Faith, Mental Health

A welcoming church for battling anxiety

I was reading the book Quiet by Susan Cain (affiliate link) and she talked about how church isn’t really designed for introverts. She brought up many good points, and as I read that section, I began to think of how many times church also isn’t built for people with anxiety.

You see, when my anxiety began to ramp up, I had to drastically change my life in order to keep living it. Only having so many spoons (so much energy) to give and all that. Which factors in to all the things I weigh when attending church (or really, just about any gathering of people. But for the purposes of this blogpost, church).

Disclaimer: This list is not intended to be representative of ALL people who battle anxiety, nor is it intended as a demand that all churches offer these items. That’s not realistic or beneficial. Every church offers different things, which is good because every individual has different needs. And most importantly: the answer is not one size fits all, but about digging into relationship to learn what helps and what hinders.

Instead, this is to show the myriad of seemingly small things that make a HUGE difference in serving the people around you. Perhaps this will open the discussion of how churches and gatherings can be more inviting for those who battle mental illness.

So without further ado….

Frivolous-seeming items that I consider at church, not for the spiritual aspect, but for my own mental health:

  1. Drinks being allowed in the sanctuary: Chai lattes are my liquid calm. I’ve written all about it before, but basically, a combination of the cozy warmth and the placebo effect makes it calming for anxiety-indiucing situations.
  2. Seating isn’t dictated: I need to sit near the back on an end seat ideally, for a quick escape, or at least so I don’t feel trapped. That “everyone come to the front” thing terrifies me. Worse, twice at church events I’ve had an usher ask me to move into the center of the row to make it easier for those who arrive late, which I can understand from their perspective, but I came early to have the seat that I need. (This ironically makes me think of the parable in Luke 14:7-11 of “taking the worst seat at the table so you can be honored and invited to a good seat”.) A church that doesn’t bring up seating is best for me – which usually means a church that is full enough to not be spread too thin, but not so full as to be packed in to every last seat.
  3. Chairs, not pews: With pews, people can crowd your space. With chairs, I can be a little more certain that my personal bubble remains in tact.
  4. No congregational parts that everyone “just knows” except me: Lots of churches you have to know to recite a certain thing at a certain time or stand or sit or whatever at a certain time. Ritual. It’s a beautiful thing. But, if it’s not a ritual I’m already familiar with, if I don’t already know those queues, I’m not ready to learn them. I need to stick to the structures I already know.
  5. Punctual/structured, know what to expect: In contradiction to the above, churches that switch it up every time or start really late or the “don’t have a plan” wing-it stuff… Panic! I’m a paradox, okay?
  6. Small groups stay small with consistent people, location, time, punctual: Related to the above, I need to know what to expect. Same people, same place, sticking to the times we’ve set. Deviations from the plan are gonna take up a spoon (my energy).
  7. More than one-stall bathrooms: Y’all, one-stall bathrooms are hard to go cry or have a panic attack in. Bathrooms are the safe place, until they’re not because there’s a line of people outside waiting for this one stall and they KNOW you’ve been in there for 10 minutes and either you or your bowels are in distress. Multiple stalls give the freedom to stick around if needed with people still cycling through the line to not figure out you’ve been in there forever trying to avoid panic.
  8. People arrive early for chat rather than chatting after service: I don’t have the spoons (energy) after service to stick around. That’s why I show up early, when I still have the energy to attempt socializing.
  9. No welcome/greet time midservice: Please do not ask me to welcome people around me during service. Both the introvert and the panic in me can’t handle it. There’s no time to connect with the person on a meaningful level, & I can only interact with so many strangers in a day before panic sets in, so this is a real bummer of a way to hit that quota. I heard of a church that takes a break midservice for people to refill their coffee – that naturally builds in casual conversation without putting pressure on anyone to awkwardly approach another and act like instant bffs. I think it’d be cool if more churches implemented that model.
  10. Loose dress code: I need comfy calming clothes for my bad days – if I have to be fancy or if I have to wear jeans/tshirt to fit in with the crowd, that’s not enough. (Note: sorry to break it to you, but jeans are not relaxing material.) Also, I try “stacking” my out-and-about anxiety-inducing activities to better utilize the small energy I have to give each day, so if I can show up in gym clothes with a tunic over them, even better.
  11. Lots going on during worship: I imagine this one especially doesn’t apply to everyone. For me, if there’s a strong bass or drumbeat, or if there’s a flag waving, or a dancer, or a loud harmony, or a painter or violin or something unique – all the better for me. I need something to hone in on that keeps me grounded, and somehow, those things do it.
  12. Open style of worship: Where people are welcome to sit, stand, cry, kneel, sing or not, whatever. I can’t always stand. I sometimes will cry. If I’m the only one sitting and crying, I won’t exactly feel like it’s an appropriate atmosphere for me.
  13. Kind theology on topics of healing and demonic oppression: If I’m going to bring up anxiety and be told I have demons or be told I don’t have enough faith, that’s gonna be rough. Note: The latter has come up in every church setting I’ve been in, but at the very least I try to avoid it when possible.
  14. Has Kleenexes, can handle expressions of emotion: Once again, sometimes I’m gonna be sobbing. This helps.
  15. Meetings don’t go past 7:30pm: You laugh now, but wait til you ask me to hang out in the evening. Then you’ll give me “the look” I’ve grown so familiar with. Sleep, super early sleep, helps me manage my anxiety that night and the next day. I know, I’m like a grandma, (my friends who know Japanese say “obaa-chan mitai” which literally means “like a grandma”). But if society wants to put up with me the next morn, it’s gotta be that way.
  16. Less about doing, more about being: I know, both are important. Absolutely. But if the church is constantly pushing socialization and volunteer opportunities, I can only spread myself so thin and interact with so many people before I give out. I want involvement, but in manageable chunks.
  17. People come and go through the service: If everyone sits/stands in their place the entire service, I’m gonna feel real uncomfortable with my leaving for the bathroom (for “regular” reasons or for panic, both happen frequently) or leaving the building early because my anxiety can’t take it that day. When other people take bathroom breaks, take their kids in and out, leave early for a lunch meeting, go grab coffee midservice – anything to normalize the coming and going during the service – I feel more free to do the same without being conspicuous or judged as a heathen or whatever.
  18. Honest lyrics, not just happy happy: Ya know that song “You’re never gonna let me down”? Ughhh, sorry ’bout it, but God is gonna let ya down at some point. Because His ways are higher and all that, we’re not always gonna see eye to eye with Him. And I’m all about the happy happy joy joy lyrics in moderation, but if our worship can also acknowledge the depths of suffering and grief and God’s presence through it, I’m gonna feel a whole lot more like I can relate to the content and worship and a whole lot more like I’m not an imposter Christian for not feeling happy all the time.
  19. Avoiding too much of the “it’s not about your comfort” lectures: It’s not. I know that, and I do need reminded of that sometimes. But I also spend countless hours of my life stretching outside my comfort zone to do seemingly small things because they’re good for me. And I think of the verses that talk about not being a barrier to those approaching God (Matthew 23:4, 13), the seemingly moral standards that actually have nothing to do with holiness and can hinder it instead. Those are the things I pay attention to for my own life, like this list here, and I hope to remove any barriers I put up for others as well.

Bonus idea that I’ve only seen once but I wish every church would adopt: Over the past year or two or something, my pastor has begun emailing congregants every week right before the weekend, just a super short email of who’s leading worship, what we’ll be talking about, and any special events that are going on that week (communion, potluck, outreach, etc.). Not some big professional marketing email or anything, but something quick and personable. And remember: I want to know what to expect, to mentally prepare myself or whatever. So this new thing he started, the bomb-diggety. 10/10 would recommend.

Disclaimer: This list is not intended to be representative of ALL people who battle anxiety, nor is it intended as a demand that all churches offer these items. Every church offers different things, which is good because every individual has different needs. Rather than a critique, I actually hope this mostly calls attention to ways that seemingly small things in the church are serving individuals in large ways. In the meantime, if this also opens a dialogue of how churches can serve their attendees in new ways, I am happy with that as well.

So, what about you? Are there seemingly small things that really serve you in a big way at church? Is there something you see a need for in your church that you can offer? Are you providing a safe space for individuals to discuss small changes you’ve never seen a need for? Comment below and let me know your thoughts.

Mental Health

For the ones who cry too much, even if that’s only me

Let me tell you a story.

Credit: It’s a short story within “The Nobodies Album.” That book itself is a novel, with a small collection of short stories throughout that build on the theme of the actual novel. And I’m going to completely go all spoiler on one of the short stories, but there is no spoiler for the novel as a whole. This short story alone is really a great look at humanity, and worth the entire cost of the book I promise.

It’s called “The Human Slice”, about a world where everyone forgets all the unhappy memories. No one knows why. But the rare few who remember, those people are called The Heavies, because they’re such downers! Why would anyone want to bring up the unhappy past?

One family had a trauma just before the memories were taken – a toddler dying. But the family forgets, and only the grandma remembers, the only Heavy. The grandma reminds them of their past, and they all have various feelings of hearing it – some wanting to live in blissful ignorance, some wanting to know like really know their own past as their own. As this short story progresses, we find out a lone granddaughter remembers too, and is simply pretending to be like everybody else. Happy. Blissful. Forgetful.

When they visit the scene of the accident, the grandma finds the girl in tears. It’s almost like a reuniting for them. They are once again together to suffer their grief, no longer in it alone. It’s hopeful. They can finally chat about the memories together, work through it together. And then, the ending. The granddaughter wakes up to breakfast and asks grandma – “Will you take me to put flowers on Jonah’s grave?” and grandma says, “Who’s Jonah?”

Boom! What an ending! She forgot, ya’ll! I rarely have the urge to throw a book across the room, but I was so close with that. SO GOOD! and so terrifying. The granddaughter finally admits her secret and has a companion to grieve with, and the memories are taken from yet another! Which leads us to think “poor granddaughter” of course, but also what is going on in the world and will it not stop until no sad memory is left?


 

So why am I telling you this tragically beautiful story? Because sometimes I forget that pain isn’t the end. That sorrow being taken away isn’t the answer.

The story brings up so many quandaries, of people no longer knowing what dangers they have encountered. Kids punch other kids and say “It’s okay, they won’t remember it later.” Students don’t remember the sad parts of history to take the test, but obviously repercussions go further than that. An abused wife would never remember to hide from her husband and call 911. A teenager would consider getting back together with the boyfriend who cheated on her.

Sometimes sorrow is a protector.

But also, sometimes sorrow is proof you’re living, proof you’re human.

The mother in the above story kept asking to be retold the story of her toddler, because she couldn’t remember her own son. Every morning she’d awake having forgotten again. She’d forgotten something so much a part of her. She couldn’t move on, because she didn’t have a memory to return to.


 

I’m an introspective, intuitive, analytical, and emotional person. I cry too easily, I hurt too easily. And sometimes I just want a break.

I once apologized to my boyfriend – “Sorry. Most people wouldn’t cry over something so little.” I don’t remember what it was I was crying about then, but I’m sure it was true. I’ve cried over him having only refrigerated butter instead of room temperature, so case in point.

You know what he said? “Maybe other people should. Maybe you’re supposed to feel this much and you’ve got it right.”

I don’t necessarily agree with him – I remember quite distinctly thinking “No, absolutely no one should cry because [insert ridiculous reason here.]” But he was thoughtful, and he did have a point.

That it’s okay to feel, even alot. And I shouldn’t wish it away for the world, because it’s a part of living.

Mental Health, Musings

Trust the chai tea latte…

It takes very little to incapacitate me – about 3 minor inconveniences, sometimes 2. But I have my liquid calm, and it’s not alcohol and it’s not coffee:

If you see me holding a chai, you can bet I’m in a situation prone to panic attack. Crowds or stressful days or interacting with strangers. I call chai my liquid sanity. And of course there’s the occasional time I just have a chai tea latte because it’s a cup of dreamy sweet joy 🙂

So one day I was on my way to work and had an urge for chai. But I hadn’t expected a bad day; I’d be fine, skip the chai, and save money and health. Then I remembered the last time this happened:

The Last Time

I craved chai, but resisted the urge because there was no reason for it. I had a no-stress day ahead of me, likely. I’d save money and health. So I drove right past the Bux, got to work to find out I’d sent – the horror – an email to 60,000-ish people that said “Dear FirstNames”… Like it said “FirstNames” instead of “Joe and Sue” or “Dear Mikayla”. I WANTED MY CHAI!!!!! 🙁

Back to This Time

I remembered that instant and thought, “Maybe I’d be wise to have a chai, just in case.” But I reasoned, don’t be silly. This isn’t some magical potion that you have a deeper connection with that warns of doom to come. It’s just happenstance. So I resisted, again.

What was I thinking? Life was kicking my patootie.

A friend had given me a mug from Scotland that says “Scunnered” on it. It’s a Scottish word that means “seriously pit-oot, awfy fed up, and greatly unamused” all in one. I dropped it in the parking lot and it broke. And guess how I felt? Definitely scunnered.

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I went home after work and thought “Ya know, I’d rather not have a panic attack soon. I should relax. I should take a bath with a nice bathbomb.” But ohhh no. I relaxed for about 5 minutes before my skin and my tub looked like it came from the Cat in the Hat book:

CatInTheHat

Actual image:

Tub

And it wouldn’t come off with just water, it took a lot of scrubbing and cleaner. I had to scrub my tub instead of relax! Can we all agree it’s one of the worst chores for even the best of days, and here I was doing it on a rough day.

And then, I was like “I’m gonna be healthy and eat those green beans I bought yesterday.” Because I’m trying to be healthy and not let life get me down just because of inconveniences. Sure, I wanted the junk food from this insanely unfortunate day (Yes, it counts as insanely unfortunate from 2 inconveniences, I know, first world problems….), but I’d resist the junk food and eat healthy! But noooo, the green beans were all brown and gross WHEN I HAD ONLY BOUGHT THEM YESTERDAY.

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End of day: I threw a fit, ate french fries, and gave up on making the evening worth anything.

And I learned a lesson: maybe chai actually IS a magical potion that I have a deep connection with to know of doom to come, and MAYBE I just need to BUY THE CHAI. If I feel the urge, BUY THE CHAI. No dilly dally over money or health when SANITY is involved! Am I right? 🙂

Buy the Chai!

After sharing this tragic story with my coworker, she laughed, said it was hilarious, and then said I should post a blog about it to make the day worth it. So I hope you laugh enough to make up for my pain 🙂 please laugh!

Mental Health

Arm surgery, anxiety, & the abnormals

 

A lady had broken her arm and the doctor had a quick-fix, something for the interim because of other health complications that prevented a complete fix. This lady no longer could lift so much as a cup of tea with that hand now, halfway helpless, but her bone slowly healed in that wrong way and she grew stronger and found ways to adapt and get around without using her one arm so much.

Months later, the doctor said it was time for the Big Fix – a complete recovery and healing for her arm.

 Does it come as a shock that she didn’t want it?

Thing is, her arm had healed wrong, so her arm would need re-broken to be completely healed. It would be a long painful process and she would have to readjust to new pain and then to this new “normal” life with both arms in relatively perfect condition.

I heard this story and immediately could relate. Can’t you? To that thing you’ve gotten so used to, that wrong thing, but you’re not sure you can live without it?

 

Because being broken is less painful than being fixed.

The novel I’m working on is called “Unfixed” and that’s oddly a safe place for these grotesque characters. But I wonder what would happen if in the end I heal them, if their story heals them.

  • Who would they be then?
  • Would they be themselves anymore, or someone new?
  • What would they have to re-learn, and would they ever like it?

I’ve learned to manage my pain, much like my characters manage theirs. A community of misfits. We’ve created a new normal. And it’s scary to think of leaving it. It’s kinda like arm surgery. And I’m not sure I’m ready to break again.
 
 

The great & terrible light ahead…

As this post is published, I’m in the middle of a month of busy. Me, a social life! So many things I’m doing, and I love them all, but I’m just waiting for anxiety to knock me back down. But it can’t keep me from living, not totally.

And that’s not the end of my story either. Really, I don’t know the end to that lady’s arm surgery story. But I know that the end of mine will be complete healing – in this life or another. Healing isn’t regret – that’s a lie, likely from the very pain that afflicts us. I and my characters are going to learn to be brave, to be the hero of our stories as we go into the terror of the woods and as we emerge into the great & terrible light again.

 

Free, Take 1:
|Normal| |Control| |Courage| |New Name|

I recently read this Hannah Brencher post on keeping your normal. You should read it all, but here’s a snippet that I think reminds of the control and the courage we do have.
 

Here’s the thing: I am not my depression. I am not defined by it or confined by it. It happened to me. It still happens to me. My depression does not, on any day of the week, give me a new name though. It will never have that sort of permission.No mental illness, no horrific tragedy, no person who did you wrong or left you broken is allowed to name you. It does not work that way, no matter what other people tell you. This is your life. These are your lungs. This is your space.

 

 

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Mental Health, Relationships

When you drive 230 miles thu a snowstorm for your long-distance bf

It starts with dancing to Lady Gaga while cruising through the flurries. Not a care in the world. It goes downhill though, beware.

Here’s how it happened for me:

Halfway through it got rough. Ice on my windshield wipers kept them from clearing my windshield, and I was seeing through a sliver.

It was one of those moments where I knew God is for me in an overall sense, but then I start analyzing whether my greatest good and His greatest glory will actually come from me dying or at least suffering a horrific car crash. And hoping that His glory comes from, ya know, me being safe and sound in my car and then cozied up at Josh’s. (World, meet my boyfriend Josh.)

I finally found a gas station to clean my windshield at, but got stuck in the middle of the road because the town hadn’t plowed their roads yet. That’s when I burst into tears the first time (lol and also, ya know, not funny)…

then I got back on the road and was sliding all around the interstate while cars raced past me. Even though I was in the town right next to my destination, I thought about stopping at a hotel because I wasn’t sure I’d make it.

I was most positive I would die, or at least enter a horrific coma, when Josh told me his coworker was driving just a couple miles away from me on the same interstate. I was like, ya know how this works right? Too big a coincidence, snowstorm and closeby coworker means one of the following:

  1. I crash and die and Josh calls his coworker to go check on me and make sure I’m alive but of course I’m not
  2. I crash and go unconscious so I can’t respond to Josh and Josh calls his coworker to check on me and the coworker rushes to save my life and get me to the hospital

 

That’s how it’d happen in the movies anyhow 🙂

 

But I did in fact make it and pulled into Josh’s alleyway, only to get stuck there. Burst into tears a second time because I was so close but also so so far. After awhile, I was able to back out and park on the street.

 

The trip which usually takes 3.5-4hrs actually took almost 6.5 hrs. And I told Josh I’m never visiting him again during inclement weather, unless he’s on his deathbed or stranded and freezing.

 

Luckily, the ride home was fine. I saw a few people on the side of the road, and got stuck in traffic for 45 minutes from someone else’s car crash, but I at least had no problems.

So if you’re thinking of driving through a snowstorm this winter, cozy up by the fireplace with a book instead. Or face the consequences 😛

 

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Faith, Mental Health

While I was doing other things, life.

“Your life gets lived while you’re busy d0ing other things.” –Rizzoli & Isles

I’m pretty sure formulaic crime dramas aren’t supposed to be inspiration for writing. But I finished Gilmore Girls and need some feel-good TV female relationships. And every so often a certain quote just hits you.

I don’t always make the right entrepeneurial-dreamer choices. I watch TV too much and blame it on needing relaxation time or – the writers’ perfect scapegoat – research 🙂 I don’t always know how to balance my need to push myself and exercise self-discipline with my need to monitor my anxiety levels and say no and rest. But while I’m figuring all this out, my life is being lived anyhow. TV shows and all.

While I’ve been busy figuring it all out, I’ve grown bitter and skeptical, in general but of the church specifically. How bad is that! A professing Christian who loves the church doesn’t know how to just be there anymore. And I’m trying to fix that. To remind myself that God has put me in a safe place.

But while I’ve been busy figuring it all out, I’ve been questioning, good questioning. Who is God really, beyond Christian tradition and deep in the Bible. Who does God say that I am? What is my sin and what is my sickness and what needs deliverance? It’s not easy questions, I certainly haven’t found all the answers. But it’s a reminder that God loves disciples who don’t have it all figured out.

 

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Mental Health, Musings, Relationships

Living is the Hardest Part

“We say that writing is the hardest part, but I think that living is the hardest part.”

 

I haven’t written much in the past 6 months. And I wasn’t okay with it.

How long can a writer go without writing and still be called a writer? 

I wasn’t okay. Until I had this quote come up in my Facebook memories –

 

“We say that writing is the hardest part, but I think that living is the hardest part.”

Hannah Brencher said that in a class I took about a year ago. (P.S. Everyone go take her class or read her blog or follow her facebook/twitter/instagram or buy her book. You can’t regret it.)

 

The truth is, I haven’t been writing lately. I’ve been living. And learning to live. I explored new places. I met new people, and am learning not to panic about it. I actually have had multiple sunburns this summer. I’m living.

 

I’m still not entirely okay with not writing. I’m more emotional. (Can you believe it? Me, more emotional than I already am!? And my boyfriend gets the brunt of it, and – get this – still likes me! He’s a keeper 🙂 ) I feel a bit like I’m floating around without an anchor, not really sure where I’m going in life or what I’m working towards.

So I have to write. But I have to live. I have to intentionally choose both writing and living and know when to choose which. That’s what I’m learning right now.

 

I don’t know what that means for this blog. I hope to get back to weekly postings. You can count on me posting semi-regularly on Thursdays. Upcoming posts you’ll hear more of what I’ve been up to. And thinking. And living. Who knows 🙂 Thanks for sticking with me!

 

 

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Mental Health

Today I’m Not Strong

I’m not sure when it happened. There’s no moment I can pinpoint, no catalyst to blame. Or maybe there’s too many. Did it happen when I lost my dream? When I lost my community? When I lost my future?

The symptoms, the evidence piles up against me. I’m out of control.  To be blunt, I’ve gained weight, I’ve lost friends, I avoid gatherings, I’ve neglected my blog, I’ve postponed my writing/teaching, and I failed a dream I’ve been working toward for 4 years.

But this isn’t supposed to be a pity party. I haven’t lost everything (for instance, I haven’t lost weight…haha. ha. ha. I know, not funny…). I am discouraged, but I’m not gone. I am discouraged.

The thing is, we don’t go through this life unscathed. There’s some days I just don’t know if I can make it, but an easy life isn’t promised and I’m not sure that’s one I’d want anyhow.

I’m still working on myself. I’m still working on my dreams. I’m still working on looking past myself to all the other people in this world I can care for. I’m still working. I’m still here.

Those picture-perfect people who are the epitome of grace and beauty? You know the ones….You’ve got them on your facebook because they’re friends, but also to remind you that you’re not who you’re supposed to be, not yet. But when we enroll in a battle, when we’re fighting for something, it’s not pretty. We’re not necessarily gonna be pretty. We’re gonna be scarred and bruised and calloused and somehow still beautiful.

Some warriors have frazzled hair and cautious steps. That’s me. I’m not supposed to be this way, but if that’s the wound I carry from battling for love, for dreams, for life, then I’ll take it.

I’ll limp my way through and believe that somehow at the end I will come out “a pure and spotless bride without wrinkle.” I don’t know how I go from broken to spotless. I don’t know how I go from weary to youthful. But it’s my hope. And until then, I’m broken yet beautiful.

 

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Mental Health

When You Don’t Recognize Yourself Anymore

Not good, not bad, just not me anymore, or a different me I suppose.

I looked in the mirror this morning and realized that I didn’t recognize that person staring back. Not just the figure. The person. Something in the eyes. Something in the thoughts.

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When was the last time I knew myself? I don’t know. But the me I knew isn’t the me I am now. And I’m not sure why. And I’m not sure if I’m okay with it or not.

Part of it is the changes around me, I’m sure. Adapting. When everything around me changes I can’t expect to stay the same. I can’t survive it all intact.

Another part is that I’ve lost time with the people who make me most myself – people I’m all me with. Too often I’m just a shadow now.

I’m spending time reintroducing the me I am to the me I know. Reconciling the two. Embracing what is good, finding what I’ve lost, dropping the junk I’ve accumulated. The bitterness. The fear. The walls. The death of things that should not die.

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Still, there’s some part of me that circumstances, relationships, and even I can’t change. We’re constantly changing as humans, but there’s some core identity that can’t be lost. I’m searching for that now. In writing. In doing what I love. In realizing that I’m not lost, no matter how uncertain I am. I’m right here, to find and to see for any who takes the time. Including myself. So here I am saying “Hello world.” And here I am saying “Hello me. Nice to meet you.”

 

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Mental Health

How To Be Okay…

 

    • Turn your ears off. Don’t hear what others are saying. Don’t hear the cries, the laughs, the shrieks.

 

    • Turn your light off. Don’t be too much. Don’t be too happy, too sad, too ambitious, too progressive, too opinionated, too emotional, too introspective, too loud, too quiet, too needy, too carefree, or too uptight.

 

    • Turn your heart off. Don’t feel. Don’t think about feeling. Care about neither yourself nor the world.

 

    • As soon as scientific advances allow, become a robot.

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Maybe being okay isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Instead of being okay, try being:

    1. A fire. Burn hot, burn high, burn far. Infect everything in your path til you find all that is left is the most pure, condensed form of being.
    2. A sponge. Take it all in, everything you see, hear, feel, soak it up, then pour it out til the world sees where you’ve been and all that you’ve known.
    3. A dancer. Choose your music, choose your rhythm, and beckon others join.
    4. A mask. And then another. And another. Sometimes it takes knowing what you’re not to really know who you are.
    5. A hot mess. Try it if you need to. Find out who’s there for you in the end.
    6. A faerie tale. Adventure, happy ever after, mischief, augmented reality…Have it all.
    7. Nonsensical. We all need a little madness.
    8. An agent of change. Shake things up. Feel heavily, speak out, find your story, and live it to where you’ve made the world a little better.

Okay isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Be more than okay. It’s okay.

 

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