Issue 9

THE MENTAL HEALTH ISSUE

ISSUE 9 VOLUME 63

What's Inside 3 4 6 8

PRESIDENT’S MESSAGE editor’s Message

Poll results

Relevance

WHAT IT’S LIKE: To Have a Mental Illness To Try to Kill Yourself To Love Someone with a Mental Illness This Is My Reality My Brother’s Keeper

creative

Cover Design - Rebekah Maurice,

Art by Jacqui McCarty and Ambra Greaves

Photography - Yuot Tut,

Model - Talia Smith

PRESIDENT’S MESSAGE

Nisha Johny

Can you believe it? We’ve got two weeks until we are DONE! For some of us, its two weeks until we are done for a very, very long time. It really is bittersweet isn’t it? Knowing that I’ve got three more weeks of late nights, early mornings, a surprising cup of caffeine, no meals in between, 40 page papers, 10 page papers, 6 page papers, and many, many other responsibilities makes me want to throw up and crawl into a hole. I wake up every morning with the desire to go right back to bed and cover my face with something opaque but that faint little voice that the Lord has given us never fails to light up my world, over and over again. Walking up College Ave to get to my 8 am class, watching students cross the sidewalk in a hurry, seeing familiar faces that shoot a quick smile, listening to the ‘Good Mornings’ from Student Services, starting classes with prayers, and watching the sun set across Lake Barnett, I am reminded that I may never live out what has been a daily routine for so long ever again. I mean, Burman was where I first fell in love! Burman was where I had my first heart break! Burman gave me the opportunity to see Europe and the best of America! Burman gave me the opportunity to be a leader for so many years… this campus facilitated my growth from an aimless girl to an ambitious woman and for that, I am so grateful. Why then would I complain about living out two more weeks that I will one day wish I had? Adults keep telling me that life will never be the same again. Bills, chores, work days, no summer breaks, and life will kick in and take over and apparently I’ll wish for the days when my biggest trouble was turning a paper in on time. Is this true? I’m not sure but we are all definitely about to find out. Here is the charge that I want to give myself, give graduates, and the ones returning - Live each day to the fullest. Breathe deeply and take in every moment as if you would never get it again. Hug your friends, say your good mornings and see you laters with the brightest smile possible, take every step to your class and back home with a positive stride because you’ll never know when you you will get to live that moment out again. Above all, dedicate every day of the rest of your life to God because with him, you WILL make it and you will make it well. Stay strong my friends!

Editor’s Message Rebekah Maurice

When it comes to mental illness I’ve been on both sides, I now have been diagnosed with depression but years before I had been the confidant and close personal friend to someone with severe depression and suicidal thoughts. Watching someone I care about greatly go through something I couldn’t understand was incredibly painful. Often this person would grow frustrated with me for not having the right answer to their situation and I had been so conditioned to view mental illness as a negative thing that I often felt like using the rhetoric I had been taught and telling my loved one to just “get over it”. It’s only now that I’m struggling with mental illness myself that I understand. And until you go through it it is really difficult to imagine. The way uncontrollable and undesired thoughts can consume your mind and cause you to even stop trusting your own eyes and mind. Last semester after my car accident was the first time I really started to lose control and I no longer felt sane. I didn’t want to leave my bed because I didn’t feel safe. This seems kind of funny to me now but l developed irrational fears one being that I was going to hit an invisible man while driving. Its making me laugh now but at the time I was genuinely crying over the thought of killing an invisible man because his life must already be so difficult what with being invisible. It sounds silly and anyone could tell me that “Bek that is never going to happen” but the reality is in that moment that was my reality. I was cripplingly afraid of the impossible because it seemed very real and very possible. These consuming and debilitating thoughts aren’t something that you can just snap out of or rationalize yourself out of you cannot control them because it is a disorder and not a decision. I didn’t choose to feel that way I just did, somewhere in me I knew it was irrational but my mind just would not shut up. It’s really difficult to understand this if you haven’t experienced it but hopefully this issue will give you an inside look and deeper understanding of what it is to have a mental illness and what you can do to help. Struggling with a mental illness is hard and its made a lot worse by not just having to battle your mind but also a demeaning stigma attached to it. If you want to help change the stigma surrounding mental illness you can start by taking the simple step of putting this

temporary tattoo on your skin. How can this little tattoo change this age old stigma? It’s called “Project Semicolon”. Born from a social media movement in 2013 Project Semicolon seeks to highlight mental health struggles and the importance of suicide prevention. They describe themselves as a “movement dedicated to presenting hope and love to those who are struggling with depression, suicide, addiction, and self-injury. Project Semicolon exists to encourage, love, and inspire.”1. Why a semicolon? “A semicolon is used when an author could’ve chosen to end their sentence, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life.” Now people all over the world are tattooing the mark as a reminder of their struggle, victory, and survival. So show your support and your willingness to have open conversation by putting on this temporary tattoo. If you struggle with mental illness then wear one as a reminder of how far you’ve come and the hope you have for the future and if you do not then wear one to say to those you pass that you want to be someone people can talk to who will be open and nonjudgmental. It’s one issue of a small student newspaper in a little known city in Alberta but we can join with like minded people across the globe and enact real change. If we create change within ourselves we will be able to influence the small groups around us and then they will for their groups and then so on and so one. That is how real change is brought about, if we are accepting and vocal we can and we will change the world, one punctuation tattoo at a time.

1. Source, Upworthy “One small character, one big purpose.” By Laura Willard

95%

I do not have a mental illness or know anyone who does

I have a friend or relative with a mental illness

I have a mental illness

40%

55%

DO YOU HAVE A MENTAL ILLNESS OR DO YOU HAVE A FRIEND OR RELATIVE WHO DOES?

Disagree

Agree

THERE IS STILL A STIGMA ATTACHED TO MENTAL ILLNESS, AGREE OR DISAGREE?

POLL RESULTS

You wouldn’t know. I am grateful to have been symptom free for the last many years. But mental illness is not the patient’s fault. Be supportive. But do stay safe.

It’s ok to ask how it’s going, and really want an answer. Some days are worse than others, some weeks are worse than others, some months are worse than others! And someone knowing it’s a difficult week can be helpful. Don’t be offended if I say I can’t hang out, or don’t want to do something. Sometimes I just need to curl up in bed and be grumpy for a day - it has nothing to do with you!

You cannot simply just get over it. Unfortunately, it is more complex thant that but with the right friends and right support group, it makes our lives more livable.

It is an illness. It is not a fatal illness but it is terminal, not overcomed or cured, rather embraced as a traveling companion.

Educate yourself, and know the difference when if is your loved one talking/speaking and when it is the illness.

Often, people misunderstand your reaction to situations. They tell you harsh or scornful things. They disapprove of your behaviour. They do not want to hear about your suffering. One should show their friend or relative with mental illness understanding.

The best thing you can do for them is to let them know you love them and support them.

Tell me why I am valuable and be specific. My depression might keep me from believing you, but sometimes for a little while I might.

IF YOU ANSWERED A. WHAT IS ONE THING YOU WOULD LIKE PEOPLE TO KNOW ABOUT LIVING WITH A MENTAL ILLNESS? WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO TELL SOMEONE WHO HAS A FRIEND WITH MENTAL ILLNESS, HOW CAN THEY BEST MEET THEIR FRIEND’S NEEDS?

No, rather, I find it interesting when friends tell me about their stay in Ponoka, in the RD Hospital Psych Ward, etc. It happens infrequently however.

I have a very hard time talking to them about it because it is very complex, personal, and difficult to fully understand.

Get help! Don’t just talk about how it’s affecting you and then not do anything, seek the help that you need.

I don’t fear making things worse through my response but rather I understand that those best equipped to help someone with a mental illness are those with the proper training and education. If I could say anything to anyone with a mental illness, or anyone going through a rough time, do not fear counselling or therapy. Those resources are not just there for when things hit rock bottom, it is perfectly normal to get counselling to simply talk to someone and get a professional opinion on personal matters.

Everyday is a new day. You will get through this. One day at a time.

Often, I’m unsure of how to help someone because everyone deals with struggles differently. I might know how I would like to be helped, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the same.

I don’t feel equipped to speak as I can’t relate with them and I fear that.

Yes! I also feel so helpless and scared when I hear my friends talking about their mental issues. I am so terrified of making it worse. Also, I feel like a lot of people nowadays are just “diagnosing” themselves and are using mental illness as an excuse. These kind of people make it more difficult to take people that actually have problems seriously.

IF YOU ANSWERED B OR C, DO YOU EVER FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE WHEN SOMEONE TALKS ABOUT THEIR MENTAL ILLNESS? OR DO YOU FEEL THAT YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT THE PROPER WAY TO RESPOND IS AND FEAR MAKING THINGS WORSE? WHAT IS SOMETHING YOU WANT TO SAY TO SOMEONE LIVING WITH MENTAL ILLNESS?

How has the stigma of HIV/AIDS been fought? For a long time, HIV/AIDS was associated with homosexuality and had a very negative connotation. Although there still is a stigma, through awareness, it is better known and accepted that anyone can contract this disease and people have reached out to help fund research and medicine. The same goes for mental illnesses. Anyone can have them and they occur for different reasons that are often out of our control. About 20% of Canadians will experience a mental illness in their lifetime. With such a high prevalence, combating this stigma is important. If people are aware of this problem and know what can help them and others be mentally and emotionally healthy, the negative connotation concerning mental illnesses will be reduced as people become more accepting and willing to help.

More discussion. It’s easy to say that we need to talk about it more. The discussion needs to be followed through with action. I can’t ensure that everyone else will act, but I know that I can.

Continue to talk about mental illness. Just like how conversation about LGBT was considered “dirty talk” we have now worked towards improving that stigma, we can do the same for mental illness.

Talk about it and STOP romanticizing it. Mental illness is not a “trendy” badge to wear.

WHAT DO YOU THINK CAN BE DONE TO FIGHT THE STIGMA OF MENTAL ILLNESS?

Get to know someone who lives with it. And love them like Jesus loves you.

Education - understanding what is physically going on for someone with a mental illness is essential. For example, depression is often times caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain, it has a physical cause - just like a cold is caused by bacteria or viruses.

Talk about it instead of burying it in the depths of your soul.

Stop fighting and start loving. Mental illness is not a problem with the person’s faith or trust in Jesus. Do not follow a path of shame but rather a support and empower. You do not recover from this, you live and grow through it.

Putting the major illnesses into perspective and sharing experiences so that we can approach the issue and people better and meet their needs.

Promote the knowledge

More celebrities and authority figures coming out and saying that they have it. That would normalize it.

Educate people on the biological aspect of mental illnesses that makes them that much more physical and real. As well as educating everyone on therapies and counselling, emphasizing the fact that getting help does not make you “weak” or “broken” and that you don’t have to have a diagnosed illness to seek outside help.

Seminars on mental illness for one’s friends or family

TO HAVE A MENTAL Poll results

Me, Myself and Mind - Anonymous ‘Not again.’ ‘Don’t do this.’ ‘Don’t let it rise. Distract. Suppress. Distance yourself from the urge.’ ‘Mind over matter.’ ‘The more your feed it, the more it’ll grow…No! No! No!’ ‘God…’ For me, it always started as a single thought, as persistent as an itch. I could almost always feel it coming on. A thought just starting to form at the back of my brain. I could sense it beginning to fester, and I always knew the exact moment it came to life. Now, wait! I know you have no idea what I’m talking about, don’t worry that’s how I intended it. You see it’s hard for me to explain myself without giving you a real-life look into the way mental illness impacted my life. So before you go moving onto the next article, why not take a sec to hear me out. Let me be real with you, I mean, that’s what this issue is all about, right? So sit back down, and take a moment to see my situation. Ready? Here goes. The thought’s been there all day. I feel it, but I can still ignore it. I focus my attention back on the present conversation. It’s something to do with plans for the next semester, and whether we’re looking forward to going back. I force myself to appear interested, and nod at what I hope is an appropriate time to do so. I inhale deeply, and try to regroup. ‘Stop it. If you heed it, you’ll need it. So just focus, you’ve only got dessert left to go, and then you’re free.’ Another breath, and I’m back in the moment. “So what are your classes like this semester, any better than first semester? Oh, what about that one class? Do you know…?” And so it goes. ‘Ok,’ I think, ‘I got this. Just continue to appear interested, smile, and nod in agreement, and then you’re home-free.’ ‘But why not deal with it now?’ The thought catches me off-guard for a second, and the feelings resurface. I feel my palms grow clammy, and look down to see if they’re shaking. ‘Oh no,’ I groan, ‘I’m spiraling.’ Closing my eyes, I think ‘just a few more minutes, you’re ok.’ When I look back up all eyes are on me. They’re waiting for a response. ‘Crap.’

I panic more; I have no idea what they’re talking about, and I have no idea how to get out of this situation. I look around the table, and make eye contact with the person I’m closest to, giving them a look that I hope conveys how caught I am. Message received. My savior interjects, and I make a less-thangraceful exit from the table. My heart’s galloping by the time I reach the bathroom, and I know it’s here. -------------------------------------------------------------------- The moment’s here, and I’ve succumbed. I wasn’t able to provide myself with enough of a rationalization to keep it back, and it’s come full-force. It’s as much physical as it is psychological, and I can feel my body starting to respond. Sweat rolls down my back, the muscles in my jaw tense, and I clench my fists. My mind starts by drudging up today’s previous scenarios, and the fretting begins anew. ‘Well what if this happened?’ ‘Oh, and have you considered this?’ ‘You know it really was a close call.’ ‘What if you hadn’t noticed in time?’ I slam my eyes shut. ‘No, that’s impossible’ ‘No, that couldn’t have happened.’ ‘No, there’s no way I wouldn’t have noticed.’ I continue to recite the same lines I’ve been telling myself for days until I feel the immediate panic start to subside. ‘You’re in control.’ ‘Don’t let the fear control you.’ I splash some water on my face, and wait a little longer until I can look myself in the mirror. ‘That isn’t what happened. You know what happened. You’re safe’. These are my strongest lines, and they do the trick. My heart doesn’t feel like it’s in my throat anymore, and I’m breathing steady again. One more deep breath, and I head back to the table I fled just moments ago. Everyone looks a little surprised when I sit back down. “Are you ok? You look like you’ve been crying?” “No.” I squeak, and force a smile to my face. “Now, whose turn is it again?” And just like that, I’m back. I mean, I’m a little tenser; my shoulders are a little higher, and I’m holding my cards a little too tightly, but I’m at least in the present again. But I’m still desperate for the distraction, and to keep the thoughts where they are. And so I laugh a little too loud, a little too forceful, and a little too long. I do anything to keep my mind off the thoughts it so badly wants to return to, and slowly, it starts to work. I start to relax, and start to enjoy myself for real. The night progresses, and soon I forget all about my little dinnertime hiccup. I say my goodnights feeling pretty good, and only start to remember the thoughts as I walk to my bed. I only hope I can fall asleep before they come back again.

ILLNESS --------------------------------------------------------------------- What you’ve just read is a little insider snippet of what it was like for me living with my OCD when it got really bad. ‘OCD?! That’s what she was talking about, I had no idea!’ Well if that’s what you’re thinking, don’t feel bad; you’re not the first. Most people when they think of obsessive-compulsive disorder they think of someone whose obsessed with counting things, or checking to see if they left the stove on over and over again, and for some that’s what it’s like, that’s just not what it was like for me. For me, it was persistent thoughts about the ‘dangerous’ situations I encountered throughout my day. At its peak, my OCD manifested itself as a form of acute paranoia. That’s right, paranoia. I was literally paranoid. I would obsess about anything and everything that happened to me, and think about the things that could have injured me, or maimed me, or just plain hurt me. All the situations I imagined were, to be honest, completely irrational, and just downright impossible, but they were just so real to me. In my mind, I was able to distort almost any situation into a potentially dangerous one. For instance, if I was in the kitchen and someone behind me walked by with a knife, I would spend the next however long fretting about how they could have accidentally tripped and stabbed me. I would become completely paralyzed with fear, and while the other person would continue with their day, completely unaware of the situation, I would find myself in utter shambles obsessing about the countless scenarios in which their passing-behind-me could have left me disfigured. I was frozen. And what makes matters worse, is that every part of me knew that I was being paranoid, but I just couldn’t shake it. I couldn’t just ‘stop obsessing’. I couldn’t just ‘walk it off ’.

Relevance

During this time, I would often try to nonchalantly inquire about a particular situation without alerting the other person about the nature of my question, or how desperate I felt. For instance, I might say, ‘Hey, so remember when you just walked past me, yeah, you didn’t feel like you were going to trip or anything, did you?’ And most times, the other person looked completely lost and had no idea what I was talking about, and if they did, they made me feel utterly crazy. No one really got it, but to be honest, I knew I couldn’t blame them, because I didn’t even understand why it was happening. I mean, I knew I was being irrational, but I just couldn’t stop the thoughts. I mean, it hadn’t always been like this, I mean, I worried about things before, but not on the same scale, and not in the same way. And it wasn’t until I was eighteen that I started developing my paranoia. I was just as frustrated about the situation as were the people closest to me, who had some idea of what I was going through, but didn’t know what to do. Honestly, it’s hard for me to revisit these thoughts, partly because I don’t like to dwell on this part of my life, but mostly, I’m proud to say, because it’s been almost two years since I’ve felt this kind of paranoia. I don’t know exactly what happened, but it stopped. I still worry about things, but not as often, and nowhere near the same way that I used to. And though I can’t put my finger on the exact moment things started to change for me, I think I know why they did. Honestly, I think it’s because almost two years ago is when things started to change for me. My life started opening up, I started doing new things, I got my first real-real summer job, I went abroad for a little bit, I returned to school excited for the first time, and probably the most important, I moved into Riverton with my best friends. I stopped looking inside, and started focusing on what was happening around me. I guess I just got out of my head, and started getting involved in my own life. And though there have been plenty of other ups and downs in my life since then, they’ve been ups and downs that I’ve really lived. I no longer obsess about what could have happened, but think about what I’m going to make happen in my life. That’s not to say that I’m ‘cured’. There’s no cure to mental illness. It’s a life-long journey, and I’m still paving out a road for myself, and my mental illness. Ok, so what do I want, right? Well, I said all this to say that we need to work together to breakdown the stigma that people have towards mental illness, and to start being open to hearing people out. So instead of telling someone ‘to shake it off, or stop worrying’ when they’re clearly struggling with something, why not take the time and talk to them. You don’t know the impact you could have on them. So there it is, I said it. Now, what are you gonna do about it? (:

TO TRY TO KILL YO By Deborah Masela

This is it, this is the moment that I have been waiting for my whole life. Tears were pouring down my face as I was opening the bottle of vodka and the canister of prescription pills to end my own life. I was done. I was done of being the prisoner of my depression and ADHD. I was fed up with life in general. As I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom drunk and waiting to enter death’s door, my life flashed before my very own eyes. “You’re so stupid, how can you not know what 8x8 is??” my father yelled at me. “I don’t know,” I whimpered with tears streaming down my 8-year-old face. “I don’t know”, I repeated. “I’m sorry daddy, I’m trying, I really am”. That reply did not satisfy my father, but instead, made him angrier. He inched closer to my face with his hand in the position to slap me, as I was cried even more in hopes that he would put his hand down. But alas, he slapped my face despite me begging him not to hurt me. This was the environment I grew up in. For several years, I had to face the wrath of my father because I did not meet his standard of high academics. That same year I was diagnosed with ADHD and dyscalculia, proving to my dad that I had learning disabilities; however, the diagnoses unfazed my father because he kept pushing me to understand mathematical concepts despite my lack of understanding. While this was going on, my mother was working night shifts at Loma Linda University Children’s Hospital as a pediatric nurse. She was gone a lot and it became evident even at a young age that she used work as an escape from reality. Since the hospital knew she would take any shift available, they called her regularly and off she went to take care of another sick kid instead of her own. As a result, I felt even more isolated and unloved. Since my dad was physically abusing me, confidence was non-existent. Also the fact that I had ADHD made me more aware that I was different psychologically and intellectually than the other children my age. I remember as a child when my Sabbath school class would make origami, I would often get lost with the directions because I had such a hard time following direc-

tions, which is a common trait of people with ADHD. The knowledge of being different followed me during my time in elementary. Because I was different, I would get bullied in school, on top of all the stuff that was happening at home. Since I felt unloved at both locations, I developed depression and anxiety at a very young age. My childhood was all about survival and how to make it out alive, without dying in the process. For years, I hated myself because it seemed like I could not please anybody for the life of me. Even in high school, I was still having a hard time with school and my relationship with my parents were still just as bad as the relationship during my childhood. To numb all the pain, I developed a taste for liquor. In fact, I still struggle with alcohol to this day. There is not a day where I do not think of alcohol. She is always in my thoughts and the desire to drink is still strong. All that pain that I held onto for so many years, finally erupted in the summer of 2014. After the pills and vodka were in my system, I was just waiting to die. But my brother was home from Southern Adventist University and he heard me crying. Since he had enough of hearing me cry, he came to my room unbeknownst to him that his little sister just attempted suicide. Once he entered my room, he saw the empty canister of pills and half a bottle of vodka. Scared to death, he called my mother and my mother raced home from work. I don’t remember much since I was drunk and had a lot of pills in my system, but I do remember the look that my mother had. You see, I threatened suicide so many times, and tried to but failed. But this time, I really did it and I almost succeeded. That night I was forced to sleep in the hospital for observation. However, the next day was my mom’s birthday. I tried to kill myself the day before my mom’s birthday. We had to spend half the day in the hospital on my mother’s birthday.

OURSELF UNFORTUNATELY, CHURCHES DO NOT TALK ABOUT MENTAL ILLNESSES BECAUSE MANY CHURCH MEMBERS BELIEVE THAT IT IS JUST A SPIRITUAL ISSUE THAT CAN BE CURED WITH READING THE BIBLE AND PRAYER.

It’s been two years and three months since my suicide attempt. All I can say is that I am thankful my suicide attempt did not work. Had it worked, I would have never stepped foot on Canadian soil or attended such a lovely University. I’m lucky to still be alive because the pills and vodka concoction was close to doing its job that day. My internal organs were close to shutting down since the milligram of the pills that I took were high while swallowing it down with vodka. Once I came home, my mother told me to never tell anybody what I had done. However, as much as I love my mom and regret putting her through so much pain, I refuse to be silent about my suicide attempt. You see, the only way to break stigma is to not be silent about the subject matter. Mental illnesses don’t get as much attention as cancer and heart disease because it’s all in the mind. There are tests that can diagnose one for cancer and heart disease. But there is not a test in existence that can diagnose mental illnesses. However, just like the heart, the brain is an organ as well. But since mental illnesses happen all in the mind, the illness is invisible. Hence, many people do not talk about it or do not take it seriously. Unfortunately, churches do not talk about mental illnesses because many church members believe that it is just a spiritual issue that can be cured with reading the Bible and prayer. Regardless, mental illnesses is a serious medical condition just like every other medical condition that is known to man. It is something that should not be taken lightly and ignored.

TO LOVE SOMEONE WIT

By RECHELLE SMITH

She always reminded me of sunshine. Her voice sounded like butterflies floating somewhere beautiful. She’d flip her hair over her shoulder and guys would flock to her. Literally. She was just beautiful that way. I was jealous. But I was never jealous enough to leave her side. She was magnetic that way. You hated standing beside her because you felt ugly but you loved being in her presence because everyone wanted to be there. In fourth grade she was always falling somewhere dramatically. Hurting herself mysteriously. Bruises and cuts would magically appear. Sometimes she’d say she fell. Sometimes she’d claim she had no idea how they got there. She was always daring. She’d jump off of the tallest monkey bar. She’d run into the street for the ball. She’d run till she vomited. She’d jump off the highest step of the longest flight of stairs. There was always a glint of anticipation in her eyes as she did it. I was too young to understand then, but now I think she anticipated the pain of impact. Everyone would scream after her thinking this would be the time she would die. Miraculously, she never did.

One time in particular, in fifth grade, I remember her looking me in the eyes and telling me she was going to kill herself. My heart pounded. I asked her how she was going to do it. She told me she was going to jump in front of a car after school. I said nothing. I didn’t know what to say then. After school came and I ran outside and didn’t see her. I ran inside and screamed for the teacher to come. After bouts of hysterical, incoherent sentences, the teacher scoffed and told me that fifth graders don’t kill themselves. She appeared in class the next day, the same bouncy person. I had never felt so scared and confused in my life. Years passed and I became used to her hurting herself. There were days she’d scream at me and suddenly stop. Then she’d act like nothing happened the next day. She would replace me time and time again but for some stupid reason I’d stay. Then in seventh grade there were no longer bruises. The bruises gave way to meticulous, organized cuts up and down her arm. No one said anything. Maybe everyone was just used to her hurting herself. Some of my classmates would try talking to her about them and she’d explode. So they just avoided the subject. Whispers started floating around that she was “Emo” and she was doing it for attention. She became better and better at hiding them. One day I had enough. I was so upset and sick of being scared of what was going to happen to her. I told the teacher. She ended up being suspended for a few days right before graduation. When she came back she was furious that someone would tell the teacher. No one really suspected that it was me.

TH A MENTAL ILLNESS Then High School happened. The cuts faded into scars. Then the vomiting started. She gained and lost weight. I’d hold her hair in the bathroom as she’d vomit and cry. I’d get called out of class sometimes because the other kids in my class never knew what to do with her. Boys came along. They were either toxic and didn’t know what to do with her or they’d become exhausted trying to fix her. They always left. There were times when she would show up to performances with tears streaming down her face. She’d show up just in time to sing then disappear again. We didn’t know what to do with her. I tried to research how to help her but I couldn’t. I was fighting demons of my own. There were nights I’d stay up listening to her do nothing but scream, vomit, and cry. It was hard because there was nothing I could do but listen to her pain become noise.

We don’t talk anymore. If I’m being completely honest, I don’t know whose fault it was. I wonder about her sometimes. I wonder about how she’s doing. I wonder if anyone ever figured out how to love her the way she not only wanted, but also needed to be loved. I wonder if she ever figured out that she was worth all that life had to offer and more. Loving someone with a mental illness is not glamorous. It isn’t like those pictures you see on tumblr. It’s not about coming in and saving the day. It’s not about being the one to make them happy. People with mental illnesses aren’t there for you to feel good about yourself. People with mental illnesses are people first. Treat them as such. Love them. Hold them. Call for help because contrary to popular belief, you cant do everything.

Don’t get me wrong. There were many good days. Day’s we would laugh till we thought we would pass out, days where we’d sing on the top of our lungs and act like we didn’t have a care in the world, and day’s we would talk about boys and our future like we had a clue. I think it’s the good day’s that made me stay. It’s those days that keep you clutching to the phone at 3 in the morning wondering if now is a good time to call the police. It’s good days that give you the strength to clean the vomit up and wipe away the tears. It’s those days that keep you silent when she tells you to go to hell. I loved her. Still do. She was like a sister to me. I shared things with her that took me a long time to ever tell someone else. She knew things about me that I barely even knew myself. She introduced me to makeup, boys, and the art of flirting. When I knew her, she was kind, generous, and amazingly talented at everything she put her hand to.

This Is My Reality By Talia Smith

This is my third time trying to write something about mental illness, and I keep erasing my thoughts because they either add to the stigma of mental illness or make it come across that mental illness is an excuse to do certain things. I don’t want to do either. I want to make sure that those of you who are reading this will see mental illness in a light that neither romanticizes it nor undermines it.

People with mental illnesses are not stupid. They are not crazy. They are intelligent, successful and probably the most creative human beings to walk this earth. Some people choose to be on medication because they find it helpful and some people choose not use medication because they have a different way of coping. Neither is right or wrong. One mental illness should not be perceived as good and another one bad. People with mental illness did not choose to have it, just like people When one thinks of mental illness, we who are diagnosed with diabetes did not choose think of depression and anxiety, both which can to have that. It is often hereditary and cannot be be crippling and very difficult to deal with (I con- helped. You know what can be helped though? tinue to battle them daily). But that seems to be the How we view mental illness. only ones that are socially acceptable and both are often romanticized through social media. When it It is not our job to determine someones recomes to Bipolar, Multiple Personality Disorder, ality for them simply because we think something Borderline Personality Disorder, Schizophrenia, should be seen or handled in a different way. We and the like, it suddenly becomes very taboo. The need to validate peoples feelings, listen to them, person who deals with them no longer is constitut- accept their reality and not try to tell them to get ed as a person, but as a crazy being that roams the over it or that they will get through it. It feels so streets that you ought to be aware of and keep your much better to be heard, listened to, and accepted distance from. Just like anxiety and depression, than to be told the same old thing over and over these mental illnesses are a result of the brain not again. As a person who suffers with mental illness, being able to produce the right hormones or work I’d rather you just be there to listen and to be my in certain areas. The only difference is the stigma rock. I don’t expect you to understand my feelings they have come with. or to understand why I’m dealing with things much differently than you would. What I do expect is for Now don’t misunderstand me, I’m not try- you to treat me like a human being. To extend the ing to undermine anxiety and depression by any same decency to me as you do to any other human means because they are very legitimate illnesses. being you are interacting with. I expect you to not I’m simply trying to make you see that Bipolar, attach a negative stigma to me based on an illness MPD, BPD, and Schizophrenia should not be seen I cannot control having. I expect you, if you gendifferently. Each illness attacks the brain in a dif- uinely care about me, to accept my reality as my ferent way, and the way people act depending on reality and let me work through it in the best way I the illness is not for us to judge or attach a negative know how, and if I come to a place where I ask you stigma to. That individuals reality is not our reality. for advice or help, to then do just that. It is theirs. We cannot hope to change it with anything we say or do, we must simply accept it and be understanding.

itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a disorder not a decision

My Brother’s Keeper BY Ashia Lennon

A phone call is one of the most terrifying things that you can receive when you have a family member who suffers from mental illness. There is nothing more debilitating than the incessant ringing or the feeling of your stomach grappling in knots. Will today be the day, will I ever see them again, will today’s episode be worse than the last and will they succeed in harming themselves. I don’t know if you’ve ever gotten to a point where it seems that prayers aren’t enough. I don’t know if I’ve ever begged God for anything more than for my little brother to be healed. He’s suffered with schizophrenia since his late teens. I had to watch as the doctors initially struggled with diagnosis after diagnosis each one stranger than the other. It’s a strange sensation when a diagnosis becomes hope but along came the medications and treatments. I witnessed my brother suffer from various side effects. It was the most emotionally draining experience of whispering wordless prayers to God in-between manic episodes, insensitive doctors and failed medications. I remember exasperatedly begging God to take his place or end his suffering and pain. There are so many misconceptions about people who suffer from mental illness. The stigma associated with mental illness is negative and prevents the individual from experiencing community. Our family felt isolated and detached, while conversations brew. I remember friends even relatives being hesitant and distant towards us especially towards my brother. We didn’t feel supported. It’s ironic that when someone has a broken arm and wears a cast it’s common for individuals to sign the cast, the overall attitude is different. Somehow our society has an understanding of healing as a concept that happens to broken bones and sometimes we even lend it to broken hearts. Our communities however struggle to give the same acknowledgement and encouragement/support to people who suffer from mental illness. I think the change that needs to occur is one where as a faith based community, that includes our churches and even schools, we become open to listen and create safe spaces. Brene Brown in an online interview expressed her ideas about building safe places as “worthiness has no prerequisites... [It is only to] Be here, Be seen, Be loved” For anyone who suffers I believe the foremost thought is ‘am I still accepted, am I still worthy of love’. In our family for my brother, we tried to create that safe space where he understands that and knows that he is still a cherished member of our family. His illness does not negate his intrinsic value. I know someone will ask, ‘I don’t get it, how can I relate when that’s not my experience or I don’t personally know anyone who suffers from mental illness?’ Being supportive comes in many different forms for everyone. Being able to relate can be beautiful as we tap into the rigors of what makes us human. By being able to relate to the pain or even the joy of other people and sometimes just acknowledging the experience of pain with a ‘me too’. We are to create safe spaces where individuals who suffer from mental illness don’t have to suffer alone.

CREATIVE

Mental Illness BY AMBRA GREAVES Acyrlic on Plywood

I don’t really want to define this painting much beyond its name because for every person who looks at this picture it should mean something different. Mental Illness is not easily defined, and often times is not something someone else can define for you. It’s personal... And different for everyone. What it conveys to you will not be the same as even the person sitting next to you, and it’s important to recognize the individuality in the context of mental illness.

BY JACQUI MCCARTY