When you have a nightmare
And one of your favorite people in the world
Hurts you
And you know it's not real
But you still need to reality check it
But that person
Is away from home
With no cell phone
And you just
Have
To
Wait
Thursday, December 14, 2017
Nightmare
Tuesday, December 5, 2017
Thursday, August 24, 2017
What I Wish You Knew
This has been floating in my head...
I wish you knew
That I was nearly destroyed
By you.
Yes, you.
If you think I may be talking to you,
Then, yes, YOU.
You, who should have known better.
You, who know the difference between "danger to self or others" and "not doing very well at the moment".
You, who knew how depressed I was, and still wrote off my gratitude list as "making a joke out of it" instead of realizing how little I had to be grateful for.
You, who deliberately shared triggering art, made by YOU, as an exchange for some of my poems, when all I wanted was for you to read and understand.
You, who saw me dissociating, told me to "come back into the room", and never once thought to screen me for a dissociative disorder.
Yes, you.
If I thought you knew this, if I really thought you did, maybe you would still be on the list of therapists I tell my friends are worth trying.
If I thought you knew this, if I thought it would make one iota of a difference in how you treated future clients, I would come banging on your door to tell you all this.
But the last time I reached out, you didn't respond. You didn't answer.
You, who saw me crying, blowing my nose, with a terrible cold, and wouldn't believe me when I said "I can't breathe in from my nose" because literally, I couldn't.
You, who never believed when I said "I don't know", and didn't even consider the possibility that I really didn't.
You, who told my parents that they didn't protect me enough, in front of me, when I was clearly not ready for that.
You, who never even called to find out why I never made another appointment when I came back from a short trip.
Yes, you.
You, who called my mother down for a meeting without even trying to discuss the issues with me first.
You, who asked me to draw pictures and write so you could analyze them (duh) but didn't even tell me why I was called down to your office.
You, who tried to tell me what I thought and felt.
You, who didn't even recognize that I didn't hear a word you said, because I was so dissociated.
Yes, you.
You were the professionals. You were the ones who should have known, should have seen. I didn't have your education. I didn't know, because no one taught me.
You should have done the research. You should have said "wait, this doesn't make sense! what am I missing hear?"
You should have known.
I also wish you knew, however, how lucky I feel that I moved past you. That I stopped paying you tell me that I wasn't good enough, wasn't trying hard enough, wasn't moving forward enough. That I found people who kept digging until they found the root cause. Who didn't skip over parts of the DSM & ICD, but took all my symptoms into account, even the ones I couldn't name. I found those people. And you? You wouldn't recognize who I am becoming.
Because you never saw the real me.
And I wish you had.
I wish you knew
That I was nearly destroyed
By you.
Yes, you.
If you think I may be talking to you,
Then, yes, YOU.
You, who should have known better.
You, who know the difference between "danger to self or others" and "not doing very well at the moment".
You, who knew how depressed I was, and still wrote off my gratitude list as "making a joke out of it" instead of realizing how little I had to be grateful for.
You, who deliberately shared triggering art, made by YOU, as an exchange for some of my poems, when all I wanted was for you to read and understand.
You, who saw me dissociating, told me to "come back into the room", and never once thought to screen me for a dissociative disorder.
Yes, you.
If I thought you knew this, if I really thought you did, maybe you would still be on the list of therapists I tell my friends are worth trying.
If I thought you knew this, if I thought it would make one iota of a difference in how you treated future clients, I would come banging on your door to tell you all this.
But the last time I reached out, you didn't respond. You didn't answer.
You, who saw me crying, blowing my nose, with a terrible cold, and wouldn't believe me when I said "I can't breathe in from my nose" because literally, I couldn't.
You, who never believed when I said "I don't know", and didn't even consider the possibility that I really didn't.
You, who told my parents that they didn't protect me enough, in front of me, when I was clearly not ready for that.
You, who never even called to find out why I never made another appointment when I came back from a short trip.
Yes, you.
You, who called my mother down for a meeting without even trying to discuss the issues with me first.
You, who asked me to draw pictures and write so you could analyze them (duh) but didn't even tell me why I was called down to your office.
You, who tried to tell me what I thought and felt.
You, who didn't even recognize that I didn't hear a word you said, because I was so dissociated.
Yes, you.
You were the professionals. You were the ones who should have known, should have seen. I didn't have your education. I didn't know, because no one taught me.
You should have done the research. You should have said "wait, this doesn't make sense! what am I missing hear?"
You should have known.
I also wish you knew, however, how lucky I feel that I moved past you. That I stopped paying you tell me that I wasn't good enough, wasn't trying hard enough, wasn't moving forward enough. That I found people who kept digging until they found the root cause. Who didn't skip over parts of the DSM & ICD, but took all my symptoms into account, even the ones I couldn't name. I found those people. And you? You wouldn't recognize who I am becoming.
Because you never saw the real me.
And I wish you had.
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
Mental Illness, Disability, and other words I "shouldn't" use about myself
I just posted this on an online support group for frum women dealing with mental health issues. I feel like it belongs here, though, as well.
So here goes!
Okay, I'm gonna say it.
Many of you know me in real life. Many of you may think you don't, but will find out you do. Some of you really don't know me at all.
One thing that many people here (and in the world at large) have in common, however, is disliking putting the word "illness" or "disability" alongside their identified struggles. I am not among those people.
The point in this post is not to make you change your mind about how you should identify yourself. That is purely your prerogative. If you aren't mentally ill/disabled, or don't feel like the words should be used to describe you, that is your right. However, please consider my perspective!
Hi, my name is Little Sheep. My name is Mamela. I have 22 other names as well. I am mentally ill. I am disabled.
I am linking to an article on the topic which I would love to discuss!
So here goes!
Okay, I'm gonna say it.
Many of you know me in real life. Many of you may think you don't, but will find out you do. Some of you really don't know me at all.
One thing that many people here (and in the world at large) have in common, however, is disliking putting the word "illness" or "disability" alongside their identified struggles. I am not among those people.
The point in this post is not to make you change your mind about how you should identify yourself. That is purely your prerogative. If you aren't mentally ill/disabled, or don't feel like the words should be used to describe you, that is your right. However, please consider my perspective!
Hi, my name is Little Sheep. My name is Mamela. I have 22 other names as well. I am mentally ill. I am disabled.
I am linking to an article on the topic which I would love to discuss!
Sunday, May 14, 2017
Invisible
Invisible
Unseen
To the world
Invisible
Funds
Don't help
Invisible
Because
You can't see how sick I am.
My illness is real.
Just Invisible.
Cancer ravages the body,
So cancer gets funds.
Anorexia can be seen,
So anorexia gets cash.
Addiction, Infertility,
The Shidduch Crisis.
Schools. The Arts.
Technology.
DID is Invisible.
My therapist isn't, though.
Invisible money
won't pay my therapist
or her rent
or for her supplies
student loans
time
patience
energy.
Invisible money
won't pay my therapist
for her emails
because something occurred to her
and she wanted to be sure that I was okay.
For her caring
her overtime
her note taking
letter writing
advocating.
Invisible money
won't get me to the
Invisible destination
I hope to reach.
https://GoFundMe.Com/DIDTherapyFund
Unseen
To the world
Invisible
Funds
Don't help
Invisible
Because
You can't see how sick I am.
My illness is real.
Just Invisible.
Cancer ravages the body,
So cancer gets funds.
Anorexia can be seen,
So anorexia gets cash.
Addiction, Infertility,
The Shidduch Crisis.
Schools. The Arts.
Technology.
DID is Invisible.
My therapist isn't, though.
Invisible money
won't pay my therapist
or her rent
or for her supplies
student loans
time
patience
energy.
Invisible money
won't pay my therapist
for her emails
because something occurred to her
and she wanted to be sure that I was okay.
For her caring
her overtime
her note taking
letter writing
advocating.
Invisible money
won't get me to the
Invisible destination
I hope to reach.
https://GoFundMe.Com/DIDTherapyFund
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