The anatomy of a hockey skate.

If you haven't ever seen a hockey skate up close, this post should help you understand some of the fancy footwork of hockey players.

A hockey skate is composed of two basic pieces: the boot and the blade.

The boot is just what it sounds like. It is the part that supports the foot. Each player will prefer one fit or brand over another, and they will lace their skates in varying degrees of tightness, depending upon what is supportive and comfortable for them.

But the blade is, at least to me, the fascinating part of a hockey skate. We'll look at two aspects of the blade, the rocker and the edges.

First the rocker:

The bottom of the blade is curved, like a rocker, and only part of the blade is on the ice at any one time. If a skater likes just a very small part of the blade to touch the ice, it is considered to be more "rocked." This allows the skater to turn very quickly, but it costs the skater speed because there is less blade to push against the ice.

Now we'll look at the edges.

A lot of people think a skate blade is sharp like a knife. But each blade actually has two edges, with a hollow in the middle. The edges are called the inside edge and the outside edge. The inside edge is the edge closest to the big toe, and the outside edge is closest to the pinky toe.

View 1, below, illustrates a skate blade sitting flat on the ice. This is a good illustration, but a skater very seldom has their skate positioned like this on the ice.

View 2 shows the skate blade with one edge pushed against the ice.

This is what gives a skater speed; a sharp thrust against the ice propels the skater forward or backward.

When you see a skater turning by crossing one foot over the other, they are pushing with the inside edge of the outer foot and the outside edge of the inner foot. If they are turning left, the right foot is the outer foot, and if they are turning right, the left foot is on the outside. (I wish I could draw a picture of this for you, but that's way outside my skill set.)

When a skater is first learning to skate they need to practice turns like this until they become second nature.

Sometimes, when you are watching a hockey game on TV and a player falls, the commentator says the skater "lost an edge." This generally means the player's skate edge hit at too great an angle to the ice and it slipped. It could also happen if the skater hits a rut in the ice.

I became pretty well acquainted with hockey skate edges and the way skilled players use them, because I skated with and coached some pretty skilled skaters (all waaay more skilled than me).

I hope this adds to your enjoyment of the game. Just know that skilled skaters make hockey look way easier than it really is!

(Corrections, questions, or comments? Just type them below.)

Don't be fooled!

It is becoming increasingly common to find stories, often on Facebook and other social media, that are just flat out fake.

I worked in IT for 25 years, the last seven years as an internet programmer. I want my friends to be safe and smart. So here are some ideas to help defend yourself against fake news.

There are several ways to check on their validity, and it's really important to do so. If we don't stop sharing fake news, the consequences will be grim for our democracy. 

A free press, beyond being a First Amendment right, is an important way to preserve our other rights. If fake stories continue, the real journalism that we depend on will cease to exist.  Why would an organization pay correspondents to write and fact-check real, dependable stories?  It just wouldn't pay.

There are three ways I check my news:

1. If you want to get the real news, you have to read stories that have been written by real journalists. In my mind, the best way to do that is to depend on the time-tested web sites of news organizations that have been around a long time. 

Remember back in the day when you mostly saw the domain extensions ".com" and ".org"? Those are the domains I look for to get my news. Here are some that I personally consider reliable:

     www.newyorktimes.com

     www.washingtonpost.com

     www.apnews.com

     www.nbcnews.com

     www.npr.org

     www.cnn.com

     

There are many more, including other newspapers, TV networks, and magazines. In addition, there are plenty of sites that report real news from their own particular slant; I won't even try to name them here. And, of course, don't forget your local home-town paper and TV news sites.

Unfortunately, there are phony sites that end with ".com" too. One of those is "rt.com"  This is a Russian propaganda outlet. Just don't go there.  If you aren't sure about a ".com" site, see suggestion 3 below.  There are so many bogus sites; I won't try to name them here. But you can find other articles out there that list the bad ones.

It is shockingly easy to replicate these sites; that's why you have to look carefully. You cannot depend on the appearance of a web site, because it's very easy to grab the logo and layout of a legitimate site and use it on your own.

So always be sure to look at the web address of the site you are reading. That will be the "Uniform Resource Locator" (URL) in the address bar at the top of the screen on your device when you get to the web site. It could also be the link you click on to get to the story.

It can be tricky, because it's not always displayed the same way. It may start with "http" or "https." Or it may just start with "www." Or sometimes it's "naked," without any of these.

It may also be between a set of slashes.  In other words, between the double slash "//" and the single slash "/" that comes next. But always, if you think you're looking at a legitimate ".com" site, the ".com" must come right before the first single slash, or there must be nothing after it.

Take a look at these addresses. Look very carefully, because they look good. But if you see something like these:

     "www.cnn.com.biz/"
               (".biz" follows ".com")  

     "www.newyorktimes.co"
               (".co" is not part of the New York Times site; it should be ".com") 

     "www.cbsnews.com.site/"
               (".site" comes after ".com")  

     "www.reuters.online/"
               (".online" is not part of the Reuters site; it should be ".com")

run far, far away. These sites are not only bogus, they could contain dangerous viruses or try to get you to enter personal information so they can steal your identity.

2. If the story appears to be on a reputable site, go directly to the site to read it. For example, if the story appears to be on the New York Times web site, go directly to their site. Don't click on it; type in www.newyorktimes.com and search for the story. If it's breaking news, the story will be right on the front page. If it's an older story, it won't be hard to find; just search for the headline.

3. Search the web for the story. If it's the real thing, other outlets will have reported it, too. If you don't find it on other legitimate sites, forget about it.

Feel free to share this post. Many of you believed bogus stories during the election. Even Trump's staffer Corey Lewandowski shared at least one of these. Take a look at this and see if you can figure out what's wrong with the web site address. The answer is in the caption.

The real ABC News address ends with ".com" not ".co"

One of the publishers of fake news said,  "My sites were picked up by Trump supporters all the time. I think Trump is in the White House because of me. His followers don’t fact-check anything — they’ll post everything, believe anything."

Don't be fooled.

p.s. If you have questions about what I've written, enter your questions in the comments section below and I'll do my best to answer them.

Suicide Prevention - Part Two

Well, here I am again.  I've already written a post about suicide prevention. Are you getting tired of hearing about suicide?  Well, believe me, I am tired of thinking about it. It's exhausting. Too bad for both of us: I have some more thoughts that I want to share with you. If you are serious about "suicide prevention," try to tolerate my rant.

I see "suicide prevention" as something the "preventers" do for themselves. I've heard and read lots of stories about how losing someone to suicide affects other people. It's all about the "survivor." And, yes, I actually have lost someone to suicide. But now I want you to think about what the suicidal person is going through. They never seem to talk about that in those stories.

Imagine the intense emotional pain you feel when you lose a loved one, or when a relationship breaks up, or when you have lost your job and livelihood.  Imagine that pain.

Now, imagine you are having that pain FOR NO REASON. And imagine that the pain comes and goes, You never know when or for how long it will be with you. That's how some of us experience depression. That's how I experience depression. Your brain has gone off-kilter. You are unable to carry out the most basic tasks because they are just too much effort. You feel worthless and useless. People try to reassure you that you are a good person and you deserve to live; they tell you good things about yourself, but YOU JUST CAN'T BELIEVE THEM. Besides, you can't stand to live with the incredible pain any longer. The pain that has no reason.  Can you begin to imagine this?

Your loved ones do all they can to help. They take over the tasks you usually perform.  That is wonderful, because you don't feel as if you are falling further and further behind.  But it's also awful, because you know that you are a burden, adding work to their already busy lives. They say it's ok, but you know in your heart that they would be better off without you; they just don't realize it yet.

If you are very lucky, like  me, you have a couple of people in your life whom you trust, who have seen you pull through this before, and who express their confidence that you can pull through again. Nobody else has any credibility.

If you are very lucky, like me, your spouse takes their wedding vows, for better or for worse, seriously. If you're not so lucky, your spouse tell;s you to suck it up, stop being so lazy, you have nothing to be depressed about. Maybe they divorce you. They cause your pain to increase. Think about that.

Maybe you have friends who have learned about "suicide prevention."  They say and do all the right things. But as legal scholar Susan Stefan puts it, it's more like (paraphrasing here) pushing a person out of the path of an oncoming train, feeling relieved that you have done so, but not helping the person figure out how to stay off the train tracks.

Now this may be a shocker: When I hear of a person who has died by suicide, I am happy for them. Of course I am sad and broken-hearted to lose them, but I know they have finally found peace.

Until this country takes some concrete action, suicide prevention is just a pretty phrase.

Here are a few helpful actions we could take:

• Listen to people who have mental illnesses to learn what will help them.
• Invest some real money in mental health research.
• Invest some real money in mental health treatment.
• Pay our mental health caregivers salaries and benefits they can survive on, so more people will be able to do that work.
• Hire enough mental health caregivers that they are not continually understaffed.
• Pay children's services workers commensurate with the incredible stress they encounter in their jobs.
• Hire more children's services workers so they can give adequate attention to each case they are assigned.
• Offer free parenting classes so people can learn how to raise their children without causing mental/physical/sexual trauma.
• Offer free education to family and friends of those who suffer from mental illness to help them cope, and stay, with their sick loved ones.
• Ostracize politicians who mock disabled people. Yeah, that means Donald J. Trump. 

There are certainly other things we can do; these are just a few things that occur to me right off the top of my head.

Will this be expensive?  Of course it will.  Can our leaders find the courage to make this happen? I have my doubts. But isn't relieving emotional pain as important as relieving physical pain? As treating Type 2 Diabetes? As research on diseases that cause much less disability? As building a fancy sports arena? As space travel? As incarcerating people who smoke pot? You're damned right it is. And it just might prevent some of those suicides people claim to be so worried about.

Back from the Edge

UPMC Western Psychiatric Institute and Clinic

Two days ago, I returned home from UPMC Western Psychiatric Institute and Clinic (WPIC) in Pittsburgh, and I want to tell you a little bit about my three-week stay there.

I chose WPIC because the limited psychiatric facilities in Erie PA don’t offer the services I need to treat my Serious and Persistent Mental Illness (SPMI) of Major Depressive Disorder - Recurrent Type - Severe.

In addition, no psychiatrists in Erie are accepting new patients.  Dr. Gustin, the wonderful doctor who cared for me from 1985 until 2014, retired abruptly due to health problems, so I found myself an orphaned psychiatric patient.  I was fortunate to find a Certified Registered Nurse Practitioner (CRNP), Charlotte Riddle, who has experience with psychiatric nursing and was accepting new patients. Even though CRNPs can practice and prescribe on their own, Ms. Riddle has chosen to affiliate with an M.D. psychiatrist and another CRNP; she says she likes to have colleagues to consult with on occasion.

Char has guided me well so far. As I fell into another suicidal depression earlier this year, she asked if I had ever considered ElectroConvulsive Therapy (ECT), what they used to call “Shock Treatments.”  Ya know, like in those old movies The Snake Pit or One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. You may cringe, but I had actually given serious consideration to ECT long ago. Here's why:

My mother received ECT in the mid-twentieth century, back when it was far from the gentler procedure it is today.  And even though it was unpleasant, even brutal, for her, she preferred receiving “shock treatments” over playing the anxious game of waiting for medications to work.  Or not work.  Mom said that, unlike meds, the “shock treatments” helped her mood right away.

So off I went to Pittsburgh. What a great bunch of professionals they are at WPIC, providing care with respect from the moment I set foot in the facility.

After evaluation and assignment to the appropriate unit, I settled in. WPIC is everything I could hope for in a psychiatric facility. Clean facilities, decent food, caring professionals, structured group therapy conducted by people who "get it," and skilled medical treatment. And my fellow patients were generous with their moral support and friendship.

There's a mix of patients there, from old birds like me to college students, and from patients who are spending weeks there to those who are only there for a couple days. If you are up to joining in, there is also music therapy, art therapy, and pet therapy. I thought I had received every kind of therapy possible over my 50 years of recurring depression, but I learned that they are still developing new therapies and that even this old dog can learn new tricks.

I have so far received eight ECT treatments. It wasn't all smooth sailing, but around my fifth treatment I noticed definite improved mood. At no time did I observe smoke or sparks spewing out my ears from my fried brain. I will continue with several more weeks of outpatient ECT, then we'll reassess to determine if and/or what kind of further ECT to pursue.

Don't get me wrong; I am still struggling and have more to learn, but I am no longer actively suicidal, and I feel as if I may be able to continue to live with this chronic illness. My next tasks are to make some decisions about whether I am able to return to work and what kind of work I could do. But the biggest factor in my decisions will have to be in regard to how I stay well. I want to contribute to this world, but I'm guessing I won't do anybody any good once my ashes are spread across its surface. Well, except maybe compost.

I'm going to lie low for a while now to allow myself to rest and recuperate. I would be honored if you shared your thoughts or questions on this post and/or shared this post on your favorite social media platform. The way I see it, we can only encourage suffering people to get help if we talk about mental illness and help eliminate the stigma attached to it.

God bless you all and thank God for the professionals who do the very difficult work of caring for people who have mental illnesses.

Facebook asked me what's on my mind. Here's what I said:

What's on my mind, Facebook asked.  Plenty. Let me tell you about it.

I am sick and tired of people talking about depression when they haven't had it or haven't had repeated serious suicidal episodes. Or who think psych meds are bad. Or that the meds are just some kind of happy pills. Or who think depression can be "cured" with some herbal remedy.

I'm also sick of the little platitudes about how you just need to think positive. Positive thinking is nearly impossible when you are suicidal. All these little slogans just make a severely depressed person feel even worse because they can't just "think" themselves better.  That's like telling a person with diabetes to control their blood sugar by positive thinking. I'm sick of it.

And I'm sick of people explaining away gun violence by saying the perpetrator had "mental health problems." Hey, here's a novel idea:  maybe we should take more care in who can buy guns and how they store them.  But that won't happen because the NRA (read gun manufacturers) owns all our legislators.

I have 50 years of battling severe depression. I think about suicide every day of my life. If you haven't experienced something like that, take care not to say shit that just makes the suicidal person feel worse. Like "You have so much to live for," or "practice an attitude of gratitude, or "just think about so-and-so and what they have overcome, " or say you know how we feel, or advise us to "give it to God. Or tell us to use our "coping skills." Believe me, we've heard it all and tried it all before.

And above all, don't call Crisis Services, because they'll either try to put you in the hospital or just humiliate you. Hospitalization, since the insurance companies now control it, is pretty much worthless. They'll just throw some different meds at you and send you home before they can see if the meds help. Because the insurance companies won't pay for a hospital stay beyond their criteria. And they don't give a rat's ass about your doctor's opinion. There's a perfect example of "death panels."

And that, I told Facebook, is what's on my mind.

Here's some REAL suicide prevention.

I previously wrote that suicide prevention isn't really for suicidal people.  I still believe that.

But I have still been looking around the net to see if there's any thing helpful out there.  For future reference.

And I found something!

It's called Alternatives to Suicide, and it's peer run.  There's info here, along with an informative video. I'll be adding this to my links list at right.

They also offer training for people to learn to facilitate an Alternatives to Suicide group.  This is going on my wish list.  They say that two co-facilitators are required, so I would need another person to take the training with me.  Then we would be ready to start a group in Erie.

I see a new agenda item for our next peer support meeting.

This is pretty exciting!

Misogyny misogyny everywhere, so what's a girl to think?

Misogyny is deeply rooted in our society.  This little thought exercise shows how amazingly widespread it is and how it affects girls.

Imagine you're a young girl.

Ever since you were old enough to understand, here's what you've learned:

• Girls can't be athletic.  In fact, it's an insult to tell a boy that he "throws like a girl."
• Girls cry, and that's a bad thing. Because if a boy cries, he's crying "like a little girl" and he'd better stop right now.

• It's a bad thing to wear anything like girls' clothing.  If a male wears something that's the wrong color, or that has a flowery pattern, someone will tell him that his clothing is "girly."  And that's a bad thing.

• Men are braver and stronger than women.  Anyone who seems weak is told to man up. You have to take it like a man.

As you enter high school, you learn more:

• Just the possession of male genitalia makes someone stronger, so even grown women can be told to grow a pair or be taunted, "You don't have the balls."

• It's even worse to have female genitalia.  There's not much worse than being called a cunt or a pussy.

• There are even special derogatory words that are used to describe women.

• You learn that you must be trim and beautiful.  But if you take pains to dress well, wear makeup, do your hair,maybe even wear high heels, you will be subject to catcalls and inappropriate remarks from strangers.  You may even be called a slut.

• You learn that your body is just something to be ogled.  On their web pages, local radio stations feature the scantily-clad "babe of the day."  But there's no nearly-naked "hunk of the day" on those web pages.  When you watch TV, you'll see that women are expected to bare their bodies, while men stay fully clothed.  You'll see professional women portrayed as hot babes flashing their cleavage at work.

So what are you to think?  You think that you are not as good as a boy. 

No, you know you are not as good as a boy. 

Nobody has told you this. In fact, some may have explicitly told you that you are just as good as any boy.  But deep down, you have learned that boys are better.

You carry that knowledge into adulthood, where you encounter new insults:

• You learn that your body is not something to be respected.  You learn that you have to take precautions and learn how to be safe, while boys/men do not have to learn that they're not supposed to attack you. And that, if you defend yourself from inappropriate touching, you may even be punished.  If you are raped, your allegations may be doubted, as politicians prattle on about "legitimate rape." 
• You learn that you'd better not sleep with many men, because that will make you a slut.  Whereas men can sleep with as many women as they want, and they are just sowing their wild oats.  But if one of these men sows his wild oats in you, you become pregnant, and you aren't sure which oat-sower is the father, you will be criticized for not keeping your legs together, and you will be berated for being "promiscuous" or "not even knowing" who the father is.
• You learn that you and your doctor can't be trusted to decide how to treat your body.  Anti-choice people want to decide what you do with something that is growing in your body. They provide "pregnancy counseling" services that mislead and misinform you.

• You learn that you won't make as much as a man. You learn that you will be passed over in favor of a man for promotions to jobs for which you are equally qualified.

• You are not supposed to show your age.  You are  accosted by hundreds of commercials that promise you can stay young by using the advertised products. You are expected to be slim, in shape, and fashionable.  But men can be paunchy, wrinkled, balding, and baggy and nobody seems to care.

• You learn that you will be judged as being bitchy or aggressive for the same behavior that is considered strong or assertive in a man. Senator Elizabeth Warren, a former professor of law at Harvard, is called "angry" and "violent" because of her straightforward comments.  Even Hillary Rodham Clinton, after serving as a US Senator and Secretary of State, is still called a bitch. You'd better be careful.

• You understand that, no matter your professional bona fides, you must field questions about your clothing that would never be asked of a man. Even the Chancellor of Germany, Angela Merkel, is criticized because she looks frumpy.   

• Even in a commercial  for a diabetes medicine, the guys are workers but the women are walking on the beach. Couldn't they think of a different setting to put the women in?  Oh, wait, they did.  They also showed women in the kitchen.

Now, do you feel good about being a woman?


No wonder so many women struggle with self-esteem issues. Nobody has to tell a girl or woman that being female is bad; she just absorbs that knowledge from birth, because misogyny is embedded in our culture.

Life Threatening Illnesses

For anyone who's been following along, New-Medicine-Number-3 worked beautifully.  After taking it just one week, I walked into my doctor's office and said, "I don't want to kill myself today."  What a breakthrough!

Anyway, I recently saw a friend who had fought cancer.  She had lost her hair, and had on a cool head scarf.  She talked with a balding male friend who asked her how she was.  She said she was fine, and joked that she didn't have any more hair than he did.

I thought, wow, what a great attitude.  What a strong woman. She cheated death and can laugh about it.

It took me a few days, but I realized that I, too, had cheated death!  And that I can have a relapse at any time, just like a cancer survivor can.    It's just that my disease isn't really considered a disease by most people. It's looked at as more of a character defect.

And I am so dismayed with myself, because I didn't realize right away that I had given cancer survival more significance than surviving Major Depression.  If I gave cancer more significance, even though I have been an outspoken advocate for the mentally ill and against stigma, then how can I expect other people to take mental illnesses seriously?

The truth is that Major Depression, for me, is a life-threatening illness. In fact, I have been fighting this disease for 48 years. That's a long time to fight; I really need to give myself credit for being a strong woman, too. I came very close to killing myself several times during my last episode.  Yes, I promised someone that I wouldn't do that, but I almost gave in anyway, just to stop the pain.

I survived six months of absolute misery.  I wish everyone could have that feeling just once, so they could understand what it's like and be less judgmental..

I cheated death, alright, but I can't quite laugh about it. Not until other people stop laughing at it.

I'm Tired of This Game

Well, here I am.  I'm sorry in advance if I sound whiney.  Sympathetic comments are not necessary.  I just have to write this down.  I feel a need to let people know about the experience of mental illness.

New-Medicine-Number-2 gave me a nice boost to a normal mood.  Unfortunately it also gave me akathesia.  Did I describe that in a previous post?  I don't know, and I don't have the energy to check.  Let's just say it was a horrible sensation and my doctor advised me to stop taking New-Medicine-Number-2 ASAP.

The mood improvement stuck around for a while.  Then it was just the dread of going out of the house that was keeping me from returning to work.  But things were looking pretty good.

Well, the mood boost is gone now. I saw a couple warning signs of deepening depression, then BOOM! my mood dropped very quickly. So here I am severely depressed again.  This is like being in hell.

I saw my psychiatrist a few days ago and we discussed my options.

He said any other meds he could add to my Current-Medicine risk the same side effects as New-Medicine-Number-2.  And since there's a chance those side effects won't go away even after you stop taking the medicine, I'm afraid to try them.

Then we discussed my going off of Current-Medicine and going on a Different-Anti-Depressant that works in a similar way.  That would entail tapering off of Current-Medicine for a week or two, then starting the Different-Anti-Depressant and giving it a few weeks to see if it helped.  Good God, that would be another six weeks of this.  With no guarantee that Different-Anti-Depressant would work.

I practically begged to know if there was anything else I could add that worked via a different mechanism, then he suggested New-Medicine-Number-3.  It works on a different neurotransmitter than Current-Medicine.  So I have started New-Medicine-Number-3.  Now I wait.  But at least, if it works, it will be a shorter wait than it would be for Different-Anti-Depressant.

I have been practicing gratitude.  I am so thankful for my supportive husband and daughter, for the roof over my head, for my husband's hard-work ethic, for our cuddly dogs, for the kind people where I work, for kind friends who send me notes, for this computer, for internet access, for my comfortable bed, for hot and cold running water, for the privileged position I was born in relative to most of the rest of the world's inhabitants, for my job, for my physical health . . . there is just so much good in my life.  I have been practicing gratitude for years.  I understand how lucky I am.

But lately, as I practice this gratitude, it just makes me feel unworthy.  How do I dare be this depressed when all is well in my life?  I feel horribly guilty.  How can a person this fortunate feel like they don't want to live anymore?  I should just go trade places with a homeless person who could appreciate this good fortune.   But I'm also fortunate (or unfortunate, as the case may be) that there are a couple of situations that make me unwilling to take my life.

I was doing so well during the past few years that I thought I had all the tools I needed to stay well.  Apparently I was wrong.  I am hoping I will feel well again.  I am doing psychological work along with taking my meds as prescribed.  I am staying away from politics and other things that piss me off.

But here's the thing. So I get well again.  So what.  I'm just fated to go through this hell again.  It might be months, or it might be years, but it will be back.

I don't want to play this game anymore.

Suicide Prevention: Not for Suicidal People

I have mixed feelings about what they call Suicide Prevention.  As a matter of fact, I have real concerns about the whole Suicide Prevention movement and whom it is geared to.

But I decided I should give it a fair trial.  So I Googled "suicide prevention."  What follows is some of what I found.

The first non-ad link was for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.  That sounded promising, so I clicked it and saw that their big deal is their help line.  They want me to call for help.

Well, I don't want to call a damned phone number; one of depression's symptoms is isolation and I don't want to talk to anyone.  Besides, the only time I ever called a hotline (not this particular one) and said I was suicidal, they put me on hold.  I hung up.  I have no intention of ever calling one again.  Can't they just give me something encouraging to read?

Then I saw a tab entitled "Get Help."  When I put my cursor over it, I was excited to see what kind of "Help for Yourself" I might find.

But when I saw the categories, I realized there would be no help for me there.  So the "Lifeline" was lifeless for me.

The second link was for the Web site of the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP).  I entered "I am suicidal" in the search field, and on the second page of search results I found "I am struggling."

So I clicked and in big letters it said that if I was "in crisis," I should call a specific phone number.  Remember that one of my symptoms is that I don't want to talk to anyone.  Not helpful.

I tried some of AFSP's other links, and they took me to pages that were suited to professionals.  They offered "testimonials," so I went to that page and saw that most of the testimonials were of people who were suicidal themselves after they lost someone to suicide.  To be frank, if I'm suicidal myself I don't want to hear someone whining about how hurt they were.  I'm looking for someone like me.

And then I found this little AFSP gem:

On experiencing relief after a suicide loss: 

It can be extremely difficult to admit you may feel some relief after a suicide loss, inducing additional feelings of guilt, shame, or anger. It is not uncommon to feel relieved in some ways. Chronic mental illnesses can take a huge emotional and physical toll on families and communities. It is very hard to watch the person you love suffer with severe mental health issues. It can be a relief that their suffering is over, as well as your struggles. . . . 

Well, well, well.  Now I know for sure that I'm a burden.  Thanks a lot, AFSP.  Fail.

The third site was Helpguide.  Here I found the very first thing that appealed to me: "Most people who commit suicide don't want to die—they just want to stop hurting."  Okay, now they had me; they knew how I felt.  Further down the page there was even a link to a page they called "SuicideHelp."

Finally, here was what I needed.  Funny thing, though, this was not even a suicide prevention organization.

And the fourth link was to the National Institute of Mental Health.  Here I found lots of scientific stuff, studies, overviews, facts, and statistics, but nothing to help a currently-suicidal person.  There was a link to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention that looked promising, but again I just found scientific articles.  After many clicks and links, I located this advice from the Mayo Clinic:

Very hard to find and not the most effective advice, but at least it was aimed at me, not some "survivor."  But again, the Mayo Clinic is not a suicide prevention organization.

Well, you get the idea.  It appears to me that these suicide prevention people are a selfish bunch.  They focus on the harm that suicide does to survivors. They are all about themselves. They want to prevent other people from feeling the loss that they have felt.  But I don't get the feeling that they want to talk to a suicidal person to learn about how the person is feeling.

Too bad, because that's how they can prevent suicide.

"Behavioral Health?" What does that even mean?

That's the term for what I guess I don't have.  At least not right now.

Long ago, the head of a social services agency told me that "behavioral health" was meant to be a kinder, gentler term than "mental health." 

Well, I think it's demeaning.  And I told him so.  To me it sounds like, "If those crazy people would just behave better, they wouldn't have all this trouble."

The term has been around for years, but what does it mean?

Definition of "behavioral"

Definition 1a in the Merriam Webster online dictionary defines "behavior" as "the manner of conducting oneself ."  It also lists synonyms for "behavior" as "actions, address, bearing, comportment, conduct, demeanor, deportment, and geste."  "Behavioral" is listed as an adjective related to behavior..

 

An article in the online Encyclopedia Britannica defines "behavioral science" as "any of various disciplines dealing with the subject of human actions . . ."

Definition of "health"

And definition 1a for "health" in Merriam Webster online is "the condition of being sound in body, mind, or spirit . . . ." 

Britannica calls it "the extent of an individual’s continuing physical, emotional, mental, and social ability to cope with his environment."  

Definition of "behavioral health"

So let's put that together.  "Behavioral" describes human actions and "health" means sound and able to cope.   

As near as I can figure it, then, "behavioral health" would mean that my actions are sound and allow me to cope adequately with my environment.

So what does this have to do with depression, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and other so-called "mental illnesses?" 

Nothing!

Does "behavioral health" mean that if my actions were sound I would be able to cope with life without getting a mental illness?  That's sure what it sounds like.  Well, that's incorrect.  And it pisses me off.

If we talk about breast cancer, the absence of the illness is called "breast health."  And for those with diabetes, there is a magazine called "Diabetes Health." 

Since the term for such diseases as major depression and schizophrenia is "mental illness," why not just call the absence of such diseases "mental health?"  Or, since these illnesses are brain disorders, how about "brain health?" 

But, please, I beg you, don't call it "behavioral health."

Bored. To. Death.

One of the symptoms of depression is "anhedonia."  It is defined as "inability to enjoy doing the things that are normally enjoyable," or "Loss of interest or pleasure in normal activities." 

That just kind of sounds like boredom.  It can't be all that bad, can it?

Well yes, yes it can. 

A philosophical Wikipedia editor describes the feeling well in the entry on Boredom  "Without stimulus or focus, the individual is confronted with nothingness, the meaninglessness of existence, and experiences existential anxiety."

I'll give you some examples of things you might enjoy, and how you might feel about them if you were depressed:

You love to watch football.  You have a favorite team and you never miss one of their games. 

But now that you're depressed, you really don't care about it.  You think it would be nice if your team won, but you can't watch more than a few minutes of a game until you're bored with it.

You love to read.  You can read for hours on end when you have the opportunity.

But now that you're sick, you can only read a few pages.  Then it feels too hard, and just not worth it to keep reading.  If you have another book started, you might pick that up for a few minutes and put it down again.  Blah.

You like to work on projects around the house.  It could be a remodeling project or a crafts project and you love to spend time on it. 

But you're depressed now.  It's almost impossible to get up enough motivation to work on a project.  And even if you finally get motivated, you lose interest in the project very quickly.  It's just no fun.

You have several favorite TV shows.  You know what night they're on, you wait excitedly for that night, then you follow the plot closely.

From your place of depression, the shows just don't matter anymore.  You may tune in, but it's an effort to concentrate on the show.  It's hard to believe, but you just don't care about what's going on.

You love to do puzzles.  Crossword, word search, Sudoku, scrambles -- you love the challenges.

Depression makes them feel like a waste of time.  Besides, your brain just can't come up with the answers.

You can surf the Web for hours.  One site directs you to another, then to another, and yet another, until you've used up your spare time.  There's so much cool stuff out there!

You're sick now, and things just aren't as interesting.  For some reason, it feels like a huge effort to type and click, and you close your laptop and put it away after a short time.

You're a napper.  You can always curl up and go to sleep for a short or long nap.

Now that you're depressed, you lie there and think, "I'm so tired, but I don't even feel like doing this.  I can't sleep anyway." 

So.  Now what.  There is just nothing you want to do. 

You are too antsy to sit still and do something quiet, but you are too weary to do anything that requires motion.

 

When you add this to the other challenges of depression, it's like being bored to death. 

Isn't it ironic?

After I have been well for several years, I am so optimistic that I won't ever get sick again.

Then I start writing posts like Put Me On The Crazy List, saying I should never be able to purchase a gun.  I tell my friend that he should never give me the guns he keeps safe for me. 

I look at the pills I have hoarded, and I think, "I'll never want to use these!  And just to be safe, I'll get rid of them."  So down the toilet they go.  (Yes, I do know that's not the proper way to dispose of them, but it's best to just do it while I'm in the mood to flush them.)

Ah, but then I get sick again.

I yearn for a gun; it would be so quick that way.  But I don't even have the energy to go buy one.  And my friend certainly won't give me one.  I don't want to talk to anyone anyway, so I wouldn't even call him.

And I yearn for multiple bottles of pills.  To just go to sleep forever.  Why was I so certain I'd never want them?  And my doctor sure as hell won't prescribe a bunch of them for me now.   

Alanis says it perfectly:

Well life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
When you think everything’s okay and everything’s going right
And life has a funny way of helping you out when
You think everything’s gone wrong and everything blows up
In your face

Yes, Alanis, it is ironic.

Circling the Drain

Today I'm swirling around the black pit. 

I went out to a doctor appointment yesterday.  I sat in my car afterward, recuperating.  I ran an errand, then I sat in my car recuperating.  Ran one more errand, sat in my car some more to rest.  These small efforts at interacting with people were exhausting.  A doctor appointment and two quick errands took me 4.5 hours.

I noticed, too, that everything I did yesterday was slow. 

I am known in my family for my speedy driving habits.  I meticulously keep my speed to nine miles above the speed limit, because someone once told me I wouldn't be pulled over unless I went ten miles over the speed limit.

Dear God, I found myself driving 45 in a 55 mph zone and 50 in a 65 mph zone.  I am surely sick.

I'm even walking slowly.  More like a shuffle.

And today I started New-Medicine-Number-2.

You have no idea how demoralizing this is. 

Starting New-Medicine-Number-2 just means that New-Medicine-Number-1 didn't help.  It took almost a month to decide that New-Medicine-Number-1 hasn't helped.  That's because of the nature of these medications. 

These meds attempt to change brain chemistry.  That can't just be accomplished by taking the pill for a few days.  It can take weeks for the medication to get into the brain and then to build up to therapeutic levels. 

Apparently, New-Medicine-Number-1 has had a sufficient trial of four weeks, so it's time to move on.

Imagine if you were subject to physical pain and had to wait four weeks just to see if a new medicine would help.  Then another four weeks for the second new medicine. 

I have already been off of work for a month.  I feel my new career as a Peer Specialist slipping away.  I hope that's just my illness causing me to think that way, and that I can return to this job.  After all, this job is why I left my high-paying IT job to work in low-paying social services.

Now, I have to wait for New-Medicine-Number-2.  To see if it will work, or not.  In the meantime, my caseload at work waits.  God bless my clients.  I can only hope that this latest episode of depressive disorder will help me to understand my clients' illnesses even better.

But, my God, this sure gets old.

What not to say to a depressed person

 
If you are dealing with a depressed person, you might be pretty frustrated and irritated. 

At least that's how I felt when my mother was depressed.  I was so frustrated that I wanted to just shake some sense into her.  That was before I knew Major Depression myself.

Please realize that the depressed person's brain is not functioning properly.  Let that be your fallback thought when you get frustrated, "He's not trying to frustrate me on purpose, his brain isn't working right."

Here are some things that you should probably not say.  These comments will not help your friend or family member.  In fact, they may make him feel worse.

"What are you depressed about?”

There may be a situation that is depressing him, and maybe he doesn’t really want to talk about it. 

 

Or he may not be able to come up with a reason, and then you have made him feel stupid on top of his depression.  Sometimes brain chemistry changes without a clear reason.

 

Just don't ask this. 

 

“You have so much to live for!   Why would you be depressed ?”

The person likely knows if he has good things in his life. 
 
If you remind him of this, you'll make him feel guilty for being depressed because he "should" be happy.  it will just add guilt to his depression.  
 
Just don't ask this, either.

 

“Just don’t think about it.”

 

People say this when the depressed person is obsessing about something. The person cannot just not think about it.  It’s like if someone says, “Don’t think of a kitchen sink;” then all you can think of is a kitchen sink. 

 

Instead, help the person find something else to put his mind on.  Maybe you can help him place his thoughts on the present, the sights, sounds and sensations affecting him right now; that can be helpful.

 

“Don’t say that.  You don’t mean that.”

 

Yes, he does mean that.  Don’t tell him he doesn’t. 

Maybe you could just say, "I'm sorry to hear that."

 

“I know how you feel.”

 

No, I assure you, you do not. 

 

Even if you have suffered from depression, everyone experiences it differently.

 

 

“C'mon!  Just cheer up!”

He can't.  He would if he could. This is like telling a diabetic, “C'mon!  Just change your blood sugar!”  

 

“Don’t cry.”

He doesn’t want to cry and he would stop if he could.  Tears can be cleansing.  

 

Just offer to get him some tissues. 

 

"Don't feel that way!"

They're his emotions; allow him to own them.  In his mind, his thoughts are perfectly reasonable. 

 

You might say, "I don't agree with that," or "I wish you didn't feel that way."

 

 

"I'm worried about you."

Worry doesn't help anyone.  And it makes it sound like he's responsible for your feelings.  He is not.  You are.
 
Just tell him you care about him.

"You just need to (take this vitamin, eat this fruit, do this exercise, go to this doctor, read this book, think this way, blah, blah, blah.)"

If he is seeing a doctor, let the doctor do her job.  If not, encourage him to go to his primary care provider.  Offer to go with him if he wants you to, but don't insist on it.
 

"You're just doing this to get attention."

If you say this, you are telling him that what he is feeling is unimportant and frivolous.
 
Especially if the person sounds like he wants to kill himself, take him seriously.  Call your local crisis services. 
 
 

The most important thing is that he knows you are there for him.  

 

If you are uncomfortable with the depressed person's behavior, please educate yourself on major depression.  There are lots of agencies and web sites you can learn from.  You could start with National Alliance on Mental Illness or the Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance.

 

 

 

 

What I talk about when I talk about "depression."

"Depressed." That just means "sad," or "down," or "feeling low," maybe "moody," or "unhappy."  Right?

Nope.

In my book, "depressed" means "self-loathing," "paralyzed," "angry," "crying for no reason," "not interested in anything," "unable to function."  Oh, and "suicidal."  Which goes along with "in the hospital." 

I also call depression "the black pit."

When I'm just starting down the slippery slope into that black pit, I can act for a while.  Before I go someplace I tell myself, "Okay, time to put on the happy face."  And I smile and act like everything is okay.  But as soon as I leave, my face drops and I'm right back the way I was.  Or maybe worse, because playing the "happy" role is exhausting.  So I start limiting my interaction with other people.

After a while, the happy face cracks.   I can no longer put it on at all.  Then I just stay home.  It's a huge effort just to get to a doctor appointment.  If I have to go out, I just look down at the ground, pretending to be invisible.

The people I love -- my husband, my daughter, my friends, my co-workers, my family -- I feel . . . I know . . . that I'm a burden to them.  They would be better off without me.  They just won't admit it.

And I am such a disappointment to myself.  I was so smart.  I could have done so much more.  I should still do so much more.  But I can't.  I can barely take care of myself.

I get paralyzed.  I will sit or stand in one spot for half an hour.  Or more.  Like a statue.  With no thought process going on.  Sometimes I try to do something.  I want to take a shower, but I can't do it.  I want to go to work, but I can't do it.  I want to exercise, but I can't do it.  I mean PHYSICALLY I cannot do it.  Really.  Wish I could explain it.

I am angry.  At any big or little thing.  I get ferocious:  so angry that I cry and shake.  It is free-floating anger, ready to erupt at any time.  I feel sorry for the people who have to live or work with me.

I am not interested in eating.  Not even chocolate.  I'm not interested in word puzzles.  I have a stack of terrific books to read, but nothing appeals to me.  There's nothing on TV that I want to watch.  Not even politics.  Dear God, you know I'm sick when I'm not interested in chocolate or politics. 

I cry.  I sob.  For long periods of time.  I am distraught.  And the worst part is that I don't know why.  Even the beautiful things that I normally find joy in -- a blue sky, an adorable dog, a fuzzy caterpillar, God's amazing creation, sunshine (especially sunshine) -- just make me cry.  Why?  Something is screwed up inside my brain, I guess. 

I am in so much emotional pain that I cannot stand it.  So I scream when nobody is around.  No words, just screams.  Somehow it feels like if I scream loud and long enough, the emotional pain will go away.  But it doesn't work. 

Once, when I was in the hospital, I screamed while I was in the shower, thinking the running water would drown out my screams.  But everybody heard me.  After that, I was just the crazy screaming lady.  It's sad when your fellow mental patients look at you like you're the crazy one.

I am in so much pain that I want to die.  I think it's my only way out of the pain.  But it's not a passing thought, like, "I might as well kill myself."

Suicide is my old friend.  It comforts me.  I have been thinking seriously about it for a very long time.  I have read countless books about it.  It is my daily companion, even when I'm well.  I have several well-thought-out plans of how I can kill myself.  I know how to get past the fear of the pain of death itself.  Suicide is my plan B.

I often think that I'm going to die by suicide eventually anyway so I might as well just get it over with. 

But I have promised someone that I won't kill myself.  And I don't break my promises, especially to this person.  So now I am trapped.  There is no way out.  I am down in the black pit, death and pain are churning all around me, dragging me down and down, and there is  No. Way. Out.

Sometimes I have to go to the hospital to keep from killing myself.  And then my insurance company gets to decide if I am sick enough to be admitted to the hospital.  Not my doctor, not my family, not the professional evaluator at the hospital, MY F*CKING INSURANCE COMPANY.  Talk about a death panel.

Now I've been through this drill many times before.  And I have finally learned that I can get better.  I desperately try to hang on to that thought, to keep from being swept further down into the churning black pit.

My doctor will add in a new medicine (already has, actually), and after a few weeks it may help (already hasn't, actually).  So now we'll try a different combination of medicine and give that a few weeks to work.  Patience is one of the unwanted lessons of depression.  But eventually, agonizingly slowly, I will start to feel better.  At least I hope so.


Do you think I'm crazy for writing this, insane for feeling this way?  Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.  I only write for those whose minds are open enough to learn.  If you're not one of those people, then you can go straight to hell.  I'll be waiting for you here, because depression truly is hell.


Thanks for reading. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  

P.S.  Please . . . 

• Do not give me advice.
• Do not tell me you know how I feel.
• Do not tell me why I'm depressed.
• Do not ask me why I'm depressed.  If I knew that, I could work on fixing the problem.
• And do not worry about me. For God's sake, don't worry about me. The last thing I need is people thinking worst-case scenarios about me and flinging those kind of bad vibes about me into the universe.

There but for the grace of God . . .

If you have always lived comfortably, I want to help you understand why people with mental illnesses need so much help. 

These people's brains don't work right.  They need our help to have a place to live, to have food to eat, to feed and clothe their children.  They need our help to get medical care to help their brains function correctly.

I am amazingly lucky.  I don't know how I landed in this place, but I'm so glad I did.  Yes, I have suffered from Major Depression since I was a teen.  But I had all the right supports:

• My husband takes his marriage vows very seriously.  In sickness and in health, this wonderful man has stood by me. 
• I had a home to return to when I got out of the hospital.
• I had a daughter to live for.
• My parents both had experiences with depression.  They were  kind and compassionate.
• My in-laws were also kind and compassionate. 
• My co-workers were mostly nice. 
• I have seen the same psychiatrist for over 25 years. 
• I had jobs with healthcare insurance, plus short- and long-term disability insurance. 
• My job and benefits were still there for me when I came back from sick leaves, thanks to the Family and Medical Leave Act, signed into law by Bill Clinton.

When you are in the throes of a mental illness, your brain is not functioning correctly.  Now, consider the misery some people have to go through at the same time  that they can't think straight:

• Her spouse decides he can't tolerate her lack of motivation/fatigue/crying/sleeping all the time.  He leaves and she has no income.  She has to move to a homeless shelter, where her belongings become infested with bed bugs.
• His parents kick him out of the house because he is acting weird.  Now he is sick and homeless; he couch surfs until his friends cannot cope with his illness anymore.
• She has to be admitted to the hospital.  She has no family supports, so OCY takes her children.
• He takes medicine that helps his brain work correctly, but it has awful side effects -- it makes him drool.  He feels better but no one wants to hire him.
• He is misdiagnosed.  Instead of helping his brain work right, medicine makes him worse.  He becomes lost in a maze of case managers, agencies, therapists, psychiatrists, disability hearings, and hospitalizations.
• He is denied Social Security Disability Income.  He appeals, but they tell him it could take up to a year to get a decision.  A year!  In the meantime, he is homeless because he has no income.
• He has been in and out of psychiatric treatment for years.  Every time he gets sick, he sees a different psychiatrist.  There is no continuity of care; no one knows what treatments have worked or not worked in the past.  Doctors don't trust his own story of his previous medical care.

These examples are all based on people I have met in my various hospitalizations and outpatient experiences.  Please try to imagine living with illness plus these various sad circumstances.  Try to imagine being homeless or losing your children while your brain can't correctly interpret reality.

Sure, they're part of Mitt Romney's 47%, but they are not freeloaders.  They are very sick and they cannot work because of their illnesses.  Or they try to work but can't keep a job because of their illnesses.  Or nobody wants to hire them because of their illnesses.



And there, but for the grace of God, go I.