Noticing Signs and Helping

I'm going to attempt to rewrite something I worked on earlier but lost thanks to the horrid Blogger app. Here goes:

There are people in the world you love like crazy and it sucks when they let you down. Whether it's a selfish behavior, a condescending tone, or just not having your back, these behaviors can leave an already wounded person confused and at a loss for where to go.

I've been very busy, had a severe break from reality, and have been working on art pieces that deal with mental health. Today I had the opportunity to do a much needed pattern interrupt. This would have been at no cost to me and come with a host of benefits: vitamin D, a change in scenery, ability to complete my photography homework, etc. This was important to me and I did not get to go. Before I go into what happened, let me explain about pattern interrupts and about people who leave long term mental health care.

A pattern interrupt is just what it sounds like. It is something to break up the monotony of routine. This is a device especially useful for people suffering bouts of depression. When a pattern is mindless, it allows people to dwell and inadvertently exacerbate their depression. Changing one behavior forces the brain- and thereby all the chemicals- to adjust. Even if it is still the wrong chemical, the change on chemicals can help lift one out of a depressive and emotionally vulnerable state.

How did I learn all this awesomeness? I spent seven months in a long term treatment facility in 2011. When I left, I compiled a wellness recovery action plan or WRAP for short. The plan was given to three people who were even verified by my doctor and signed the document upon receipt.

In the plan are many useful tools for helping your friend or loved one during serious phases of mental and emotional distress. This includes doctors that have cared for them, medicines that work, medicines that don't, triggers, warning signs of behavioral changes, diets that help, calling techniques the person has successfully used, smells, pictures, so much information...

So, I live with one of the people who has a WRAP manual. I generally count on this person to have my back, support me, help me when I need it. I have been in a very dark place these past few months. I have been on the verge of suicide. At one point, I even asked to be driven to the hospital in my car because my hallucinations were bad and I was too afraid to drive. I was told to sleep it off.

I have been informed by another WRAP owner, that this person has never read the book. This person, whom I care for dearly, didn't even bother to learn about my illness and the warning signs. Okay, I know what many of you are thinking: you're a grown up, help yourself. Why don't you just feel better? Aren't you responsible for your own health?

Fair questions. Let me respond.

Yes, at the very root of it, I am responsible for my own health. Part of me being responsible was letting people around me know the warning signs. I liken it to a diabetic having her friends notice her shaking and telling her to check her insulin levels. Noticing one thing could potentially save someone you love. Letting my loved ones know was my attempt at securing the help I need even faster instead of waiting until it was too late. You would help someone who broke their leg, right? I had a break from reality.

And contrary to popular belief, mental illness is real. People with asthma can't think their airways clear, people with cancer aren't being dramatic, people with the flu aren't doing it for attention. Quit saying that about my brain. It is also an organ and capable of sickness.

So, back to today.

I had a friend of mine offer just what I was needed (see pattern interrupt above) and I said yes. Person one decided I couldn't because we always have the same plans Thursdays and I can't just cancel. There was even a mini guilt trip. Okay. This is important to you. Fine. I'm confused.

It's okay. I won't commit suicide today and I have my tattoo to thank for it. I have to believe every single day that I'm going to be okay.

I had a stranger walk up to me Tuesday evening and said she saw that I looked lost.. I wasn't crying or pouting, I was standing next to my car. She gave me a hug. She said, "it's okay."

I was shocked. This stranger reminded me that there is hope. We can help each other. We should help each other.

I believe I will move on.
I believe I will find a group of people that care about others instead of just taking from others.
I believe that mental illness can be treated.
I believe that we need to talk about it more and educate people about early symptoms.
I believe I will make it out alive.

My illness doesn't define me but how you react to my illness says a lot about you. Educate yourselves. It could save a life.

Friends and Family and Fun

I must say, I know some pretty incredible people. Just this weekend, Thomas got to be a guitar tech for someone pretty awesome on a private island in the BVIs, I met Buck from the Toasters, my friend Jon opened for them, and good memories were made. Throw into that the fact that one of the most talented people I know is celebrating her birthday tonight karaoke style and it was a musical weekend that was out of sight!

Adrienne really is talented. Her art is very thoughtful and detail oriented. She forces me to be a better artist. Most of my friends do that. It's why I love them. They are all, each of them uniquely talented even at the sake over overcoming things that most would consider a hindrance to their craft. I am fortunate that they allow me into their lives. They inadvertently push me to be a better version of me.

Whether music, photography, illustration, sculpture, culinary arts, prose, doodling even... they have all taught me so much and forced me to see things in a different way.

I couldn't begin to imagine my life without all the color and knowledge and care and love I recieve from these people. They are my best friends, my island family.

Tonight, we sing and have fun and remember why we love one another.

Cheers!

Adri, me, Tommy

A Decade Come and Gone

Ten years ago today, I flew into St. Thomas for the very first time. I had never been here. I knew no one. The family I had that were from St. Thomas had long since left. I knew I had an aunt and uncle still in St. Croix but still hadn't learned just how far that really was.

My mother thought I was so adventurous and thought that it wouldn't last long. I will admit:  I starved that first year. I was the thinnest I had ever been. I had no car, no money, but I was so happy. For the first time in my life... well, I felt home.

I grew up in an interesting and unstable way. By the time I graduated high school, I had been to 13 different schools. Needless to say, I didn't have many opportunities to cultivate friendships. I never really considered anywhere to be my hometown. I didn't know one could feel a sense of belonging. I had just assumed that everyone was an outsider like me. Everyone had a dark past. Everyone had a horror story that we were too ashamed to admit. When I was younger I had learned, after all, that when you did admit something was wrong, no one believed you anyway. I figured a sense of self worth was just a charade people put on to better cope. I didn't know people actually belonged. Then, here, I belonged. Just 20 years old and I finally found it: home. Home just happened to come at a high cost.

After the first year, I attempted to return Stateside only to go to Puerto Rico, and then see the Rockies for the first time ever. I spent the next few years going back and forth between various locations to appease my then boyfriend and his desire to expand his resume.

Then I put my foot down. I wanted to go home.

And home we went. My home. St. Thomas. Man it felt good to be back. We settled, adopted an island mutt, bought a car. Grown up stuff. I went back to school. I never finished, but that is another story all together.

In the past decade, I found and lost love. I got my first tattoo. I played in a real band. I found my family. My real family. You know who you are. I became obsessed with invertebrates. I saw sharks in the wild. I went horseback riding. I went hang-gliding in a rainforest. I went whitewater rafting on the Yellowstone River. I got lost in a box canyon in the Southwest. I played in a waterfall. I saw monkeys steal my beer. I had my first white Christmas. I drove cross-country. I made art. I played radio. I had a knee fixed. I fell apart. I lost my mind. I found my heart.

I hope, moving into the next decade of my life, that I continue to have firsts. I wasn't fortunate enough to have a sense of worth or belonging growing up how I did. This past decade has given me that, at last. It was (and still is) very much a struggle, but it is one I would do all over again just to feel so good in this skin. Just to feel the moments of happiness I have felt. Genuine happiness.

The friendships I have managed to keep mean so much to me. It is so much more than that. They are my family. More so than people who are "blood" can be. They are the family I chose, or rather, they are the family that accepted and chose me. It is a small part of why this place feels so home to me.

Culturally, I fit. Being 1st generation stateside from two Caribbean island parents made the culture and way of life on island so easy to assimilate to when I got here. I had none of the qualms so many statesiders had when moving here. I still don't. I hate the phrase, "typical West Indian" because, technically, I am West Indian. My mother is from Puerto Rico and my father is from Cuba. Yeah. Also, this is the only place I have ever lived for more than two years. This is my home. Don't like it? Too bad. More beaches for me.

Really, though, I approach today with a slight sense of grief. I could have done more. Seen more. Loved more. I am sad that the decade is over without much left to show for it except for my memories. I guess that is all we really truly ever have, though, isn't it?

I can't wait to see what my home has in store for me next. I live and love St. Thomas. So much has changed yet so much is still the same. This is my home. And here I will stay.