The moment you’re diagnosed, that’s what you become, a psychopath. You are a witch in a society fascinated by the thrill of a hunt. To even utter the word bipolar brings cogitations of whether you could be a killer. So you bury the new explanation for the pain you’ve always felt. The answer you’ve always been searching for is considered a vulgar word.
Bipolar is an adjective thrown around to describe anything inconsistent, such as the weather. To even speak of it in anything but a satirizing tone is written off.
Scratchy white tulle, a silky pink ribbon wrapped around my
waist, two little pink bows in my short brown hair. This is how I remember, the
first time. I wrapped my skinny arm around Pooh’s neck. I couldn’t go anywhere
It was Easter Sunday and everyone was arriving. My mother,
always the hostess, was pouring drinks and toasting to Jesus’ resurrection. The
doorbell rang once again and I knew it was him. He was my absolute favorite
person. I ran toward the front door and wrapped my skinny arms around his neck.
He … Read more... “Why I can’t own my story”
I have few commitments; I
have a host of good intentions. One of
my commitments is weekly attendance at our Family Education Program on Thursday
nights. I attend unless I am out of town or sick enough to require an IV and suffer
from a fearful expectation that I should be getting my affairs in order. This is how committed I am to busting myths
about Substance Use Disorder and providing hope and healing for families
struggling with this dread disease.
About 12 years ago, my life shattered into pieces. My sister and her boyfriend killed themselves in my dad’s car. The same Nissan Altima that I gleefully drove at age 16, earning a speeding ticket on Powhite Parkway.
Where was God when my 19-year-old son Logan died from severe bleeding and broken bones hours after he slammed his truck into a tree? I think God went on vacation that summer morning and left no miracles behind, at least not for Logan and me. Against my will, my soul was deposited on the grief trail, a journey no parent should ever have to experience…but many of us do.
breathe all the time, right? So, what’s
the big deal?
Most of us are not breathing properly for optimum health and well-being. We have poor posture, we sit for long periods of time, stare at screens, and move very little. Many grieving, anxious, or traumatized people have the sensation of being unable to breathe fully. Sometimes you might unconsciously hold your breath until you find yourself gasping for air, not even realizing you weren’t breathing.
Pawn shops are predatory. They knew I wasn’t in a good place pawning my TV, jewelry, computers, and bike every week, but they made the transaction anyway.
I would go to countless pawn shops multiple times a week and do the weekly shuffle there. After the pawn shop to my dealers and then to hustle money to buy my stuff back plus drugs. At one point I sold them a stolen bike my 65-year-old homeless using partner had “given” me.
by Don Holman Don provides current events updates regarding national policy on the addiction and opiate crisis in the US
On October 7, 2018 I attended the FED UP Rally at Freedom Plaza in Washington D.C. FED UP is an advocacy group that focuses on keeping the Pharmaceutical Companies and the FDA accountable for their part in creating the Opioid Crisis and ensuring that they do not continue on the same path. The Rally each year in D.C. is an opportunity for those who … Read more... “The Opioid Crisis: Together, We Can Help Each Other”
I’ve always struggled to explain what it’s like to have an eating disorder. Words never seem to do justice to the torment and havoc eating disorders wreak in a person’s mind and belief-system.
Years ago, in the midst of a 10-year battle with an eating disorder, I wrote this as an attempt to explain my twisted, inner reality. It’s my hope, sharing it now, that it will help friends and family, of those suffering from eating disorders, better understand the inner turmoil.
It’s a blessing to be able to say that this isn’t my reality anymore