“Magick” is a word I first heard (or read about) in Damien Echols devastating memoir, Life After Death. Echols spent more than 18 years on death row for a crime he did not commit, and his personal journey and soul survival is more than awe inspiring.”
The week started out grand with my computer crashing at just two months old, my car battery completely crapping out (along with a broken terminal), and a missed freelance deadline.
“The experience I have had is that once you start talking about experiencing a mental health struggle, you realize that actually you’re part of a quite a big club.” – Prince Harry The guitar Kurt Cobain played/used in the video for “Smells Like Teen Spirit” just sold at auction for $4,500,000.00, about $4,000,000.00 more than…
The guitar Kurt Cobain played/used in the video for “Smells Like Teen Spirit” just sold at auction for $4,500,000.00, about $4,000,000.00 more than expected, by Colts owner Jim Isray. That places it as the fourth most expensive piece of “known” music memorabilia ever (Kurt also takes the top spot for his guitar from the MTV Unplugged show, which sold for more than $8,000,000.00 at auction).
Someone close to me recently brought forth the question of whether or not I was curious about what people to say or think about me after I die. I couldn’t help but laugh a little and try and be anecdotal, but nothing that came to mind sounded right.
Over the course of seven years, I have been on countless medications, which I am currently paying for. I have always been consistent in taking my pills. I have never gone off my meds. I have never had any reason to. But I’m beginning to wonder if the damage done by years of taking numerous medications is just as bad as not have taken them at all.
Five years ago, I was 27, which was my golden birthday. I was wild then, wild and rearing to go be a part of any type of ignorant activity. I suffer from bipolar disorder if you guys didn’t know and even though I knew it at the time, I still used it to be the life of the party. I was still embarrassed (to an extent) about my condition, and it was easier to just be the wild one.
My father was in the United States Army for 31 years before retiring in his early 50s a few years ago. He was that type. He could have quit after four years under the rules and laws I know. But he dedicated another 27 years of service out of the “somebody’s gotta do it” ideology. Or so I hope. The alternative would be far more sinister.
It’s not unheard of. Someone with a mental health illness, consciously or not, may believe they’re allowed a free pass at times. This, of course, is false. In no set of circumstances does mental illness allow one to act like a dick.
With 1 in 5 U.S. adults suffering from some form of mental illness, it’s not a huge leap for one to think they may be suffering from one, as well. Depression and anxiety are extremely prevalent. Sharing similar hallmarks to certain other illnesses can drive many to assume they may be suffering from some sort of mental health issue.
I live in a small town. Like a really small town. It’s a very conservative, small town in a very conservative part of Illinois, which is most of the state (thank God for Chicago or we would be all Red). There aren’t a lot of resources in my area for people with any type of mental health or psychiatric problems. That seems to be the case for many rural areas across the U.S.
It has been one of “those weeks” to be sure. No, nothing genuinely terrible has occurred. It’s just been one of “those weeks” in the sense that when that phrase is used, all can be sure what is truly meant.
I recently had the luxury of finding an old notebook, one that had been used simply for creative purposes. It was about fifteen years old, but you couldn’t tell by its condition. However, the age of the notebook became more than evident after opening it up. To me, anyway.
I accepted a long time ago that it’s easier to try and get something out of my stress than it is to try and find any alleviation from it. It’s gotten better over time, but I still find myself milking it just to get something out of it. Otherwise, I’m exhausted for no reason, and the madness takes another round.
When I learned, or accepted, my diagnosis (Doctors diagnosed me with bipolar disorder at least three times over nine years before I decided to seek out treatment), I had to learn everything I could about the disorder.
If you follow my blog regularly, don’t worry if I’ve strayed from my personal journey of positive thinking. I haven’t. I’m still wondering if someone’s playing a joke on me. I’m behind the computer as we speak, waiting for someone to jump and shout, “GOTCHA!” Just know I went in with the idea for this post relieved and even a little excited. By the time I left, though, I couldn’t tell if I was baffled, underwhelmed, or downright offended.