For My Mother

This Wednesday, July 2nd, 2104, will be the 33rd anniversary of my mother's fatal car wreck. I would like, if I may, to tell you a bit about her.

She was a beautiful human being - inside and out. At 5'6" she was voluptuous, reminiscent of Elizabeth Taylor in her heyday. With curly auburn hair and a face full of freckles, bless her heart, she could walk outside in a rain storm and get sunburned. Though she always worried about her weight, to me she was the perfect amount of plump to snuggle into when she would hold you in her arms, to her bosom.

When she met my father she was in nursing school. She left that to get married and have me. She would have made a marvelous nurse - she was so caring and gentle, so tender-hearted. I always felt responsible, I felt bad, knowing that if not for me she could have done so much more with her life. She never made me feel that way, though.

She was amazing at mothering, at making you feel safe in her company. She made sure the dogs and cats were fed and cared for. When we were at the mall one year looking for a dress for me for an upcoming school dance we saw a guard about to throw a tiny kitten out into the snowstorm that was raging. Someone had dumped it in the JCPenney's. She allowed me to grab the kitten and we carried it through the mall until we found me an outfit. We had that little cat, Jesse, for years.

She was a fantastic daughter to my grandmother. Mom lost her father when I was three and she was pregnant with my little brother. I know that must have been hard, because I was pregnant with my first son when she passed away. She was always there for her two brothers. As the oldest, they looked up to her. She was the one who planned the family get-togethers on both sides. My father's mother said that the family would never be together again like it was before mom passed and she was right, there were no more holiday reunions.

My mother was a wonderful friend. She would take care of the neighborhood kids if needed and she was right there to help plan a party. She fit right in with the other mothers.

As she and my father grew apart and got divorced, it became clear what my mother was not. She was not a great housekeeper. She preferred to be involved with us instead of doing the cleaning. The house was not nasty, just unkempt. There were more important things to do.

My mother was not mentally fit. Later I learned that she must have suffered from anxiety and depression. Severe depression. If I only knew then what I know now I would not have been the rebellious teenager that caused her grief. I would have understood her a bit more, been a bit more helpful in the house and with my younger brother and sister. Let's face it, I could have been a lot more helpful to her, but I was seventeen and I knew everything and wanted stuff my way.

When she died I was five months pregnant with my firstborn. I was just getting up the nerve to tell her and my father. How different everyone's life would have been if I had had my mom in my corner when the baby was born! Instead, I was bereft of the joy that would have come with seeing her with her first grandchild and I suffered postpartum depression.

From my mother I learned that everyone on earth deserves to be loved. That every creature is important and has a purpose. That you should always be kind. That there is poetry all around us if we would only look. That great happiness can be found in books. That human touch is, in itself, healing.

But I also got, from her and from my father's family, the propensity for great depression and anxiety. The ability to suffer dire sadness. The love of procrastination where cleaning, inside my mind and in my environment, is concerned. When I think of all that she suffered through without help, it makes me sadder.

I hope that the day goes by uneventfully for my little brother and little sister. It is, of course, very hard on them, too. Although I miss her terribly and hate the awful day she was wrenched from us, I try to take comfort in the fact that I had a bit of time with her at all. She was a wonderful person and I strive to be like her, in most ways.

And I hope that, if you have plans that include your family this Fourth of July holiday, you take a minute and thank your mother for being there for you. Because you just never know, do you?

Please Vote For Me!

Yay! I have a story in this week's Iron Writer competition!

If you have a minute, please click here to go to the website.

Once there you can read the four stories in this week's contest and, at the bottom of the page, you can vote for your favorite. Even if you don't vote for mine, there are four good stories that only take a moment to read.

What is The Iron Writer Challenge? Each week four writers are given four elements to include in their story of 525 words or less. The writers have four days to complete their story and get it turned in. The winner is decided by four judges' recommendations and the popular vote. You can vote at the bottom of the page, just below the last story.

I am so excited! I think that they are all good stories, so my chances are slim but slim is better than none.

Thank you for voting, no matter whose you do vote for!

How Do I Emote Differently?

There has been a study done that those of us with tinnitus process emotions in different parts of our brain. Click here to read the article.

Although it didn't go into detail, I could have told them that. During those times that my tinnitus is going strong, sounding like a freight train going through my head, I don't really process love and goodness very well. If at all. I mean, I am grouchy.

I'm sure that is not the data they were looking for, but it's true.

Perhaps they could do a study to see if those of us who suffer with tinnitus also suffer from depression in larger numbers. I can't find any info on that.

In my opinion, they would find out this: those who suffer from tinnitus are more prone to depression and anxiety because it is so dog-gone aggravating! Emotions? I'll show you some emotion brought on BY the tinnitus. There's frustration and even anger sometimes. Bottom line is - tinnitus makes it hard to be warm and cuddly sometimes.

But I try. I smile when I really want to choke something, and that seems to help. I realize that explaining to those who don't experience it is hard to do. And it is not always a freight train, sometimes it is a dial-up modem or a hissing sound. So it is not very, very bad each and every minute. And I am grateful for that.

The next time you hear a train whining away in the distance, think about having that sound with you always. And then you could see how we might process emotions differently. Especially frustration!

They're Doing It In England!

Well, doctors have been prescribing books for those with mild to moderate depression. While I don't think that it would help me, I applaud the practice. It's called bibliotherapy.

Apparently it has been going on for quite some time according to this article on Smithsonian.com.

When I was an inpatient at a psych hospital we were given books to help with the majority of our problems. While none cured me, they did give me something to think about on my road to recovery.

Books themselves have always been a form of therapy for me, anyway. I can escape between the pages and my troubles are held at bay for a few hours.

It is only in my worst times that my mind robs me of even this activity. When I am very, very down my comprehension skills are nil and therefore reading is more frustrating than soothing. Even books that are old friends are no help in those times.

I have found, however, a new friend in audio books. I first started listening as a means to get to sleep. For years my sleep was catch-as-catch-can. I would have trouble falling asleep, and staying asleep if I did happen to drift off. Then I found out that I could put audio books on my iPod. I have always loved reading aloud and this was like having someone right there reading to me! And It worked!

Audio books make me concentrate on the words and my mind will stop racing. It helps when I am experiencing very bad tinnitus. Occasionally they have even helped with my panic attacks.

And I was thrilled to find some old friends available on audio. Stephen King books It and The Stand, The Shining and Tommyknockers are there, as is Robert R. McCammon's Swan Song. And I have about a dozen Dean Koontz novels downloaded. I also have newer novels like King's Under the Dome and Doctor Sleep. Can you see that I am a big fan of the horror genre?

Although I have an iPad mini that has a few free books downloaded onto it, I find that it is not the same to me as holding an actual book in my hands. So I have yet to be converted to that medium.

Even though the book you are reading may not be considered therapeutic, I believe that the act of reading is. Whether it's a new novel or one that you grew up reading again and again, I think that your mind likes that little trip into another reality. It is like a rest stop for your head.

I hope that eventually the practice of prescribing books becomes commonplace in the United States. So often people who are a little depressed are not aware of the fact that there are books that can help them. In my head my depression is chuckling right now, daring me to try to throw a book at it. It will not help in all cases, but it is worth trying in those cases where it just might.

Do You Have Invisible Hurts?

My hair is graying. I have to wear glasses. I am still 5'6" but no longer weigh just 115 pounds. I would have to say that I look like a normal human being.

I try to conceal any outward show of my struggle with my depression and anxiety. I will try to put on a happy face if I think that the people that I am around would be uncomfortable with my mental illness. It is part of the reason that I prefer not to be around people for the most part.

I am thinking of all this because I came upon a wonderful blog about how the face of mental illness is the face of a normal person. You can't tell from looking at someone what they are fighting day in and day out.

You can click here to read Lindsay Holmes' blog post. I think that she is spot on.

Those of us who suffer from mental illness are often thought of as "not that sick because she looks fine to me". What is the saying about being like a duck? Calm on top but paddling like hell underneath? That applies to so many of us.

Thank you for reading this post and hers. It takes talking about it to try and gain a better understanding of the real face of mental illness. The face of a real human being.

Lovely Quote

This is so very true.

Oh, But What If It Does??

I am plagued with neck and back pain, in addition to my depression and anxiety. Lucky me.

Tomorrow I am going to have steroids injected into my neck to try to alleviate the pain for a while. I am so nervous about it.

A Words with Friends friend, N, says that both she and her mom had them. They worked for her mom but not for her. So, sometimes they work and sometimes they don't.

I was on the verge of calling to cancel when Mary Engelbreit posted this to her Facebook page:

I love her illustrations and the sayings that come along with them. I have been a big fan for years. I love her.

How serendipitous that she post this when I was in the midst of one of my mental turmoils. Or, as I recently learned, it was an example of synchronicity as per Carl Jung. You can read about that by clicking here.

So I think that I will trust the universe and its hints and go ahead with the injections. What if it does work out? I could be pain free without any medication! That would be great.

Has anyone else had these injections? Did they work for you? Thank you for your input.