Category Archives: Mental Illness

Uncontrolled Anger & Stryper

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You lie in the graveyard,

you’re rotting away.

— B***hole Surfers, “Graveyard”

Well, my friendship with Shiela is officially over. We totally ignore each other in the halls at work now. I started it and she followed suit.

I can’t express how angry it makes me feel. I got home today and felt like going out somewhere just to physically bully someone. I want so badly to verbally abuse Shiela, maybe ask her how the wine tastes in her coffee tumbler. I’m even thinking about telling her supervisor that she drinks at work. But then I think, What can she get me on? There’s got to be something bad that she knows about me. My gosh, we were best buddies for over a year.

I’ve been extra angry and depressed at home especially. I actually hosted Sheila at my house a few weeks ago and waited on her hand and foot. I served her (frozen) vegan pizza and her favorite wine, pinot grigio. I even gave her a pillow and covered her with a blanket when she passed out on my floor.

Those days are over. And I cannot accept it.

Luckily, last Friday was the CD release date for my favorite Christian rock band Stryper. It helped somewhat listening to the words this past weekend (especially since I skipped Mass).

These lyrics from “Sorry” especially spoke to me:

Sorry

It doesn’t always make it starry

Maybe next time be more charming

so you don’t have to say sorry

I should have treated her with kid gloves at all times instead of texting her something that was “questionable” (see previous posts).

How was I to know how sensitive she was?

I pray that I’ll awake from my coma and start to enjoy life again. I pray that I can love Shiela even after what she did to me. It’s so hard but I’m trying.

~t


Missing My Friend

 

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How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat.

Some dance to remember, some dance to forget.

– The Eagles, “Hotel California”

I’ve blogged about my friend from work, Sheila. She suffers from several mental disorders and is an alcoholic on top of all that. We are kindred spirits and have become best friends.

I never knew that I could have a totally platonic friendship with a female. To be honest, I can’t be certain if Sheila is straight or not. She’s never talked about any past relationships, she’s never been married, and she dresses in loose blouses and loose pants everyday at work. Not that that’s a bad thing or anything. It doesn’t matter to me. Somehow, this is the first time that I’ve actually thought about it.

Well, for the first time, our friendship is in serious danger from my perspective.

See, Sheila has a classroom with her own private closet (All other classrooms have to share a closet with another classroom). Several times, in jest, she’s mentioned that she could “jack off” in her closet and nobody would ever know. This was the first sexual comment that she had ever made. Being a lonely celibate male, I took mental note of those comments. I couldn’t help it.

One evening last week, out of the blue, I thought it would be funny if I texted Sheila the words, “Are you jacking off?” Her immediate response was, “What???”

After that, I never heard from her. She avoided me at work for the remainder of the week, and she is not answering her phone or texts this weekend. Usually when she gets drunk, she blocks me on her phone for small infractions that I’ve done. For example, when one of her cats died, she thought I didn’t show enough compassion to her.

I’m thinking that she has blocked me again.

I never meant to offend her. And, by the way, would that comment of mine really offend her?! After her references to masturbation, would she really shun me for joking about it in a text??

I’m at a total loss. I’ve been depressed and full of anxiety this whole weekend. Yes, the days that I live for, Saturdays and Sundays, I’ve spent down and out.

I miss my friend. If I can build enough courage to go into work tomorrow (My social anxiety makes it hard for me to attend work sometimes), the first thing I’ll do is apologize to Sheila.

I didn’t realize how much I needed her friendship. No one else on earth understands me the way she does, and vice versa.

Sheila, please forgive me. I didn’t mean to offend you. You have been planning your suicide for when your last remaining cat dies, and I don’t want to be a trigger.

Come back to me. I need you.

~t


In Defense of Logan Paul and the Suicide Forest Video

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Logan Paul

As you probably know, I blog only when I have something to say, which isn’t very often these days.

However, the recent controversy over YouTube star Logan Paul caught my attention for two reasons: 1) He went to Japan, a country in which I used to live, and 2) he encountered a suicide victim inside a forest named Aokigahara, a place referred to in English as the Suicide Forest.

I have been to Aokigahara. It’s at the foot of Mount Fuji, a famous inactive volcano. I didn’t venture inside the forest because of all the warning signs and creepiness. Plus, it’s believed to be haunted, and I’m scared to death of the supernatural.

As a person with mental illness and suicide ideation, I wanted to see with my own eyes this ‘foolproof’ method of ending one’s life. Suicidal individuals wander inside the vast, dense forest and literally never find their way out. They usually die of starvation. The trees are so dense that helicopters cannot see inside the forest from above.

To be honest, I had never heard of Logan Paul before this latest controversy. I was able to see the video on TMZ though since it doesn’t exist on YouTube anymore.

Paul seems to me like an arrogant, immature 22-year-old. Being a YouTube sensation and getting filthy rich from it, it appears in the video that he and his friends decide to give his fans a treat and spend the night in the ‘haunted’ forest. They accidentally find a hanging body as a result.

From this point the media rage ensues: Paul didn’t turn off his video camera. Instead, he decided to show a close-up of the hanging body with purplish hands. The face was luckily blurred out.

And then he uttered a joke and laughed. Jeez, an arrogant, rich kid had the audacity to do this. *Sarcasm mode off*

My gosh, young people nowadays take selfies with their dead grandparents at funerals. They watch daredevils fall to their deaths from tall buildings without batting an eye. Some people, young and old, laugh as a coping mechanism when faced with awkward situations.

Bottom line: Logan Paul is a young, foolish, stunt-driven punk who laughed while standing next to a suicide victim. What the hell else would you expect?

Personally, seeing the cold purplish hands of the victim in the video was a strong enough deterrent for me. I don’t want to end up like that, so I keep taking my meds and visiting my therapist.

Paul probably had little interest in promoting suicide prevention. Anyway, the video is out there and it’s not going away. Paul will continue to make money off his videos because his legion of young fans are forgiving of their heroes.

Since I saw the video a few days ago, I’ve had zero thoughts of suicide.

All I can say is: It helped me.

Has it occurred to you that the video might help others too? Help them in ways that a suicide hotline number wouldn’t?

~t


Mental Illness 1, Sheila & Topaz 0

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Sheila and I had planned a happy hour after work last Friday. We were both really looking forward to it after a long week of being “in the trenches” (teaching).

We went to a place that Sheila recommended. Since she is a vegan, the restaurant was a vegan Mexican place. I didn’t know anything like that existed. It was in the artsy part of the city.

The decor was made up of the Virgin of Guadalupe statues, banners, and renditions of local artists’ interpretation of the Virgin. The place was a total dive, but that’s what gave it its charm. I told Sheila that I didn’t know if we should pray or eat: the centerpiece of our table was a religious candle of the Virgin, the kind that you find in barrio shops for a dollar.

It turns out that this place didn’t serve alcohol; they hadn’t applied for a liquor license yet (they were under new ownership). Disappointed, we left in search of a microbrewery in the same vicinity. After sitting down, Sheila complained that they only served beer. Duh. It’s a microbrewery, I almost said.

So then we went next door to a trendy coffee shop/bar where everybody was pretty and handsome; definitely there to be seen on a Friday evening. As we perused the menu (they had spirits!), Sheila suddenly grabbed me and headed for the door.

“That woman [the waitress] was laughing at me. I have to get out of here.”

I was aware of the waitress the whole time, and she was not laughing at or doing anything to offend Sheila.

So we sat outside on the patio, trying to decide what to do and where to go. Sheila had become totally silent. After several minutes, she said, “Let’s head back to our cars.”

Walking to our cars, Sheila’s eyes began to tear up. She wiped them with the back of her sleeve. “Why am I cursed?” she sobbed, looking up at me, her nice blue eyes now red with tears. “I’m not supposed to be happy,” she said, her voice choking up with more emotion.

I didn’t know what to do. From experience, I’ve learned to be a good listener. In Sheila’s state of mind, she wouldn’t have heeded any advice I offered her. “I’m going home,” she said, dejected.

All I could think of was to say, “Call me if you need anything.” I got in my car, and we were off, going separate ways, back to our miserable lives all alone.

How I wished that I could have persuaded Sheila to join me back at the vegan place. We could have brought a bottle of wine (BYOB was okay there) and enjoyed ourselves.

Instead, I left Sheila for the evening.

I know what it’s like to have paranoia and to think lowly of myself. I still do. But medication and therapy have helped me tremendously. I still have my moments, however. But Sheila is unwilling to seek any sort of treatment.

I’ll continue being her friend. Hell, I’m the only friend she has besides her two cats. I’ll continue not because I’m trying to “save” her, but because she’s my friend.

~t


My Friend of Misery

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I prefer a church which is bruised, hurting, and dirty.

— Pope Francis

I made a new friend at work. I’ll say her name is Sheila. It’s a wonder that we found each other. You see, Sheila suffers from depression and suicidal ideation just like I do. We didn’t know this when we started chatting daily and visiting each other’s classrooms.

Sheila seemed meek and shy. I could tell right away that she was introverted almost to the point of misanthropy.

After talking casually for several weeks, she started confiding in me. “I have a drinking problem.” “I suffer from depression.”

I also started opening up with her. It turns out that we both have spent time in psych wards for suicide attempts and depression.

Sheila and I are at the point to where we share everything with each other — because we have each other’s trust.

Today we were on the topic of suicide. We were discussing how different methods wouldn’t totally work. A bullet to the head might turn one into a vegetable instead of being fatal. How swallowing Drano could only burn your insides and not kill you. How pills don’t work (because we have both tried them).

Then our conversation took an eerie turn. Could we go to the Netherlands and take the euthanasia drug? Surely not. They wouldn’t give it out for healthy people’s suicides. What about Oregon? Nope. same thing.

Then Sheila said something that — well, I should have been shocked or red flags should have gone up, but they didn’t.

Sheila said, “As soon as my two cats die, I’m checking out.” Then she made a cutting motion across her throat with her index finger.

All I said was, “How?”

“I’ve been researching about hiring someone to kill me. Either that or jumping off a bridge into traffic.”

The thing is, I did nothing to persuade her from those plans. I didn’t step in like a friend should. I didn’t report her to 911.

Instead I empathized with her and told her I felt the same way. I even asked her if she would someday fly to Amsterdam with me so we could take the euthanasia pill together.

I know that I failed as a Christian. I know that I still have a shot at persuading her to live though.

But what about my agreeing with her? That certainly isn’t the Christian thing to do.

Oh, and Sheila is an alcoholic. She drinks wine at work out of her coffee tumbler. On Fridays we go out for lunch and we both slam beers.

I have the time of my life with Sheila — in a totally platonic way. But at the same time I am starting to believe that God put me in Sheila’s life to help her. And helping her I’m not.

Could you pray for me? Could you also pray for Sheila? Her parents have passed away, she doesn’t communicate with her siblings, and she has no real friends except for me. She has no one to live for.

Right now we are partners in misery yet we both are the only ones who can make each other laugh. It’s a tough situation because I love our friendship.

But at this point I guess I don’t love her enough to reach out to her as a Christian.  The scary thing is, I don’t want it to ruin the fun we have.

The suicidal downward spiral feels like a water park slide: looping down and around until we go crashing into the water, all the while laughing and giggling like two kids under the summer sun.

Except we’re under storm clouds and I’m doing nothing about it. I want to feel ashamed of myself but for some reason I don’t. You have every right to judge me, but at this time I just ask for your prayers. That I can be a man of God and help this poor woman.

~t


And There Was War in Heaven

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Do not let your hearts be troubled Trust god and also trust in me for my yoke is So I say to you BLEEDING ask and it shall be THE given to you Seek and you will DEAD find Knock and the RAPE door will be opened for you GIRL This is my body Do this in MARDUK remembrance of me This is my INQUISITION blood Do this in remembrance HE’S NOT HERE of me. Therefore I tell you INVERTED whatever you ask for in prayer Believe that CROSS you have received it IT’S PETER and it will be yours NO IT’S BEELZEBUB Seek first his kingdom and his RAPE righteousness and all THE these things will be BLEEDING given to you as well DEAD Whoever drinks the GIRL water that I give F**KED them will never WITH thirst I am the way A the truth and the KNIFE life No one comes to MARDUK the father INQUISITION except through me YOU WORTHLESS Love the lord your god PATHETIC LITTLE with all your heart F*CK and with all your soul and with all your mind YOU’RE MINE Hail mary – – – –  – –  —

 

~t


Rainbows & Unicorns: The Formula for Perfect Blog Posts

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No, I haven’t lost my mind.

I came across this Bible passage on someone else’s blog recently:

Let us not become weary in doing good,

for at the proper time we will reap a harvest

if we do not give up.  (Galatians 6:9)

It is an incredibly inspiring verse, enough so that it made me meditate on each word and phrase — something I rarely do these days.

Then I started thinking: What a fine blog post this would make. Throw in a nice, warm piece of Scripture, add some inspiring words (maybe from my therapist), and, presto, a blog post is born.

Not to make light of Sacred Scripture or anything, but, to me, there’s definitely more to it than that. People can express themselves in any way that they see fit. I’ve noticed that my posts tend to hover around the darkish portions of life, completely negating the original intent of my blog which is to inspire and prayerfully help others grow closer to God.

Why do you hover and brood over dark things, Topaz? Well, because that’s life. That’s all. A lot of things complicate my life and I suppose they make me who I am and make me write about what I do.

Heck, I started this blog post to discuss how banal so many blogs out there are. A lot of them are like Facebook updates or sprinkled with memes that wreak of generic spirituality and inspiration.

I guess another reason I’ve decided to write this is because today is my oldest son’s birthday (and I’m relieved to say that he’s still in elementary school — they grow up so fast). I wanted to be a tad bit encouraging in honor of him.

I’m not particularly depressed right now. However, my buspirone and trifluoperazine are making me pretty dang sleepy. I was about to collapse on my bed after getting home from work until my wife told me to do something fun. I guess writing blog posts is considered fun. (Like most things, I find writing hard to do, like a chore that I need to get done but I keep putting it off.)

So, hopefully, the Scripture will inspire you and that you’ll have a good day.

I can honestly say that at this moment I’m glad to be alive.

~t