Letters Written in White by Kathryn Perez

Blue's Book Reviews "LETTERS WRITTEN IN WHITE" by Kathryn Perez

Um. 
OMG. 
This. 
Book.
OMG.
No words.
Absolutely haunting.
Terrifyingly true. 

How do I even explain the emotions that this book brought out of me?  
How??  
I can't even put my thoughts into coherent words.  
The writing in this book sliced straight through my soul with a scythe.   It cut me into pieces.  
Because I KNOW this book.  I lived it once upon a time at the ripe old age of 18.

I too have suffered through debilitating depression.  I too had once decided to end the excruciating pain and suffering that was swallowing me up by choosing the black quietness of death over the unrelenting pain of waking up every day.   I too have written my story.   And maybe one day, I too will be brave enough to share it.

I've highlighted over 50% of this book so how do I even begin to pick what to share here?  

"Suicide doesn't happen all at once.  It starts small.  Those early seductive whispers of nagging self talk, worthlessness, self-hate, fear, or sadness curl into your ears subtly at first.  Eventrually it mutates into a relentless roar.  You really don't see death coming until suddenly, in one deeply dark moment, you're face to face with it.  Then, being worn down, exhausted from swimming in an ocean of despair, you drop at Death's feet and surrender.  Like a sander, it wears you down until there's nothing left to fight it off.  Soon your once strong oak exterior is worn down into a meager pile of sawdust.  I wish my husband knew how many times he's held the dust of me in the palms of his hands, slipping through his fingers."

Letters Written in White by Kathryn Perez is like nothing I've ever read before, but its also so very familiar for very person reasons.   
It will haunt you.
It will hurt.
It will give you not just a glimpse, but an IMAX view of depression.  
Everyone should read this book.  EVERYONE.
Whether you've suffered from depression, attempted suicide, or if you love someone who is suffering or had been successful at ending their life, this book brilliantly allows you to see and feel the hopelessness, the pain to keep living, the lullaby of lies that Death will sing so beautifully into your ears.  

Letters Written in White brings you understanding.  It does not sugar coat anything where depression and suicide are concerned.  
It is real.
It is raw.
It HURTS.
It is a MUST READ.

Blue's Book Reviews gives LETTERS WRITTEN IN WHITE by Kathryn Perez
FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND REAL RAW MUST READ STARS!!!!




ThisThi⤵⤵Get it here ⤵ ⤵
Letters Written in White purchase link

The Perfect Storm Episode #111115

The Perfect Storm
Episode #111115

You know how dogs can sense when a bad storm is on its way?  Especially when they are afraid of storms?

Our girls are terrified of storms.  They cower and whine and hide under our covers in our bed.  They try to crawl up under our skin as if they could even do that.

They can also sense it when our son's storm is also brewing.

They do the exact same things as if there was a big storm coming outside.

They cower.  They hide.  They are nervous and anxious.  Miley will start panting really hard as if she's trying to hyperventilate.

They know when its time to hide in the cellar.

The events over the last couple of days forced me to take Caden in for blood work to check his Depakote levels.  He was complaining that his head felt hot and he's still very agitated, which made me decide to keep him home instead of subjecting his teachers to another day of bad weather.

Back home, he's taken his normal hatred and abuse for me and moved it over to Bryan. 

Bryan comes into the bedroom and locks the door, hugs and holds me and says, "Now he's attacking me like he's attacked you.  At least its not you this time.  But I wanta knock his effing head off."

Me hugging him back, "Well at least now you know what its like for me.  Do you want to split a pill?  I'll share mine with you."

We both laughed because I think we are probably the best medication for each other when things get hard.

He'll go outside and build something, cut something up, break something just so that he can build it back together again, or set fire to something and just watch it burn for hours.

I'll write annoying posts on Facebook, read, look at my disaster of a closet that needs to be cleaned out, but then I'll go post about my disaster of a closet that I need to clean out instead of cleaning it because I don't want to clean it.

I'll also create a Pinterest board on "Camper Remodel" and then become obsessed with how I'm going to want to decorate and remodel the 1998 Coachman Deer Camp Camper into a Glamper/Glamping Guest House for girl sleepovers and weekend getaways.

It's a darn shame that cleaning the house or organizing isn't a coping skill that any of my personalities have. 

Bryan and I both cope in such different manors, but at least neither of us has given up. 

Some days, I do want to give up.  I sometimes wish that I could be that mom that just runs away when things get too hard.  And to be honest, I used to never understand how a mother could just abandon her children because I could never do that, even though it sounds all unicorny and rainbowy.

But I can now empathize and understand it if that mother too has to go through some of what we have to go through.  Maybe she doesn't have a strong husband or support group to cheer her on?  Maybe she herself is suffering with mental illness with no one reaching out a hand to help her? 

Anyway, I can't automatically judge a mother who runs away from her life because I can't help but wonder that maybe her too, felt like she was a failure for not being enough to help her child or children.

And yes I'm whining, because I know friends who have gone through so much more severe things with their kids than we have with our Perfect Storm and it makes me feel terrible that what they have endured compared to what we are currently going through isn't even on the same planet as far as they are concerned.

I have a dear friend who's adult son (Aspy) tried dragging her along his truck while hitting her in the face, and she had to call the police on him and watch him being handcuffed and arrested.

Another dear friend's adult son who is mentally ill, has not been seen or heard from in years after he stopped taking his meds.  She prays and cries for him every day.

So I'm going to go stare at my messy closet so I can decide that I'll clean it the next time again.

I'm going to go pin some things onto my "Camper Remodel" board on Pinterest.

I'm just trying to cope.

We are all just trying to cope and survive another day without completely losing who we are.

When someone in your home is mentally ill, everyone in the home also suffers from that mental illness.  Maybe not on a diagnosis level, but it pushes your sanity to the razor thin edge into insanity.

*Side note
No where in the Bible does it say that "God won't give you what you can't handle". 
That is a myth.  A fabrication. 

So yes, God will give us more than we can endure. 

1 Corintians 10:13 No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted,  he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.

"In moments like these we feel ground to dust. Rather than stand and proclaim that we can handle it, we should imitate Jesus.

The night before Jesus was executed, He cried out in the garden, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death” (Matthew 26:38). Jesus told His father, “This is too much for me!”
We see this kind of thing in the Psalms, too. The Psalmists ball their fists in rage, and shout at God, “Why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22) In their sadness they say, “darkness is my closest friend” (Psalm 88)

When we become aware that life will give us more than we can handle and come to grips with this, we find a promise: God is faithful to meet us in the mess and in the pain."

http://www.relevantmagazine.com/god/yes-god-will-give-you-more-you-can-handle

#theperfectstorm
#stormcloudsareforming
#hunkerdown
#battendownthehatches
#mentalillnesssucks

Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson

My dear friend from AHS  Class of 88, recently finished listening to Jenny Lawson's Furiously Happy audio book and told me that I had to listen to it.  She even offered to buy it for me.
I told her that I had a credit that I could use to get it and to save her money.  I love her for even offering to get me the book though!!!  Xoxoxo

Anyway, WOW.  This book.  I'm not finished listening it yet but I LOVE it!!!

#1.  I'm not sure if Jenny Lawson is me or if I'm Jenny Lawson.  Which means that I too have mental illness which would explain a lot.

#2.  She talks like I do but add the strong Texas accent for me.  She speaks with a singsong way like I do.  I've been told by a coworker once, "Do you realize that you sing with you speak?"  Uh, no.  But thanks for pointing that Mr. Harry Hypersweater.  So now, while I write this or anything else I write, I hear Jenny Lawson's voice, or my voice, I can't tell anymore because I now think we are the same person.

#4.  What she says about suffering with mental illness, is brilliant and raw.  I needed to hear this because after living with at least one mentally ill person in our home (since now I'm certain I'm also mentally ill but somehow I've managed to function without needing alcohol or meds, but I'm sure Bryan would have been much happier if I had been taking lots of meds and lots of alcohol but I have recently been diagnosed with ADD but I don't take my Adderal like I should take it and this runalong sentence is proof of that.  And that I must be running a fever.

Bryan says, "He loves me, but I'm hard to live with." 
I'm sure my husband and Victor, Jenny's husband, would have lots to talk about about regarding their hard to live with wives.

#4.  Jenny Lawson spent an entire chapter talking about how assholey people are at airports. 
It. Was. Brilliant.
Someone other than me and my coworkers, acknowledging what we know all too well, that travelers are absolutely evil assholes and they need to be hit with a pinata stick.  Hard. 
But I personally would prefer to stab them in the neck with my pen while asking them if Jesus is their Lord and Savior because they are about to meet Him whether they believe in Him or not.

http://amzn.to/1LyYfiA

http://amzn.to/1Rkknki

I Am Blue Today

I Am Blue Today

Things aren’t always funny.  Sometimes we all forget that the ones who laugh the loudest and have the gift to make other’s laugh, those people are fighting a war that rages within their homes and families.  Whether its financial stress or anything else, it’s there, hidden behind a door with lots of locks and deadbolts to make it easier to be out of sight and out of mind.  We try to keep the world from seeing it or at best, having others finding out about it only to voice how they think we are handling it all wrong. 

Today is not a good day.  And maybe it’s a good time to come out of the closet because I know we aren’t the only ones who have to live with a ticking time bomb within our home. 

You see, I’ve always known there was something wrong.  I saw it when he was a baby.  Something just wasn’t “right”.  I chose to believe his pediatrician’s explanations because they were so much easier to swallow than the big bitter pill that has always been starring at us in the face.  I wanted to believe that I was the one who was crazy. 

Years go by, things escalate.  By the time he was 4yrs old, we had to hide all the knives and scissors.  By the time he was 9yrs old, we knew he needed help but no one would ever return my calls, and then he would be “better”, so we just let him be “better”.  Until, he wasn’t “better” anymore.  Then I’d call for an appointment again, and again, no one would call me back, and again, he’d be “better”.

This went on and on, year after year.  Until this past April, he started damaging things.  He scratched up my car with scissors.  He denied it, but we have security cameras that proved that he did it, and then he proudly admitted doing it with no remorse at all. We also couldn't trust him to be alone with our pets in fear that he would hurt them so he could never be left alone. 

2 days after he damaged my car, he threw a palm sized chunk of asphalt at me and left me bruised and bleeding.  I can still look down and see the scar on my forearm from it.  And that’s when things went into warp speed.  We had no other choice but to admit our still 12yr old son into a psychiatric hospital for 8 days. 

You can never know how that felt for us, to sit there, locked up in a room for hours with other people trying to be admitted, while we waited to hand our child over to strangers because he was a danger to me and possibly to himself. 

He was then diagnosed and my fears from when he was a baby all came crashing down on me at the words, “Bipolar 1 with Psychosis”.   

Our son has a mental illness.  Our son has a mental illness.  Our son has a mental illness.   Oh my God.  Our son has a mental illness.  Mentally ill.  Mentally ill.  No.  Anything but this.  No. No. No.

Why couldn’t it be cancer instead?  I mean, you can see cancer in x-rays and scans.  You can even name it Kanye or Marilyn, and visualize kicking its ass and brutally destroying it because you can SEE IT.  You can try to cut it out.  You can attack it with chemicals and radiation.  But this?  Mental illness?  You can’t see it.  You can’t cut it out.  You can’t go into remission with Bipolar 1.  It’s constantly changing, moving, adapting, hiding, then uncontrollable screaming at the top of its lungs .  Medication works, and then in a blink of an eye, it becomes ineffective and you have to change the medication again. 

The problem with medication is, you have to get in to see a psychiatrist to get prescribed the much needed medications.  It took us 3 months to get our son into a psychiatrist that would even see an adolescent.  
3 months.  
The hospital only gave us 30 days of medication with stern instructions that he cannot run out or stop taking these pills, or he’ll end up right back in the hospital. 

How exactly do you make 30 days of medication last 3 months???  

Well, you spend hours every morning before work on the phone, begging, pleading, crying with anyone who will listen, to write refills for his current prescription.  Thank God, his pediatrician has helped us with this.  Otherwise we would have been admitting him into the hospital every 30 days for refills.

Why am I telling this very personal and devastating story?  

Because today, I’ve got nothing funny to tell.  

Today I’m crying.  

Today he refused to take his pills to the point where I was afraid that I was going to have to admit him into the hospital again. 

Today I saw the face of the monster that lives inside of our son and because it scares me to my bones. 

Today, our son’s mental illness is scaring me.  

And he’s now bigger and stronger than I am.  And on days like this, when he’s crashing and not making sound decisions and being cruel.

I just feel, sad.  Sad for him.  Sad for us.  Sad for other parents who are also dealing with the same hell that we are. 

Just overwhelming sadness.