Psychiatric Help Alters Personality Traits!

...hopefully for the better.

Below is a link to a Yahoo! article about the effects of mental health treatment on personality traits. I always thought I would be a moody, morbid little goth girl until I got put on a cocktail of medicines and went through 3 or 4 therapists. Now, I am not morbid! I am a little moody, but nearly as much. Also, I am more sociable and I think having someone to talk to about my problems really helped with communication skills.

I am grateful for the recent psychological treatments such as the recovery and reintegration model for mental health treatment. I knew that it worked to alleviate my anxiety, but at least now there is a study that confirms this belief.

Here is the link:
http://news.yahoo.com/psychiatric-treatments-may-change-personality-135354106.html
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On a separate note, I read that last blog entry and I realized why I proof-read my entries prior to publishing them. It was definitely a twisted entry and not one I am proud of---yes, I have food issues, weight issues, body image issues, and abandonment issues. I am trying to work through them. The problem is that I am not seeing a therapist since I was transferred to the city's public mental health system and out of the intense out-patient treatment center. Sorry that you, the reader, have to keep reading about my food issues. I want to lose weight but I would prefer to do it healthily.

That being said, I have a history of self-harming behavior since the age of 12. I used to be a teenage cutter, then a pothead, then a binge eater, than a sexoholic, then back to binge eating. It seems like I can never find a balance inside. It is to the point where I  have no idea how I come across to the outside world. I feel desperate for love and attention but I flee after maybe 3 months of intimate relationships with friends or lovers. I can never separate the "bad" me who feels anger at what happened to me, guilt over hurting people emotionally, and shame about my past---from the "good" me who wants world peace, happy old people to sing and dance again, and little puppies to romp free across the globe.

I just wanted to say that I feel like I left that last blog entry with no positive ending. Maybe that one and the post about Dr. Katz's "why do males do violence" blog entry. Life doesn't always end with a positive ending, but I will try to at least have some positive order over this blog. ***I ate like 800 calories between the hours of 5 pm to 2 am, so no worries about my diet. Also, that guy I liked talked to me for about a half hour before he went offline. I have no idea how he feels about me. Plus, he is more than a few years younger than I am so I am totally insecure. All I know is that I am drawn to him and very lonely during this summer, which probably means I will wind up making some amateurish attempt to bed him....

Confession on Confessional Writing

You don't know me. You are probably very bored of me just from these two sentences. So why do you keep reading the next sentence?

The problem with confessional writing is also the main reason why people are willing to read confessional writing. It is deeply personal. It is like eating dinner at a restaurant naked. Everybody around you wants to know why you're naked at the dinner table. Meanwhile, you pick at the lasagna.

Writing, to some, is an act of vanity. It is a way of marking your name on the internet like so much graffiti on a train car. I do not disagree with this. However, I feel that the real answer is a lot more complex and perplexing. I write confessional posts about my sordid life because I have an uncontrollable urge to create a narrative of my life. I have to write, it hurts when I do not write. I have to be honest because I am compelled to write the truth. Sometimes I may write little book critiques or diatribes against discrimination, but the common denominator is that I write what I'm thinking at that moment. Freckles, warts, and all, you see me as I am inside.

The one thing that I worry about is posting something in anger and then regretting it later. When I type, I type at least 35 words per minute, faster if I have had coffee, and it goes without saying that I'm not always consciously thinking about what comes next. What comes next is my thought....whatever that thought may be. I wish I could control my thoughts better. I wish I could have a brain that only thought about adorable cats, weight loss, sugar plums, and the like, but I don't. I get mad when I see youtube comments that are explicitly hate-filled. I come back here and I try to create a space where I feel that cyberspace is negated.

That is the whole goal of my blog. To create a cyberspace where people feel a little more at ease with what society labels as flaws. I tried looking on the internet for warm communities of people with mental illnesses. I found some sites but nothing that was geared to a high-functioning person. I looked for sites that were for overweight people trying to juggle losing weight with the knowledge that you can be fat and still be a good person. I really couldn't find anything like that. So I thought, well, I have an art blog where I post my drawings, why not create a blog where I just write honestly about my struggles and my discoveries of good books?

I'll try to steer clear of politics.....that is a sticky subject for any writer. Besides, all you need to know is that Noam Chomsky is my idea of a great role model. Enough said!

Aftermath of a Suicide

So I started off this blog on a sad note: my cousin died last week and he was only 24. The viewing was especially painful. Just seeing him so lifeless was overwhelming painful.

I'm sure you're probably wondering why I don't just talk to a psychologist instead of rambling on in front of complete strangers. If you must know, she went on vacation and won't be back until the end of July. So, until then, please put up with my random references to my cousin.

In the last blogs I wrote about bras and the book "Wasted." There was some comfort in relating totally trivial material. It lifted me out of this cloud of doom and anguish. Stay tuned, because I plan on writing more trivial blog entries on breasts, bras, food, and literature. The human mind can only take so much pain, so I have to take a breather now and then, as do you!

If you're the suicidal type, please rethink your actions, mostly for yourself but also for those around you. A suicide in the family can increase everybody's risk of suicide at least twofold. For myself, having backed out of an attempted suicide at age 19, I feel the shadow following me, the painful family legacy of self-murder.
Add to this my cousin who did not survive, and well, my chances are pretty high. I am not, nor do I plan on being, suicidal, but there is that chance that life will seem so bleak and painful that I can't stand it. I hope that if that happens I will find a therapist or a friend to confide in, along with a year supply of Zoloft, but until then, I'm living life for myself and for the cousin who I lost to a totally preventable death.

I ordered a book in the mail. It's by the famous psychiatrist and writer (who also happens to be bipolar), Kay Redfield Jamison. It's called "Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide." It received rave reviews by critics and readers alike. I'm a big fan of her other books, "Touched By Fire: Manic-Depression and the Artistic Temperament" and "An Unquiet Mind." Whenever I'm down I find a book on a subject, be it madness, depression, binge eating, or body image. I never thought I'd have to read this book. Now it has become important for me to read it. I don't know what I'm looking for. Closure, there will never be closure, but acceptance or hope or something like that might come out of it.

Also, read "The Savage God" by A. Alvarez. Or Durkheim, who was a sociologist that studied the social attachments (or lack thereof) of suicidal people.

I've been looking all over the place for support groups online for family members of someone who killed themselves and there is surprisingly little. Most of these forums are private and require a lengthy application process to join, or else they're for people who are at risk of suicide themselves. There is one group that seems reliable. It's called "Survivors of Suicide: or SOS" and they operate in many cities across the States.

I'll add a link to this site, just in case.
www.survivorsofsuicide.com

Here's one for the mayo clinic and their writings on coping with the grief of a suicide.

http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/suicide/MH00048

If you're the suicidal type, please click on the link below. There is much to live for, like playful kittens, Autumn breeze, romance, a new hobby like kayaking, a different environment like Amsterdam, and the people who love you. You might not realize that they love you, or worse, you think they'll be better off without you, but you are wrong. I've experienced my fair share of emotional, physical, and psychological pain and hearing my cousin killed himself has got to be up there at number one most painful experience.

www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

The first step is accepting that you're going to have to suck it up, plop down in a chair, and start talking to a complete stranger about your most private feelings. Trust me, it's like ripping off an old band-aid. Momentary pain followed by relief. Yes, they may put you on drugs. Yes, they may hospitalize you. Yes, life will never be the same, but if you were on the verge of suicide, who would want their life to be the same? I promise that if you seek help and that person you go to is at least half way decent, your life will improve over time and you can start building a new life for yourself of kitties, puppies, pizza, and love.

I don't mean to get all preachy and tell you what to do, but I was lucky enough to have somebody tell me what to do at the right moment and I'm still alive because of it. Besides, I'd feel like I'm part of the problem if I just minded my own and tended to only my personal grief.

Oh yeah, and art therapy really helps. I knew a schizophrenic who found hope through making bracelets with beads. He was kind of a manly man, so he often gave away his creations to females, but it was really amazing what he could do with some colored beads and string. I found painting to be helpful. Nothing fancy like oils, just regular poster paint, brushes, and some thick paper.

There's a whole world of positive experiences out there! I wish I could have made my cousin believe that. I knew he was troubled when we lived together, but I didn't peg him as the type to go through with it. I just assumed he was slightly autistic since he rarely spoke, stared into space, and would make cryptic comments to me out of nowhere. There was a point when he lost his job and I tried to convince him it was in his best interest to call a number for psychological services, but he resisted. He never threatened suicide in front of me. Legally, my options of having him committed weren't viable. The system demands that the suicidal person make explicit suicide threats. Then they can 5150 them. My cousin wasn't verbal enough or psychotic enough to give me cause to call the police. What would I have said, "He's more silent than before"? But here I go, trying to justify my lack of action, trying to defend myself when I had no contact information for him for 2 years and then out of the blue...death. My point is, don't do it. Please.

Well, that was a stark post. Next up: a blog on bras.