Tag Archives: support

Teach Your Children. . . Well

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I am getting so damned sick of having to bandage shaving wounds I inflict upon myself with gauze and medical tape to stop the bleeding, then having to go back to clean up scenes reminiscent of Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho in my shower.  This is what I get for having epiphanies while holding a razor so near to my ankle.

But this time, it’s worth it.  I haven’t had words for a very long time, they had literally gone, but thanks to a friend of mine (whom shall be henceforth known simply as The Muse, she has inspired so much that matters in what I write) and a conversation we had, I have something important to say, and I know how to say it.

So sit down and listen, because when Mama Ruby talks like this, those who fail to pay attention do so at their own peril.

Now I am going to say one word, and I’ll only say it once, so you will not turn away because you are over-saturated-sick-to-death of reading and hearing about it:  Steubenville.

SIT.  BACK.  DOWN.

That’s not what I’m going to talk about, not directly.  A lot of people have already done a much better job than I ever could, and I’ll provide some links at the bottom for those who are interested.

But, as it would turn out, I have something to say related to this that hasn’t yet shown up on my radar as having been discussed.  And if it has, it bears repeating.  Mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, grandparents, anyone who is raising children, this matters.

I’m going to tell you how to talk your children about sex, and how not to.  I don’t mean I’m going to give you my value system, so you in the back there, getting up?  Yes, I see you.  Sit.

I had a conversation some time ago with a child of mine.*  I’m going to withhold all details of which one out of respect to her.  She’s old enough to be talking about sex (I think nowadays kids start doing that at preschool, right?), but what popped out of her mouth that day floored me.  It was a remark that came from some of her friends about rape, and if it hadn’t gotten me so livid, the subject matter probably would have taken me a bit by surprise.

The comment was how “such-and-such” behavior meant boys were going to rape her, if she didn’t do it differently.  Again, not mine to share, also not the point.  I got so whipped into a frenzy by this, I gave her the “doesn’t matter what you wear, do, if you’re drunk, etc.” and moved on and on, performing my denouement somewhere around, “I don’t care if you are lying naked on a bed, with a man you have had sex with hundreds of times before, I don’t care if he’s your husband, if you say no, he has no right.“

She got a little quiet by the end of my soliloquy — and I mean in demeanor, she never breaks in on me when I “get like that”, which isn’t very often.  In fact, she smiled a little inside.  Being able to read her, I can tell you it is exactly why she mentioned it, consciously or not.  She knew, but she needed the kind of fiery hot rage of reassurance that only Mama Ruby can provide.

She has good parents.  Wonderful parents.  And I guarantee that they have talked to her about sex.  Rape?

Here’s the thing, my loves.  I don’t believe in an abstinence only approach.  I also don’t believe that every child should be given condoms at a certain age.  I believe that if you are raising a child, you should absolutely do your best to instill your values into them (unless your values are really messed up, in which case you shouldn’t be raising a child and God help them).

But.

Your children are going to grow up, and they’re probably going to do some things you don’t agree with.  And even if they don’t, the odds are extremely high that they’ll have something done to them.  Every parent has that worst nightmare, and so do I, and every parent says, “not my child”.  That second thing I hope and I pray with everything in me, but I don’t say it blindly.  In the United States, one out of every six women has been the victim of an attempted or completed rape in her lifetime.**

Here is where the conversation parents have with their children needs undergo a seismic shift.  Because we live in a rape culture, that is a fact.  It’s an ugly one, and one that needs to change, but I’m not dealing in what “should be” right now, I’m dealing in the ugly reality of what is.

Parents, when you talk with your daughters (and sons) about sex, if you tell them to wait for marriage, if that is fundamental to your beliefs, I support you wholeheartedly.  With two caveats.  And to clarify, the second caveat applies to whatever stance you take when you talk with your kids, so those of you who have no problem with pre-marital sex, back in your seats.

The first is that you do not ever use the words “wrong”, “bad”, “immoral” or even “sin” when you do it.  That isn’t going to change the mind of a child/young adult/teenager/adult when they have decided to explore sex outside of the bonds of marriage.  I know, I’m sorry, it hurts to hear that, but it just isn’t.  What it is going to do is plant a deep seed of shame within them.  Such that if they are ever molested, raped, or sexually assaulted in any way, they’re going to be that much more hesitant to come forward and talk to you.  After all, if sex outside of marriage is so bad and wrong and sinful, then they must be bad and sinful, too.  Think what that does to someone who has just been horribly traumatized.

Don’t tell me it doesn’t work like that, either.  You expect them to listen when you say don’t have sex before marriage, but not remember all the other things you said when someone forces sex upon them against their will, their want, the very beliefs you have instilled?  Uh-uh.  No way.  You can’t have both.

Which brings us to caveat number two.  When you talk to your daughters and sons about sex, talk to them about sexual assault and rape, too.  I know.  Really big and really scary and my guts are churning just thinking of how to broach it.  But bite the damned bullet and do it.  Make sure that whether or not you think sex should only occur in marriage, when you teach your child about sex, you also teach them that if they are raped, if they are attacked in any way, it is never their fault.  That even if they have broken every rule you have ever made for them, if they have had sex before, if they were out drunk partying, I don’t care, doesn’t matter, they can come back and tell you what happened and you will support them with all of your heart.  And follow through on that.

If, God forbid, your daughter should come stumbling in at three a.m., clothes a mess, sobbing, and tell you she was assaulted, don’t ask what she was doing out, don’t ask her where she got that dress that’s so short.  Sit down with her and tell her that you love her and will do anything she needs you to.  I can’t tell you what that may be.  Maybe the foundation you laid will be enough to help her want to call 911 and report it.  Maybe she won’t be able to do that, and it won’t be anyone’s fault but the scum who put her in such a state.  But at least she’ll know that you have her back 110%, that you don’t think she’s “bad” or “sinful”, and that you want to do whatever you can to help her.

And, sadly, even that won’t make her magically feel better, like when you used to be able to kiss a bump and make it go away.  But it may make it easier for her to see herself as a worthwhile, valuable, beautiful human being once again.

*For those who don’t know, I have no children of my own.  I do have several “daughters of my heart” that I used to care for and still consider “mine”.

**Source:  RAINN | Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network

Relevant Reads:
I’m angry | Meizac
The Wrong Message | The Bad Luck Detective (trigger warning)

And if you read nothing else, please read this piece:
Steubenville’s Jane Doe asked people to do something…

© Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. This work is protected under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Because I Can

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I’m finally letting myself show anger, even rage, call people on the bullshit they hand me, their lies, singular or repeated, all of it.

Because I can.

I purged an old, dead email account of its contents the other day.  What (at the time) I felt was a stupid move was reading a bunch of those emails first.

I was aghast.  I saw myself being emotionally and psychologically abused to a horrifying degree.  Had there been a physical analogue, I would have been the woman in the ED who “fell down the stairs”, “walked into a door”, or was “just the clumsiest woman ever, you won’t believe what I did to myself. . .”  And I would have ended up there daily, until eventually I landed in the ICU, on life support.

Reading those emails was something that needed to happen, though, because it wasn’t just one relationship, and it hadn’t been just with guys I was “involved” with.  I took a long, hard, painful look at the woman I have become, and I’m angry.

I’m angry at myself, but I’m also angry at all of the people who had a big hand in turning me into this woman.  Because I never used to be this way.  You swung at me, I ducked and hit back twice as hard.  You lied to me, I called you on it straight out and gave you the option of being honest henceforth or getting the fuck out of my life.  You treated me badly, or took advantage in any way, I walked and never looked back.

I entered treatment for my bipolar, and slowly, but slowly, I began to wear down, and people took advantage of that.  Even though I knew I was doing everything possible to be well, and that I had never taken my illness out on others — except for a few, a very few, bursts of shouting and tears — I felt like I was a burden just being in people’s lives, and I had to do everything I could to compensate and please others.  This belief was reinforced when friends I’d known for years started backing away; the mother of one of the children I nannied for started distancing herself and telling me how disappointed her child was when I didn’t show up for something because I was curled up in my bed, sobbing, unable to even move (yet I always at least gave her notice that I wouldn’t be there); and finally, my sister, with whom I had always been very close, and my best friend of 20 years both decided to cut off all contact with me, basically telling me that they couldn’t handle “my drama”, and other behavior that was completely beyond my control — even though I was still working my soul to the core trying to prevent them or anyone else from being negatively affected.

Clearly, there was something wrong with me beyond my illness, as a person, and I was lucky to have anyone still in my life at all, so I had to (and did) do anything and everything to keep them.

FUCK THAT.

A sister who walks out on you when you are at your lowest is not a sister.  For a long time I have been compassionate, because she genuinely didn’t get it.  She couldn’t understand why I wasn’t getting well.  But you know what, it doesn’t matter if you understand or not; you love someone, you support them.  You do not call them “a black hole”.

A friend who uses her children to hold you hostage — consciously or not — because you know they are little and they love and need you, and that if you call Mommy on her lies and bullshit and manipulation she will cut off the contact you have with them, I don’t even have a word for that.

Friends who back away because you are as contagious as a leper, and even if they know that statement is true, who don’t want to deal with the fact that you have to fight constantly to keep your head above the swells while they can get up and live their lives every day are not friends at all.

And new people in your life whom you will put up with, excuse even, all manner of garbage from, all while hiding or making light of how bad things have really gotten, because you’re desperate for someone, anyone, to “support” you and show you kindness. . .  Well, that one is on me, but I never would have gotten there without the concerted efforts of the people above.  Yes, they had every right to make a choice to remove themselves from my life, but they were cruel and weak and cowardly to have blamed me, instead of having the guts to admit that they couldn’t deal with being spectators to the struggle I was living and the constant pain I was in.  Because, had they done so, they would have had to admit to themselves that what I lived every day was an enormous struggle, and so unspeakably painful, and they were cutting and running, abandoning me when I needed them more than I ever had.

For years I have searched for the reason I let my former psychiatrist lie and manipulate and force me into electroconvulsive therapy — I can finally use the word FORCE, for the very first time, and you don’t know what a triumph that is — and at last, I have found it.  It was the result of a long line of abandonments and betrayals and manipulations and lies by those I loved and trusted most.  I had been made to feel like less than nothing for so long that I had come to believe it as gospel truth, and who cared that the old me, the real me, had been firmly and unwaveringly against ECT with all of her being for three-and-a-half years?  She wasn’t standing guard any more, and my opinion didn’t count.  How could it, when I didn’t count as a person myself?

That’s something I get to carry with me always.  The permanent brain damage, and the post-traumatic stress I have from being anesthetized, having electrodes hooked up to my head, having a current, a shock pass through my brain to induce a seizure in me — sixteen times over.  I blamed myself for that, too.  Up until about an hour ago.

And still, I put up with bullshit and manipulation and being treated as less than a person by people I love, because it is all I know anymore.  Almost three years to the day of my first shock and seizure.

Now, three years and fifteen days after that first blast of electricity, arguably the lowest point of my life, it ends.  I’m done.  I’m worth more than that, a hell of a lot more.  I am often a hard person to have in your life, and that has always been so, it has very little to do with mental illness.  But I am the best friend you will ever have, if you are willing to accept me, all of me, and give back.

I am smart.

I am compassionate.

I am intelligent.

I am strong.

I am creative.

I am resilient.

I am supportive.

I am loving.

I am beautiful.

I am selfless.

I have a strong moral compass.

I am patient.

I am understanding.

I am honest.

I am accepting.

I am forgiving.

I am idealistic.

I am open-hearted.

I live my beliefs.

And I once again believe that I am worth it, that I am worth more, much more than I have been given in the past six years of my life.  From friends, from lovers, from family.

So I will live my life accordingly from this day on.

Because I can.

“I ain’t a soldier, but I’m here to take a stand. . .”

~ Jon Bon Jovi/Richie Sambora/Billy Falcon


© Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. This work is protected under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Blog For Mental Health 2013 Is Here!

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Once upon a time, there was a lovely young lady named Lulu. She was bright and vivid and bigger than life (she still is, don’t worry, I just talked with her the other day), and it was an especial desire of hers to advocate for understanding, strength, support, and education about mental health.  She had suffered a long time with her own mental illness, and she never wanted anyone to feel alone, as she had.

If you’ve been reading this blog for very long, my loves, you might know her as the woman with whom I co-founded the community mental health site, A Canvas Of The Minds.

(Side note:  Please, if you haven’t, go check Canvas out.  It isn’t just a site about being mentally ill, it’s about dealing with so many aspects of life, and chances are if you can’t relate to any of our authors’ pieces personally, we still touch upon topics and situations that you may have to deal with through a friend or a loved one.  If nothing else, it will give you a glimpse into life with mental illness, and hopefully foster dialogue and understanding.) 

So.  Last year, Lulu did something awesome, something so much more, which caught on like wildfire.  She started Blog for Mental Health 2012.  It was a simple idea that united a community.  If you have ever seen this badge on a site (and chances, are, you have):

well, that all started with her (and yes, I know it wasn’t here, but let’s not psychoanalyze me right now).

Now, to be absolutely clear, this isn’t an award.  I want to make that very plain, because I know that many bloggers feel that the blogging awards passed along, however well-intentioned, sometimes have a bit of a “chain mail” feel to them.  I would love to see even “award-free” bloggers taking up this gauntlet, because it is something else entirely.  It’s a simple, yet very powerful way for a community of mental health bloggers to show that they are proud of their lives, that they are writing for themselves as well as for those who have not yet found their voices, that they are ensuring no one ever has to feel alone when dealing with mental illness.

This year’s badge is especially cool, because Lulu put together a number of different choices.  She posted them on her blog, Sunny With a Chance Of Armageddon, as well as on A Canvas Of The Minds.  The community then got to vote on which image they wanted for 2013.  After a mostly scientific tally (read: I made tally marks in a notebook scientifically), I can reveal to you the Blog For Mental Health 2013 official badge:

Designed by Lulu, selected by the community!

Designed by Lulu, selected by the community!

Here is how this thing works:

1.) Take the pledge by copying and pasting the following into a post featuring “Blog for Mental Health 2013″.

I pledge my commitment to the Blog For Mental Health 2013 Project.  I will blog about mental health topics not only for myself, but for others.  By displaying this badge, I show my pride, dedication, and acceptance for mental health.  I use this to promote mental health education in the struggle to erase stigma.

2.) Link back to the person who pledged you.

Blog For Mental Health 2013 « A Canvas Of The Minds

3.) Write a short biography of your mental health, and what this means to you.

So, I carry diagnoses of Bipolar Disorder I, and also nearly every anxiety disorder in the book (the book being the DSM, the one used for making these diagnoses) — Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Panic Disorder, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.  Possibly also Impulse Control Disorder.

I kept a lid on things until I was about 25, when a whole series of events led to a complete and total nervous breakdown.  The short version is something along the lines of six years of medications (soooo many medications, like upwards of 70), talk and structured therapies, eventually electroconvulsive therapy — which was the most horrible experience of my life, and left scars I will carry forever.

A lot of you who are reading this probably don’t know all about that.  That’s because something happened at the beginning of March last year, I can’t really explain it, but I became well again.  I became the girl I was at 21, when I could do it all beautifully and flawlessly and joyfully.  I have spent this time healing, and I know that I won’t ever be exactly that same girl; I’m a whole lot wiser, and sometimes much sadder.  I have to take my medications regularly, or things can get pretty rough for me.

But I am happy, oh so happy.  And were you to ask me if I would go through all of that again, six years of Hell (capital H) to get where I am now — 32 years old, living on disability, in my parents’ home — my answer would be a resounding, ”Yes!”, without qualification.  I am more blessed than I ever imagined I could be.  I love and I am loved, and I discovered the wonderful, loving, supportive community of all of you because of my journey.

4.) Pledge five others, and be sure to let them know!

I am pledging five of my fellow bloggers who have stood with me, and have proven their mettle in my eyes as mental health bloggers.

I’m going to put a little twist on this one.

First, as the entirety of Team Canvas was pledged in the original post, I’ll start out with five other bloggers whom I know and respect and who have made lasting contributions to the online mental health community:

Cate, of  Infinite Sadness… or hope?

Mel, of Toby and I together and/or scienerf (I wasn’t sure which to pledge)

Halfway Between The Gutter And The Stars

Kevin, of Voices of Glass

Pride in Madness

But I also would like to include five more bloggers, just a sampling of the newer voices I am reading, who may not yet know about this.  So I pledge:

My Mind Matters

2bbritt

How To Fly Over The Cuckoos Nest

Bipolar 2 Dad

AnxiousElephant

If you happen upon this without being pledged, I still pledge you.  Feel free to take the pledge!  Promote awareness!

5.) And, as something novel for 2013, Lulu and I ask one more thing of you.

As you may have noticed, Canvas does not keep an official blogroll, outside of links to our authors’ personal blogs.  For something new and special to introduce Blog For Mental Health 2013, and really build a sense of community — and show everyone how many of us there are, and how strong we are, coming together — we are launching a Blog For Mental Health 2013 Official Blogroll!  So, in addition to linking back to the person who pledged you, please include the link to the original post in your piece.  As this gets passed along, link back or click here and leave a comment containing the link to your pledge, and we will put you on our Blog For Mental Health 2013 Official Blogroll page!  Show the world our strength, show them our solidarity, show them what we are made of.  Take the Blog for Mental Health pledge and proudly display the badge on your blog!

(And yes, I do know that I stuck about 752 links in here.  I figure the more this gets passed around, the more some will get lost, and I want people to be able to find their way back to the original post and page!)

© Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. This work is protected under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Someone Jive Is Turning 35!

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You know those birthday cards for kids:  Someone Fun Is Turning One!  And then they have this kind of half-cute, half-scary puppy dog/teddy bear/bunny mutant holding a big number 1 on the front?

Yeah, well mine is better.

Today is the day that we celebrate the 35th anniversary of when the lovely, amazing, beautiful, talented, intelligent, wonderful, incredibly kind, and very righteous saradraws, of Laments and Lullabies, made her debut into this world.

And with this picture, I fell in love with her.

I only met Sara fairly recently, and “only” online, so all I can do is wish and wonder what if we had met years ago.  Which, I don’t do what ifs, so this part is necessarily short-lived.  But basing it on what I have come to know in her, I think it would have been some pretty good times for both of us.  Though ultimately I suspect I would have come off better in the past, as she could have bought me alcohol (for a little while, anyway).

Honestly, I just feel so incredibly blessed that I know her now, and proud that I can call her my friend.  I can call you my friend, right Sara?  I thought so.

So, about Sara.  There is so much good material, but where to start is very easy for me.  It is her compassion, her concern, her reaching out to support me, and answering a random email early in our acquaintance even though she only had ten minutes left on the library computer.  Yes, I remember that.  I always will.

She’s funny as hell.  She thinks of the things I want to say, and makes me burst out with laughter by putting her own special twist on them.

She is such a wonderful, concerned, educated, and most importantly, loving parent.  I haven’t ever watched her in action, but that is something I know not only from conversations, comments, and pics, but I can just feel.  And having been a nanny in another incarnation, I am professionally qualified to make these assessments (I’d show you my credentials, but they both have school in the morning).

And she disarms you.  She has this sixth sense for cottoning on to when you need someone most, and suddenly you realize that she was exactly that person you didn’t know you needed.

She is woman, in the most complete sense of what it should be, possibly more than anyone else I have ever known (myself very much included)

There is so much that is obvious that I haven’t touched upon.  I dunno, to me it’s a bit like gilding the lily to talk about her amazing talent with words and with pen/pencil/paint/fancy computer stuff. . .  I know nothing about how she does what she does with art (it’s magic!), but I know what makes it so special.  It’s Sara coming through.  The same as when she writes, whether it’s something that makes me laugh or something that makes me rethink my worldviews.  Sometimes both, which is something, let me tell you.

She is beautiful, inside and out.  Breathtaking.  Also, I am in awe of her hair.

I missed things, wonderful amazing things, because how do you sum up the essence of a person in one short post?  But wait.  I did leave something very important out.  She is brave.

Sara, you are so brave, so very strong, in a way that few people will ever know.  Quite possibly you don’t even realize it.  But you are fighting dragons most people can’t even imagine.  And yet you don’t have the luxury to imagine them, you know them intimately and you stand and face them.  And you will win.  I have every faith in the world that you will win.  And ask anyone who knows me, my faith has yet to be misplaced.  And I am honoured (with a “u”) to fight those dragons with you, when I can.

Many happy returns of this day to you.

Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born. ~ Anais Nin

I hadn’t time to draw you a new party hat, so you shall have to make due with one from the Canvas celebrations.  It’s only slightly used.  :)

And remember, it’s Sara, sans “h”.  Don’t use the “h”, I hear it’s quite fatal.

© Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. This work is protected under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Alright, Yinz

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Canvas and I need your help!  If you haven’t already read the post of my own which I reblogged yesterday, please do so (you can find it directly before this one, ‘Not Your Usual Serving Of Canvas’).  And then please go to the Blogroll Contest I talked about over at A Clown On Fire and vote for Canvas to be included (or, you can just go straight there from here).

Now there are a ton of comments (like literally, nearly 400, at my last count), but if you just take a moment to look for the comment made by me

and put a “Like” below it, that would help me out a great deal.  Heck, you could even read it!

I love you to pieces,
Ruby

© Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. This work is protected under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

And Hello!

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So thanks (and thanks, a million thanks!) to Kevin from Voices of Glass, and scienerf (I’m sorry, I don’t know your name), I am back, with a secure connection!  Oh, and thanks to the WP people, too.

It just proves that there are wonderful people out there who are willing to help, all you need to do is ask.  Again, thank you, thank you, thank you both.  You did more than just fix my blogging issue, though I appreciate that so much.  You made me happy about people and life and gave my day a really great start.

One more time. . .

. . .  Thank you!!!

© Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. This work is protected under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Help Me, Rhonda!

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And everyone else not named Rhonda too, please.

I am writing this from my phone, as I cannot access WP from my computer.  Oh, the login page loads up just fine, except, except, my browser then gives me a warning that “This page has insecure content.”

While I think it’s mildly funny, what I’m pretty sure Chrome means is unsecured, so I have made the choice not to log in.

I recently spoke to my internet provider (who was super-knowledgeable) about related security issues on the interweb, and was told that a lot of popular sites are having security issues like these.  And while I have occasionally had to re-enter the facebook web address, the only site I am having ongoing problems with is WordPress.

So I am asking for your help, lovely friends and fellow bloggers.  I can’t sign in to WP securely, and I can’t access support without signing in.  Will anyone help me out on this one?  Surely some of you love me enough to deal with support and send them my way.  Pretty, pretty please with sugar on top?  And whipped cream and a cherry?

I have investigated things thoroughly on my end, and I have made absolutely certain that the issue is neither with my computer nor my internet service.

I know one of you will help me out here.  You don’t even have to write something, just copy what I’ve written and make it inescapably clear that they need not respond to you, but rather to me at mywonderfulabnormalmind@gmail.com .  I think there is even a field for that in the help form.

I realize that this is going above and beyond in terms of requests, but I’m really in a spot here.  I have my phone to help me out in a jam like this, but there is only so much can be done through an app.

I thank you with all of my heart.

Addendum: I just tried logging in through my phone (to the actual site, not the app) and I received the message “There are problems with the security certificate for this site.” So if no one takes the time to do this on my behalf, I would urge you to do it for yourself. If the site is compromised, then all of your information is potentially at risk.

Love and kisses,
Ruby

© Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. This work is protected under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Will You Be There To Catch Me If I Fall?

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For 31 years of my life, this one was a done deal.  Okay, I can’t speak to my younger years entirely, but something happened to me around age 14 that made me my own and only support.  I had my first breakdown, and in true Ruby style, it was one hell of a mess.

Crying hysterically when your mother tries to drop you off at school may sometimes be normal for some adolescents.  But I was never bullied, I had lots of friends, and I wasn’t afraid of any of the teachers.  So for me it was a bit extreme.  To my mother’s credit, she knew this was not one of those “You’ll feel better when you get to school” things, and she didn’t force me to go in.

Hiding in the basement, cowering in terror from your very good friends when they try to come and find you at your house after school definitely does not fall on the spectrum of normal for a 14-year-old girl.  It would be more than a decade before I had any idea why I did it.  Even before then, I never really thought about how incredibly strange my behavior was.  And no one was home with me to see the degree to which things had deteriorated.

Now don’t take that to mean I had absentee parents.  They simply both held jobs, and as the crying and anxiety seemed to relax almost entirely when my mother brought me back home in the mornings, she went to work at hers (not without reservations, I’m sure).

At some point I pulled myself back together.  I couldn’t really tell you how.  It probably had something to do with the looming threat of not graduating the eighth grade and getting the fuck out of that school forever.  Even if my days in middle school weren’t as miserable as some, that place still sucked.  There’s a reason they parcel those three years away into their own little hell.  That way you can get through them and start semi-fresh somewhere else.

There are a lot of now infamous parent/teacher/principal/student conferences that went on while they tried to figure out what to do with me, as I was so far behind in so many classes.  May it suffice to say I gave a lot of the staff a lot of hell, but in a very adult, don’t-you-dare-talk-to-me-like-I-am-a-freaking-child kind of way.  I was pretty incredible, even my parents thought so.  My theory on why I was graduated is that I had one or two good teachers who were on my side and realized that there wasn’t really anything else they could teach me, and the others just wanted me the hell out of their lives.

Point being, after I got back up onto my feet, I made the decision that no one was ever going to see me off of them again.  Fuck all to what was going on, I could hide it.

And I did, with one exception when I was 16.  Never mind the details, but it caused a shift in my perspective.  It was no longer I’m going to hide this, damnit.  It ceased to be an issue of pride and independence and turned into a belief that ultimately, I really was the only one I could rely on to take care of myself, at least emotionally and mentally.

And for the next 15 years, that was my life.  I had friends, I had family, and I had doctors, eventually.  And they were all good people looking to help me in my time of terrible distress.  But I wouldn’t have it.  Not really.  Yes, I sobbed in my mother’s arms more times than I’m sure I ever did as a child.  Yes, my father cleaned up my financial messes and babysat with me during the days as I went through electroconvulsive therapy.  Yes, my friends made themselves available to me to the degree that they were able to and then some – but they did all have children, most were spread across the country, and for a lot of that time I wasn’t really with it.  And yes, on more than one occasion I know I begged for help from my psychiatrist.  I had even begun to develop a strong support network through blogging.

But still, when I got down to cases, I was the only one I could count on.

It’s funny how the most unexpected things can change your whole perspective.

Last Winter, I spent about three days in the worst migraine I had ever lived in my life.  By the third day I couldn’t even think, and when I went to speak to my mother in the early morning hours on a Saturday, when she was getting ready for work, I was pushing back hard on the tears.  You cannot cry when your head feels like that.  Crying equals more pain.

The solution she quickly came to was for my father to take me to the urgent care.  Sensible enough, except my father hates all things medical, he doesn’t deal so well with them, and dear Lord, in the past five years had I put him through enough doctor and emergency room visits to last several lifetimes, and I just didn’t want him to take me, honestly.

I expressed something like this to my mom, tears rolling down my face in spite of myself, and she told me that maybe that was something my father was meant to learn from all of these experiences, how to be able to deal with the medical world (my mother is so very Catholic and, I swear, everything with her is “meant to be”).

I don’t think my dad learned anything that day, but I got to thinking about what maybe I was supposed to learn from all that had happened to me in the preceding five-and-a-half years (yes, I’ve got some of it in me, too).  And sometime after the Vicodin and the ice packs and attempting to sleep and the muscle relaxers and throwing up, I came to the most amazing realization.

I have so many people in my life who are reaching out their hands to catch me.

I have friends who would put a roof over my head and food in my mouth should I land on their doorsteps.  I have aunts and uncles and cousins of my parents who would take me into their lives in an instant.  I have two grandfathers who would give me shelter and love and whatever I could need.  I have so many wonderful cousins.  One particular branch have absorbed me into their lives and made me feel like closer family than I technically am, and never so much as blinked when I asked them to help me find a pharmacy where they live and drive me there (twice) because I was going off-the-wall manic.  I have my parents, I have always had my parents, but I feel differently about their taking care of me than I ever did before.  I have so many of you lovelies, who would scoop me up and tuck me into your lives and set me on the road to recovery in an instant.

I have the whole beautiful world.  There will always be an endless number of kind hands, even if they are the hands of strangers, reaching out, willing and wanting to help me should I need it.

Kind of amazing when you think about it.

There won’t be another breakdown.  I may have my moments here and there, but I can say with absolute confidence and certainty that I will never go back to where I have been.  But while I can’t list for you all the things that journey through Hell (capital H) taught me, one of them was definitely how to let love in.

© Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. This work is protected under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Why It Matters

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Today, one of my favorite baristas at the Starbucks near my house asked me what I do for work.  Which is not such an unusual question for one person to ask another, but it’s one that has been trending in my life lately.  And I finally realized I want to share my answer with everyone.  There is a reason for me wanting to share it today, but I’ll get to that.

Some of you know, maybe some of you who will read this don’t.  Right now, I don’t do any kind of “work”, not in the conventional go to a job and get paid for it kind of way.  I am on government disability (SSI) for bipolar disorder.  I live with my parents, because I can’t afford to live on my own.  And for a period of long years, not so far back, I needed to live with my parents, because I was so profoundly ill.

Five months ago, I finally reached a state where I can say that I am well.  Not just “okay”, or “doing better”, I have come to an amazing place as far as my mental health is concerned.  I am somewhere I had stopped dreaming I could ever possibly reach.  The last six years of my life have been a hell of medication roulette, therapy, and even the evil electroconvulsive therapy.

Before that there was a period of steep decline, I can’t tell you how long it took before I finally came to a place where I said, “I need help.”  But it didn’t happen in the blink of an eye.

I can’t distill for you what life was like for the six years plus I have just lived through.  My brain has a difficult time conceptualizing it, and I lived it, so I know I couldn’t possibly explain.  Some of you saw me through some of it, and some of you I talked to, or you heard about my life from friends and family.  But the only two people outside of myself who come close to having a grasp on what things were like for me are my mom and dad, because they lived in the same house with me.

Anyway, I don’t want to get into all of that now.  The point is that now that I am doing well, I have gotten inquiries on what I am going to do next, am I going back to school, am I looking for a job, etc. (and not just from baristas).  And let me assure anyone who may have asked that I take no exception to questions like that.  I don’t think you’re pushing and you don’t hurt my feelings.  In fact, I can’t even remember who has asked me these questions, that’s how much they don’t matter.

As far as formal, common society’s definition of “working”, I can tell you that it’s probably going to be a little while before I do that (unless any of my friends Where I Live needs a nanny, that I could totally be on board with).  Yes, I am doing very well now.  But after six years, I’m not exactly going to push myself into something that will be a huge stressor, even a positive one, after just five months.  The way I look at it, I’m convalescing, just as I would if my illness were 100% physical.  I need to build my strength back up and get to fully understand my limitations.

My psychiatrist and I talked about this last week, and one of the things we discussed was volunteer work.  And I expressed to him that I’m not even quite there yet, because you have to be available specific hours, etc.

But that brought us around to what I wanted to write about, and what the title is referring to (yes, all of that was just a preamble).

A year ago today, a very good friend and fellow blogger and I co-founded a site, A Canvas Of The Minds.  The easiest way to explain it to people is as a “community mental health blog.”  Basically, we have gathered together a group of individuals who blog about mental health, and they all contribute pieces to the site.

Some of you have heard me talk about Canvas until you’re sick to death of the topic.  That is, if anyone whom I know outside of blogging reads this, which is what I’m hoping will happen.  And unless you are involved in the blogging community (and especially the mental health sector), you cannot possibly know the degree of support and the many true friendships that are a product of it.  It isn’t “real” or “important” to a lot of people, which I completely get.

Only, here’s the thing.  I pour my heart and soul into Canvas.  No, I can’t “work” right now.  And I’m not ashamed of that fact.  But Canvas allows me so many things that are denied to people who have basically had to retreat from society for one reason or another.  It gives me a way to spend my hours.  It is a creative outlet.  I have formed friendships because of it, both with co-authors and readers (with people all around the world, no less).  Real friendships.  Just because the bulk of our interaction is online, doesn’t take away from the truth of it.

But there’s more.  I am the admin of the site, so that means I am responsible for implementing all the behind-the-scenes stuff.  Ideas come from everyone, but I have to actually do anything major with the site.  Which gives me a sense of responsibility to everyone involved.  It gives me a reason to focus, to meet deadlines, and to think beyond myself.  And it also gives me a sense of pride and worth when someone compliments something I have written or done.

It can also be frustrating to no end.  I started out with practically zero technical know-how.  And even though we have a facebook page and even, recently, a Twitter account, I still am facing a steep learning curve.

But when I think about all we have accomplished in the space of a year, and the important part I played in that, my heart swells.  Because I am doing something that I not only love, but that is benefiting countless people.

So if I seem to go on, or am posting to facebook things from the Canvas page, or telling you something that happened with it when we talk, or asking for you to show your support in some way, stop for a minute and think.  Do you keep what you do all day to yourself?  Would you pass up an opportunity to promote a cause you are passionate about, one that affects you at the most personal level, because you think that it might bore or bother people?  Would you keep to yourself a project you are working on that has been your lifeline, or not talk about all of those who help to make it a reality?

That is why it matters.

© Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. This work is protected under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

A Haiku For You (And. . .)

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This ran through my mind the other night, magically, and at the urging of Ms. and Tonic, I’m posting it here.

It isn’t remotely “for you” as in directed at you, lovelies, it is only “for you” in the here it is, read way. Make sense?

This is my soapbox
There’s not room up here for you
So kindly fuck off

Yeah. . . I was a teensy bit annoyed.

Having got that up, I want to say a really enormous thank you to everyone who has been helping and supporting me as I am wading through the whole ECT trauma self-therapy thing.  Particularly (and here is my Oscar speech where I forget and leave out lots of people, I’m sorry about that): the above-mentioned Jen (Ms. and Tonic), SummerSolsticeGirl, Anita S, Suzie Ivy, Cate, halfwaybetweenthegutter, my dear, dear Canvas family (Laura, I love you), so many non-blogger friends. . .

This is really hard and this is really scary, but thanks to each and all of you, I’m doing it.

(The links up above will take you to the wonderful individuals’ blogs.  You should read them, if you don’t already.  Like I said, I know I left a lot of people out.  This doesn’t mean that I don’t love and appreciate you, it means that my anxiety hasn’t settled down on this topic yet today, so I am using the comments on the posts as a cheat sheet.)

Love and kisses,
Ruby

© Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ruby Tuesday and I Was Just Thinking. . . with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. This work is protected under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.