Dear Family and Friends that Voted for Trump

 

Dear family and friends that voted for Trump,

 

            I don’t know if you’ll read this. I hope that you do. I am writing this not to be judgemental or harsh. I just have words for you that have weighed on my heart for four years, and it’s time to say them so that I can try to release myself from this hell. I want to say that is NOT about politics. Not even a little. This is simply a letter from me to all of you, so that hopefully you can understand a few things.

            First, you need to know that I love you. Deeply, unabashedly, purely love you.  Some of you I’ve looked up to my entire life. You have had important roles in my life, bandaged scraped knees, held me when I cried. I’ve depended on you. I would do anything for you. I’ve tried to live my life by the examples that you have taught me. This is the part that gets hard because this is where I tell you what you voting for Trump has done to me.

            Four years ago, when he first ran for office, I begged some of you not to vote for him. I tried to explain to you who he was and why he was dangerous. You ignored me because you wouldn’t vote for Killary. Yes, some of you said that exact thing to me. When Trump was elected, I cried, because in my heart I knew we were in for a hellish four years. This is where you’d usually say someone is a lib snowflake, right? I’ve seen you post that about people that think the same way I do the last four years frequently. I’ve watched you demean caring about people, laugh at compassion, and call democratic senators names like Pocahontas. Yes, I’ve seen it all. Then there are those of you who have simply said nothing at all. As if the world wasn’t burning at our feet. I don’t know if that is any better.

            For the last four years, I have felt locked up tight around you. I can’t say how I feel, because I know you’ll judge me for it. When I try to talk to you, you give me talking points from Fox News, or worse, completely untrue propaganda, and tell me that I can’t believe the very things I see with my own eyes. My ENTIRE life you’ve told me how intelligent, kind, and empathetic I am. Now, you tell me I am a sheep. You tell me that I don’t know what I’m talking about. So I say nothing to you, and try to forget the things you’ve said. Do you want to know why I am quiet around you sometimes? Because I simply can’t find the words to say to you.

            I know you would never intentionally want to hurt me. I can know this and still tell you right now that knowing you voted for that man HURT ME. How you may ask? It’s simple. It hurts because I lost faith in you. I lost trust in you. That shiny picture I had of you in my head and heart, where I saw you as the paragon of good and kind? It was tarnished. How could someone who taught me to do unto others support someone who slings ugly names and mocks disabled reporters? It hurts me because I can no longer believe in you the same way I did before. All my illusions are gone, and you know what? That pain doesn’t stop.

            There has been so much suffering over the last four years, personally and universally. The worst for me is seeing ugliness in those I love best. I cannot reconcile what I know about you—that kindness, empathy, the willingness to help those you know in need—with what you support “politically.” Your heart doesn’t match your words. Your vote doesn’t match your heart. Four years ago, maybe I could understand, but knowing you voted for him again, after seeing the ugliness he has caused?  I don’t know how to handle that. It’s not that you see yourself as Republican or conservative. It’s that you are actively aligning yourself with people that are the very antithesis of everything you’ve taught me to be.

            I love you. That’s why I am hurt. I’m disappointed in you. When I look at you, I see the person I know and love and a dark shadow surrounding you that I don’t like. It’s not just because you voted, it’s that you were okay for voting for someone like him. I am trying daily to forgive you, but I know I’ll never forget. And I’ll never look at you the same way I did before 2016. I know you think that’s harsh, but I honestly don’t know how to say it any kinder.

            I am angry and I no longer want to carry that on my heart. I believe that our actions have consequences, and we have to stand strong for what we believe in. I believe firmly in love and grace, in kindness and respect, in a country where everyone deserves the same rights. Some of you say you want those same things, but I no longer trust your words. The last four years have caused me to question everything I know about people I love, and I cannot describe to you the agony that has been. You’ll never know the tears I’ve cried, the messages I’ve typed and never sent, the number of smiles I’ve given you that have hidden one simple question: What were you thinking?

            There are so many things I want to say, and so very many times I have left them unsaid out of fear of hurting your feelings. Yes, because even after all the times I’ve felt my heart shattered over this, I still don’t want to hurt you. I saw something recently that said, “The worst thing about the Trump presidency wasn’t what we learned about Trump. It’s what we learned about our friends.” I cannot tell you how much I relate to those words, and I know that this will make you angry or hurt your feelings. I know that you will have a line of excuses to absolve yourself, but the simple truth is this: you must see something you admire in him and what he’s done to still vote for him, and more than anything, that is what hurts. I could go on ad nauseam for my reasons for feeling that way, but you know them by now. So, yes, knowing you support someone who is the complete opposite of everything a good person should be is infuriating and painful.

            If you are still reading this, thank you. I’ve wanted to say these things for a very long time but I had to wait for the worst of the anger to abate. I’ve tried to be levelheaded and fair, but I am human and flawed, so I am sure that what I have said here isn’t perfect. I don’t mean to attack you or hurt you, but I needed to get this off of my heart and tell you as kindly as I possibly could what the last four years have done to me. They’ve broken my heart, put anger and fire in my soul, and most of all made me into someone I never thought I’d be. Skeptical. Harder. Angry. Yet, at the end of the day, I’ve grown. I’m less apt to deal with BS. I am more open to kindness and thoughtfulness. If anything, I’m more liberal, because I don’t want to be anything like a man that hurts others for personal gain, uses the Bible and faith as a prop or weapon, and lets people die without so much of a whisper or outreached hand. I am the anti-Trump. I pray every day for us all. I pray for you, and that you will come to terms with the demons inside yourself that may be toying with you. I pray for me to accept that I cannot change the hearts of others and that I shouldn’t expect people to give me what I give to them. Most of all, I pray for these horrible fractures in our country to be mended, so that I can move on from this nightmare with hope in my heart and joy in my step. I want to be free again and I want that for you too.  Once again, I love you. Never doubt that.

Suicide Part Two: Suicide Rates for Certain Demographics

A few months ago, I started a series of blogs on suicide. My first revolved around basic information about what suicide is and those that are more prone to it. I included my own personal story of an attempt. Today, I am looking into specific groups, their risks, and what that means for society as a whole. It’s not an easy topic to talk about, but that’s why I feel we NEED to talk about it. Suicide and attempted suicide are huge problems in our nation, and it’s a problem that only keeps growing.

Suicide affects every demographic. From childhood to the elderly, wealthy and the poverty stricken, every race and nationality, and people across the spectrum of sexuality. In any way you slice humanity, there are pockets of those that suffer so greatly they consider taking their own lives. Yet, even though every demographic is affected, certain groups of people are more at risk than others.  

One such group is the LGBT community. It is a group that is consistently fighting for rights and acceptance, and their struggles often come with dire results. The link between suicide and this community is sobering. As I said in the last installment about this subject, suicide is the 2^nd leading cause of death of people from 10-24. Of those young people, the Trevor project states that LGBT youth are almost 3 times more likely to contemplate suicide than their heterosexual peers, and FIVE times more likely to have attempted suicide. The stats grow even more heartbreaking the more you look at them. On top of this already high risk, if these youths are rejected from their families, they are 8.4 times more likely to attempt suicide. Forty percent of transgender adults have had at least one suicide attempt, with 92% of these attempts before the age of 25.

The statistics are shocking. They clearly indicate that the LGBT community suffers greatly. If you are straight, perhaps you think this doesn’t affect you, but you’re wrong. It does. It affects all of us. Those at risk could be your mother, your father, your son, your daughter, sister, brother, best friend. We all know someone that is gay or bi, or even trans, and as close as we may be to that person, deep down, we will not truly know the struggles they go through. The fact is, that while our society is slowly becoming more accepting, LGBT people still receive hatred, misunderstanding, and judgement from others. This can range from teasing and name calling, to actual violence.  Added to that, there can be depression, anxiety, and self-harm. On top of outside forces, there may be inner voices that affect someone. Take for instance, X. X is from a loving family, with a strong supportive family base. X is transgender, and struggles with depression and self harm. X has attempted suicide, and dabbles in substances to help cope with the pain. X’s arms are riddled with cuts and scars from self-harm, an outlet for anguish of the mind caused by being different from others. It’s a heavy, heavy thing for a twenty year old.

X could be someone you know. What X deals with is not every trans person’s journey, but it is a significant example of how close to home these struggles can be. Every person knows someone in this community, someone that struggles with not being accepted, or even hurt by others for something that they cannot help.  LGBT people have more factors against them than the general population that put them at more risk for a suicide attempt. Homelessness, lack of family/community support, high stress, access to dangerous substances, lack of access to mental health help, victimization, bullying, self-harm, and cultural or religious beliefs that suggest suicide as a solution are all factors that raise a person’s risk of suicide (Trevor Project). Sobering how long that list is, isn’t it?  The Trevor Project is a wonderful resource for the LGBT community and their allies, that provides tons of information and ways to help. On top of all the risk factors, they also list protective factors, or things that can lessen one’s suicide risk. Some of them are: easy access to culturally competent, effective care, support from family, schools, peers, and medical/mental health professionals, coping and conflict resolution skills, restricted access to lethal means of suicide, academic, artistic or athletic achievements, positive role models, and cultural/religious officials that discourage suicide.

X is a real person. X’s journey is not over, and I am keeping all details about their identity confidential. It is not my place or my intention to share more than was shared with me. I wish X the best, and hope that X finds their way and thrives.

Another group of people that has a significant risk of suicide is military service members and veterans. A recent estimate says that 22 veterans die DAILY due to suicide (SPRC). While this estimate may differ across gender, race, and so on, it’s still a staggering number of people. Danny O’Neel, in his opinion piece for USA Today, states that from 2001 to 2014, suicide rates among Veterans has increased 32%. His information stems from an article in the Military Times, that details the information more thoroughly. That article states that in 2014, more than 7,400 veterans ended their own lives, accounting for 18% of all suicides in America. The kicker? Veterans make up only 9% of the overall population (Military Times).  

So, what makes veterans so at risk? Part of it is the nature of the job. Our military sees things that are life altering. Their lives are in constant peril while they are deployed or in service, and they can experience PTSD from what they see and do. Civilians can’t understand the bonds formed during war, or the horrors seen. While away, the men and women fighting for our country are with people doing the same. There’s an understanding, and a family feeling. Once home, however, that can change. That same support isn’t there. Danny O’Neel indicates that part of the problem is that the VA is understaffed. Veterans are shuffled through the system too fast, or even turned away due to lack of staff or resources. O’Neel also sees a problem with what happens when military members come home. There’s extensive training for what happens while in service, but virtually no resources for what happens when they come home. They are brought home and expected to deal alone with the changes in themselves that have occurred. Granted, the VA has hired 5300 more mental health providers, but is that enough? I don’t’ think so. As a nation, we pour a ton of money into wars, but do very, very little to help our warriors once they return home.

What will help? O’Neel says that a feeling of community, and being with others that have had the same experiences will help. He has founded The Independence Fund, which works in connection with the VA to help veterans by providing support. They provide mental health training retreats for military families. There is also a VA crisis hotline, that was created to help support those that are in need. Still, more qualified mental health officials are needed, especially those that are well versed in the military. Support from families and communities, mental health resources, and understanding are also key in lowering suicide rates among Veterans.

I also looked at suicide rates for different races and occupations, but there is fairly limited research on those topics. Suicide for the most part is still seen as a relatively “white” problem, but I don’t think that’s true. I think that there are cultural and societal factors that make reporting of depression/anxiety, and suicide attempts less likely, and as a result, the statistics are skewed. I have hope that these problems are probed into, and more reliable research will come to light.

Suicide in specific groups isn’t just a problem for that group. It’s a problem for us all. Mental health programs are imperative for the health of the overall nation, not just those at risk. We never know what is going on in other people’s lives, and while you may think that someone you know is okay, they may very well be struggling with something that you don’t know about. Suicide is costly, in many, many ways. It affects relationships, health, and even the overall cost of healthcare in the nation. By supporting our fellow man, we can help, in so many ways. Listening helps. Being kind helps. They are such small things, but you never know when you may be changing the tide of someone’s life.

As always, if you or anyone else you know is suffering from depression, or if you are thinking of suicide, PLEASE reach out for help! PLEASE CALL 1–800–273–TALK (8255). It’s the suicide hotline, and they are always there to help! If you are LGBT, or an ally, and need help, or would like to help, www.thetrevorproject.org has a ton or great resources!

Below are the resources I used for this blog. Feel free to check them out, if you are interested in learning more. Next time, I’ll be looking into the effects of suicide on those left behind.

https://www.thetrevorproject.org/resources/preventing-suicide/facts-about-suicide/#sm.0000ddwho9ggxespsiq1cs7ypvbmq

https://www.usatoday.com/story/opinion/voices/2019/01/16/veteran-affairs-suicide-military-iraq-war-column/2580957002/

https://www.militarytimes.com/veterans/2016/07/07/new-va-study-finds-20-veterans-commit-suicide-each-day/

https://www.sprc.org/populations/military-veterans

https://www.sprc.org/populations

Cigar Smoke and Butterflies

Hello, friends. I realize it’s been quite a while since you heard from me. Honestly, it’s been a longer while than I originally planned for, but that’s life, right? I realized somewhere along the way that I simply needed time to heal. Grief, depression, and anxiety are all tricky on their own, but combining them can weaken even the strongest of people. While I went on medication shortly after the deaths of my grandfather and cousin, it honestly took about two months for it to really kick in completely. Then came the holidays, with it’s own particular brand of firsts and sadness. Then Scoot’s birthday. There were a number of hurdles I had to get through to get to a better place. Yet, here I am. Back, and ready to write again.

It’s been a long, hard road since September. I think when we lose someone, it completely alters you for the rest of your life. That’s why it’s called loss, right? During grief, and its aftermath, you start to put the pieces of yourself into new arrangements. You won’t ever be the same, or even whole in the same way, but you have to go on. To live. If you’re like me, you also want reassurance that those you love are in a better place. You want a sign. In my experience, I think those that have gone on before can absolutely send you these signs. A few months after my grandmother died, I had a dream about her. She was healthy, whole, and beautiful in a way that I remembered from when I was younger. I went up, hugged her, and told her how much I loved her and missed her. In response, she pulled back, gave me her signature “duh” look, and said sassily, “I know.” It was so real. It was vivid. And to me, it was my grandmother assuring me that she knows I love her, and that she’s with me always. After that dream, I knew without question that she was okay.

I’ve had other moments like that with her. She likes to check in now and then, and it gives me comfort. It’s one of the reasons I craved signs from Brittany and my grandfather. I needed to know that they too were happy and somewhere better. With Brittany especially, it seemed I needed to know she was beyond all the troubles that bogged us down here on Earth. Without getting into too much detail, there’s been a lot of upheaval, greed, and turmoil surrounding the deaths.  Our girl is never one to disappoint, though. After her funeral, with her grave still festooned with all her flowers, my mother and cousin went to visit her. From what they tell me, a butterfly flew from the flowers, hovered near my mom’s window, flew across the windshield to my cousin’s and then went back to the flowers. From that moment on, we knew that she was visiting us as a butterfly.

The night before Scoot’s birthday party, we had another moment from her. I picked up a white frosted cake from a local bakery, and my mom and I sprayed it with purple coloring. We covered it, did some other things and then we went to Brit’s grave with a new floral arrangement for her (with a big, blue butterfly on it). My mom, cousin, and I spoke to Britt, left the flowers, and came back to my mother’s to show my cousin the cake. Lo and behold, what was on the frosting but a small, blue butterfly shape. I still get tingles thinking about it.

Scoot's cake, with butterfly. How amazing!

Scoot has also told me about butterflies that she has seen. ON the day of her school fundraiser, a butterfly hovered near her classroom window for a moment, before flying away. This week, while she was home sick, a little yellow butterfly fluttered around the house for a while as well. Now, I realize it’s spring. Butterflies are everywhere this time of year. However, there are moments that you just feel that the one you love is close by. What I’ve described above have been some of those moments.

My grandfather had been more elusive. Maybe he’s just been too happy to be back with my grandmother to check in until fairly recently. However, he too has paid visits to me. One night, during the super blood wolf too many words to name moon and eclipse, I was out with my cousin (same cousin as above) on a garden bench, freezing my tushy off watching the eclipse. Out of nowhere, I smelled pipe smoke. It’s a distinct smell, one I have vague memories of. My cousin smelled it as well. Now, we were outside, so I wrote it off to that. Until I smelled it inside my house one day as I woke from a nap. Pipe smoke. I’ve smelled it a few other times, just small, distinct whiffs. The last time was two weeks ago as we worked on cleaning out my grandparent’s house. I was hauling furniture with my mom when I smelled it, clear as day. She was right next to me, and didn’t smell it at all.

I should mention one of the last things I remember asking my grandfather for was a pipe for Scoot’s Little Mermaid birthday party last year. I knew he still had some old ones from when he used to smoke pipes and cigars. He found me one, and we used it as a snarflap for my girl’s party. That same pipe now sits on my bookshelf. Perhaps that’s why I smell pipe smoke. It’s his way of wrapping me up in his love.

Recently, I dreamed of him and Britt. I was at a class, and when I came out I couldn’t’ find my husband. I looked everywhere for him, but he was gone. My grandfather found me, and he helped me find my husband. We all three sat together inside, and after a while, he said, “there’s my baby.” I looked up, saw Brittany. And oh, my heart clenched. I missed them SO much. I said as much to him, and then I woke up.

I have no doubt that they are all together now. None at all. I know they are okay, and that they will check on me as I need them. Maybe I am just looking for signs. Maybe those signs are heaven sent. If they aren’t, I don’t want to know. I think they are. Sometimes, you just know things without proof, without reason. Perhaps you just have to be open to those signs. I know I am.

Fighting Depression

Hello, everyone. I know it’s been a couple of weeks. Truth is, I just haven’t had the heart to write. Like my family, I’m struggling right now. Losing Brittany and my grandfather has left this giant, gaping hole in my heart that isn’t even close to mending. Every day is a battle against the heartbreak and numbness that I feel. Seems odd, doesn’t it, that I should be feeling two such disparate emotions, but that’s where I am. As you may have guessed, these latest losses, so close on the heels of losing my cousin and grandmother, have impacted my mental health. I know that I’ve previously spoken of my struggles with anxiety, but today I’ll talk a little more about it, as well as my struggles with depression.

I first started noticing a rise in my anxiety earlier this year. My sleep patterns became worse, with nights of very little sleep interspersed with nights that were plagued by nightmares or unsettling dreams. It can sometimes take me over an hour just to fall asleep, and then only fitfully. It all leaves me feeling constantly exhausted. Added to that, I was noticing that heart palpitations and my heart racing were occurring more and more. I started logging these moments, and there were times when I’d be lying in bed for 20 minutes, heart pounding at 98 beats per minute, for no reason I could discern. My chest will ache, with no relief, for long moments. All in all, it’s painful, exhausting, and never ending.

Our lives have seen a lot of changes this year, it’s true, and I know this has added to my anxiety. I’d already decided to speak to my doctor even before Hurricane Florence hit.  Afterwards, of course, it became apparent that I absolutely had to go in. So many losses in such a short time has taken its toll on me.

Right now, I know that my anxiety is high, for good reason. And also, the specter of depression is back in my life. It is not my first battle with the disease, and most likely, it won’t be the last, but I take comfort in knowing that I have already sought and received help. It’s no surprise that this demon should be back in my life at this time. The hurricane, the unexpected deaths of my cousin and grandfather, and the weight of anxiety have torn down my reserves. You could say, “Well, of course you feel sad. You’ve had a traumatic experience.” That’s true, but depression isn’t sadness. It’s far more complicated.

What I feel right now is isolation from everything around me. Yes, I can laugh. I can smile. I can give hugs and respond to your questions. What I am having trouble with is FEELING. It’s as though there is a veil between me and the world around me. Every day feels suspended in sticky syrup, droning and the same. And yet, I make myself smile when I am in public. I engage. I support those that need support. And when I get home, I am simply drained from the effort. Part of this is possibly my brain’s way of protecting me from the hurt of loss, but I want to feel that. I almost feel as though I can’t grieve properly because I can’t access that hurt, that pain. Instead, I feel emptiness.

I’ve had so many people tell me that I’m strong, or that I have to be strong for those around me that need me. Trust me, I want to be. I want to be that support. I have been. I will continue to do so, especially for my family, who I know need me as desperately as I need them. But I don’t feel strong. I feel weak. Lost. Right now, I am walking through my days in a daze, and it’s a struggle. I think that’s what some people don’t understand about depression. It isn’t just crying and sorrow. It’s emptiness at the same time you feel the weight of the world sucking you down. There is a blankness inside me, lined with jagged edges.

As of last week, I am on medication to help me. I have an incredible network of family and friends I can and do talk to. I will continue to tread water until my medication begins to build in my system, helping me to navigate this new world around me. I will continue to fight, because giving up isn’t an option.  I promise that I will get back into the swing of weekly blogs again soon. I will finish my 3 part series on suicide as well, but hopefully you’ll understand why right now in my life, I just don’t have it in me at the moment to tackle the subject. It’s one I’m passionate about, and I want to give it my best. I can’t right now. I hope you’ll all stay with me on this journey. Until next time.

Heartbreak and Hurricanes

As I am sure some of you have noticed, the last two weeks have been blog free. I'm sorry for that, but unfortunately there are two good reasons. The first is that Hurricane Florence hit my area of NC hard. Massive flooding has had some sections of North Carolina completely cut off, until just this week. We lost power during the storm, and it came on Sunday. We were blessed to escape any damage to our home or property, but unfortunately,  our family can't say that same. This leads me to the second reason there was no blog lately. Tragically, last Monday, in the early morning hours, my grandfather and cousin passed away.

I know that not all of you know my family, so here's a quick history lesson. My grandmother and grandfather raised my cousin, Brittany, from an early age. We lost my grandmother in January of 2016, and it was a hard, hard blow. This, however, has blown us apart. It's hard to comprehend one sudden death, but two is a tragedy I wouldn't wish on anyone. I know how much both of my grandparents loved Brittany, and I know that living without her here would have destroyed them. Likewise, Britt couldn't have coped with the loss of both of them gone and her here. I know in my heart that as hard as it is to lose them all in so short a time, this is the way that God has deemed it should be. That knowledge doesn't stop the pain. It doesn't keep the flood of memories at bay. It doesn't stem all the tears that have flowed for a week now.

My granddaddy once told me, shortly after Britt was born that he had four knees. When I asked him what he meant, he grinned at me and pointed to his knees. "well, I have this knee, and this knee, and a Courtney and a Brittany." I can't describe the heartbreak of knowing that I am now his last "ney" on this Earth. It is now my job to walk this world for him, and try to honor him and Brittany as best I can. God, I miss his smile already. I miss his hugs. I miss him, and the essence of who he was. I could go on for days, but I won't. I'm not sure my heart could take it.

Granddaddy was a police officer for 20 years. He served our town and was well liked, and a wonderful person. At his service, he received the honors of "Amazing Grace" on bagpipes and T.A.P,S., as well as Masonic rites. For Brittany, however, we did things a little differently. I stood for my family and spoke about our girl, the one that we all raised and loved so much. Below is my speech to her, and the body of this week's blog. Next week, I will try to get back on schedule, but bear with me, friends. It's been a hard few weeks, and more are to come. But for now, I want to share my words about my sweet Brit Bratt.

Today, as I stand before you, celebrating Brittany’s life, I am reminded of a song lyric from the musical Hamilton. The song says, “I don’t pretend to know the challenges we’re facing, I know there’s no replacing what we’ve lost.” While this is true, I don’t want this moment to be only sadness. She did not live her life in sadness, and she would not want us to dwell there now. I believe that we can best honor her life today by sharing some of the happy moments she gave us, and there are so many.  

Brittany was brought to us on the winds of Hurricane Fran in 1996, and she went Home with Hurricane Florence. From the time she came to us, she was nothing but joy and light. As a baby, she had the blondest hair, so blonde it was nearly white. It was stand up all over her head, almost like dandelion fluff.  Even from her earliest days, she shined so brightly. Always one to go her own way, she didn’t crawl in the traditional sense. Instead, she would wiggle, scooting her head across the floor until she got to where she was going. She had the best disposition, and always had a ready smile.  

As she grew, we discovered the Brittany that everyone would come to love. An old soul with a childlike spirit, she spent every day of her short life bringing joy to everyone that knew her. Her heart knew no hatred, no malice, no unkindness. Brittany knew no strangers, and truly only saw the good in everyone she met. She was always ready with a hug and a smile.

From her earliest days, Brittany was the brightest light. Her smile could outshine the sun. Her laugh was always genuine, always heartfelt. There was no pretense about her or artifice. She loved Winnie the Pooh, the color red, and music. I remember her from her earliest years, bopping in the backseat to “Wanna Talk About Me” by Toby Keith, or whatever song was playing on the radio. More than anything, Brittany loved her family. There was never a time that you saw her that she didn’t drop everything to give you a big hug, and ask you how you were. Brittany never shied away from the words “I love you”, like so many of us do. Instead, she always made sure that you knew how she felt.

Brittany also loved animals. She rescued Lucky, her beloved 3 legged dog, and they shared beautiful years together. I know that he was waiting there, ready to greet her Home. Her sense of wonder over any animal, whether it be a dog, or a cat, or even a squirrel scurrying up a tree was infectious. She only knew how to love wholeheartedly, which is why I believe she shared such a kinship with animals.

Children loved Brittany. Her purity of spirit, and vivacity drew them in. And my, did Brittany love them back. She could talk to them and relate as not many can, and children sensed that. She would play any game, sing any song, and talk to children for hours. Rarely did she see a baby that she didn’t hold or cuddle.

I have spoken to so many people that have reached out, and all have said the same thing: Brittany was one of a kind. She was sweet. She was kind. She was funny. She was good to others, and genuinely cared. Her loss in this community will be felt for a long, long time to come. To all of you that have reached, out, we as a family thank you. Our loss is yours as well.

I honestly believe that some souls are so pure and good, that they are only loaned to us for a short time. Brittany is one of those souls. Her purpose here like a shooting star: to briefly illuminate our lives and bring us joy and wonder. My sweet Britt Brat, we loved you and we always will. Your time here cannot be defined by years, but only by the precious moments and memories that we share. You changed every person that met you, for the better. Rest now, our sweet girl.

I urge you all to hug those you love. Don't shy away from telling them how you feel. You never know when you may not have the chance again. Until next time.

Suicide

Suicide. It’s one of the most common causes of death in the United States, yet it’s one we don’t talk about. Unlike cancer or heart disease, suicide comes with labels and stigma. People that lose their lives to suicide are seen as cowards, or weak, or somehow deficient, and not as worthy of grief or mourning. As a society, we find shame in someone dying by their own hand, and I find that heartbreaking. I want to study this subject from several angles. Today I’ll just be talking about the basics, and discussing those some. Next week, I’ll delve deeper in suicide rates among specific populations, such as the LGBTQ community. Finally, the third in this series will discuss the emotional toll suicide takes on family and friends left behind.

Suicide in the united states is one of the top ten causes of death. On average, 45,000 suicides occurred in 2016, a number that has risen since 1999. Certain age groups, such as 15-34 year olds, seem more susceptible to suicide, and it is actually the number two cause of death for that age group, according to an article in the Washington Post from July.  While men and women both attempt suicide, men are more likely to use violent methods, such as firearms, and therefore, are more likely to complete an attempt. Suicide rates are also climbing in most states and age groups, including children. Yes, you read that right, CHILDREN. More and more in the news, I am seeing stories of 10 year olds dying by suicide. It’s a heartbreaking and troubling reality.

 Hanson, my favorite band, has a song called “Believe” that I’ve always thought was about severe depression and suicide. The entire song stems from someone feeling hopelessness and emptiness, but there is a particular lyric that comes to mind whenever I think about severe depression and suicide. “Murder wears a friendly smile/like a perfect end in a plastic vial/no pain/Sorry I can’t seem to stay/But this bird was meant to fly away.” The song is deeply sad, rasping and pleading, and has the feeling of someone begging to find a reason to live. It’s a sentiment that people struggle with, every single day, and yet some of those people simply never find that reason, or the reasons just aren’t enough. There are other songs, too, that talk about suicide, such as Why by Rascal Flatts and Adam’s Song by Blink 182.

As well as songs, television shows have touched on the subject. Most notably, recently a show called 13 Reasons Why on Netflix has sparked massive debates. The show’s first season centers around cassette tapes that are mysteriously sent to 13 people after the suicide of Hannah Baker. On the tapes, Hannah herself explains why she did what she did, and the events that led up to that momentous decision. Now, I’ve watched the show. I do think that perhaps teenagers shouldn’t watch it alone, as it is graphic, and deals with things that are very heavy. That being said, however, I think that the show has merit because it opens up lines of discussion. It’s a way to get kids, or even adults, to start talking about what the show is about, and if they’ve ever felt like Hannah. I know that one scene in particular spoke to me. At one point, Hannah is speaking to the guidance counselor at her school, and he asks her what she’s feeling. She says, “Lost I guess. Sort of empty…I don’t feel anything.” I cannot tell you how that affected me. It was a blow to my chest, because I’ve been there. I’ve felt that. I know what it’s like to be so numb that you feel as though nothing matters anymore, and so detached that you’re just empty. To know that Hannah felt that way, and is begging for someone to help her find her way back, it was a very upsetting moment in the show for me. It was very real.

To me, I don’t think weakness or cowardice when I think of suicide. I think of pain. I think of numbness. I think of hopelessness. It’s a sense of wanting things to get better, but believing they never will. The reasons a person might contemplate or attempt suicide are complex, and rarely boil down to just one event. Things like mental illness, traumatic events, bullying, loneliness, unemployment, terminal illness, drug use and so on may be contributing factors. An article in Psychology Today talked about the causes of suicide, and their perspective was intriguing.  Researchers studied 20 notes of those that attempted suicide, and 20 notes off those that completed a suicide and judged them based on five criteria: sense of burden, emotional escape, sense of pain, problematic social world, and hopelessness. What they found was thought provoking. The article states, “The biggest difference was that the notes of suicide completers included more detail about how they were a burden on other people and society at large compared to the attempters. In fact, this sense of burden was the only dimension that distinguished the letters of these two groups.” What does that mean? It means that the people that actually completed a suicide attempt felt the world was better off without them. I think the saddest, and most honest statement from the article came next. It said, “In general, people do not attempt suicide solely because of pain, it's because they don't believe there is a reason to live and the world would be better off without them.” That isn’t to say that pain doesn’t matter. It absolutely does. Pain, whether physical or emotional, scars not only the body but the mind as well. At a certain point, all one really wants is for that pain to stop by whatever means necessary. What the researchers found was that when paired with a sense of hopelessness, or with the belief that loved ones and the world in general would be a better place without them, a person’s suicidal ideations may become a serious option.

Suicide doesn’t affect just one class of people, or one race, or one age group. This is a prevalent problem among all areas of our society. From the outside looking in, it’s hard to tell when someone is struggling. While there may be outward signs of depression or mental illness, in some cases there is little to no warning, or warnings aren’t taken seriously. An observer may think that someone else’s life is amazing  and they have nothing to be sad or upset about but that’s the thing. We never actually know what is going on in someone’s life or in their mind. Here is where I am going to get real, and very honest. When I was a teenager, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. I was struggling. From the outside, it may not have looked like it. I had (and still do) an amazing family, loving parents, and a beautiful home. My grades were good, and I had a wonderful group of friends. Inside my mind, however, I was lost. I saw my mother, father and brother as a unit, and I was the interloper in their presence. All my friends were about to disperse to different colleges, and new paths. I was so very lost, and I felt utterly alone, even though I had so many great people in my life. I remember the day I made my suicide attempt very clearly. It was after school, during the week. My brother had just left with a friend to go do something, and I think my mom and I had had a fight. I was folding laundry in the living room, sunlight spilling through the windows. I was desperate, alone, and terrified. I tried calling a friend, and he didn’t answer. Even though I knew it wasn’t true, to me in that moment, it calculated that he and everyone else would be better off if I wasn’t there anymore, and I wouldn’t bug him anymore. My parents would be happier. My brother would be the only child. He was the smarter one anyway. I walked into the kitchen, crying, and picked up a prescription bottle of pills and opened it. I was fully intent on taking those pills. To this day, I can feel the cap in my hand, tears on my face, and the knowledge that this was it. The bottle was full, but when I tipped it no pills would come out.

I remember feeling like a failure at even that, at taking my own life, but I capped the bottle back anyway and curled back up on the couch and sobbed into the laundry. I don’t know why those pills wouldn’t pour out. I really don’t. When people ask me why I believe in God, it’s because of that moment, when I was 17, in my parent’s kitchen.  I truly feel like the hand of God kept those pills from pouring into my hand, because if they had, I may not be here today.

My goal that day was not to die, necessarily. I just wanted it all to stop. I wanted all the pain that had welled up inside me, despite my outwardly seeming amazing life, to just go away. It’s a feeling that I can’t possibly express in words, but it’s an emptiness that is endless. It’s like this. It’s being at the bottom of a deep, deep hole, and you claw your way to try to get to the top. The more you try, the more dirt falls in around you, until you are stuck there, in this hole, with no light or air. At some point, the will to climb out simply leaves you, and all you want is for it all to go away. Even writing about this today is hard for me. It’s something not many people know, and not something I talk about. Today, I know that I was suffering from a serious bout of depression, but at the time all I saw was pain and hopelessness. I only wanted it all to stop. I truly believed I would be doing everyone a favor if I just wasn’t there. I know now that I would have devasted my family and friends. 

I want you all to understand this: you can’t know what is going on in someone else’s mind, even if they are your best friend, your lover, your parent, or your child. Sometimes, it may seem as though someone is doing fine, swimming right along, when in reality, they are barely keeping their head above water. Sometimes, the will to paddle just simple falls away from exhaustion, and you can’t judge them or shame them for that. The current is simply too strong to fight against. There are warning signs for suicidal behaviors, but remember that they don’t always apply to every person. They are: 

·        Talking about wanting to die or wanting to kill themselves

·        Talking about feeling empty, hopeless, or having no reason to live

·        Planning or looking for a way to kill themselves, such as searching online, stockpiling pills, or newly acquiring potentially lethal items (e.g., firearms, ropes)

·        Talking about great guilt or shame

·        Talking about feeling trapped or feeling that there are no solutions

·        Feeling unbearable pain, both physical or emotional

·        Talking about being a burden to others

·        Using alcohol or drugs more often

·        Acting anxious or agitated

·        Withdrawing from family and friends

·        Changing eating and/or sleeping habits

·        Showing rage or talking about seeking revenge

·        Taking risks that could lead to death, such as reckless driving

·        Talking or thinking about death often

·        Displaying extreme mood swings, suddenly changing from very sad to very calm or happy

·        Giving away important possessions

·        Saying goodbye to friends and family

·        Putting affairs in order, making a will

Please bear in mind that someone that is contemplating suicide may not have all of these warning signs, or any at all. Still, it is important to know these, and if you see someone you love exhibiting them, to talk to them. Keep lines of communication open, and know when to help the one you love seek help.

I hope that I have provided a bit of insight into suicide. Next week, I want to delve more into specific groups, and show that suicide is becoming more and more a public health crisis. I’ll leave you with the number to the suicide hotline, as well as the sources I’ve used in writing this. IF YOU OR ANYONE YOU KNOW IS CONTEMPLATING SUICIDE, PLEASE CALL 1–800–273–TALK (8255). They have people available to help.

https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/publications/suicide-faq/index.shtml

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/to-your-health/wp/2018/06/07/u-s-suicide-rates-rise-sharply-across-the-country-new-report-shows/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.83f0b2bb3faa

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/curious/201405/why-do-people-kill-themselves-new-warning-signs

Back to School

Hello everyone! I hope you are all doing well! This week started a new transition for us, as Scoot started school. Her first day was filled with excitement, nervousness, and a little fear, but I am happy to say that we are LOVING her new school! It’s amazing the change I see in things, just one week in. We live very close to her school, so Scoot and I walk to and from school each day. It’s a great way to spend time with one another, and get some exercise too! I will say, I will be so glad when fall weather kicks in, though! All the excitement of back to school got me thinking, though, and this week, I’m going to be sending out my appreciation for teachers everywhere. It’s a line of work that is so often taken for granted, and I simply can’t understand why.

Since I was in high school, I’ve been told, “Oh, you should be a teacher, you’d be so good at it!” While I appreciate the faith in me, I’ve also always known there’s no way I’d make a good teacher. I love kids, don’t get me wrong, but the thought of being in a classroom with 20-30 kids all day is something I’ve always known I couldn’t do. To me, teaching is a calling. You have to WANT to do it. It’s one of the most thankless jobs we have, right up there with firefighters and police officers. We rarely stop to think of what our society would be like without them. Sure, there’s homeschooling, but not every family is cut out for that. Teachers are one of our key resources, and without them, our entire education system would fall apart.

I am sure there are a lot of people that think that teaching is a sweet gig. That work is only from 8-3, weekends and summers off. However, the truth is that there is so much work that goes into being a teacher before students ever see the classroom. Teachers take time to build lesson plans, create exciting ways of learning for students, and design classrooms that will optimize learning. All this takes time, as well as research, and resources that most times the teacher pays for out of his or her own pocket. The goal is to create a classroom that is a safe haven, and a place that makes it fun to learn. It’s a chance for a teacher to exert his or her personality on a room, and make it warm and inviting for the students. Schools don’t pay for this, but the teachers do.

While teachers are providing all these things for their classroom, making lesson plans, meeting with parents, they are missing time with their own kids, if they have them. Teachers sacrifice first days of school, parent teacher conferences, and other things just to take care of their school kids. I know that’s not the case for all teachers, or that it happens every time, but it does happen. That’s a bittersweet feeling, wanting to be both with your own children and your school children. In so many ways, teachers are critical to the welfare of the children they teach. During the school year, it’s the teachers that spend the bulk of a day with children, not parents, and the lessons they learn in a classroom go far beyond just letters and arithmetic. Educators help to mold who a child will be, by providing structure, a helping hand, or even just an ear. In my lifetime, I’ve been blessed with some incredible teachers, including some that have absolutely made a huge difference in my life when I was going through tough times.  To me, they taught me so much more than just lessons from textbook. They taught me compassion. How to navigate life when it gets leery. They taught me about striving for more, and how to overcome obstacles. They fostered a sense of loving to learn, something that still exists in me to this day. Especially when I was in high school, there was one teacher that would sit and talk to me after school or whenever I felt overwhelmed about school, or home, or even problems with friends. She even allowed me and a friend to use her classroom afterschool so that we could choreograph our senior dance for our dance class. She was a fierce defender of her students, and we always knew she cared and would do anything to help us succeed.

That’s the thing about educators. For the most part, they genuinely love what the do, and go above and beyond to do what they can to help their students. I’ve had teachers spend entire afternoons trying to help me learn calculus (a losing battle!) or algebra. I’ve had teachers providing tough love when my senior thesis went missing. In college, I had professors that made me look outside of myself and ask the question, “why should I care about this? When you can answer that, you know what you’re writing about.”  These men and women pushed me, making me work harder and want more for myself. I wanted  not just good grades, but their respect. Isn’t that what every good teacher wants? Their students’ love and respect?

In North Carolina, teacher pay is pathetic. We demand so much from our educators, and yet, we refuse to offer them the pay they deserve. Because of this, our schools suffer. Our education suffers. Most of all, our children suffer, because there are teachers that have to move out of state in order to do what they love and still provide for their families. Currently, NC ranks 39^th in the nation for teacher pay.  We are simply not putting the equity back into our education system, and as a result our entire state suffers. If teachers aren’t paid their worth (and truly, they aren’t) then they can’t put money back into the economy. They can’t afford to put more into their classroom instruction. On top of low salaries, teachers have to buy classroom materials, because the state doesn’t provide them. Funding for schools differs radically, depending on the economic demographics of different districts, and this occurs all over our country. Schools in richer areas obviously have the best education systems, with up to date technology, newer books, and better schools. Poorer systems, however, suffer. Their tech is outdated, they have out of date books, and their school structures are in far worse shape. There are no checks and balances, and if you happen to have children in these poorer areas, then they have to work ten times harder just to get on the same level as children that happen to be born in the more affluent areas. A teacher can only use the resources he or she has available, and if they are already starting out behind the curve, then this absolutely affects how they can educate.

Teachers spend an incredible amount of time with students and preparing for students. As a result, they can be one of the first people to see when there are problems, and then relay that to parents. A parent’s support can be so important to the wellbeing of the student, as well as the parent/teacher/student relationship. If a child is taught not to respect teachers, or if parents foster a belief in a child that they are always right or can do no wrong, it makes a teacher’s life harder.  Teaching and parenting must go hand in hand, for the sake of the child, and if that doesn’t happen, there’s a breakdown that occurs. Parents need to respect teachers, and understand what important figures educators are in the lives of their children.

When I asked what teachers wanted people to know about teaching, the number one response was “teachers love teaching, and they love their students.” Despite long hours, hardship, low pay, and time away from family, teachers teach simply because they love it. They make a difference, every single day, in ways big and small for students of all ages. Educators deserve our respect, and so much more. We need to treat them with the reverence they deserve, and support them whenever they need help. After all, they are helping to build our future.

That’s all for this week. Next week, I’ll start a short series talking about another difficult subject, suicide. If you want to contribute in any way, I would appreciate your thoughts/experiences. Thank you for reading, and if you like this blog, please share with your friends. Until next week!