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As an adjunct to my Couch Conversations I will add this semi seen series of Sparkly Conversations that my daughter and I have. This one, which may only be funny to me, was held completely on Twitter.
Her: I want to enter the American Apparel underwear contest.
Me: After viewing the site; This is porn.
Her: Whatever, Mom. It's just butts.
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A week ago I shared about my mom's battles with being bipolar and how that affects a family. I think I am ready to talk about suicide, how I have dealt with family members who have tried, and where that leaves me now on the subject. Remember, I am not a mental health professional. If you or someone you know is thinking of committing suicide please seek real life medical assistance.
After a childhood living with absolute mayhem and mentally ill people I didn't think my adult life would have that kind of craziness - I was actively trying to avoid it, but patterns run deep and you can't run away your whole life. Case in point, my husband, when I met him, was grieving and working through the issue that his long time girlfriend had killed herself and partially blamed him. That is extremely heavy stuff. He was dealing with this the best he could, and the reality is that he was young and it shattered his heart in a million places.
Anyway, instant attraction, and we are off to build our own life. I was 20 and he was 24 and I loved him (still do). I wasn't out to fix him and his complexities - I had learned to just ignore the craziness that happens and love anyway. See, patterns are heard to break.
On my 30th birthday, his heart and soul were battered - I asked him to speak to the phone advice line we had through our insurance. She asked to speak to me and then the words out of her mouth stunned me "please bring him immediately to the hospital he is a danger to himself." It was time for my heart to shatter and to not run away from the fear and sadness that had surrounded our family. I brought him and he was treated for depression - and they saved his life. The look in his eyes when they shut those heavy glass doors between us was of such fear, but we both knew that there was hope on the other side. It hurts even now to know that I could have lost him and that I had to be instrumental into his care. If I had not, well, I don't know what would have happened.
Zoom to a year ago: my father and mother had passed away, my husband had left, and my sister was spiraling far away from me. She had recently attempted to take her life and was being treated. There was something wrong though, I could hear it 2000 miles away when we spoke on the phone. There was something off in her voice. I couldn't pin it down because I wasn't there, but I knew we were headed off into no mans land. I was right, she tried again to commit suicide. It was then that I realized I couldn't help her. I wasn't helping the situation and it was hurting us both.
So, I wrote her a letter telling her I loved her, but she needed to get the help she needed right there. She needed to find the support in her home town. She needed to heal. I shared that our patterns weren't helping one another and that I thought it was dangerous for her to not get grounded in her own life. I love her, but I can't help.
I still can't and it breaks my heart, but I know that her healing has to come from within and from her support system in her home. I am just a distraction to the healing that needs to happen for her. I also can't fix her. Even when I want to, I can't. I hope that she is working towards health and happiness. She is an amazing woman; creative, fun and brilliant - the world needs her.
Two people, two very different outcomes. I don't really have any answers, but I know as a family member that when someone is attempting or even mentioning that they are done - they need help. You need help too. You have to build the skills that you need to set boundaries; to love them, but not fix them. Sometimes that means direct intervention, sometimes it means backing away. Either option is so hard, but it is often all you can do.
When I talk about mental health issues for the family again I will talk about social phobia - more fun on the farm!
Photo: My beautiful sister and I.
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The title is a bit deceiving. We didn't exactly train. We ran into walls, bounced balls of the ceiling, reached and missed. For Valentine's Day I got my husband a membership to the local community center (I say local, but we have to drive 30 minutes to another town to get there.)
When I bought it the woman at the counter asked if he would be offended that I was getting him a gym membership for Valentine's Day.
Apparently a gift of a gym membership actually means, "honey, you are fat" not "honey, let's spend some time together playing."
I bought it anyway and we are playing. Heck, we have to train for this Amazing Race we are on! (Go Team Couch!)
Back to yesterday. I suck. I am the very worst racquetball player on the planet. Not to mention that A) my husband was quite good when he was younger and B) he is the strongest man in the universe and can hit the ball so hard that it practically lets all of the air out.
But we played.
Obviously, he won.
We are going back on Friday where I will seek my glory - or at least try to not get creamed.
Photo Credit: coolmallu
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Last night Team Couch was a bit late to the race. We were running around in our own little abode cleaning, tossing crap, and sprinting up the stairs. What we caught of the other teams in Chile were high anxiety for us. They just seem so clueless sometimes. My Couch Partner was surprised when I let out a little sob when Grandma and Granddaughter triathletes were eliminated. She was kicked in the HEAD by a cow for gods sake - give her some credit for finishing the task!
It did make me wonder if we, over the age of 40, would be too old to really compete with those young lovers who are always on the race and dominate. They have endurance, are quick, and despite what Miss Teen says they are kind of stupid (usually)... but they are forces to be reckoned with. Could we do it?
Well, for our training for this week we are heading to the gym to play racquetball and start a running program. Who knows? Team couch might just have what it takes - we aren't granny's after all! Stay tuned for next weeks post about Team Couch - the Amazing Race Team to Beat of the Couch Set!
Photo Credit: Dave Austria
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The number one thing that is searched for on my blog is dealing with family members who suffer from depression. I am not surprised, but it isn't a topic that I like writing about often - just one that has come up and that I have been honest about. Recently LE wrote a heart filled post about her brothers suicide. I wasn't going to write or respond, but over 60% of the searches are on dealing with depression so I thought I would share what little I know.
First just a peek at my mom:
My mother was diagnosed as manic depressive when I was 8 in the state mental hospital in California. She had been saved by a doctor there who recognized the symptoms and put her on lithium. She was a classic manic - now she would be called bipolar, but she was all manic!
I don't remember much about being with her when I was young because after 6 she was taken away, my parents divorced, and I didn't see much of her until her diagnoses and her release from the institution. She managed well with the medication, she was brilliant, bold, and brash. She told you like it was (I get that from her) and remained mostly mentally well for my the rest of her life.
She had three other episodes when doctors thought they would play with her medication, she would quickly think she was Jesus, could speak German, or was going to fly off to Texas to be with her sister - all while carrying an Oriental rug. After forcing doctors - this was my role as a grown up - to crush up her medication and shove it down her throat she would come out of it and be mom again.
It isn't to say that we didn't have our difficulties. She was jealous of my relationship with my Dad, she could be terribly mean, and she was self centered. All that and I still admired her. She battled demons that I can only have nightmares about. She was brave, facing them all by herself. And she loved. She loved passionately. She had more friends then I will ever have and she was immensely kind to those who needed her. When she didn't have two nickles she would give one to the Veterans and the other to Caesar Chavez.
As a child of a mentally ill parent though you develop skills or traits to protect yourself from the craziness happening around you. It is almost like you are building a very thick skin, walrus skin. Or the ability to react to situations like a soldier in combat.
The truth. It isn't easy.
The other big truth. The families don't get the necessary help to deal with it. I was never counseled, asked if I needed support, or had any professional check in with me. Either did my dad, sister or brother. Families are on their own. Sure, there are support groups now, but you are just trying to deal with whatever crazy moment is happening at home. You might not have time to check in with a group meeting. I personally think it is the big failure of the mental health industry. They treat the patient, but not the family. That commercial about depression hurting everyone - it does.
My advice. If you are struggling with the mental illness of someone else in your family seek help. Go to a counselor, therapist, minister, or support group. You don't have to be a lone soldier.
Soon I'll talk about suicide attempts, seasonal affective disorder and social anxiety... great fun over here.
Photo: That is my mom, I am in the little sailor suit holding the balloon. It is my 4th birthday, I think.
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Me: I love that these grown ups get to play as their job.
Him: What are you talking about? (This is a common refrain.)
Me: The Olympics.
Him: What?
Me: Well, they are sledding as a job. Isn't that cool? And look, that guy is 39 and he SLED'S for a living.
Him: We are not becoming professional sledders.
Me: Oh. Ok. (Damn. It sounded like a great thing to me.)
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Obviously the only thing that is sticking with me is what I don't like - often the case. I just spent 10 minutes looking for the car commercial online that features the "mom" with two kids in the back explaining that she isn't "that" kind of mom. She wouldn't be caught in mom jeans.
There is a companion to this commercial with a dad saying that he is sort of a dad.
Granted, the name of the car and the maker have been erased from my mind.
All I can remember is that this is not the message that we want to send our new parents. Let's think of advertising as a tool for social engineering. A tool that we can use for good or for evil. Granted, those on Madison Avenue aren't known for their causes for the betterment of society, but this ad seems to sink to a new low.
Why wouldn't you want new parents to be "that kind of mom"? You know, the one that takes care of their children, loves being an active parent, puts her family before herself... what the heck is wrong with that kind of mom? Couldn't they be celebrating that kind of mom with a new car? Hey, car company that I don't remember, I am that kind of mom and I totally need a new car. Oh, I forgot, being snarky and undermining the family is way more important to your bottom line.
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Team Couch was prepared to start the Amazing Race last night! We had our snacks, glasses, and comfy clothes as we eagerly awaited the start of what was our dream race. As some of you know we auditioned last year to be on the current race and were sadly not chosen. Instead of crushing our dream we decided we would race along as Team Couch - the team with the best attitude and view of the race.
Last night we started the race in Los Angeles. Because we are both native Southern Californian's we knew the area pretty well. Their first challenge was to use public transit to get from the start to the airport. No problem, just a few blocks from Union Station - a place my husband has been and that we have commemorated as an oil painting by my brother - we know it well. From there it was just a quick jaunt on the Fly Away bus. We noticed that other teams took the metro - a good idea, but not quite as quick.
From there they flew from LA to Chile. All the teams ended up on the same plane due to maintenance issues. As the teams were jockeying for position we used this time to size them up. There are some obvious strong players, but we are fond of the couple who lost everything starting their own business and the grandma triathlete. The two women from LA are obnoxious. My husband said that if they were straight and had big hair they would be worse, but I'm not sure. The couple with Miss Teen South Carolina is beyond dumb - seriously this is her famous quote, "well some people don't have maps, South Africa, Iraq, and such as." That isn't even a sentence. The question is why don't people in the US know their geography better. Yep, not the sharpest tool.
After the plane ride they had to jump on a high wire and wiggle across. We would have sent my husband. When he works in construction he has to walk across beams, along roof tops, etc. and heights don't bother him. We think he would have wiggled across that like a circus performer. Then off to paint some houses. We wouldn't have a) lost our paint brush or b) painted the inside of someones home. A quick brush up and down in the fun elevator car to the finish. We might not have been first (granted we didn't even leave the couch) but we would have been in the race. Sadly, our favorite underdog team didn't even make it to the end of the line. They couldn't wiggle across the wire... truly the underdog.
Check here for more from Team Couch next week! We haven't been eliminated yet... in our minds!
Photo Credit: Code Poet
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Him: You look nice.
Me: Thanks.
Him: You brushed your hair.
Yep, the romance is thick in this part of the woods. Have yourself a lovely Valentine's Day. We will be watching the Amazing Race. I'll be blogging all through it about what we (who tried out for this season) would have done better/different/worse. We may not be racing officially, but we'll be adding our perspective as Team Couch! (Thanks to Little Miss L. for rooting for us even though we aren't "officially" on the race!)
Photo Credit: A. Agasi
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Last night we were watching TV together on the couch - I know that dreaded TV - and this is the conversation:
Him: What is that red thing?
Me: The monster?
Him: Yeah, doesn't it look like a...
Me: Oh, it does. It looks like a di...
Him: A sex toy with nubs.
Me: I'll never see it the same way again.
Love this, but really what was Kia thinking?
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