Real Psychologist Reviews Mental Illness In Movies

5.29.19 blog entry

This psychologist’s review of various forms of mental illness in film is quite interesting. The specialist is watching clips of movies and discussing how accurate they are in depicting disorders and diseases such as Bipolar Disorder and Autism. Do give it a watch as we round out May – Mental Health Awareness Month.

(credit: BuzzFeedVideo)

Invisible Illness and Stigma

5.12.19 blog entry

So, as we know, May is Mental Health Awareness Month. I’ve been thinking about stigma. How to eradicate it. The answer must be imparting knowledge; teaching.

The area where I’ve seen the most ignorance across the board, and have personally experienced, is to do with medication. I hear that psych meds are poison and unnecessary. I have heard the following.

Just go outside.

Just lighten up.

Meditate.

Get in shape.

Granted, all of that helps, but Bipolar Disorder is a chemical imbalance in the brain. It is a direct result from something wrong in your brain. If you have something wrong with an organ in your body, you treat it.

My own family has called me a pill-popper and told me I’m weak. Please. You do this for 20 years, and then talk to me about what is weakness and what is strength.

Invisible illnesses can sometimes be the most difficult to understand or grasp, I suppose. A person has an appendectomy and people bring them food for a week. A person goes through a depressive cycle and people might say stop moping, and they certainly don’t bring meals.

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So, I will just wrap up by saying people with Bipolar, with mental illnesses, with invisible chronic illnesses, are incredibly strong and brave. We’re also empathetic because we know suffering. I assure you, if I could exercise my way right on out of this, if it was that easy, well…I wouldn’t even have a blog because I would be cured.

We are fighters.

We are creative.

We are dreamers.

We are helpers.

We are intelligent.

The emotional reactions – good and bad – that we have are multiplied by ten.

Through it all, we have careers, raise children, help others, and have the foresight to know to give our husbands our medications during a particularly bad week, so that we don’t swallow them all. That’s not weakness. That kind of strength requires a raw vulnerability. It’s not easy.

If you have someone in your life dealing with MI or any other invisible disease, just reach out and speak to them. Ask how they are, and tell them you want to understand more. I bet when they are able, they will help educate you.✌🙏🎗

 

(📸: kgun9)

White Light

Warmth washing over me, inside me. What is this? I’m no longer of the world I know, but I’m somewhere; I exist. Here, there is no more pain. No more screeching headaches. No more manipulative, lying, obsessive thoughts. No more lying voices. No more roller coasters, though I must say as a child, I loved them. No one tells you that adult roller coasters are an entirely different organism than those you ride as kids.

No more bad. Only a fluidity; a new ability to glide instead of limp and stumble. Instead of plotting my way along, one knee giving more than the other; one hip higher than the other, cock-eyed, bones rubbing against one another, pain searing throughout.

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There are voices here too, but not the usual voices that plague me. Not the voices telling me that I’m not worth it. I’m suddenly feeling that I’m golden. No more telling me I can’t do it. Oh, I certainly can do it now. Go ahead, give me a thing to do. Ask me to display an unforgettable feat. Because right now, I can, and I want to show the world. I want to show family. I want to show friends. I want to say look, “Are you sorry for calling me pill-popper behind my back? Have you any idea the damage you did with that? The heap of scrap and garbage I felt like?”

More voices. I look, hoping I’m in the right place. The spirits I sense here are the ones with smiles and something akin to fairy dust that flies and bounces around in the air as they move. There are songs; must be similar to the sirens and what the men, proud of their ships, would hear just before their destruction and demise. I’m not going that direction, where I can only imagine how dark it is. How dank. How frightening. I wonder about that place. Are they all punished in the same way, or does each have to live their individual hell every day? Customized terror and punishment, I imagine.

Does that mean I will have a customized heaven? I’m going. I’ve been tired. I’m floating away. I’m listening to the voices urging me along, telling me happiness is about to engulf and transform me. I see the angelic white light. This is the stuff of Sunday School classes. And I know now, I’ve made it. My proverbial thorn in the side is about to be removed and healed. Removed by God himself. I finally unclench my fist, and let go in sweet surrender.

EPILOGUE: The character above who you’ve come to know is Nameless, and she had it all wrong. I’m here to tell you about Nameless because she cannot tell you the rest of her story. You see, Nameless had been in the hospital for quite a while, complaining of hearing voices, feeling extreme anxiety and having frequent, severe headaches. So, the doctors in the facility agreed and decided upon a miracle procedure to help Nameless. Ice pick lobotomy. The nurses with their caring, nurturing voices, all dressed in gleaming white, retrieved Nameless from her room and told her how much better she would feel from that point forward. That she was lucky; that many of the other residents didn’t have the privilege of making their way down the long, white hallway with the magical door at its end.

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Nameless doesn’t recall much now, and she can speak even less, but if she could, she would tell the other patients not to go down the white hallway. That down there, they will project an ice pick into your eye socket. Nameless would tell them her headaches are worse now, that she has permanently black eyes that never recovered, and that she can’t remember her husband or recognize her grandkids. That she can no longer crochet. However, Nameless can’t even speak now.

The truth is, Nameless thought she was going to heaven, but instead came out having barely survived the depths of hell, only to live in that hell everyday, parked in a wheelchair in front of a window with a view of a parking lot while drooling, and utterly terrified of what resides along the other hallways.

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Stigma. Still.

This was found on FB.

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What are your thoughts?

I’m thinking we still have a long way to go regarding Mental Illness Stigma. Even my own husband laughed when reading it, and he’s seen me go to a mental health hospital three times. My point?

Is it that ingrained in our minds? Even minds that should know better?

Out

12.14.18 blog entry

Watching an HBO documentary called Out of Mind, Out of Sight. It is about mentally ill patients who have committed some sort of crime and are now in Forensic Psychiatric Hospitals. (These were once called Asylums for the Criminally Insane.) They interview patients and staff, get into stories of how these folks ended up where they are, and how some patients have even gone missing or been killed in these type settings. It’s a must watch because mental illness and the justice system are a community issue, not just that family’s down the Street problem.

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And for myself, mentally ill as I am, it scares me that I could end up in such a place. Does that ever scare y’all?