Black Ribbon

We seem to have become obsessed with the idea of ribbons, wristbands & badges. Indicating support of some group or other, or perhaps in regard to some idea.
A visible indicator.
We are a visual creature, after all.
So much is identified by sight. We crave symbols.

But without understanding what the particular sign actually denotes, what is the point of doing so.



Ribbons, badges wristbands - whether tied to a particular period of time or not - tend to become rather meaningless or trivialised. There are so many 'ribbon' days for this, that or the other. Why is this any different?

Primarily this is intended for those of us who live with these illnesses. Have no doubts: these are illnesses. They are far more debillitating than the majority of people realise.
It is a terrible sadness that such people honestly believe that saying something along the lines of "chin up" is both positive & practical assistance. Just telling us to "cheer up" automatically makes us feel better.

We know it is not nearly that simple.
Telling somebody enduring these (& other such illnesses) only does harm. It is no stretch of the imagination to realise that if we could feel better - to cheer up - we would already have done so!

Wear a black ribbon for your own sake.
Wear a black ribbon even if it doesn't show for anyone to see.
Wear a black ribbon, not to draw attention, but to increase awareness.
Someone else may realise they are not alone, as we often feel. Something as simple as a hug can make a difference to someone unwell. Giving that hug can feel just as good, & better.
Now that is worthwhile.

Hugs for you all!

Hope

Not for the first time i am waiting for an appointment with a therapist. A clinical psychologist, this time. Not the first time i have done so, either.
Counsellors, psychologists - surely a psychiatrist in there somewhere, i just cannot remember how many - definitely a GP or more in the mix, yet have any of them really helped? Meds have been high on the agenda, so far as Doctors are concerned, then referrals, tho not always.
Some of these 'therapists' have been well-meaning, tho rather ineffective.

But just for a change there is a little mouse of hope creeping about. Where did it sneak inside & how did it find a way in; i don't know.

I am Broken. I am Damaged. I know that.
Do i dare hold out for anything in the way of hope?
Without hope in the darkness wherein we dwell, where are we bound?
For so long all that i have been doing is the same routine: just making it thru the day. Surviving. Existing!
Where is the hope in that?
If there was any possibility of hope, it was travelling without any & perhaps finding some on the way. Or hope finding me.

While i may be trying to locate & 'glue'  all the pieces of my Self into a whole - knowing i will lose bits & pieces along the way - some shape or form approximating that once i was is the best i can expect. Or hope for.
There's that word again: hope!

Somehow it found me. Just a little. When i wasn't looking for it, let alone expecting anything of the sort, hope snuck up behind & pounced at my ankle.


Knowing i am Broken, just what is it that i can hope for? Recovery??? Not likely. I am far too Damaged. Like so many all i know i can hope for is a day where i don't continue to feel so miserable, worthless & the like. Then another day. Then another.

The hope that the sudden appearance of light at the end of the tunnel is not merely a train (my usual expectation) but light: daylight.
That is something worth hoping for.

Watching

Sitting a Death Watch is never easy or pleasant. The best that can be hoped is that the person is made comfortable. It doesn't really matter if awake, they are not really there.

I am not sure which is worse for those gathered to sit the Death Watch. Semi-conscious; sort of awake, sort of not, or completely unconscious. Just how aware are they. Is it merely a reflex, or are they aware (at some level) & responding.

It can be consoling for those gathered to believe that their voice is heard, their touch is felt; their presence known by the person  lying there. At some level.

I doubt we will ever know for certain until we are in that position ourselves.

My watch was not as prolonged as i expected. For which i am thankful.

"I'm fine"

I have seen several postings in regard to world suicide prevention day. Something i have in my mind too much once again.


This is all i can say to people who ask how i am. Even if they actually had any concern as to the answer.




Why? Working on that.


At present i have failed the first 3 & am working on the fourth.
That can be read two way,  i'm working on both.
Not everyone will understand what i mean by that, but those who do are doubtless struggling with the same battle.
You have made it thru another night; you have made it thru another day: i am proud of you all.

In memory of all those who couldn't, let none condemn;. May you rest easy May peace sit lightly upon you & enfold you.

Footsteps

I am Broken.
I know i am Broken, i know that i am Damaged.
For as long as i can recall i have known that i am Broken, Damaged beyond repair. At least to my previous state of self. I am far too damaged for that to be possible (in any meaningful sense). Would i do so if it were?
To be whole. To be intact. To be pristine. What would that be like.
That is something i cannot even imagine. All i can remember is being broken; before i even realised that i was. These cracks & chips eroding my sense of self, they were normal, weren't they. Part of growing up.

So why didn't that seem right.
So why was it i felt there was something wrong. I tried to consider that normal. I was the same as everyone else.
Truth be told, i wasn't very convincing.
& i knew it.

Comparing myself to those about, there was something missing. Comparing myself to those around the same age, the difference was obvious.
I was damaged. I was Broken.
I had no idea as to the cause, i only knew that i was.
Not much to go on, is it.
Perhaps i really was as crazy as others around me seemed to think - & still do. There were times i even believed that, embraced it.

Realising that didn't help.
Realising that only served to cloud my sight & cause me to stumble & lose my path.

I am Broken!
I am Damaged!
I am defined by that.

Yet, knowing that, i regain a measure of control over my thoughts, my actions, my pieces of self as they slither through my fingers.

Which means i can find my feet again.

Facades

Robin Williams has often come to mind this past month. I cannot quite explain why. Perhaps it is on account of the fact that his passing seems little remembered; one year on.
Has he passed out of memory in this time of instant gratification, when last weeks or last months fashion, fad or foible is out of date & forgotten.
In ending his own life, has his very name become anathaema. In his choosing to do so, has he now become tainted & shameful in many people's eyes.

Looking at that phrase: the funniest man, saddens me so. In giving pleasure to so many people, perhaps his way of battling his own demons, just how much did he retain for himself?

No longer can we ask of him, we can only make a guess as to just what his answer might have been.

Most likely he would have made a joke to throw people off the scent, or given a truly honest answer in such a way that it was perceived as such: a joke. After all, he was the 'world's funniest man'! How conceivable could it be that he waged such a dark & dismal battle.

Such was his success in concealing this part of himself that the tragedy was the greater once the news of his passing was released.
Perhaps that is why his passing resonates so much with me. This past fortnight in particular.
Behind the facades we show all others....

Behind our facades that we feel we are compelled to display....

Now that's the Tragedy!

Broken

Many of us know we are Broken to some extent, like a dropped cup. I know that i am. More than once. Sometimes the fractures are new, yet most of the time they follow the same pattern of breakage. Regardless of the number of sherds i pick up, there is always a tiny piece or two that has crumbled away.

Not always do i use glue to stick my shattered shards of self back into place. Sometimes it is all I can do to apply a band-aid to at least keep the pieces together - in one place. They may not always fit too well as i fumble to put them on their rightful place. I may not always be ready or able. Which is where the band-aid comes in handy.

It may remain in place for some time.


Curious things, habits. Excluding the obvious, most people do not realise they have them. A routine by any other name .....


Knowing that i am Broken (or at least seriously cracked) then the gathered pieces stuck back together again (usually by myself), i am aware of my damage, & those lines where i am likely to break once more. At some point, along some line or other.

In that case, it would be reasonable to alter all those behaviours, beliefs & practices that result in the need for repair; so avoid a repeat.
So you would think.

Knowing that i am Broken i am aware of the need for change, that i am capable of modifying those particular practices, beliefs & behaviours. So break that inncumbent pattern, so give a different result, so prevent a repeat. So you would think. Simple!

That would be the logical, rational, thing to do, that would make sense. & really rather obvious. Simple! So you would think.

If only.

Pattern, habit, routine become ingrained before people realise they have them. So to thought processes. Even more resistant to change.


Mental illness (i hear sighs of relief that finally i have reached some point), Mental Illness works to its own set of rules & rationality. Often incomprehensible to an onlooker - with their clumsy, if well-meaning "cheer up!" - & often much the same to those who have to live with it.

Regardless of cause, Mental Illness is always debillitating, those who endure Mental Illness are always dysfunctional, however much success in concealing this. Functionality is relative.

Like the pottery i have been (however vaguely) alluding to, once broken then patched, will it hold the thin trickle of self-esteem at it is poured in. What of missing chips & eroded sense of self that allows everything to drain away. If not open the cracks once more.




There is a Japanese art, kintsukuroi (or kintsugi), which is the art of repairing pottery with gold laquer; & understanding that the piece is even more beautiful than before it was broken.

I ask you to look at those sherds of your self you hold in your hands while you piece them into place; to consider them with kindness, to speak to your battered sherds of self with courtesy.

Look at them, look at everything just a little differently, with consideration.

Yes, we are broken, we know we are broken, like that dropped cup, yet when we allow our self the mindfulness & compassion we apply to others - just for a change - that is golden!

With that for glue as you rebuild (rather than just repair or reconstruct) just see what you will have to show your Self.