Category Archives: Sadness

Everybody hurts sometimes.

For What It’s Worth…

Picture: blue haired anime girl.This will be a bit personal of a post, which means I’ve spent a considerable amount of time opening the editor of my blog, closing it, writing a few lines,  deleting it, circling the draft and smoking cigarettes (I should really quit) while trying to make up my mind if I should press the “Publish” button or not. If you are reading this now, it means that I didn’t chicken out and press the delete button to the draft.

Fair warning, this post is about my sexual orientation and what it means to me. If you’re not supportive of this, that’s okay, I respect that and you are entitled to your opinions. You’re free to stop reading at this point and unfollow my blog, at any time! I won’t have any ill feelings about it. I wish you all the luck in life! ^_^/

However, you are NOT entitled to comment or push your hurtful views on my blog. It will not change my mind or who I am, only make me feel like crap for being who I was born to be. You may do whatever you wish on your own blog. If you don’t own one, WordPress is free and you can have one of your own today! If I follow your blog and you post something that really disturbs me, I will have the respect to not comment or push my views on your blog. I will do the adult thing and simply stop reading and unfollow. It’s no big deal.

Furthermore, I want to leave a trigger warning for those who may be reading, that my story about my life does contain a few bigoted slurs. It’s not an easy story for me to share, nor is it an easy story to read.

You may be wondering why I am bothering to share it at all. The true reason is because I need to get a few things off my chest and I don’t have any close friendships at this point in my life. I do have a blog! And there’s always a possibility that my story could help someone else, who may have experienced or currently experiencing such things now.

I have always alluded to the fact that I’m not strictly 100% straight within my blogs. I’ve used the term “bisexual”, once or twice. Although, it’s a bit more complicated than that. I usually don’t share about my sexuality with others, as I honestly feel that it’s none of anyone’s business, this is something important between me and whomever I’m dating at the time. However, with today’s politics, unjust laws, and other media drama, it makes it pretty difficult to keep such things private.

Yes, I am bisexual, which means I honestly feel sexual attraction to both males and females. It doesn’t mean that I am a sex addict, as I’m very old fashioned and will not have sex with anyone that I haven’t dated for a very long time and is madly in love with. That means, I never do the one-night-stand or “hookup” deal. Not that I have a judgement against those who prefer to have casual lovers. It’s just not my deal personally, because I tend to get jealous very easily and I’m highly monogamous.

In simple terms, what I mean to explain is, genitals are not what causes me fall in love with someone and wish to commit my life to them. I could care less if a person has a penis, or a vagina, or breasts; I like them all. For me, personality means everything. I care if a person is kind, smart, funny, thoughtful, generous, and causes me feel to comfortable around them. It’s not that common for me to feel comfortable around others, you know.

I care if a person has something in common with me and vice versa, some great passion that we can share together. I care if a person makes me smile and I can make them smile, that my heart races whenever I see them or hear their voice, that I can become lost whenever I gaze into their eyes. That is what is important to me, personally.

I don’t care if a person is transgender, cisgender (those who identify with the gender that they were born with), or genderqueer. I only care about a person’s spirit and mind. I’ve been this way since age twelve and I’m currently age 35, so no… it’s not a “phase” and it’s not going to change. I am who I am. To deny this fact would be a total lie and deception.

I am bisexual, but I’m also “genderqueer”, which is a label that I stumbled across a few years ago. The term is an umbrella one, which includes some transgender (those who identify as the opposite gender they were born as) and genderfluid (those who identity varies as male, female, or non-binary).

I know, that’s so many different terms and can be confusing/overwhelming for first timers! LOL! I’ll try to simplify it further; if you were born with female (or male) genitals and identify as female (or male), you’re cisgender. If you were born with female (or male) genitals, but identify as a man (or woman), you are transgender. If you were born with female (or male) genitals, but feel that you’re both male and female regardless of that, then you’re probably genderqueer. And genderfluid is too difficult for me to explain more simply, I don’t understand it fully, but feel free to google it!

Or if anyone from the genderfluid community wish to share links or comments, please do! I would certainty update this post. I never dismiss new knowledge about things I have no clue about!  ^_-

Under the genderqueer umbrella, I simply identify as both male and female. I’ve always stated on other forums, that I honestly feel that 65% of my brain is male and 35% is female. Of course, people often take this as if I’m making some kind of joke, but I’m not, really… I was always confused with the response of a chuckle. o_O

And yes, my biological sex is female and I have no wish to have male genitalia (or facial hair, eww!), as I’m not transgender. However, I can’t deny the fact that my spirit, mind, and ambitions are more masculine than it will ever be feminine. I don’t mind if you call me “ma’am” or “sir”, I don’t really think about it, the few times it has happened. I’m okay with this! However, there was a time that I wasn’t okay with who I was and hated myself…

The majority of my teen years and young adulthood was spent in depression and suicidal thoughts/attempts. It was because I was hiding my true self and lived in deep shame of who I am. I grew up in a VERY conservative and religious household. And my school peers, neighbors, and most of my community didn’t take kindly to “those faggots”. I grew up hearing my parents make fun of gay men, so when I realized that I was bisexual at age twelve, I was beyond frighten.

I refused to tell my sister or older brother about it, because I had feared that they would tell my parents, and I would get into serious trouble. And because I was bisexual, I believed that I could somehow repressed my attraction to other females, by diverting my attention to males. At some point, I believed that I could “pray the gay away”. It didn’t work. And at age twenty, I decided that becoming an Ordained Christian Minister would do the trick… Nope.

I tried so hard to make myself become “straight”, but it just wouldn’t work. In spite of myself, I would notice a good looking female walking by, along with any other teen or young man in the area. I felt such guilt and hatred against myself, every time it happened.

I had stumbled into the music of David Bowie and Prince, in my preteens, which their music and personalities did give me a lot of comfort. I didn’t feel so alone. And one of my most favorite songs of Prince is: I Would Die 4 U. The lyrics “I’m not a woman. I’m not a man. I am something that you’ll never understand.” resonated with me, as I screamed in my head “Me too! I am the same!”.

In subtle ways, I was trying to alert my parents of who I truly was, by mentioning to them that I loved these artists. I guess, I really wanted my parents to accept me and love me for who I am, in spite being so afraid to outright confess to them. My heart still hurts, because neither one of them ever did accept or love me for who I’m truly am. I don’t know, I sometimes wonder if my wish is childish at this point and if I should just “get over it” and move on with my life. I do try to do that, but it’s hard sometimes and makes me cry still.

Their response to my love of Bowie and Prince was… well… terrible at best. My father called them both “faggots” outright and laughed. On many occasions, my mother went on and on about how Bowie was confused, that he couldn’t make up his mind whether he wanted to be a girl or a boy. She just didn’t get it… Bowie was never confused, he knew who he was and didn’t care about anyone else’s confusion about him! That was their problem and not his.

As for Prince, it was another occasion when my mother made it known how she really felt about him. I was trying to convince my peers to check out a cassette tape of Prince, that I swore was awesome, and I kind of “borrowed” from my older brother’s room. My mother shouted at me, “Leave them alone! No one wants to hear that faggot!” I kind of emotionally shriveled up into myself, after she shouted that and my peers laughed. I took my cassette tape and retreated to my room to cry.

My parents had no idea how much they were hurting me and made me feel like a “mistake”, for ever being born.

By age fifteen, I thought about confessing to my mother the truth about me. However, at the same time a neighbor had kicked his nineteen year old daughter out of his house when she decided to come out of the closet as lesbian. The neighbors were in a buzz about it and sympathized with the father. I decided quickly that I would continue to hide my truth, as I was “passing” well as heterosexual, no one would figure it out otherwise.

In one confusing moment, my mother sat me and my sister down for a serious talk about the neighbor’s issue. She began to say, “Mr. [neighbor] kicked out his [daughter], because she is gay. I want you both to know that no matter what you two do, even if you commit a crime, I would never kick you out or turn my back on you.” My heart began to race and I asked her quickly, “Even if we commit a murder?” She shook her head, “No. I will be there to hire you a lawyer and come to every court hearing. You will still be my baby.”

I couldn’t have felt more happy in that moment! I took a breath and got ready to say the words to her, “Mom, I think I’m gay too.”, but in an instant her face harden and she growled, “But don’t ever be gay! It’s horrible what Mr. [neighbor] had to go through. And [his daughter] completely humiliated her family.” “Oh.” I said and stuffed my words back deep within myself. So, it was okay if I was a murderer, but not gay.

By age sixteen, I decided that I was worse than evil and should rid the world of myself, because I am gay. I tried many attempts to do so, they failed – obviously, but many resulted in trips to the local ER and then confinement to local mental wards. It would be many years, before I was able to see myself as human, let alone stop hating myself.

I wouldn’t confess about my sexual orientation, until age twenty-one. And when I did… my mother didn’t handle it so nicely, not at all. I’ll spare those details, because it’s a bit too painful to share still, at this point.

For most of my life, I’ve been trying to get approval from my parents (especially my mother), but never received it. And the prejudices against the LGBT community in my old neighborhood in Philadelphia still remains. Just two years ago, a young gay man that I once knew there, was beaten viciously and verbally attacked for being gay. At the end of many punches, one of his attackers strangled him until he passed out, while shouting homophobic slurs. Neighbors watched, but no one called the police.

My mother did try to break it up, as it was happening on her front porch, but she did so alone. And she convinced the attacker to not strangle the young man to death by saying, “You can’t undo it, once it’s done. You’ll go to prison if you kill him.” She still felt that the fault of the situation rested on the gay victim, because he had tried to speak up for himself when the gay slurs were first uttered towards him… and his comebacks were better than the idiots who tried to harass him first. So, his attackers responded with violence.

The young man did not press legal charges against his attackers and pretty much decided to deny the incident ever happened at all. It’s not uncommon for victims of hate crimes to not report it, to hide it away inside of themselves for fear of retaliation or a community backlash, and to just accept the abuse.

Picture: anime girl freeing doves.Fortunately, for me, I moved to the state of Minnesota that is very progressive and such hate crimes are not common at all. The people I’ve shared this story to in Minnesota was beyond stunned and disguested that such crimes occured in Philadelphia. I am able to live out my life in peace here, without fear of physical or verbal attack for being myself. I am happy within my town, I am free. No one in my community cares if I’m straight, gay, lesbian, transgender, bisexual, gender-queer, any more than they care if someone is heterosexual. And most of the people here are religious and attend church on Sundays. They’re only concerned if I’m a “rude” person or not. And I’m not rude… or try not to be! LOL! I have my rude moments, not with my neighbors, but I’m sure in general. =p

However, I sometimes hurt inside, when I notice how people interact with loving parents. Or when I read comments from wonderful parents on articles, in unconditional support of their children. I do not celebrate Mother’s Day or Father’s Day, because I don’t know what it’s like to have parents. I don’t find it practical to spend what little money I do have in buying gifts for people who don’t accept and love me for who I am, who are always judging me and people like me.

It’s a little sad… but I wonder if it’s time to drop this baggage and move onward with my new happy life in Minnesota. No, more accurately, I wonder how to drop this baggage. How do you stop needing and wanting the approval of a biological parent? Is it possible? I guess it’s something for me to work on with my therapist, but I wanted to share it on my blog, because it is on my mind right now. I just needed to vent a bit to someone.

For what it’s worth, I do know who I am. I am Danielle S. Williams. And I love and accept me, even if no one else does. And to the beautiful parents in the world, who truly love and accept their children, THANK YOU! Your children are very lucky to have you! ♥

Thanks for reading my rambles, as always. Please be kind to each other! ^_^

-D

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Depression Is A Cancer

Picture: anime hugs.This post will be a somber one, I do apologize in advance for that. However, I feel compelled to write it, in hopes that it could help others to understand the true nature of depression and suicide, or to nudge those with this illness to seek help.

Recently, two YouTube communities were rocked by the sudden loss of one of its members, due to suicide. Markiplier explains it in his video: Lost A Friend. Ironically, his hair is pink for a charity he had raised towards a group that helps those with Depression and Bipolar disorder, a charity that I donated to as well during his live stream.

Even though I never got a chance to know who Daniel was, as I was just starting to check out Cyndago, the news shook me and my heart goes out to Daniel’s family and friends at this time.

The dirty trick about depression is that it behaves more like a cancer, than anything else. It starts of a bit “mild” and slowly, but then it takes over and shuts down everything, often resulting in death for some.

The person infected with it is unable to understand just how big the magnitude of destruction their death creates for everyone around them who care, even strangers who’ve never met them, as we’re all connected in some fashion as a human race.

The person infected with depression may not realize the lies this cancer is placing in their brains, during the critical stages of it, which is NOT their fault whatsoever. We do not blame cancer patients for getting cancer, nor should we blame people for getting depression, I believe.

I write this post from a very personal standpoint, as I am a survivor of critical depression and suicide. And what I’ve experienced from my many years of suffering is that this cancer does come in stages. I’ll try to explain as simply and coherently as I can, but yes, this post will be kind of long, fair warning…

For me, depression was a very slow burn, it didn’t happen overnight nor did it reach the point of suicidal attempts at the very moment that I realized that what I was experiencing had a clinical name for it. I first gained depression at age twelve, due to my abusive issues at home, my abusive outside relationships at the time, and a nice cocktail mix of pre-teen confusion in general.

I remember telling people that I felt sad, but that’s really a gross understatement of how I truly felt, yet being that young it was hard for me to find the words to express the deep despair and turmoil I was feeling inside. This was my “mild” depression stage, as thoughts of suicide was not present whatsoever, I just felt helpless and a lot lost.

At age fourteen, I began thinking about dying, and the depression was quick to justify my thoughts about it. The horrible thing is the longer a person has depression, the more time it is able to convince its host of many lies, which includes (but not limited to): “You’re better off dead. You’re a burden on everyone. No one loves you. If you died, maybe someone would be sad, but not for long as they would quickly get over it. You’re worthless!”

And the biggest lie of all, “The pain that you are feeling now will never end, it will go on forever! Unless you kill yourself, it’s the only way to stop the pain.”

At age fifteen, the long term emotions of that despair finally manifest into a real suicide attempt. I won’t share details on what I did, a disclaimer that I always make, because what I use to do as a teen was look up the stories of suicide attempts and try them for myself. I don’t wish to inspire those who are suffering with depression to commit suicide, but the opposite, so no details of my attempts will be shared here. I only share that with my therapist.

Anyway, what I had attempted sent me to the ER, they saved me, then I was sent to my first psychiatric hospital stay… which wasn’t pleasant at all. After spending some weeks there, I was released and “behaved” myself for a year, until I made another attempt. This was my “critical stage”.

From age sixteen until age twenty-five, I kept trying to attempt suicide, and I spent time in the total of seven different psychiatric hospitals in my old city (Philadelphia). All but two of those hospitals were horrible, with staff members who abused the patients (including myself), but these hospitals stays made it impossible for me to attempt suicide for short periods of time.

However, in order to not get “caught” and locked up in those places again, I began to become an expert at hiding my failed attempts at home. If I become sick from an overdose, for example, I learned how to minimize the damage and my family believed that I was just having stomach issues or the flu, not realizing that it was a botched attempt that I was recovering from.

You may think this is madness and you are correct, it is! Depression tends to cast all sense of logic out of the window and convinces the sufferer, “If first you don’t succeed, try and try again!”, no matter how much energy it takes to reach the goal of death.

“Suicide is a selfish act!” – I hear this statement a lot and I totally agree with it, because it’s the truth. When I was trapped within my cycle of critical depression, I couldn’t see this truth at all. If anyone alluded to this truth during that time, my depression would only warp their words to, “You’re a terrible and selfish person! You should die and rid the world of you!” So… even though this is a true statement, it’s not wise to utter it to those suffering with severe depression, because you’re not helping them… not even a little bit!

Although, I understand the anger and hurt that comes with the loved ones left behind to deal with someone’s decision to commit suicide. It is very selfish, in the end of all things, because such a death is like an atomic bomb going off in a crowd of people, with your loved ones closest to ground zero. You may be gone and without feeling the result of the blast, but everyone else is left to live with holes and missing limbs. And that kind of trauma will be with them for the rest of their lives.

That’s not to say that we should blame those who’ve lost to lies of the cancer, as they needed help and GOOD professional treatment. However it is a tough situation for EVERYONE involved when a loved one commits suicide, not just for the victim of depression. There is a song that very much sums up the emotions and turmoil for both sides of the situation: Brother by Matt Easton

My message for those suffering with depression: I haven’t had suicidal thoughts or attempts for over the past nine years. I had sought help for my depression from age sixteen to twenty-five, and experienced having eight horrible therapists that hurt more than help. I’ve been on many different anti-depressants that have hurt my situation too. I was at the breaking point of giving up and giving into the disease, but a small fighting voice within me shrilled, “Try one more time to seek help. If it doesn’t work this time, then you may take your life.”

That’s when I met my first therapist in Philadelphia who helped saved my life. I was prescribed the right medication for a while (until I didn’t need it anymore) and I worked hard in my therapy sessions with her. Currently, I am under the care of another awesome therapist in Minnesota and my depression is VERY mild and working its way out of my life.

What I’ve learned personally is, if I want to be happy in this life, I must fight for it! It will not be handed to me easily and, although life can be a piece of shit sometimes, suicide is NEVER the answer. It’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem, is all. By making the decision to die, you cheat yourself out of a chance of things getting better for you, and experiencing the happiness you deserve.

Please seek help, immediately, don’t dawdle. You deserve SO much more than death, believe me! Please call the international hotline: 1-800-273-8255 or speak with your GP (family doctor) for help.

And if you’re wondering how life can be with very mild depression (or none), here’s a very good video on that. Please do check it out: I had a black dog, his name was depression. My “black dog” is very tiny that it can fit in the palm of my hand! ^_^

My message for those who’ve lost a loved one to depression: Whatever you do, don’t blame yourself! The truth is, no matter how much you were there for your loved one, there was nothing you could say or do to “save” them, I believe.

In my critical depression stage, my family couldn’t reach me, no family friend could, no religion could reach me (I was a practicing Christian at the time, btw), nor could my family doctor (Dr. Shaw), even though he had tried like crazy to.

In that hell of depression, the only person who could reach me was me, I had to be the one to stand up to depression and call it out on its lies. And I needed help to do it, which meant seeking GOOD professional help. Only a GOOD therapist is trained on how to approach and treat this disease properly. If a person has cancer, you don’t expect that the loved ones are able to treat it, you would expect a medical doctor or specialist to. And it’s the same deal with depression.

The most that you could have done was to encourage your loved one to seek help, or to help them reach good professional help, and to be supportive of them while they were in treatment. That is all. However, often times a person dealing with this disease will hide it or minimize it, so don’t blame yourself for not knowing! They didn’t want you to know, for whatever reasons, and it’s NOT your fault.

I’m sorry to everyone who’ve lost a loved one to this cancer. I’m sorry to everyone who’ve lost a loved one in general. I know the pain of losing a loved one very well, as I lost two in 2012, although it wasn’t depression related.

My nephew was killed, but I will always remember the time that he sat next to me for an evening, trying to cheer me up. It was many years before his death and I was in the middle of my critical stage in depression at that time. I remembered that he was making silly jokes and trying to get me to laugh, but all I could think about was my next suicide attempt and my pain.

Picture: anime carrying you.At one point, I said to him, “I’m sorry that you have such a messed up aunt.” He gave me the biggest hug ever, with a bright smile, and said “No! You’re my favorite aunt!” I continue to fight for my happiness for myself, but I also continue to fight for him, in his memory. Thank you, Robert, for being my favorite nephew. ^_^

Thanks for reading and please be kind to yourselves!

-D

Eye Frustrations!

DarkCatThis is a warning in advance: The following is just my frustrated rants over my eye issues and it is a little depressing. However, I feel like getting some things off my chest and since I have a blog… Please feel free to skip this one, as it’s a bunch of whining and a slight pity party! Don’t worry, I totally understand! ^_^v

I have written a few posts about my condition called “Keratoconus”, so I’ll not mention the details of that again for rambling sake. There is a procedure to stop the progressive damage of Keratoconus, called “Corneal Crosslinking” (CXL). The procedure doesn’t “cure” the disease, but it has a 98% success rate of stopping the disease in its tracks and a 60% chance of improving eyesight by one or more lines. In other words, it’s the most idea surgery for those suffering with Keratoconus.

The other option is a corneal transplant, which is more invasive and has a lower success rate. This procedure is done with donor tissue and it works just like any other transplant. A person must be really bad off in their eyesight, in order to be considered for the transplant list. Also there is a risk of rejection or getting donated tissue that isn’t well off to begin with. One of the risks of corneal transplant is vision problems… which seems to defeat the point, I think.

So, the best answer to choose is CXL… right? Well, unfortunately in the US, CXL is not FDA approved. The only way to get this procedure is through clinical trial and it cost four thousand dollars to do (sometimes a bit more in other states). No insurance in the US will cover this procedure, because it’s not FDA approved, so this means that patients have to pay this price out of pocket.  Ai-yi….  u_u

I am not a woman of means, I’m a struggling writer (aka: I eat a lot of Ramen for meals), and four thousand is roughly half of my yearly income. I can’t choose between eating my next meal and other basic needs, in order to save my vision. Even though my whole world is writing and without it I would be so lost, it’s a “luxury” that I honestly can’t afford, So, I have no choice but to wait until my eyes get progressively worse and maybe I will be eligible for the more invasive corneal transplant someday.

hqdefaultLast year, two women did offer to pay for my eye surgery, but I hesitated because (although they are very nice people!) the fact is that they are not close friends nor do we stay in contact on a daily basis. We’re not really a part of each other’s lives, they were simply fans of my earlier writings. And I’m no longer on Facebook, so we don’t have the short messages to each other once or twice a year anymore.

I never felt right about their offer, because it feels like I would be taking advantage. Especially when I know for sure that I couldn’t pay it back! Sure, they are more well off than I am (I think one works as an engineer, if I’m not mistaken… see, I barely know them.) and maybe four thousand is no skin off their noses, but I felt too guilty at the thought of asking acquaintances for that much amount of money.

I’m not comfortable with accepting money or expensive items from people that I’m not close with or family members , in general. My close family members aren’t wealthy either and the ones who are… Well, let’s just say I wouldn’t count on them to buy me a juice on a hot summer day, let alone pay for my eyes. They’re cold and distant, never wanting to be a part of my life or the lives of my siblings. >_>

However, if there was some kind of outreach program that could pay for my surgery, I would have no issue signing up for that. Although, there doesn’t seem to be such a thing. I was hoping against hope that the FDA would approve CXL last year, but the only news I’ve heard of that was the FDA was putting off the court hearing with long delays. And after that, I have no idea what happened with the case.

I’m completely in the dark of what’s going on in this long debate over this life-giving procedure. I haven’t yet found a site or group to alert me of this very political situation.

And yes, this has something to do with politics or just plain greed, I reckon. CXL is covered and approved in many other countries, except for the US. It’s been proven time and time again that it WORKS and gives patients a more quality of life. I find it shameful that the other procedure, cornea transplant, is approved and my insurance does cover it! Why not CXL? Can someone please explain that to me, in simple terms, because I’m confused! @_@

moemoefriday-77-07Meanwhile… my eyesight is in very bad shape, but yet not considered bad enough for corneal transplant. Most days, my world looks smokey and cloudy, it’s getting harder to read or write. My eyes water profusely whenever I try to focus on any object or text and I constantly walk into walls.

Every time I have to travel down stairs, I’m afraid and want to cry, because I nearly fall down them every time. One of these days, this blog will go silent, not because I am slacking but because I’ve fallen and cracked my skull wide open on the front pavement.

For days on end, I am unable to write anything, not even these “short” blog posts, because I simply can’t see anything on the screen. I honestly experience a complete “white out” on my “bad days”. I’m prone to migraine headaches, because I am squinting and struggling just to reply to emails with friends. And yet, this is not the worse of it, it will get much worse as time goes on.

I’m trying to make peace with the fact that I may become blind for good, with or without corneal transplant, Although, it sucks… It sucks so much. I feel hopeless and helpless. It doesn’t help when my eye center also refuses to give me soft contacts or even a new pair of glasses, in spite of the fact that my insurance would pay for it. They keep barking at me that I should somehow come up with the four thousand for CXL, otherwise they don’t wish to see me at all.

anime_GTFOMy glasses are twelve years old, the lenses are a bit scratched, yellowed from the years of smoking cigarettes, and one of the nose pads broke off years ago. I know that they can’t give me a stronger prescription than what I already have (I have the max, apparently), but for comfort sake… They’re just uninterested in giving me service, unless I show up with money for CXL. Yes, I have to find another place to try, I know that, and I’m working on it.

It also doesn’t help when people who are not facing such a thing make insensitive remarks like, “Well, don’t worry, you can still write when you go blind. They make braille keyboards!” Or, “there’s a new computer program that can read and ‘see’ things for the blind now, so you should be fine when the day comes.” Well, there are excellent prosthetic limbs in the world too, but if you were told that you were going to lose your arm or leg in the near future, would that really cheer you up? Seriously, I’m asking. o_O

Anyway… I’m just sulking about this, because it is a HUGE deal, And I try not to dwell on my loss of vision too much, because it is very depressing. I use to love my eyes, as they are huge (anime huge), brown, and lovely. However they suck now! Boo, you stupid eyes! Work, damn you!!!! >_<

I did find a nice alternative, when my eyesight goes kaput and I’m unable to write a thing. I watch a lot of Markiplier, because it doesn’t matter when his videos are indistinguishable blurs to my eyes. He’s a lot funny, thoughtful, and his voice is soothing. It’s hard for me to feel sorry for myself, when I’m laughing like a nut over his comedy.

I also plan to find some type of support group for those losing their eyesight, if I can. Sometimes it good to vent with those who could understand what I’m experiencing and going through.

Thanks for reading this sad rant. Take care everyone. ^_^v

-D

Time For A Serious Talk!

alknasfree-2295849I was not prepared to write another blog post so soon, however life is often a funny and unpredictable thing. Sorry in advance for any grammar errors (I’m not taking the time to let this post sit in drafts first and to mull over it). I know that everyone has heard of the sad news, about Robin Williams, and I wanted to write a little about that.

I’ve suffered with severe depression from age sixteen to age twenty-four. I would often cry for hours on end, lasting for days, or I would be unable to sleep for days in a row. I would stay in my room in Philadelphia all day and stare at the white wall constantly, unable to sleep at all. I hardly ate, I rarely had the strength to leave my bed to use the bathroom, and I often would go for months without bathing.

Everything hurt so much inside, just breathing in and out hurt, and I thought my hell would never end. I tried suicide so many times, as I believed within that darkness that it was the only answer to end my pain. I romanticized death, believed it was a beautiful thing, and convinced myself that my friends and family would be better off without me.

I felt like a burden, when people would come into my room and try to get me to eat, l felt like was sucking away their life just by existing. And I couldn’t foresee anything positive, even when my family told me that they loved me, I just couldn’t comprehend it. I imagined that if I had died, my loved ones would cry for a little bit, but ultimately they would get over it within a week and be relieved that I was gone.

This is just a few of the many negative and harmful thoughts that go through a person’s mind when they are suffering with depression. Those thoughts are highly untrue, but to a sufferer the crazy ideas seem VERY real within the grip of such darkness. Depression is an illness of the soul, mind, and spirit. And the real truth is that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

44663511I think Robin Williams’ death shook us all, because he was a guy who was so funny, seemed happy-go-lucky, and did so many nice things for others. No one would have guessed he was in such terrible pain like this, by judging the outside. That’s the sneaky thing about depression, it’s a silent and hidden kind of disease, which is not always noticeable from the outside.

My Facebook blew up with the news of Robin’s death and I instantly began messaging my friends who suffer the most with this illness, because when something like this happens, it kind of shakes our world a bit. A few of my friends were thinking that since so many articles stated, “He’s now at peace”, maybe it was something for them to aspire to. I put on my best nagging-hat and I hope that I’ve been successful in thwarting whatever dark ideas they were thinking of.

The thing is, I was lucky to survive long enough to seek treatment for my illness, before I really went too far and succeeded in my attempts. It wasn’t easy, but I fought like hell to get to the point that I am today. I know that some don’t make it, and it saddens me greatly when I hear of another good person who’ve lost the fight, but I like to keep hope that someday this illness will have a better cure available for it.

I now cope with mild depression and I see a very awesome therapist every two weeks! It’s going very well for me, so there is hope for those who suffer with depression. Most depression can be cured within six to eight months of treatment. Mine was a more serve case, so it took me two years of therapy to get to my mild range. And I’m pretty sure that with more work, I will be free of depression altogether someday.

The sad thing is, there is stigma around this illness, which shames people into not seeking help. There are some people in the world who believe (and vocalize!) that depression doesn’t exist at all. People who have never suffered with the illness like to say very ignorant things like, “Ah, just get over it! Think positive, is all.” or “The reason why you have depression is because you haven’t worked hard enough to get over it.”.

tumblr_m35foypnct1ruute9o1_1280This can be very hurtful to those suffering with depression, because if it was that easy to do, no one would ever be depressed. No one wants to be depressed and it’s horrible to suggest that someone would actually choose to be. And saying something like that to a person with depression just makes them feel like they’re more of a failure, because they can’t shrug it off and feel better instantly. It just makes their situation worse!

The best videos to explain more about depression are: I had a black dog, his name was depression and The Truth About Depression. If you or a loved one is suffering with this horrible illness, these videos may help to better understand or encourage you to seek help. It’s important to educate yourself and/or seek treatment. Remember, you’re not alone and many people in the world suffer with this illness, but there is hope. I promise!

I haven’t had a suicidal thought or attempt in over a decade. I have tamed my “black dog”, but it took a lot of hard work to do and a LOT of stubbornness. I am now living in the light at the end of the tunnel and I can’t think of anything more I would want than to live and grow old. My life isn’t always perfect, but I’ve learned to appreciate the good things that I do have and the good people I have around me.

I feel so sad that Robin Williams couldn’t see how wonderful he was or how much people loved him. It’s a huge lost to the world, now that he’s gone. Thanks, Mr. Williams, for all of the funny memories and good work you’ve done for others. It’s a real tragedy to lose you so soon and you will be so very missed. Links: Conan Remembers Robin Williams, Robin Williams as Troops “Retreat”, 5 Facts You Didn’t Know About Robin Williams. The world lost a true gem. u_u

agfriends2The one thing about this tragedy is, it reminded me more profoundly why I fight so hard against my depression. And it inspires me to keep on fighting.

Stay safe, everyone. And thanks for reading!

-D

There And Back Again

aloneinrainI’ve mentioned it briefly before that I once had a serious issue with depression. So, I have another honest tale about myself that I wish to share, as I hope that my story can be useful for those who are going through darkness now or recently beginning their recovery from it.

I am not proud to admit this, but I have tried suicide over twenty times, within the period of a year. I’ve tried it so many times that I can’t even place a direct number, only that I lost count after the twentieth time. I’ve heard the guffaw before of, “Well… if you tried it that many times and didn’t succeed, it must meant that you didn’t really want to die.” Excuse my bluntness, but such a comment is complete horse sh$t!

Each time I made an attempt, I seriously wanted to die and took very drastic measures to ending my life. I wrote notes for it, had a clear plan and tried many methods. I never told my family or friends of every attempt, nor threaten it audibly, I kept each attempt a secret. They only knew of the bad ones that backfired and sent me to the local ER for treatment.

I won’t go into specifics, because part of what I use to do was to scan blogs and websites looking for ideas on how to kill myself. So I don’t want to be responsible for giving ideas to anyone who may be reading this blog and suffering. Nor do I want to trigger anyone who’s recovering or struggling through it still.

Let’s just say, I winded up in the local ER ten times for my bad attempts, as they went south and it wasn’t just a fail that I could “sleep off”, because I was obviously injured. I’m generally a stubborn person who doesn’t stop to get what I want (or what I perceive that I want), which is good trait to have for positive things. However,  in this time of my life, this kind of trait was a lot dangerous and potentially  deadly.

Six of those ten ER visits landed me in six different mental hospitals, two involuntary stays and four voluntary. I’ve never been in a more empty, cold, and devastating place than those hospitals. There is no hope or help to be found in those places, or at least that was my experience of them.  So, please forgive me if I don’t want to go into specifics about my stay, I rather not dwell on those memories. u_u

Anyway, the other times in the ER, I’ve gotten pretty good at fast talking and lying well to cover up my attempts, so that a medical doctor wouldn’t call in the psych doctor. I thought I was clever, but actually I was just escaping once again to make another attempt against my life.

It didn’t finally stop until I was age twenty-five. I had tried inpatient so many times and had a handful of bad experiences with outpatient therapists. For whatever reason (I still don’t know why), I decided to try outpatient again before my next attempt, and I lucked out with a good one! I am a believer of therapy, as it helped to save my life. I did most of the work, but I didn’t do it alone. ^_^

sadagirlBack then, I was a young woman who believed that there was nothing I could do to make my life any better, that there was no hope, that if I continued to live in this world I would only experience misery. I believed that my depression and despair was a permanent disease, that there was no cure for it. I believed that the only way to escape the pain was by dying.

I was too blinded by the darkness to realize that depression isn’t forever and that dying solves NOTHING. When a person dies, the part of the brain that feels relief dies too, so if I had succeeded I never would have felt that relief that I so desperately wanted. I would have died alone and in pain… that’s all folks.

And I would have cheated myself out of the wealth of happiness that was to come later in my life. I’m not trying to be over dramatic but honestly, besides my few happy moments as a child, I had NO real experiences of happiness or fulfillment in my life. If I had died back then, I would have left the world only knowing grief, emptiness, and despair. And what a shame that would have been. :-(

It’s my personal belief that suicide is a very stupid and selfish thing. I do understand being so wrapped up in one’s pain that you never think about the pain it would leave on those you leave behind. I had somehow convinced myself that when I died, my loved ones would cry at my funeral, but then they would “get over it”. In my moments of the deepest self-hatred, I convinced myself that my family would be glad and relieved to be rid of me, as I was a “burden” to them. I couldn’t have been more WRONG!

I realized how much it could affect my family, after a really bad attempt and I witnessed my sister crying. Her wavering voice and tears are forever burned into my mind, as she was falling apart at the thought that I may die from an overdose I took that night. My heart sinks to remember that moment, although it was that moment that opened my eyes to the fact that I NEED HELP.

It was my last suicide attempt eight years ago and I will never do such a thing again. I’m so sorry for the pain that I put my loved ones through over my attempts.

In 2012, I got another hard insight into what happens when someone dies when they’re not suppose to. My nephew was killed unexpectedly one early morning in Philadelphia. He was age 24 and I was sure that he would outlive me, due to the fact that he was so young.

My nephew didn’t choose to die, he very much wanted to live, but found himself with the wrong people, in the wrong place, and at the wrong time.  Every week before Christmas (the date of his death) we feel his loss the most, although we feel it every day regardless. The pain of it is ours to keep forever, we will carry it to the end of our journeys, and it will affect how we live our lives permanently.

I keep the last texts he sent me on my phone, unable to ever delete them. I’m still connected to his Facebook page and will always be so, even though he’s no longer around to update his status with crazy and funny things. I dream about him sometimes, I miss him, and I wish he was still here with us.

atearsThis is what loss do to loved ones, when they’re left behind, except I believe that suicide is worse. My nephew didn’t choose to leave us, he wouldn’t do that. And if I had succeeded in my attempts, that would have been a choice. There’s no way to justify or pretty it up… suicide is suicide. A choice is a choice. And everyone has a choice on whether or not to take their own life, EVERYONE.

A person may have their reasons, but it doesn’t make it right. And the guilt a person leaves on the loved ones will stay with them forever, no matter if the person leaves notes or messages of “It’s not your fault! Don’t blame yourself!” The loved ones will blame themselves and will always wonder, “I could have said or did this to save them. I didn’t try hard enough!”

I still feel some guilt that I didn’t nudge my nephew enough to not get mixed up with his new “friends” or maybe I should have invited him over that night instead of thinking, “I’ll catch up with him later.” I would feel a lot worse if he had taken his own life, instead of it being robbed away from him by some criminal. There is always hope to escape depression and suicide is a senseless act of murdering yourself.

The odd thing is, the person I was of pain and despair, I don’t recognize her at all. It’s like there was another person living as me, a clone of some kind. and it’s a little unsettling to feel this disconnect. When I think back on how this person use to believe “I won’t be around to see my thirties, nothing matters, everything in life is pain.”, i shudder. Who was that girl? I don’t know her! O_O

If I could somehow go back in time and meet my other self, I would shake her and shout, “Come off it! You’re in for some very awesome stuff in the future! It WILL get better and you will prevail! Now, knock it off and gather some cojones!”

Not that I believe that those suffering with depression should be handled in this way! No, never. For myself, I respond better with a little “tough love” sometimes. Heehee. ;^_^>

nightMy point is… I will never give up, I will strive to LIVE in this lifetime, and I will keep moving forward. I lived to vote for the first time at age 28, to find out what true friendship is all about, to really laugh like I mean it, to try new things and learn something new, to experience my first flight on an airplane,  and to publish my first book. I can’t wait to see what else I will explore and discover next!

Life may not be easy and nothing is ever perfect. Perfection doesn’t exist, I believe. There are times when I still feel sad for a while and when my nephew died I felt despair. However, I get through it and remember that the sadness will pass.  I’m still flying and that’s enough.

Mal: I had a good day.
Simon: You had the Alliance on you… criminals and savages… half the people on the ship have been shot or wounded, including yourself… and you’re harboring known fugitives.
Mal: We’re still flying.
Simon: That’s not much.
Mal: It’s enough.

Thanks for reading and be safe. ^_^

-D