I have not written and I have not read about the shooting in Newtown, Connecticut. The pain and the loss is far too great for me to opine. I have not read all the beautiful posts by my fellow bloggers, only because I couldn’t. I am not that strong. I have been thinking since Friday about what has happened but I don’t know what to make of it all. I had a party last night, my annual ladies Christmas cocktail party, and not everyone talked about the murders in Connecticut but Friday was ever-present.
This post was written by my brother-in-law. I have always loved him but never more than when I read this.
“Lots of talk about mental health lately. I’ve had my struggles with it and even accepting there is a problem, having a will to get better and means to pursue treatment getting help is not easy. Our lifestyle and society don’t allow the necessary accommodations to effect real improvement. If you go to a hospital complaining of physical pain so severe that it doesn’t allow you to think or do your job and makes you wish you were dead you’ll be admitted, made comfortable and looked at until a solution is found. If the pain was mental, you’d get handed some Xanax, an ssri and be told to try it for a month and see how it goes. If you talk about your illness you are never again taken seriously by a lot of people. Disability insurance won’t pay for mental illness, but will if you get yourself too fat to go to work. Diagnosis criteria are based on how crippled you are by the disease, if you muster a will to function you’re just thought to be over dramatic even though you’re a ticking time bomb. Simply getting diagnosed is a career death sentence for many.
So where do we start? First let go of the idea that mental illness is weakness. Self evaluate and deal with your own problems so you don’t pass them on to your children. Don’t tell people who take a chance telling you about their depression or other troubles that they just need to go for a run, or suck it up, give them a hug and listen to them. When someone at work needs a little time to get their shit together, give it to them and don’t give into the competitive drive to throw them out because they can’t perform that second. But most importantly talk about it. If you’ve been there, let others know they’re not alone.
My name is Pavlov Bubolich, (his secret FB name) I am mentally Ill and I live amongst you normal people. You don’t have to worry about me because i am loved and taken care of. Now pay attention and be kind to those who haven’t yet accepted their own struggles so that they can get better and stay with us.”