Hopelessness is so Real. Robin Williams showed us that this week.

I can't have a sight about anxiety and panic and not touch on depression and how overwhelming the hopelessness really is.  When I heard about Robin Williams and his struggle over the years with addiction, anxiety, depression and "abnormal mental health" I cried.  I cried for him.  I cried for myself and I cried for all of us out there who suffered and still suffer in silence.

Mental Illness is not understood and can't be seen by the average person.  Those of us with it have learned how to hide it very well.  It's a survival thing with us.  We have to learn or we are treated as outcasts.  We are considered "not normal".  Some people are afraid of us.  The reason for that could very well be that they see a little of themselves and do not want to be considered weak and messed up so they turn away from us.

If it wasn't such a stigma in our society more people would reach out for help and get it.  Insurance doesn't pay for therapy which is a monumental need for many of us.  If we can't get help because we can't afford it we end up in some pretty dark and dangerous places.

Lots of us self medicate which turns into addiction.  Lots of us end up homeless because we couldn't afford medication or didn't want to admit we needed it or were too prideful to seek help.  Lots of us learn coping mechanisms.  Usually this kind of person isn't having debilitating issues.  At least not to the point of being home bound or disabled.  The more I learn about OCD the more I see a little of how functioning depressed or anxiety affected people actually function successfully.  There are things we do to get through the day, the meeting, the drive, the waiting.

Over the past few years I have seen more and more attention and awareness brought to the mental health issue.  Mass shootings and suicides have brought attention to it.  More people are "coming out of the closet" so to speak because they want to help others who are struggling.  I am very happy about that but it is still very "cloudy" do the majority of people and I still see a lot of my friends and family still putting there heads in the sand.  I call them ostriches. They just can't deal with it and don't want to.  It hurts to see that.

Robin Williams has single-handedly brought mental health to the forefront.  

I feel every ounce of pain he must have been feeling.

I feel like I wish I knew him and could have spoken to him and told him about God and how knowing God has helped me.

I wish I could have helped him live a longer, happier life.

I wish I could have said, "if you think you are a burden or will be a burden, you are wrong"

I wish I could have said you are so loved.

I wish I could have said, I am here.  I will talk.  I will listen.  I understand.  I know.  It really sucks but we have to try to stay for the ones we love.

I feel the torture he must have felt to get to the point of no return.

People all over are going to be talking about him and what happened and why it happened.

This is one of those times when God uses something sad and tragic and opens doors for millions of others.
Because it takes time and miracles to help someone believe they really are loved and there really is hope.
We know how they feel but most people don't know how to talk to them or how to just be there.  And how to make sure that person has no guilt about what they think they seem like to others.  There is a huge amount of education for the "normal" person and I pray they will want it and seek it out to help someone they may know who is suffering.

I pray now for his family who will go through so much, not only because their loved one was a public figure and famous, but because it is so hard to wrap your head around how that person must have been feeling.

- the agony and pain in his last day, hour, moment in time.

And all the what if questions they will ask themselves.

And the anger, when they realize there are no more chances, no more time, no more possibilities.

Yes I have been there when a loved one chose to leave before I could talk to them.  All things I thought of after they were gone and there was no going back.  It may not have helped but I will always wonder and I cannot ever forget.  But I can go on and try to help someone else.

A Season of the Soul

The weather is unseasonably cool and refreshing for mid July in Georgia. My mind feels clear and focused. I can breathe with ease, turn my head without feeling dizzy.  I wonder what caused this sudden blessing of clarity and freedom from the bondage of constant inner turmoil and pain.  I think the weather is different.  I am different today. Can this be the end of a time of struggle?

With hope in my heart I listen to the night sounds of Katydids, crickets and tree frogs singing their nightly songs on a cool breeze through the open window and feel contentment cover me like a soft blanket and I thank God.

Overcome with gratitude I get on my knees and pray a prayer of thanks and praise to the one who showed me what it was to need him and I promised I will always need him.

On this day that felt so different I was given a gift. God speaks to me through books that I stumble upon at a garage sale or thrift store.  He speaks to me through His word and through others I happen to bump into.  Today He spoke to me through a poem in a book I found at the thrift store.

Helen Steiner Rice is one of Gods greatest poets. I've been collecting her books. Last night I got an email advertising a sale going on at a website for used books that I like. I popped over and found one of her books, "Blessings".  I ended up not buying it and while pursuing the book section at the thrift store today found it.  I always know it's God when something like that happens.  So I had to get it to find out what God wanted to tell me.

The very first poem I turned to was "The Seasons of the Soul".  It is about the soul having seasons just like the year.  I read it over and over focusing the most on the last two lines.

We too must pass through the seasons God sends.
Content in the knowledge that everything ends.

I suffer from panic disorder and recently when I had a panic attack that was one of the worst I had in years my son was with me.  He said the words that I needed to hear at that moment.  It will end.

He also said something that touched my heart and I felt the presence of God in him.  I was crying that I must be so weak to not be able to beat this thing that tortures me. He said he thought I was one of the strongest people he knows.

He said to live with what I live with and still live life, work, take care of my elderly mother and aunt, take care of him all his life as a single mother with panic disorder;  to bare all the stress of daily life while battling panic daily and not fall completely to pieces makes me the strongest person he knows.

He knows I run to God every day but He also knows in the heat of the moment of a severe panic attack I can't think to even remember to call out God's name until I come down a little.  So he knows what it takes to live in my skin and in my head.  I looked at him with awe and relief and gratitude that someone understood.  God gave him that understanding and those words to say to me at that moment.

Then God gave me a confirmation.  It will end.  It is a season.  A very long season but still a season.  20 years long.  But maybe it it finally coming to an end.  Or maybe the season of sadness that dealing with panic disorder brings is going to end.  I may still have the panic but it may be that I will have less panic and sadness and have more joy and happiness.  I don't know for sure yet since I have felt like this for only one day.  Actually 2 days with a short bout of panic this morning.  The rest of the time I felt a lightness.  A clarity.  A balance.

I feel blessed and loved.  Content.

Ultimately I turn my thoughts to what my God did for me, how he suffered and died on the cross for me, how he rose again and sent the Holy Spirit to comfort me and help me.
How he said he will never forsake me.

And I feel blessed and loved.  Content.

WHY I Didn't Write For Almost 6 Months!

I wrote part of this post during the year (2013) where I descended into a pit of darkness after a very long time of living mostly panic free.  I have spent the last year building my life back up.  I got physically weak and needed time to exercise and address changes I needed to make for my life to be happy and fulfilling and realize some dreams I had.  I can now find the time and energy to write again.  I posted a few posts here and there but couldn't keep up with being consistent.

As is typical with severe panic disorder we are well and then we are not.  Our worst fear has come true. It's back. We are faced with the fact that our assumption that we've made a breakthrough and are never going to go through THAT again was wishful thinking.  Then suddenly like a slap in the face, there is no room for extra curricular activity or writing (that is helpful to anyone or makes any sense) or reading a book. Every minute of every day we are in battle. At war.  We are exhausted by the end of the day and yet it lingers into the night keeping us from the healing sleep our body needs so desperately.  It is so sadly ironic because during this time of weakness we just get worse when we get the slightest inkling of a symptom of a sickness from all the "what ifs".

For a long time my life had become manageable and fun.  After years of healing from a marriage full of strife and a divorce I was starting to live again.  I was going out with friends and found my way back to writing and selling antiques on the side. I needed creative outlets to counter the rigid work I do for a living but hadn't had the energy or desire until now. Then my world got turned upside down with a major life change when my 95 year old Aunt Connie had to move in with us because she was physically unable to care for herself on a daily basis.  We had high hopes for this arrangement.  Our beloved aunt would be with us and bring joy into our home.  She was a great storyteller and had lived an interesting life.  Those hopes shattered when we saw how she had changed into a bitter, cruel and negative person.  She drained our joy and our energy.  She abused her sister (my mother who was not well herself and who I was already caring for) and demanded much more attention than we had anticipated.

The stress of the responsibility of caring for someone who needed constant attention and filled the air with negative energy took its toll on everyone.  Work got more demanding while the company I worked for took on a new endeavor starting a new location from scratch.  I was being run ragged and my emotions were all over the place.  It all became too much for me.

I saw and felt it coming but was quite helpless to stop it.  What had to be done had to be done.  Suck it up and do it, I kept telling myself.  My body and my mind told me a different story.  It stopped me in my tracks, cold and hard, mean and nasty. I couldn't help but fall hard and struggle as hard as I could to get out of the slimy tar-like pit that had hold of me and was slowly smothering me. Choking me.  

Not only did the frequency of attacks increase, the intensity of them grew - like I had gone back in time before all my tools and behavioral therapy and God centered help.  I knew why it was happening but I didn't know how to stop it again and go back to a time when I had control, not the panic.  I felt trapped with no way out.  

We did try hiring a nurse to come in 3 days a week but my aunt made her life and ours miserable. After a year and a half of watching my mother's health decline and knowing how sick I was getting again we were able to convince my aunt to go to live with another family member who then convinced her that she needed more care than any of us could give her so she would have to move into a nursing home.  No one wants to do this to a loved one but when there isn't any other choice it has to be done.  My mother wasn't able to be firm with her and help her understand we weren't doing this to hurt her. Her 82 year old, sick sister could not care for her as she had promised her many years ago.  I worked full time.  The guilt was eating at my mother and my aunt was using that guilt and emotionally beating us up.  

It has taken all this time, a lot of work and a lot of time spent with God to find my way back to the manageable and more peaceful life I had been living.

So here I am to share and give hope to those in the throws right now who don't see the end.  I am feeling better.  We do fight.  We are fighters and survivors.  Our condition has trained us how to do that.  We are smart and creative people.  We are sensitive and have a desire to solve problems.  So finally the sweet taste of victory comes because we were able to create and implement solutions to the thing or things that threw us back onto the roller coaster ride of flying down into the pit and swirling all around, up and down until finally we turn the corner and begin to slow down and gratefully come to the end.  For now.  I still believe I can be delivered from this condition but I am happy to feel some semblance of freedom from the bondage I was in.
The crippling fear has been beaten back into submission.  Into the pit it came from.