We have implemented the Blogarrhea section in this format before it is created within the framework of the New York Journal of Style and Medicine. Please help make the Blogarrhea feature a success with submissions through the link in the “About” heading and by posting comments.
http://www.nyjsm.com/blogarrhea/
Add comment December 10th, 2007
http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2007/06/21/health/main2965003.shtml
Add comment December 9th, 2007
http://blogs.usatoday.com/oped/2007/04/no_pregnant_pau.html
Add comment December 9th, 2007
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fw1CcxCUgg
Add comment December 9th, 2007
Author with personal experience - Lisa
From my personal experience living with more than one it takes a tremendous toll on not only my mind but my body. I am inundated on a regular basis with cruel behavior which makes me sad, hurt, depressed and angry. This, in turn makes me ill physically. The stress is unbelievable in my life and after so many years of abuse I feel like there is no where to turn, no one who will help and no way out and have resigned myself to live this way until I die soon (hopefully).
I have tried therapy in the form of psychiatrists, psychotherapists, counselors, therapists both secular and Christian, drugs, hospitalization, prayer-you name it and nothing works. You want to know why? Because it isn’t ME that is the problem; it’s THEM. I am not paranoid. My health issues are a result of the constant barrage of insults, criticisms and threats. Day in and day out I have been beaten down for more years than most of you readers have been alive.
There’s more but I am tired. Thanks for reading.
Lisa
Add comment December 9th, 2007
Author with personal experience - Kara
Recover from what, you say? Recover from a thirteen year addiction to drugs and alcohol. At least, on the surface it appears that way. It’s easier to say I’m recovering from an addiction than to admit I’m actually recovering from the damage I inflicted upon to myself. You see, when I say addiction I’m placing the blame on the drugs and alcohol when the responsibility lies within the choices I made. Yes, I did have an addiction. I won’t deny that. But it’s gone; it’s in the past. The symptom has been removed. And what’s left is: ME.
I worked my way into being sick. I wasn’t sick or an addict at the age of twelve yet by twenty-five my choices had manifested into a full blown self-imposed illness. This sickness, this illness dominated the way I learned to live, to function, and to ride the rollercoaster of life. I had a crutch that blocked the growth of a teenager, a college student and an early adult because I chose that path.
Inadequacy is one feeling I recover from. Missing out on so much has left me with a fear that I am behind the people who are my age socially, cognitively, and emotionally, etc. I must furiously adhere myself to the customs and ways of those around me. I look. I watch. I listen. I take notice of all. I question myself. What have I lost that must be regained? What do I need to learn that I never did before? What must I let go in order to be normal member of society?
Identity. I became my addiction. It defined every single aspect of my life. I believed I was born to party. Even as my addiction escalated and I desperately wanted to sobriety, my identity was concrete to my addiction. Now I�m in the process of recovering my identity, of walking away from what I thought was me. I am learning who I really am. The drugs are gone. The alcohol is gone. It’s just me. It’s just me that’s left with the choices and the coping mechanisms I employed for thirteen years. They are changeable. I can learn new ones, right? Day by day, I put one foot in front of the other and rejoice in each small step. Identity. It sure is important. And learning who I am is life altering.
The past. Enough said, right? I must shift through it while maintaining a healthy distance for I can’t stay there. But I’ve got to retrieve my past hurts and deal with them without the drugs, without the alcohol. I seek life. I need closure. I must allow the heartache to heal by acknowledging its pain and move forward because of it, not in spite of it. I cannot fear the past nor let it reign freely in my new found life. Many apologies. Many apologies. Many apologies. I confess: my love for the addiction was greater than my love for you. Tears are shed. Amends are made. Some accepted. Some rejected. Some hurts indelible. I accept what’s given and press on while dealing with guilt and shame that attempt to silence me. At some point, I will forgive myself.
Recovery for me isn’t about the drugs and alcohol; it isn’t about the addiction I kept. It’s about removing the symptom so I can see the problem. The problem wasn’t my intake of drugs/alcohol. The problem was me. The problem was the choices I made. The problem was my broken way of life me sick. Inadequacy. Identity. Death. Death. Broken relationships. And more death. I can’t even say those were the problem. My inability to deal with them was. Life and feelings. Feelings and life. My recovery is about learning to feel the emotions I experience and cope with the day to day activities of life as they arise. My recovery is learning to love myself and accepting that I am not perfect. I will make mistakes.
Add comment December 9th, 2007
Author with personal experience - Michelle
Turning 21 is a time for celebration. Adulthood… parties… a sense of making it through that threshold you’d dreamed of all your young life.
Two weeks after my 21st birthday I was stretched out on a cold metal table receiving the first of many doses of radiation. Part of my “treatment” program for Hodgkin’s Disease. The treatment package included needles, chemicals, biopsies, which caused nausea, depression and ultimately… fear.
Why me? It suddenly sucked being me. Quickly weary of the unwanted attention my health issues were causing, I retreated within myself. I pushed those I loved as far away as I could. More treatments would come in time, while I waited… I wanted to be normal. Leaving home and going to school I could blend into the crowd. No one would know I had cancer. I deluded myself. It’s called denial.
College was just the smack across the face that I needed. Who was I kidding to think I didn’t need the occasional hug or pat on the back to reassure me things would improve?
Fear was the fuel that made me run. I was so afraid of hurting anyone who cared. My logic made sense to me. Putting up walls and moving out of people’s lives would make it easier all around when I died. Yes, the “D” word. I was sure I was going to die. If I was alone, no one would mourn.
Wrong! No one gave up on me. Love and support flooded telephone lines and emails. Visits from friends and support from new friends made me understand I couldn’t do this alone. I woke up. I found the strength to live.
Back in the secure net of family and friends treatments started again. I don’t dwell on things I can’t do right now. A deep appreciation has come for the simple things once taken for granted. I’ve never enjoyed a walk on the beach as much as now. I’ve never taken so long to stare with wonder at the stars in the sky. I have never felt so warmed by the setting sun.
There are bad days and rough spots. A long rough road awaits but I’d not change places with anyone. I have had a remarkable life. Memories coupled with hope for the future get me through bad days. Friends are always there to remind me that one day soon we will share a margarita and watch the sunset together.
Add comment December 9th, 2007
Author with personal experience - Jessica Sneed from Pittsburgh, PA
I have been working with the MH/MR population for the last 9 years. I work with people that have a range of so called physical and mental disabilities. In my job I work on social and cognitive skills as well as community integration with my clients. I went into this job not knowing what to expect and instead of me teaching them they teach me. I had a client whose goal was to learn about presidential facts however he taught me more presidential trivia than I could ever teach him. Another client was very interested in having the Bible read to him, the ensuing discussions that followed proved that he was more the biblical scholar than I. Some of my clients congnitive difficulties impare their speech yet they are able to make their wants/needs understood by head nods, blinking eyes, sounds etc… This has taught me that there are various forms of communication. One of my clients was extremly intelligent but most people were unaware because they did not give him the two extra minutes he needed to respond to quesions which taught me to be more patient. Through the many lessons my clients have taught me the main one is don’t judge a book by it’s cover.
Add comment December 9th, 2007
Author with personal experience - Kara
Waking up after twelve or thirteen hours of uninterrupted sleep to find that you just don’t have an ounce of strength in you to get up, to brush your teeth, to bathe, to do anything other than just lay. The basic activities of day to day life have been stripped away. A loud ring destroys. A delicate noise cringes. A television ruins. A finespun conversation drains. Life outside the bed is nonexistent. Yet work must continue. There isn’t any other option that presents itself. You go unkempt. You go confused. You go trying to manage your employees and your store within the company and they end up managing you. Your regular customers you shy away from. You can’t allow them to see your unstable eyes or hear the shakiness in your voice. Your facade has given way to the eyes of those whom know this is not you. A visitor has imposed upon you: the depths of despair.
A beam of sunshine breaks through. The blinds can now be opened. A shower invigorates. The television goes off. Relationships are refreshed. Most importantly, life has been restored. Live. Love. Laugh. Enjoy. The breadth of work is not to be feared. Going in public is embraced. Eye to eye contact is confidently made with a steady voice unwavering in opinion. The fast food of yesterday turns into the health food of today. I AM NOT CRAZY. I DO NOT HAVE AN UNSOUND MIND. I AM NOT LAZY. I DO LOVE LIFE. Active. Calm. Consistent. And alive. You are so thankful. This place is the real you…stabilized.
Your attitude begins to sink, nothing can please you. You are unsettled in all your ways. Your sleep is interrupted. You are irritable. Your thoughts rest in the question, “When will a good night’s sleep come?” Your decision making skills have befallen to overwhelming indecisiveness. You buy one of everything you selected instead of just selecting one. Your agitation shows. The pace of life speeds up. You rush in everything you do. Two sentences merge into one as ideas overflow. No one is as excited as you. Anger expresses itself. The little quirks of the day make their way into menaces. That lady cut me off. That man smiled at me. That muddy child left his marks all over the store. That dog won’t stop barking. You believe you shouldn’t have to deal with any of this, yet know that something more than a typical bad day is happening here. You feel this heat, this intensity. It’s directed at anyone who comes in your path. Nothing need be done. Nothing need be said. Rage is burning inside you. You don’t even want to be around yourself. This is not you and you know it. An antagonist you must fight: degree of denial.
A beam of sunshine breaks through. The blinds can now be opened. A shower invigorates. The television goes off. Relationships are refreshed. Most importantly, life has been restored. Live. Love. Laugh. Enjoy. The breadth of work is not to be feared. Going in public is embraced. Eye to eye contact is confidently made with a steady voice unwavering in opinion. The fast food of yesterday turns into the health food of today. I AM NOT CRAZY. I DO NOT HAVE AN UNSOUND MIND. I AM NOT LAZY. I DO LOVE LIFE. Active. Calm. Consistent. And alive. You are so thankful. This place is the real you…stabilized.
It’s said people with cancer have cancer as do people with lupus. They have lupus. You hear much in the media, all negative, about people with varying degrees of mood disorders. The media defines those people by the disorder they have been diagnosed with. Well, I am those people; I am them, and I am not a mood disorder. I have one.
Add comment December 9th, 2007
Author with personal experience. - Rebecca
I would STAND UP AND CHEER … if I could … for the NYC bus system, but since I am disabled and in a wheelchair, I must … CHEER FROM MY CHAIR!
I was amazed at the wonderful service provided by the NYC bus system and its drivers when I recently visited Manhattan. I was free to ride the streets of NYC like everybody else. It was an awesome miracle!
We were initially afraid to tackle this outing in a wheelchair and definitely intimidated by the streets, traffic and people in this great city. However, the bus drivers stopped their buses, let down those fabulous lifts, locked me in, and went about their business like I was not a burden to them or the other riders. They made me feel welcome and safe.
Listen up the rest of the United States … GIVE US DISABLED A BREAK … and follow NYC’s stellar example for bus system access for the disabled.
Add comment December 9th, 2007
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