This is Bananas; B-A-N-A-N-A-S!

Next Sunday is Father's Day and I am NOT looking forward to it. I know avoiding the card and gift displays in all of the stores and cocooning myself away for that day will not make the sadness of missing my Poppy go away but it is what it is. On top of the looming holiday, the news of two prominent public figures who committed suicide have me wallowing in my own thoughts of sadness while trying to make myself talk about it.

The last thing I really want to do is talk about it........for so many reasons but mainly because I feel it makes me sound like a whiny baby that needs to shut up. So I've been struggling with my own depression and feelings and this blog is what has slowly emerged. Hopefully it won't seem as scattered as it feels in my head but if I'm going to help destroy the stigma of mental health issues, I need to rip the virtual band-aid off of my own.

Depression is no joke and it's even worse for a (formerly?) Eternal Optimist.
I seriously used to think that I wasn't capable of being depressed and for most of my life it was, by-in-large, the truth. I wrote often of my Happy List and about happiness being a choice and I really hope that one day I will wholeheartedly believe that again. [Even now I feel a bit of optimism trying to percolate from the depths and that gives credence to my hope!]

I have good days and bad days. At the moment, the bad days are winning when stacked against the good but I try to remember that there have been good days and there will be more....no matter how much I'm hurting in this current moment. It's the current moments that are the problem. They are dark and dreary and good at convincing me of things I KNOW are not true.

Things like this:
I am alone, I am unwanted, I am unloved and the only way to make the pain stop is to cease to exist.
Like I said.....I know these things are not true but in my darkness, that is how I feel. I'm doing my best to get through this but unfortunately, I cannot take anti-depressants because they make things worse for me.

Depression plus Acute Stress Disorder is BANANAS. 
I'm still seeing my therapist and I'm making good progress, all things considered. The worst part is the uncontrollable rage that usually shows up when I'm dealing with extreme emotion. I have never been a mean person and have been a pacifist my entire life so when this has happened and I've found myself needing to apologize to a loved one, I feel like a total chump and feel like they think I'm using it as an excuse for bad behavior and that ends up just adding fuel to the fire of my depression.

There is no "cure" for PTDS, just managing it so I'm doing my best to learn as much as I can about it and to be open to the cues my therapist gives to help me manage the different situations as they have arisen.  If you want to learn more about PTSD, you can read about it here.


One Hundred Times More Difficult
I thought the blog about my Acute Stress Disorder was the hardest to write and post, but this one feels 100 times harder to hit the publish button. I dread the onslaught of messages it's likely to precipitate and I don't want to scare my family and friends with my honesty about these feelings but I really feel the need to post this. You know what they say, "If I can help one person by posting this it will be worth it". And, quite honestly, I'm not sure if the person it might help could possibly be me.

It's impossible to know what someone might be dealing with silently and alone so be kind to others, check on friends or reach out for help if you feel you need it.  

[Friends: PLEASE DON'T FREAK OUT.....I'm going to be fine. There's still a silver lining and I'll be optimistic, all the time, again some day.]

Private! Keep Out! [Relevant Wisdom from my Lovey Mom]

Those who know me, know how wise my Lovey Mom is. She has always been able to teach important life lessons in simple and effective ways. So many of these lessons/concepts contribute to character and values and have consequently become the cornerstone and foundation of my own life. I can't speak to others and the choices they make, but I share my Lovey Mom's morality tale as it has recently come up more that once on several fronts in my life.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T ones P-R-I-V-A-C-Y 

For as long as I can remember, my Lovey Mom gave me and my siblings absolute privacy. Not only were our bedrooms a personal sanctuary, the expectation of privacy was total; covering every space/aspect of our life. She felt that everyone should feel their personal privacy was important enough to be respected, no matter our age. In so doing, she taught me that every one's privacy is sacrosanct. Knowing that my privacy was respected, I never felt the need to hide anything. 

Lovey Mom's Privacy Principle was based on avoiding a moral dilemma. As an example: If I left a note I'd written to a friend (folded and on a table in the den) and she read it and discovered that my friends and I were planning to skip school and go to the movies...not only would she feel the need to confront me about the plan to skip school, she would also have to confess to invading my privacy and that just wasn't something she ever wanted to do as a parent. [Heather's note: I never would have skipped school. I would have told my mom that everyone was skipping to see a movie and would have asked her to call the school and excuse me for the rest of the day. I know.....but, I was raised by Lovey Mom and it was a wonderfully symbiotic existence.]

Don't misunderstand. If my parents had ever suspected that we were hiding something that would have hurt us or caused us trouble, they would have come to us and given us a chance to come clean. If necessary, I suppose they would have informed us of a need to look through our rooms but that was never an issue that ever came up with any of us.

Because of this lifelong respect of my privacy, I've never been tempted to snoop or pry but I also expect that everyone will extend that same courtesy to me. I also understand that sometimes, things are seen accidentally and can't be unseen.

I suppose I'm writing this as a way to offer amnesty to the few who have found themselves elbow-deep in my private things and are unable to confront me without admitting their own gaffe.  I'd be more than happy to address any concerns or explain what you encountered. I can assure you I have nothing I'm hiding from you.

What's in a Name?

I am of the belief that one doesn't pick out a nickname for someone, but rather the nickname picks the person. Often I blog about friends or unavailables and instead of asking for permission each time, I tend to use nicknames to protect identities. The parties involved know to whom I'm referring and it keeps everyone happy. Two years ago I wrote about my family's obsession with nicknames and decided to re-post this after yesterdays nickname discussion with Baby Boy. Enjoy!

The Nickname Game- July 5, 2008

Nicknames.......my family is a nickname kind of family. It's a multi-generational thing with us and I used to think that all families were like mine as far as nicknames were concerned, but I'm not so sure anymore.

To start, before my parents were even married, my dad was called "Cookie" by friends and co-workers [actually, he was Little Cookie and my grandfather was just Cookie]. My mother's dad and uncle thought it was a funny nickname (even though his last name is Cook) and they started calling him "cornbread" as a joke. Then the day of my parents wedding, my grandfather (my Lovey Mom's dad) mused that my father looked like a deacon in his suit and forever after that my grandfather and my father called each other "Deacon". Always. Not son (in-law), not dad, not by their first names. Just their common nickname for each other: Deacon.

It's not just that everyone has a nickname......we usually have several that are used frequently. I guess that's the part that's a bit strange to most others. It seems perfectly normal to me, but I grew up surrounded by adults that used multiple nicknames.........what can I say? I guess I come by it honestly.

Here is an overview of my siblings, nieces and nephews and their nicknames just so you can gain an understanding of how my family adores using nicknames.

My oldest sister Julie is most often called Jule (pronounced like Jewel) or Jujee. Sometimes we'll even shorten Jujee and just call her Juj (did we really make another nickname OUT of a nickname? Oh yes we did!)

My sister Melissa's first nickname was given to her by my father when she was an infant. He called her "Mippy Dip" because the curl on the top of her head reminded him of a dip cone. Her other nicknames are Missy, Mip, Misser Sisser, Mimi and Meem.

My little brother Chuck also has several. When he was born, my father was still "Little Cookie" to many so those friends called my brother "Cookie Crumb". That nickname didn't stick around, but he's had plenty more over the years. Chuckie, Buck, Wooger Booger. Now that he's an uncle, he's most often referred to as Uncle Buck (for a short time, our nephew Chris called him Donald Buck).

AAAANNNNNNDDDDD.....I don't want to leave myself out! My first nickname was "Heavy" and was given to me by my sister Melissa because she couldn't say Heather. When my little brother was about 2, he called me "uh-oh" for about a year. Other names that I've been called (I'm talking NICKNAMES people!) are Deder, Heheher, Booger Wooger (not to be mistaken for Chuck's Booger Wooger). Heather Ann (Ann isn't my middle name), Starla, stargirl, Hev and Hevver.

Now for the kids!

Tyler: Matty Ty, Matthias Tylus and Tyler Rupert (sometimes we just call him Rupert)
Phillip: Pilpy, Pilly Pot, Philly-Pilly
Christopher: Crispy, Crisp, Crispy Critter and Christopher Robin
Nick: Neeko, Nickel Pickle, Cabezon (this is because his head is HUGE and I love it!)
Emily: Emmy Dawny, Emma Pooka Looners, pooka looka, Emmalia, Em
Erika: Rarika, P.B. (I've caller her this since she was about 2 years old, but now that she's a teenager, I can't say what it stands for because it might embarrass her)
Justin: Bubba Joe, Bustin and sometimes just Bubba
Jared: Pared, JP, Perry
Andy: Andy-boo, Boo Bear and Sugar Bear Itchy Spot
Max: Maxamillian, Sugar Max and Maxeroni and Cheese
Lauren: Sugar Lips and Laurney Little Bit. (More recently I've started calling her mini me. She looks just like I did when I was a child.)
Tommy: Twister Man, Monkey Boy, Tommy Toodles and Tom Bomb

Also, I call my parents Poppy Bear and Lovey Mom.

So......there you have it. Here's what I want to know:

1. What are your nicknames?
2. Do you think my family's used of so many nicknames is odd?

At Long Last- A Blog about My Lovey Mom

It's November and as Thanksgiving approaches, so many are talking about things for which they are thankful. I'm thankful for many things, but this year I'd like to share my thankfulness for my mother, or Lovey Mom as I call her.

My mother is the wisest person I know.

Over the years, I have shared my mother's wisdom with friends and I think they would agree; she's phenomenal! Not only is she wise, but she is loving and I can't imagine how different my life would be if I didn't have the knowledge of her unconditional love.

When I look at myself and how I choose to live my life, my mother's mark is everywhere. Concepts and truths which I use in my day to day life can be directly traced to lessons she taught me as a young child. They are simple and practical lesson but the way she conveyed these concepts was creative, immediately effective and unforgettable.

1. Remember to Share.
I must have been about 5 years old when the concept of sharing became very real to me. I was playing with a fascinating toy (which I think was called moon sand, but it's not like the moon sand of this generation). There was blue and white "sand" between Plexiglas and it would swirl and swirl. No matter which way you turned it, the colors wouldn't mix. While I was playing in mesmerizing silence, one of my sisters asked if they could play with it......to which I said, "no". When my mother heard me say no, she warned me that I should remember to share. When I didn't heed her sage advice, she took action. My punishment was that I would have to carry that toy with me for the rest of the day.

At the beginning, it was fine and my 5 year old logic thought I had gotten the better end of the deal.......that is, until I grew tired of the moon sand and moved to something else more fun. When that would happen, there was my mother, moon sand in hand saying, "Heather, you forgot this" and back into my hands it would go. Every time I would leave it, there was Lovey Mom to give it back to me. It was held through meals, in the bathroom, wherever I went until it was time for bed. And there's where the lesson entered the picture. As I was allowed to finally put the moon sand down and I got into bed my mother quietly and lovingly said, "I know you got very tired of playing with just this one toy today, but the next time someone asks you nicely if they can also play with something, remember how you feel right now and you will have an easier time sharing." She was right.

From that point on, every time I was tempted to NOT share, I would remember that day and, suddenly, sharing didn't seem like such a bad option. Not only did this impact my childhood, but it's something I continually use as an adult. It helps me to have the compassion to help others. To share of my time, talents, manpower, etc.....with friends who need it.
Thank you for making me carry the moon sand all day, Lovey Mom!

2. Don't Hit!
Many of you know my sister, Melissa and I are just a year apart, so our whole childhood is kind of a tandem memory. We shared a room for 14 years and over those years, many disagreements would arise. During one such disagreement when I was 6 and Melissa 7, I told her to suck my big toe (this was a big deal, because the use of the word "suck" was risky in and of itself). Melissa said, "okay" and I promptly pulled off my sock and, like an idiot, stuck my toe in her mouth. That's when everything started to spiral out of my control. Melissa bit down and in my shock, I rared back, open palm ready to strike in order to gain liberation for my big toe! And.....that's precisely when my mother walked in.

Although I didn't land a blow on my sister, that was of no importance to Lovey Mom. The intent was there and that was enough to spur her into action. Being the wise mother that she is, she knew there was blame on both sides of the equation, so the punishment was to be shared between us. She made us stand, facing one another just a little less than an arms length away and began to teach a powerful lesson. She grabbed Melissa's hand and made her make a fist and she said to her, "I want you to take your fist and hit Heather as hard as you can" and then she dropped Melissa's hand and grabbed mine and made me make a fist and said, "after she hits you, I want you to hit her as hard as you can". She dropped my hand and continued, "and I want you to take turns hitting each other until you fall down!"

At this point Melissa and I were in tears, thinking our mother had gone off the deep end. Wanting us to hit each other on purpose? That was unheard of! When, through our tears, she heard us say we didn't want to do that, she said, "If you don't want to hit your sister, don't raise your hand". Again, she was right. And I am a pacifist.

Thank you Lovey Mom for teaching me to solve problems with words, not fists.

This blog would be too long if I listed all the wonderful things my mother has taught me and the valuable advice she has given, but I wanted to share a couple of them as a way to show how very blessed I am.

Thank you, Lovey Mom! Thank you for telling me you'd take me with you if you ran away! Thank you for all you are to me. I love you!