are today, when you are 39 years and 362 days old.

Things will be fine.


Something Else I Wrote About Depression – sort of in conjunction with the last thing, but not exactly
The imbalance of chemicals in my head and the bad things in the world make me feel like I’m under a heavy blanket. It’s early in the morning and the alarm is going off. I know I need to wake up and get out of bed but I’m so tired and the blanket is so heavy.

Instead of pushing the blanket off, getting out of bed and turning off the alarm, I let the blanket muffle the noise. Maybe someone else will turn off the alarm… eventually. The blanket is so heavy.

A part of me thinks I should get out of bed and face the day. The heavy blanket makes it so hard though. I know that by staying in bed I’m messing things up but the other part of me knows how much more I would mess things up if I got out of bed. I’m too tired to be effective to anyone so I might as well stay in bed and spare everyone my inadequacies. Maybe it would be easier to just stay in bed forever.

But there are people in my life that care about me. They coax me out of bed. They try to convince me that I won’t screw everything up. They are supportive and loving and caring.

That heavy blanket still covers me though – they can’t make the blanket go away, try as they might. Sometimes, I just have to make my way through the day under the blanket. Things are muffled. It is hot and hard to breath. The blanket can trip me when I’m not careful. I just don’t know how to get out from under the blanket.

My wife can help. My therapist can help. My children can help. My canine companions help. I wish that my faith in God could help, but it doesn’t present the same relief it once did. I ask God why I have this blanket over me all the time and it seems like I don’t get a response. It makes me feel neglected - unwanted. I end up talking to God less and less.

It feels like I have been under the blanket for months now. I’ve been weighed down. It has been stuffy and the air is stale. I keep getting tripped up. The relief provided by those around me gets shorter and shorter. They can’t all be there all the time.

But now I have new chemicals to combat the ones in my head. It may not go well at first – I have had bad reactions in the past. I will need the help of loved ones and those I confide in to help me with the blanket. It may wrap itself more tightly, it may grow in size, and it may become thicker and more stifling. Hopefully the blanket will become thinner though. Hopefully the blanket will become smaller in size. Hopefully, the blanket will eventually go away.

Please God, take the blanket away.

Sertraline hydrochloride – according to Wikipedia with commentary by me

Mechanism of action for sertraline hydrochloride:

Sertraline is primarily a serotonin reuptake inhibitor, with a binding affinity of 3.3 nanomolars. Therapeutic doses of sertraline (50–200 mg/day) taken by patients for four weeks resulted in 80–90% inhibition of serotonin transporter in striatum as measured by positron emission tomography. A daily 9 mg dose was sufficient to inhibit 50% of serotonin transporter.

Sertraline is also a dopamine reuptake inhibitor, with an affinity of 315 nanomolars, a Sigma-1 receptor agonist with 5% of its serotonin reuptake inhibitor potency, and an Alpha-1 adrenoreceptor antagonist with 1–10% of its serotonin reuptake inhibitor potency. However, though confirming sertraline’s high affinity for Sigma-1 receptors, different studies suggest that the drug actually behaves as an antagonist at those.

Sertraline demonstrated anti-fungal activity against Candida species in vivo.


I hate mushrooms.

Conversations With Depression

Let me start again by saying that I think my husband is incredibly strong.  I cannot imagine living with such crushing depression and anxiety. I don't have the discipline to deal with the running, therapy and medication he must use to battle it. He is resilient, he is strong at his core. The core is sometimes hidden away by the symptoms of disease though.  The layers of anxiety and soul robbing sadness seem to conceal his strength from him and from me too.  Often we deal with the symptoms and conversations arise with a rhythm all their own. Conversations so familiar, we have repeated them over and over again.

I am strong too, at the core, but sometimes in the midst of these conversations, I lose sight of my own strength. It gets buried in worry, frustration and anger.  I hold it together in the midst of crisis days, days when that dreaded suicide word creeps up.  I remain encouraging, I field anxious texts and pick up slack around the house. I do my best to equip him, to prop him up, to be the other half or more.  Often though, when things relax, when things start to get easier for him, then my resentment, my anger, my frustration creeps in.  I lash out at Valentine, at the kids.  It's not really an anger at anyone though, not him, not them.  He does his very best to cope, he does the therapy, the meds, the running, all of it, he isn't giving up, he is fighting. It's more a frustration, at the illness itself, at the loss of just easy fun, stress free days.

So here is a conversation that comes typically as things start to settle down, when I think maybe we might have a fun day, an easy day, a light day together. It's not always the same exact wordage, but this is a typical example.  I start to relax, I start to breathe and at the same time my frustration starts to release...

On our way for a fun day...
Val- I am really depressed today.
Me- (internally- are you kidding me, we are all going to have fun together today what could possibly be sad) WHY?!?
VAl- I don't know?
Me- CAN"T YOU JUST BE HAPPY TODAY?!?
Val- (looking very stricken) I'll just stay in the car.
Me- No way, what is going on?
Val- I don't know okay, I'm sad. Sorry I am such a burden to you.
Me- No wait, you aren't a burden, I just, I just get frustrated, I just want a day when we are all happy together. I am sorry. So sorry.

Damage done, I made him feel like a burden, and HE is NOT. He carries a weight of crushing sadness. As his partner I carry it with him. I am free though to lay it down, instead I get angry and frustrated. Then I feel so, so guilty.

I have more conversations, conversations with God.
Me- Why God, why can't we have life without depression?
        Please heal him God, take it away.
        Keep him safe today
        Help him be happy
        Give me strength
        Take away my anger
        Please forgive me for yelling at the kids
        Please let my kids forgive me, and love me
        Why God
        WHY God
        God give me patience
        God give me love
        Thank you for our friends
        Thank you for our friends
        Thank you for my kids
        Thank you for Valentine
        Thank you for having him choose me
        Thank you for loving us
        Thank you for blessing us

I don't get a lot of answers, in the form of words spoken from God's mouth to my ears. What I do get is love and support from friends, from the kids, from Valentine. I get encouragement through music, through nature.  I turn to that crazy book, The Bible, and I find incredible words about joy, and strength, faith and love, that seem at times like they were written just for me and for Valentine too.

I work things out in conversations with God and I work them out in conversations with Val, and we try as best we can to work them out in conversations with our kids. Sometimes they end in laughter, sometimes in tears, sometimes in more buried feelings.

Conversations come in many forms, some are played out over and over again. Some with yelling, some with laughter, some without words. Conversations with depression aren't always pleasant, often not, but they have a way of bringing out the truth, of exposing the heart.  Once that is done strength can be found, faith can be found, and light is let in.  At least a little bit, until the next conversation.

Can we get an "Arthur" episode that talks about The Brain's OCD?

I was asked in a job interview a couple of questions that led to me talking about our battle with depression, OCD, and Anxiety.  I was then later asked in a follow up if I thought those things hindered my job, would prevent me from working, and one of my references was asked the same thing. I wonder, if it would have come out that I struggled with asthma, would the same questions have been asked? If I had talked about Valentine having diabetes or some other life long health complication, would it have been a factor in deciding whether or not I could be employed? My guess is no.

Because we struggle with illnesses deemed "mental" we seem to fall in a whole different category, one that is filled with stigma and shame. That is unfair and a gross mischaracterization of what we deal with.  I hate the word mental, and all it stands for in our current society. The illness of depression, anxiety, OCD, and the others are physical, no matter what Tom Cruise would like to say about it.

You can google and research the actual goings on of these diseases in the brain, I'm not going to get into that. I will just share with you, the very physical aspects that we deal with. For the sake of comparison, I will match it up with asthma, as that is something I have dealt with since I was younger, both through friends and also from my own experience with what it does to my body.

My asthma is mild,didn't really start to be a problem until high school, and though I rarely experience symptoms of it anymore, it still flares up. I used to treat it, when it was more serious, with medication. I knew what triggered my asthma, and I tried to avoid those triggers and used preventative medication. When attacks were triggered, I employed the steps prescribed by my doctor to deal with it. Sometimes though it caught me off guard, I wasn't prepared, or even though I was prepared it just overwhelmed me, and I was not able to fight off the attack very well. I was fortunate and did not have to be hospitalized. I had a good friend when I was younger though, that was hospitalized often. She took the steps, she did what she needed to do, but it overwhelmed her system, and she became helpless at points to fight on her own.  No one considered her, or myself weak when these things happened. No one judged us, or our families for these asthma attacks.  People felt badly that we were experiencing them, they offered help etc. Our families could discuss our asthma openly with others and learn how others dealt with the same issues.  They could seek help or unload to others about what they were experiencing with us, and we could do the same, with no shame or fear. We were obviously past the days mentioned in the old "Arthur" episode, where everyone thinks buster has some shareable disease because he has asthma. It was seen as a problem, but normal, and no one needed to hide it, in fact a lot of the kids in our classes had inhalers too.

I wish those days were here with mental illness. Maybe Marc Brown can do some special new episodes of "Arthur" for all of us.  The Brain can reveal that he as OCD/Anxiety and Depression, and we can find out that Binky Barnes struggles with Bipolar disorder. They can do a fun little cartoon that shows things misfiring in their brains, and chemical compositions not being at correct levels.  Everyone can see that it's not contagious (although we could include something about their parents or grandparents struggling as well, and we can see it's hereditary).  Then the whole gang can talk about it, learn to support them when they are struggling, and get over it.  It can be alluded to in future episodes as part of their everyday lives. That would be awesome.

Besides the physical causes of the illness that Valentine deals with, there are very physical symptoms. I have laid in bed with him, a foot away, and felt his heart pounding.  This was after a good day, after a day when there were no triggers, when he was taking his meds, and had recently been to therapy. Still the illness overtook him.  I have seen the changes in his facial expressions, heard the edge in his voice, and experienced behaviors that totally do not fit with his personality at all, when the depression overwhelms him.  There are very physical changes to how he feels in other parts of his body, his stomach, his head. All of these things can come at times when he is responsibly treating his illness. Sometimes his body just can't take anymore, or he has grown tolerant to the meds, or a trigger hits unexpectedly. It is physical.

Yet we still can't just talk about it, we can't always share.  We worry that people will think we can't function or work, but we can. He may need a sick day here or there, but so do you and I. He handles these things very, very responsibly, and he works hard to manage.  There are times when it gets bad. We get overwhelmed, so overwhelmed at times, when things are bad, and meds, coping techniques and therapy just aren't enough. He works hard to keep going, working, being there for the kids, all the while feeling like he is going to crumble.  I work hard to help him keep going, to encourage him, and to keep everyone else going in the family, while I am scared and sad for him.  In those moments it's really, really hard. It's hard to get out of bed, to get dinner on the table, to get the house cleaned. It's exhausting. Sometimes I share with others.  There are a few people I will text or email for prayer. Even then, with the exception of a couple, I vary who they are. I don't want to overburden them with something they will feel helpless to battle too. I get worried that we will be the people who cried wolf, or I will be labeled a drama queen, if I text too much. Or worse, I worry that they will start to see Val through depression colored glasses, and forget what an amazing person he is. No one shows up with casseroles or cookies to help us through this tough time, most people don't even know we are having it (this is not a plea for casseroles, we really don't like casseroles anyway).

I wish we could take the words mental illness, off of these problems. I wish they could just be classified in general conversations as illness. Health problems, like any other. I wish we could speak freely. I know people that struggle with diabetes, asthma, Parkinson's, cancer, and so many other illnesses, have problems speaking about them too. They too can be embarrassed, can worry about how people will see them, but I feel like when the word mental is attached it ups the ante. Words like crazy get thrown around, not lapel ribbons. There are so many people around us struggling with these same things, yet we struggle in isolation and fear.

When we do share, sometimes people react strongly. I always hope that if they are uncomfortable or don't understand, they will ask questions, maybe not in an job interview, but still ask. I hope they will be reassured to find out, it's not contagious, we are regular functioning people, who are quite talented and bright by the way. I hope they will still see Valentine as the amazing Valentine that he is, and me as his awesome wife. I hope life will go on as normal. If they want to check in on us, ask how we are doing from time to time, that's cool too. I don't mind friends checking in, holding us accountable even, making sure we are taking care of ourselves. That is fine. That is normal.

I guess that's what I want is normal. I want people to realize these diseases, disorders, illnesses, whatever you want to call them, associated with the brain, are physical illnesses just like all the others. They deserve no more stigma and shame than any others. Is Marc Brown still making Arthur? Can we get some after school specials, cause I really don't want to start wearing a ribbon.

Tattoo Story #6 - Emergency Tattoo

Disclaimer: I don't think tattoos that aren't well thought out (for years if you are in your 20s, months if you are over 30), are the best idea. This one was an exception. I have Val's permission to post, to be honest about what we are struggling with, to open a curtain of stigma and fear, and maybe in the next week or so, I will post more on this topic. Given the title of this blog though, this seemed a fitting way to start, while the ink is still fresh and the tattoo is starting to heal. Hopefully healing continues...

We battle an illness in our house that is chronic, can be debilitating and at times is life threatening. It’s a triple threat of OCD, anxiety and depression. I say we, but I’m just the support person. I’m not the one who has to suffer at the hand of a genetically inherited illness, that while classified as mental, has real physical causes and effects. It feels physical too. It comes with a crushing weight of fear and sadness, and though I may not be the one with the brain wiring and chemistry that is off, I feel that.

This illness sucks the life out of us sometimes. It exhausts us when it goes on for weeks at a time.  It isolates us from others as we fear what they will think of us, what label they will put on Valentine or on our family. Sometimes as we struggle to deal with it together it even makes us battle each other.  It sucks soooo bad, but there is more to our lives than this awful, gut wrenching cloud of sadness.

There are good parts of our life, really good ones. Friends, people who don’t look at Val like he’s crazy or me like a drama queen when we tell them what’s happening. Friends who may not get it, but they get us and they love us no matter how sad or scary things get. Friends who know what’s wrong just by looking at my face. Friends who clear their higher paying tattoo client schedules to fit us in and put a tattoo on my husband’s wrist, so he won’t obsess about cutting it and he can battle those horrible thoughts.

Whatever is good, noble true etc, whatever is praise worthy and excellent. It’s an edited for skin space version of Philippians 4:8. It is beautiful script but tiny, and packed into a small space, it breaks some standard tattoo rules. It isn't a tattoo for aesthetics or art, It is a tool for coping, for healing. We will think on these things. We will think on these things when the fears of suicide seem to overwhelm us.  We will think on these things when we cannot get out of bed or off the couch because there is so much sadness.  We will think on these things and we will fight like crazy against this suck.

I will fight for you Valentine Hellman, because you are totally worth it. My life is better EVERYDAY because you are in it. Everyday that I can hug you, that I can laugh about our kids, or the ridiculous new horse of a dog that you were generous enough to let me get, my life is better. Every time I get a text from you, even if it’s one that tells me you are struggling, my life is better, because you are a part of it. You amaze me with your strength, with your ability to work and provide for us even on your worst days. Everyone that meets you (well the ones that are worth your time anyway) thinks you are wonderful, and you are the best part of the Hellman family. You are sweet and creative and sensitive and kind. Your playful spirit brings wonder and excitement to our house. You may struggle with depression, but that is not who you are.

All work done by Michael Facchini
at Blackhole Tattoo (West) in Beaverton, OR

That’s why I got the tattoo too. I am on your team. I will grieve with you and I will rejoice with you, and I will never give up on you. Ever. Your tattoo faces in so that you can read it. Mine faces out, so you can read it.  I know others will read it too. I know there will be questions. I Thank you for letting me share our story. Thanks for letting me reach out for help as I support you. Thank you for being bold enough to help others find a voice too.

Actual text of tattoo: Whatever is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about these things.