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Monday morning, my phone rang. I recognized the number as Bob's school. With a groan, I tapped the "ignore" button on my phone and waited for them to leave a message, hoping it was just the cafeteria manager letting me know (for the 98th time) Bob's lunch account is in the red. No such luck.
“All statements on the Internet are true, including this one.” Taz Mopula Here is a riddle to enjoy. You are walking on a road leading to Basingstoke. You arrive at a junction. The road splits in two. You do not know which road to take. There are two men standing there. You know that one man always lies while the other always tells the truth; but you don’t know which is which. You are only allowed one question to find the right road. You can ask the question to either man. What question will you ask to find out which is the road leading to Basingstoke?
I love my readers for so many reasons, but one of them is that they leave intelligent and interesting comments on my posts. This one caught my eye: . . . in my experience anytime you challenge a p-doc they try to attribute it to a symptom such as paranoia or delusions of grandeur. So my question is how to talk back to a doctor when you don't agree with him if you are as knowledgeable as you obviously are without that happening or is it a lost cause? (Ever think a doctor has delusions of grandeur? Just saying...) I do not think it's a lost cause. I talk to my doctor like a colleague all the time, but it is tricky.
As a result of me sharing my story, I have helped two people get help for their own problems. For me, that makes it all worth it.
Last Thursday, I was invited to read from Ben Behind His Voices to the members and staff at Laurel House in Stamford, CT. Laurel House is based on the  "Clubhouse" Model, offering programs, services, and a community to people diagnosed with a mental illness.  Tonight, Laurel House will sponsor the public Book Launch Event, and we hope to raise awareness and funds for the wonderful work that goes on there. What do they do? from the home page of their website: Recovery... the regaining of or the possibility of regaining something lost or taken away. Laurel House is a “for impact” organization that creates opportunities for people with serious mental illness to work, attend school, have a place to live and experience improved health and an overall better quality of life. It is also a place where recovery begins. Since 1984, Laurel House has operated in Stamford, Connecticut, using a self-help approach known as the “Clubhouse” model. This is a holistic, community-based approach, which focuses on the individual strengths of people with serious mental illness to lead productive, meaningful and rewarding lives in the community. I arrived at 11 am, and was greeted by the public relations team at Laurel House, consisting of both staff and members.  One young woman shook my hand firmly and cheerfully and said, "I'm so glad to finally meet you! I have paranoid schizophrenia and I'm not ashamed to say it. I also want you to know that while I love my therapists and psychiatrists, I would not be here without the love and support of my family."
Borderline personality disorder does get better if you work at it. You are worth the wait.
Sometimes when life gets crazy and your ADHD mind seems determined to make the worst of your day, finding the humor in the situation is the only remedy you have left to keeping your spirits high.
I realized the importance of a psychiatric crisis plan when I needed one and I did not have one in place. A few years ago, I was hospitalized and I don't feel that I was given the proper care by the hospital and I was certainly not in any state to take care of myself. If I had a crisis plan in place, my family could have worked with my doctor to make sure that I received the proper treatment and care at the hospital and that I had a plan in place for after I was discharged.
After a recent experience with state-dependent memory recall got me questioning the heavy focus on internal communication in Dissociative Identity Disorder treatment, I decided to ask readers of my personal blog how they learn about their systems. 63% of responders cited feedback from external others along with internal communication as the primary ways they gain insight into their DID systems. Only 9% cited internal communication alone. [See poll.] And yet in the six years since my diagnosis, I’ve never heard anyone who treats or has DID recommend engaging in the outside world as a path to self-discovery. In fact, I’ve heard the opposite: no one will understand Dissociative Identity Disorder but us; talk to yourself and to us, and no one else.
In the past, I wondered if a new partner would love me after knowing I had a mental illness. Of course, it is not a topic you disclose when you first meet someone: having dinner together, or watching a movie. It is probably not something you talk about three weeks later, but living with a mental illness is something that needs to be discussed.

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Tali
I look forward to being unconscious for 4-6 hours every night (if I'm lucky). I don't dream. It's the only relief I have. I used to enjoy video games, but my husband hated me playing them so I gave them up. I had my own business but my husband told me I had to stop, so I did. He walks out on me whenever I don't do what he wants. He's allowed to have hobbies and I better not complain, just take care of the kids. My whole life had to be given up because it suits him and I've become nothing more than a maid and a babysitter. I love my kids but I just don't think I can take him finding some new thing to take away every September when he starts ignoring all of us because of the fair he acts in every year that time. He straight out told me this year he loves fair more than me. I don't have anything left to try for, I'm not a young lady anymore. I don't want to die, but I don't want to live...live...survive anymore. I doubt what I've been doing can be qualified as living. Thing is the rest of the year he's good to us. But somehow it's always me, I'm the problem, he just turns it around. Always carry on, carried on before, like a machine. This time I don't have it in me. I swear if he says one more time to me if doesn't get to do one of his many hobbies he'll get depressed and kill himself I'm just going to lose it. He doesn't care what I've been carrying these past 12 years. Doubt he noticed. He didn't notice when he left for fair with me fresh out of abdominal surgery to take care of a newborn, 1 year old, and 3 kids under 10. Apparently it interfered with him so much he was annoyed with me for not being fully healed from it after only one week. Not sure who told him people heal from major surgery in a week, but whatever. I doubt he even notices unless it inconveniences him, but he'll only get mad if it does. I wish I had some helpful or inspiring words, but I don't. I'm just existing with no reason anymore. I had reasons before, but they don't make sense anymore. I want to cry, but even that is too much effort.
Roxie S. Mitchell
Exactly what I needed to read right now. After all, I've grown up being abused and then screamed at for crying afterwards, so this article is very insightful because it helps us realize that crying is actually a normal part of being a human. Thank you for this!
Sandy G.
To Kelly Torbitz-Your parents punished you properly by making you wear the diaper and rubberpants.As a mom,i have heard of older girls being punished with diapers and rubberpants and i think it helps shape them up.The diapers and rubberpants are not only worn for punishment,but also to make girls feel cute and little girlish.
Word Warrior Mama
On the other hand . . .

I read this book many years ago, just as I was entering the turmoil of remembering, questioning and doubting myself all the way (as I'd been covertly taught over a lifetime). I happened to mention to my two sisters one day, "This is so strange but I've been diagnosed with PTSD." Both my sisters surprised me by responding, "Me too."

THEN I happened upon an old book manuscript that my now deceased father had written (not published), wherein the protagonist was obviously based upon himself and he rapes his "fiancee," who had my unusual name. Yes, truly.

Then I made myself look at the peculiar memory I always had where he violently threatened me but somehow I had never been able to recall what came before or after the episode. I had to admit that was a bit strange.

The pressures and powers to forget sexual abuse are great, both in family and society. In fact, I've come to the sad conclusion that the vast majority of survivors never really deal with their childhood wounds (a neglect for which there are always repercussions).

To critique an encouragement of people trusting their intuition in such matters is really getting the prescription dangerously wrong.
Christina
I hear your voices. Can you please help me let me know what medication you’re on. You could save lives with this information. My email is christinacrawford555@hotmail.com
Thanks!