As I write my memoir about my ill-fated adventures with the mental health industry I describe depression as a milky haze and as the cornstarch of the soul, thickening every thought and every movement. If I were to make a depression martini I’d mix one part despair with two parts not giving a shit. Continue reading “How do you describe depression?”
Truth telling: the domino effect of #metoo
I’ve gone radio silent on this blog the past few weeks for a couple of reasons. The first is I’ve been working on my book and that zaps my writing strength. The second is I’ve been grappling with the inevitable emotional fallout of revisiting a difficult time and exposing the details publicly through this blog. Of course this is nothing compared to what I should expect once the book is finished and offered for public read, so perhaps it is a good test run to see if I have the mettle to withstand the vulnerability that comes from transparency. Continue reading “Truth telling: the domino effect of #metoo”
Psych ward: fraud, greed and a life interrupted
Today is September 5th.
Exactly 27 years ago today I had a 2 p.m. appointment with a Miami psychiatrist to explore the possibility of starting on antidepressants. It was 1990 and Prozac had been on the market for just three years. Before Prozac, antidepressants had a bad reputation for causing uncomfortable and sometimes serious side effects. Prozac promised relief with little or no discomfort. Continue reading “Psych ward: fraud, greed and a life interrupted”
Is Donald Trump giving mental illness a bad name?
A group of mental health professionals, calling themselves “Duty to Warn,” (@duty2warn on twitter) has gathered 60,000 signatures from mental health professionals calling for Trump’s removal from office due to serious mental illness. Continue reading “Is Donald Trump giving mental illness a bad name?”
Racism and antisemitism as triggers.
I am traveling back to Florida from Nevada, so have been away from my laptop. But the real reason I haven’t posted here, on my fb page, or worked on my memoir is I am so disheartened by the events of the last few days in Charlottesville that I can’t focus on writing. I guess racism, anti Semitism, and neo Nazism are anxiety and depression triggers for me. And you can throw shame in there. I am so ashamed of the president.
Continue reading “Racism and antisemitism as triggers.”
I don’t understand the 12 steps.
I am not an alcoholic. In fact, I rarely drink. I don’t take drugs (not even marijuana, which is perfectly legal where I live). I have never had a substance abuse problem, unless you count a former addiction to nicotine (I quit smoking 25 years ago) and a lifelong addiction to caffeine (do NOT get between me and my morning coffee).
I am also an atheist.
So forgive me, but I don’t understand the 12 steps. Continue reading “I don’t understand the 12 steps.”
I don’t have an inner child.
The therapy I engaged in at the John Bradshaw Center for five-to-six hours a day, seven days a week, for eight weeks focused almost exclusively on remembering and healing childhood trauma. The idea was that we all come from dysfunctional families that caused us pain. If we don’t remember and relive these traumas in a safe setting we will continue to be in emotional pain and, perhaps worse, risk passing all this dysfunction to the next generation, becoming part of the “poisonous pedagogy.” Aphorisms like, “if you don’t work it out you will act it out” and “the only way out is through” were bantered about like gospel. Continue reading “I don’t have an inner child.”
This thing isn’t going to write itself.
The muse makes her appearance at 6 am.
But here’s the rub. I am not a morning person. I am only up at this godforsaken hour because the Chihuahua refuses to acclimate from Eastern time to Pacific Daylight Time. Haley gets up each day precisely at six, jumps joyfully on my head and announces, in her own Chihuahua way, that the day has dawned. Dutifully, and because having a Chihuahua banging at your head is not that pleasant, I get up at six to feed and walk her. The muse is also awakened by the 8-lb monster, and it is during those tweams–the fleeting moments between dreaming and waking when you are finishing up a most delicious dream–that she fills my creative mind with the most brilliant of writing insights. Alliteration abounds and cadence croons. Continue reading “This thing isn’t going to write itself.”