*(Lest I seem a little overzealous in posting blogs this evening, I am merely getting around to taking them out of Microsoft Word and actually posting them. One of the hazards of having 3 computers that don't all do the same things...)
Ladies and gentlemen...I would like to take this opportunity to clean out my closet and get some things out in the open here. I'd like to have a frank, open talk about mental illness. Yes, sanity. Here in the good ole' state of "Everything is perfect" Utah, we seem to have a few hang-ups about what is what and what is NOT what regarding a host of things. Tonight I am choosing mental health. You may choose the topic tomorrow...
There is a difference between "bucking up" and getting on with life and suffering from a dehabilitating, crippling ailment that you can not simply solve by prayer and scripture reading. If a person was suffering from a terrible physical illness, you wouldn't simply pat them on the back and tell them they just needed to pray a little harder and attend a few more church meetings. You would get them to the doctor, get the necessary medications, and nurse them back to health. But why is it that so many times in our culture and society, we view mental illness as a "weakness" instead of a legitimate medical problem? I don't suffer from anxiety because I have committed any great sin or am failing to do something right. I don't pace the floors at night, lose my appetite and think I'm going to die because I'm not strong enough to just "snap out of it". I suffer from a general anxiety disorder that I am grateful does not have to control me. I am strong enough to admit that I need help. I am doing everything right in my life by seeing the people that I know have experience with this disorder, researching what treatments are available, and taking medication based on informed decisions that are right for me and my family. So...
Raise your hand if you are taking your meds every day and feeling better than you have in a long, long time?
Raise your hand if you are grateful for a person who was brave enough to recognize what you were going through and shared with you their struggles and experience so you would know you weren't alone in facing your monsters and you wouldn't feel this way forever?
So it is time to start looking at the people around you in a very different light. It is time to stop feeling like you have to hide your "secret" because someone might find out and think you aren't perfect! Until you have had the panic attack that sends you to the hospital or the depression that wipes out every bright thing in your life, don't judge. Be a lot more sympathetic, a lot more understanding, and a whole lot less critical.
So...does anyone else have a soapbox that needs standing on?
Monday, August 07, 2006
Life
As a child, I feared cancer. I didn't know anyone with cancer but I think I had read enough really sappy books to get all worked up about the possibilities. I started to write stories about people with cancer (Don't Stop Me Now, I'm On My Way) and I would lay awake in bed at night trying to figure out what I would do if I had cancer. When I got my period for the first time, I thought I was dying of cancer and dreaded having to tell my mom that her first born child had only days to live. Every time I got a headache or cough, I was convinced it was cancer. Growing up really hasn't tamed the fear a whole lot...but interesting things are happening all around me.
Both my paternal grandparents suffered from various forms of cancer. My darling aunt passed away just recently after suffering from cancer. My sister-in-law is adapting to a life where she will never, ever be cancer free and is hoping that on-going chemotherapy treatments will keep the cancer at bay long enough for her to see her children grow up. My dear friend is in the middle of fighting a painful battle for the third time with lupus. The chemotherapy is causing her hair to fall out and she throws up all day long. I was talking to her on the phone today and said, "Don't you wish you could just go in to a coma and have someone wake you up when you are healthy and it is all over?" and before I finished the sentence she replied, "No! No! Because I would miss so many of the beautiful, tender, wonderful moments that are happening to me each day. I would miss the people who have been so incredibly kind and the tender mercies of the Lord. I feel things more passionately and get so emotional at the small things I witness in my life."
Her perspective has caused me to wonder at myself and my life all day.
I played with her children for a couple of hours this afternoon and they are as wonderful and strong and beautiful as their mother is. Through all the trauma, each of them is being blessed in strange, amazing ways. Suddenly in the middle of the horror, I see some of the beauty that comes in the refiners fire. Our lives are blessed in ways that we can't begin to fathom. I'm not mature enough to say that I can accept all that happens to me with a positive, cheerful spirit but I can see how some of the trials I've had have truly blessed my life. My friend and sister-in-law are true heroes and I feel blessed to have their influence and beauty in my life. Because of what they are experiencing, I am learning to understand what is really important in life and what is not. I'm learning to savor more and complain less. I'm learning to sit quietly more often and hold my children longer.
I'm learning how to live better.
Both my paternal grandparents suffered from various forms of cancer. My darling aunt passed away just recently after suffering from cancer. My sister-in-law is adapting to a life where she will never, ever be cancer free and is hoping that on-going chemotherapy treatments will keep the cancer at bay long enough for her to see her children grow up. My dear friend is in the middle of fighting a painful battle for the third time with lupus. The chemotherapy is causing her hair to fall out and she throws up all day long. I was talking to her on the phone today and said, "Don't you wish you could just go in to a coma and have someone wake you up when you are healthy and it is all over?" and before I finished the sentence she replied, "No! No! Because I would miss so many of the beautiful, tender, wonderful moments that are happening to me each day. I would miss the people who have been so incredibly kind and the tender mercies of the Lord. I feel things more passionately and get so emotional at the small things I witness in my life."
Her perspective has caused me to wonder at myself and my life all day.
I played with her children for a couple of hours this afternoon and they are as wonderful and strong and beautiful as their mother is. Through all the trauma, each of them is being blessed in strange, amazing ways. Suddenly in the middle of the horror, I see some of the beauty that comes in the refiners fire. Our lives are blessed in ways that we can't begin to fathom. I'm not mature enough to say that I can accept all that happens to me with a positive, cheerful spirit but I can see how some of the trials I've had have truly blessed my life. My friend and sister-in-law are true heroes and I feel blessed to have their influence and beauty in my life. Because of what they are experiencing, I am learning to understand what is really important in life and what is not. I'm learning to savor more and complain less. I'm learning to sit quietly more often and hold my children longer.
I'm learning how to live better.
Mean Mom
My darling 3-year old got himself into a HEAP o'trouble a couple weeks back. I dragged him kicking and screaming onto his time out mat and then listened to him scream, "You're bad!" for the next 3 minutes at the top of his lungs. When time out was finally over and we went into the living room for a little "processing", he immediately threw himself into my arms and said, "Mom, I love you so much" and then he held my two cheeks in his hands and with a sugary sweet voice asked, "But why do you have to be so mean?"
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