There is in her mind a safe and quiet spot, though she doesn't always remember where she put it. When she is in need of a place where she can hide...where she can bury her face in something warm and soft and hear again the steady rhythm of life beating in a heart not her own, she remembers that safe and quiet spot...and she goes there.
She is two. Or she is four or five or six. She can't be more than nine because nine is when her grandmother developed leukemia and nine is when her grandmother died.
However old she is...she is still small enough to be picked up. Or to be invited up. And held in the ample lap and bosom of her father's mother. The grandmother that is old and wrinkly and smells of soft powder.
The other grandmother, younger, holds her, too. But in a smaller lap. The other grandmother is the grandmother that she does things with -- the library and walks and cooking and laughing and discussing things that small minds concoct.
But this is the farm grandmother. The Grandma and not the Nana. It is the Grandma holding her that she remembers most.
So, she is young and small. And she is held.
Grandma picks her up. This year. And this year. And the next year.
This next year, Grandma says, as she always does, "You have grown!"
And this is the year that Grandma doesn't scoop her up and whisk her away to a rocker, though her little brothers are still scoopable and whiskable and rockable.
She worries, seeing her baby brother in her grandmother's arms, that she has been somewhat replaced. But she says nothing. Just sits in the big farm kitchen watching Grandma rock baby Jay.
She loves Jay. And is proud of him. And glad for him that Grandma is rocking him.
She isn't jealous...and doesn't wish him away. But she worries that her own lap time is over for good and she is afraid.
If a little girl gets too big to be held and rocked...what then does she do?
When will she breathe deeply and smell the scent of soft, aged skin and a woman's favorite powder? When will she know again the feel of an apron against her cheek that carries with it the aroma of this morning's bacon frying and tonight's cinnamony apple pie?
When will she snuggle up against a woman softer than a pillow and stronger than iron? When will she hear the voice of a woman deep in the heart?
"Kim" -- her name -- she hears often. But in the timbre in her Grandma's chest, "Kim" sounds magical...and deep...and mystical...and safe...and...enduring.
If she is so big that Grandma cannot pick her up. If she is too big to be invited to climb into her Grandma's lap. What then?
She doesn't remember Jay falling asleep. Or that Jamie is outside with Grandpa and the piglets.
She knows that Mom is sitting at the table as Jay is rocked and they are talking -- Mom and Grandma. So she sits...in the heat of a summer kitchen with a breeze blowing through the open windows...listening to the talk and watching her brother snuggle in their Grandma's arms.
"I've grown," she thinks as the conversation and rhythm of the rocking chair drift around her and through her.
Her arms are longer. Her legs are longer. Her knees are knobby and her legs are white because it is early summer and her shorts are new. She is not so grown that her feet touch the floor when she sits in the big dining room chair, though. And she thinks about that as she sits sideways in the chair watching her grandmother and watching her mom.
She puts one arm around the back of the chair and one arm on the big dining table and scootches a little closer to the edge of the side of the seat...and her dangling bare feet touch the cool wooden floor. But only with the toes.
Since she has grown and now her feet touch the floor...she stays put a while. Listening. Watching. Feeling -- the breeze and the floor and the bit of sweat.
She doesn't notice when Jay falls asleep and Mom takes him upstairs to put him in the crib.
The crib is in "her" room. The room she stays in whenever they all visit Grandma and Grandpa. It was Daddy's crib. And everyone -- all the cousins -- even she -- has slept in it at one time or another. It is Jay's turn now.
The crib is by her bed and at night she listens as Jay sleeps his baby sleep beside her. It too is a safe and comforting thing...listening to baby sleep. But not the same as being held and rocked in Grandma's lap.
So Mom and Jay have gone upstairs.
It is just Grandma and herself in the big farm kitchen for now.
She looks at her Grandma and smiles a small smile.
Grandma smiles back.
"Grandma?" she says. "Can I ask you a question?"
"It's 'may I'," says Grandma who was a school teacher in old-timey days in a one-room schoolhouse. "And yes, you may."
"Am I too big?"
Grandma doesn't even have to ask "Too big for what?" -- she only holds out her arms and says, "Come here, child."
And she goes over to stand in front of her Grandma. Afraid that she will be told she is indeed "too big" -- and that powder and softness and the sound of her name in her Grandma's heart are a thing of the past.
"No," says Grandma. "I mean...come *here*, Kim."
And she pats her lap before spreading her arms wider. "My lap," Grandma says. "Come here and I will rock you."
Still worried that she is too big...she climbs cautiously into Grandma's lap.
Grandma touches her head and pulls it close to her shoulder, then rests for a moment with one arm encircling her back to front, and one hand brushing her still baby-fine hair.
"Kim," she whispers, "You'll never be too big to be held by Grandma Giger."
And they rock.
Quietly.
And she is content deep inside herself and it seems the two -- the Grandma and the Child -- become one for a while. They breathe in and they breathe out at the same time. She listens to her Grandmother's heart and realizes that her own is beating in rhythm with it.
When Mom comes downstairs, she smiles at her daughter -- her eldest -- wrapped up in the arms of her Grandmother's love. And she sits at the table. The two grown-ups begin talking again...of things that she knows little of...because for all her being so grown up now, she is still a little girl.
She stays silent. Listening. Watching. Feeling...the woman that is her grandmother, her father's mother, the beginning of the world for all she knows so far.
She doesn't move because it seems as if a magical wonderful spell of love has been woven...and it is soft and fine as a fairy spider web...and she doesn't want a sudden motion to break it away.
She is 20 now. Or 30 or 37 or 41. She can't be more than 41 because her birthday hasn't come yet this year.
She doesn't ever remember leaving her Grandma's lap that day...though she knows, of course, she did.
There was dinner that night.
There was a party for Grandma and Grandpa's 60th anniversary.
There was a funeral and tears.
No, she doesn't remember leaving Grandma's lap that day. Though she's walked many places since then and knows of course that she did.
But she still can hear the sound of her name...against the backdrop of her Grandmother's heartbeat...and it quiets her and stills her...in ways she can't explain.
And she wonders now...that magic she felt? How much of it was childhood fantasy...and how much of it was God...knitting together two hearts forever...?
It was the last time that Grandma ever had the chance to hold her that way again.
And now, she thinks the magic was God.
* "Heartbeat , It's A Lovebeat" Lyrics by the DiFranco Family
Monday, September 10, 2012
Monday, September 3, 2012
"Now is the age of anxiety.” *
Three years before I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, I was diagnosed with a panic and anxiety disorder. I was working at the newspaper in Berne, had started having these weird attacks where I would get super hot starting in my stomach, have an electric taste in my mouth, then get cold and shaky. My blood pressure would rocket up; I'd get very dizzy and disoriented; and I was convinced I was dying. I'd never felt anything like that before. It took several trips to the ER and a trip to the doctor mid-attack ("Come in when you have one of these so we can see what's going on") before I was finally diagnosed with the panic attacks. The anxiety disorder was diagnosed at the same time.
That I'd had an issue with anxiety should have been no surprise to me. I'd had horrible fears about people dying, getting sick, being hurt, disappearing, etc. since I was a very small child. All with no reason. A weird pain in my head would trigger a sense of impending doom and I'd think something was horribly wrong with me.
When I was 8-years-old, everyone was taking a nap one day while Dad was at work. I was supposed to be napping, too, but I couldn't sleep (not an unusual thing for me). Instead, I was in the living room watching "Island of the Blue Dolphins" on TV. When that was over, I was bored and trying to think of something to do. A few months before, I'd made a craft in Girl Scouts - a blue block with my picture on it, coated in varnish to seal it. It was a Mother's Day gift, I believe. I picked it up and kissed it for some reason, being only 8-years-old and somewhat goofy. And then I had what I think was my first panic attack.
When we'd made the picture blocks, the Girl Scout leader had told us, "Don't get any of this in your mouth, it's poisonous." I was very careful and of course, did not get any in my mouth. But she didn't tell us that it was going to be safe once it dried. And when I kissed myself in the picture, I freaked out because I knew I'd poisoned myself and I was going to die. I didn't know what to do, and I didn't know how long it would take, but I was under the impression that death was imminent.
Instead of waking up my mom and telling her what I'd done, I went to the room where she and my middle brother were napping. I quietly said goodbye to them and asked God to take care of them. Then I went to my infant brother's room, said goodbye to him, and prayed for him to grow up big and strong. Finally, I went into my bedroom, laid down on the bed, and waited to die.
I heard a voice that told me I wasn't going to die, that I was going to be okay, but I should take a nap. I did...and was more than surprised to wake up. I'm not sure when I told my mother about what happened, but it was years later.
During junior high and high school, I had severe issues with anxiety and depression (and the bipolar mania), but I didn't know things weren't "normal". It's just how it was. My paternal grandmother was a "worrier" and I supposed a lot of us were. (And a lot of us ARE...but not all of us get to a point where our mind goes to worst case scenario at the drop of a hat.) I can't tell you how many times I planned my parents' funerals in case they died suddenly, leaving us children as orphans. Or the times I tried to figure out how the three of us kids were going to go to school and grow up alone.
As an adult, I have called Emergency Rooms when people have been 30 minutes late home from work. I have called Sheriff's departments asking about accidents involving my loved ones' vehicles. Never has anyone I've been looking for been in the hospital or involved in a wreck. Probably 99% of the things I worried about and fretted over never happened. Which, oddly enough, was kind of a relief and at the same time, fuel for my anxiety-treadmill. I had it in my head that if I worried about it, it wouldn't happen. And yet, if I worried about it, it was also possible. Which made me worry more.
It is no wonder, with the series of life changes I was going through (a divorce, raising a teenager alone, working at a high-stress job many hours a week, and being on a bipolar mania that I was unaware of) that I got to the point that I was having panic attacks several times a week, sometimes several times a day. Not all were bad enough to send me to the hospital, but some were. Blood pressure levels over 240/160 were not uncommon and I had a whole cadre of doctors trying to get that down and keep it down. Once I was diagnosed and started getting counseling and pharmaceutical treatment, things starting calming down for me.
In the 10 years since my diagnosis with the anxiety/panic disorder, I have learned a lot about it. I've learned how to recognize when it is ramping up, when to breathe deeply and center myself, when to take a pill to short-circuit a full blown attack (which isn't nearly as often as it used to be), and when (and how) to reach out to fellow sufferers on different support websites I've been a member of. I am by no means a doctor, nurse, or other medical professional. I am, as some would say, a "mental health consumer" - meaning I participate actively in the mental health world as a patient and client. However, I have learned a few things over the past decade that might be beneficial to others. If the following is helpful to you, I am glad. But always, always, always check with your doctor before pursuing a course of treatment if you are having panic and anxiety attacks. Don't be afraid to get the help you need - often and early.
I think that if I had remained untreated, I would likely be a hermit now - afraid to go out and interact anymore. For a while, I didn't leave home unless I had to, wouldn't go anywhere without my safe person, etc. There is nothing wrong with that - a person does what they have to do to protect themselves. But when I got treatment and support, I was able to get out of that coccoon and learn to function in spite of my attacks or underlying anxiety issues. It is now to the point that sometimes, a panic attack will happen - for no reason - and no one around me will know it. Which is a vast improvement over my former freak outs.
Anyway, below, I've provided some of the information about medications that I've learned about in the past decade that help treat anxiety and panic disorders. I hope you will find it helpful.
For anxiety, doctors will sometimes prescribe an anti-depressant. I found this list that outlines which ones those would be and what they are prescribed for other than depression:
Citalopram (Celexa) –off label for panic disorder, social phobia and trichotillomania
Duloxetine (Cymbalta) – approved for generalized anxiety disorder (GAD)
Escitalopram (Lexapro) – approved for GAD
Fluoxetine (Prozac) – approved for OCD and panic disorder
Fluvoxamine (Luvox) - approved for OCD in children (8-17 y) and adults
Paroxetine (Paxil) – approved for obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), panic disorder, social phobia, GAD and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)
Sertraline (Zoloft) – approved for panic disorder, PTSD, social phobia and OCD
Trazodone (Desyrel) – off label for panic disorders
Venlafaxine (Effexor XR) - approved for GAD, panic disorder and social anxiety disorder in adults
There are also some hypertension medications that work against anxiety. If you have high blood pressure, you can talk to your doctor about which ones might be more helpful to you. This link has some information about those: http://www.livestrong.com/article/206559-blood-pressure-medications-for-anxiety/
Finally, doctors can also prescribe anxiolytics (fancy word for “anxiety breaking”) like clonazepam (Klonopin) or alprazolam (Xanax). They can be very addictive, though, and they aren’t always a first line of defense for many doctors. It depends on your symptoms, how frequent and how intense your anxiety or panic attacks are, and how inclined your doctor may be to prescribe them overall. At one point, I was taking three Klonopin a day (every 8 hours), but that was before I was diagnosed with bipolar and got on meds more suited for a bipolar rather than just for someone with depression. (Antidepressants alone can trigger mania in bipolar.) Now, I’m on 0.5 mg, either half a tablet or a whole one, that I only take when I feel an anxiety/panic attack coming on.
For the underlying pervasive anxiety, I do have the hypertension med that works, the Klono back-up, and then the things I learned in the hospital and in therapy (as well as what I learned through an online support group called tAPir – The ANXIETY/PANIC Internet Resource; it’s at www.algy.com/anxiety ). I have a book (I think it’s called Anxiety Disorder for Dummies) that was helpful, too. But there are also other print resources (online, at the bookstore, or at the library) that are available, as well.
There are many other resources available online, and very often, there are face-to-face support groups available through your local community health programs or churches. Take part in as many as you feel comfortable participating in, because I don't know that there is ever such a thing as too much support. If you don't know where to look, you can contact your doctor and ask him or her about resources in your area.
* W.H. Auden
That I'd had an issue with anxiety should have been no surprise to me. I'd had horrible fears about people dying, getting sick, being hurt, disappearing, etc. since I was a very small child. All with no reason. A weird pain in my head would trigger a sense of impending doom and I'd think something was horribly wrong with me.
When I was 8-years-old, everyone was taking a nap one day while Dad was at work. I was supposed to be napping, too, but I couldn't sleep (not an unusual thing for me). Instead, I was in the living room watching "Island of the Blue Dolphins" on TV. When that was over, I was bored and trying to think of something to do. A few months before, I'd made a craft in Girl Scouts - a blue block with my picture on it, coated in varnish to seal it. It was a Mother's Day gift, I believe. I picked it up and kissed it for some reason, being only 8-years-old and somewhat goofy. And then I had what I think was my first panic attack.
When we'd made the picture blocks, the Girl Scout leader had told us, "Don't get any of this in your mouth, it's poisonous." I was very careful and of course, did not get any in my mouth. But she didn't tell us that it was going to be safe once it dried. And when I kissed myself in the picture, I freaked out because I knew I'd poisoned myself and I was going to die. I didn't know what to do, and I didn't know how long it would take, but I was under the impression that death was imminent.
Instead of waking up my mom and telling her what I'd done, I went to the room where she and my middle brother were napping. I quietly said goodbye to them and asked God to take care of them. Then I went to my infant brother's room, said goodbye to him, and prayed for him to grow up big and strong. Finally, I went into my bedroom, laid down on the bed, and waited to die.
I heard a voice that told me I wasn't going to die, that I was going to be okay, but I should take a nap. I did...and was more than surprised to wake up. I'm not sure when I told my mother about what happened, but it was years later.
During junior high and high school, I had severe issues with anxiety and depression (and the bipolar mania), but I didn't know things weren't "normal". It's just how it was. My paternal grandmother was a "worrier" and I supposed a lot of us were. (And a lot of us ARE...but not all of us get to a point where our mind goes to worst case scenario at the drop of a hat.) I can't tell you how many times I planned my parents' funerals in case they died suddenly, leaving us children as orphans. Or the times I tried to figure out how the three of us kids were going to go to school and grow up alone.
As an adult, I have called Emergency Rooms when people have been 30 minutes late home from work. I have called Sheriff's departments asking about accidents involving my loved ones' vehicles. Never has anyone I've been looking for been in the hospital or involved in a wreck. Probably 99% of the things I worried about and fretted over never happened. Which, oddly enough, was kind of a relief and at the same time, fuel for my anxiety-treadmill. I had it in my head that if I worried about it, it wouldn't happen. And yet, if I worried about it, it was also possible. Which made me worry more.
It is no wonder, with the series of life changes I was going through (a divorce, raising a teenager alone, working at a high-stress job many hours a week, and being on a bipolar mania that I was unaware of) that I got to the point that I was having panic attacks several times a week, sometimes several times a day. Not all were bad enough to send me to the hospital, but some were. Blood pressure levels over 240/160 were not uncommon and I had a whole cadre of doctors trying to get that down and keep it down. Once I was diagnosed and started getting counseling and pharmaceutical treatment, things starting calming down for me.
In the 10 years since my diagnosis with the anxiety/panic disorder, I have learned a lot about it. I've learned how to recognize when it is ramping up, when to breathe deeply and center myself, when to take a pill to short-circuit a full blown attack (which isn't nearly as often as it used to be), and when (and how) to reach out to fellow sufferers on different support websites I've been a member of. I am by no means a doctor, nurse, or other medical professional. I am, as some would say, a "mental health consumer" - meaning I participate actively in the mental health world as a patient and client. However, I have learned a few things over the past decade that might be beneficial to others. If the following is helpful to you, I am glad. But always, always, always check with your doctor before pursuing a course of treatment if you are having panic and anxiety attacks. Don't be afraid to get the help you need - often and early.
I think that if I had remained untreated, I would likely be a hermit now - afraid to go out and interact anymore. For a while, I didn't leave home unless I had to, wouldn't go anywhere without my safe person, etc. There is nothing wrong with that - a person does what they have to do to protect themselves. But when I got treatment and support, I was able to get out of that coccoon and learn to function in spite of my attacks or underlying anxiety issues. It is now to the point that sometimes, a panic attack will happen - for no reason - and no one around me will know it. Which is a vast improvement over my former freak outs.
Anyway, below, I've provided some of the information about medications that I've learned about in the past decade that help treat anxiety and panic disorders. I hope you will find it helpful.
For anxiety, doctors will sometimes prescribe an anti-depressant. I found this list that outlines which ones those would be and what they are prescribed for other than depression:
Citalopram (Celexa) –off label for panic disorder, social phobia and trichotillomania
Duloxetine (Cymbalta) – approved for generalized anxiety disorder (GAD)
Escitalopram (Lexapro) – approved for GAD
Fluoxetine (Prozac) – approved for OCD and panic disorder
Fluvoxamine (Luvox) - approved for OCD in children (8-17 y) and adults
Paroxetine (Paxil) – approved for obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), panic disorder, social phobia, GAD and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)
Sertraline (Zoloft) – approved for panic disorder, PTSD, social phobia and OCD
Trazodone (Desyrel) – off label for panic disorders
Venlafaxine (Effexor XR) - approved for GAD, panic disorder and social anxiety disorder in adults
There are also some hypertension medications that work against anxiety. If you have high blood pressure, you can talk to your doctor about which ones might be more helpful to you. This link has some information about those: http://www.livestrong.com/article/206559-blood-pressure-medications-for-anxiety/
Finally, doctors can also prescribe anxiolytics (fancy word for “anxiety breaking”) like clonazepam (Klonopin) or alprazolam (Xanax). They can be very addictive, though, and they aren’t always a first line of defense for many doctors. It depends on your symptoms, how frequent and how intense your anxiety or panic attacks are, and how inclined your doctor may be to prescribe them overall. At one point, I was taking three Klonopin a day (every 8 hours), but that was before I was diagnosed with bipolar and got on meds more suited for a bipolar rather than just for someone with depression. (Antidepressants alone can trigger mania in bipolar.) Now, I’m on 0.5 mg, either half a tablet or a whole one, that I only take when I feel an anxiety/panic attack coming on.
For the underlying pervasive anxiety, I do have the hypertension med that works, the Klono back-up, and then the things I learned in the hospital and in therapy (as well as what I learned through an online support group called tAPir – The ANXIETY/PANIC Internet Resource; it’s at www.algy.com/anxiety ). I have a book (I think it’s called Anxiety Disorder for Dummies) that was helpful, too. But there are also other print resources (online, at the bookstore, or at the library) that are available, as well.
There are many other resources available online, and very often, there are face-to-face support groups available through your local community health programs or churches. Take part in as many as you feel comfortable participating in, because I don't know that there is ever such a thing as too much support. If you don't know where to look, you can contact your doctor and ask him or her about resources in your area.
* W.H. Auden
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
"I Love Lucy" *
This Lucy, Susan Rear's dachshund that recently had back surgery for a ruptured disc. She's walking already, wagging her tail like a champ, and doing well in her "constitutionals". She'd LIKE to be chasing critters in the back yard, but that's still not allowed.
Just thought you all would like to see how she's doing. Don't forget you can contribute to her emergency surgery bills through the ChipIn link located below.
http://susanandlucy.chipin.com/mypages/view/id/64cf446368dc50ce
* Says anyone who meets Lucy the Dachshund!
Just thought you all would like to see how she's doing. Don't forget you can contribute to her emergency surgery bills through the ChipIn link located below.
http://susanandlucy.chipin.com/mypages/view/id/64cf446368dc50ce
* Says anyone who meets Lucy the Dachshund!
Monday, August 20, 2012
"... I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell..." *
I like Rob Thomas and Matchbox Twenty, and have for some time. When the song "Unwell" first came out, it was before I was diagnosed with bipolar, yet it resonated with me somehow. Probably because my whole life, especially in school, people would always talk about how "crazy" I was. Generally, they meant it in a funny, teasing, laughing-with-me-not-at-me kind of way, because let's face it, folks: I have an AMAZING sense of humor, if not sometimes just a little wicked and warped.
Still, I also knew what my friends and peers did not know: that sometimes, there were things going on inside of me that I had absolutely no control over. While part of me considered that these odd thoughts, random visions, and creepy sensations possibly normal, I also had some sense that maybe they weren't. Maybe it wouldn't be a good idea to tell anyone some of the stuff that happened inside my head.
For instance, before I was three years old, I remember waking up and feeling like monkeys - really evil monkeys - were sitting on my back, daring me to turn around and look them in the face. I could never breathe when that happened. I would lay really still and wait them out. Because I was afraid of what they would do to me if I ever told anyone about them, I never did. Not until I was an adult and they had been gone for decades.
When I was in grade school, I would get these odd ideas that if I did something in a certain way, or thought wrong thoughts, then something awful would happen. I can remember having obsessive thoughts (not knowing what they were at the time) that kept repeating themselves in my head, scaring me, and making me sure I was going to hell for having them. I also had a special litany of catastrophes I had to pray against every night, being very specific, so that God would protect us all. If I didn't remember to do it, I knew if anything happened, it would be my fault. That went on for several years, probably until I was 9 or 10, when I finally took the chance that maybe God could handle things and knew what He was doing better than I did. I quit praying that particular prayer...and nothing happened. Our house didn't burn down. We weren't robbed. No one died. I'd had no power or magic that was keeping it from happening; it just didn't happen.
In junior high was the first time I had actual "outside my head" hallucinations. It was always an image of the hooded figure of Death, complete with his sickle for reaping souls. It was bad enough when I saw it at home at night in my room, but when I started seeing it while playing softball, I remember being really freaked out. At the same time, I started having what I know now were episodes of "depersonalization" - when my own voice sounded like it was coming from someone else, when other people sounded like they were talking to me from across a great chasm, and when time (the fact that it kept passing and passing and passing) became a threatening and awful thing to contemplate. I detested looking at clocks and watches, the ringing of bells to change classes, watching the sun follow its course through the day. It overwhelmed me. Again, I don't remember saying anything about this, though once my mom and I were talking and she did ask if I felt I needed to see a psychologist. I said no...because I didn't want to think I was insane, and back in 1975 that's all I knew about psychiatrists - they saw people that were really, truly insane.
In high school and college, I was having wild mood swings. Mom (and I'm sure everyone else) knew when my period was due because I'd get snappy and crabby. But I didn't let anyone know, when I would become so horribly depressed that I was mapping out a will in my head, that anything more than just typical teenage angst was going on. Because honestly, I didn't know that it wasn't just that, anyway. I would also have these tremendous bursts of energy, days and days when I could just go and go and go! I've always been a talker (ask the people that freaked when the 9-month-old in the shopping cart at the store would greet them in complete sentences), but I felt compelled to talk and would...faster and faster. I know now that is called "pressured speech". I would have these amazing ideas, start all kinds of projects and never finish them, blow any money I had on buying gifts for my friends just because I felt expansive and in love with the world. In college, in 1981, I remember feeling it was a kind of "frenetic peace" - and I wrote once that it felt like God was tagging me on the shoulder and saying, "Come on...let's go play!" Creative? Intelligent? Very likely manic.
I never did the hypersexual activity, I was too much of a prude. Drugs? Nope...I was terrified of them. I couldn't even take an aspirin correctly, or prescriptions without worrying they would kill me (can anyone say, "comorbid anxiety disorder"?); besides, no one ever offered me any. That's probably a good thing. I also never drank. Oddly though, when I would go into what I was calling a funk (now what I realize were depressive episodes), the first thing I would think about to deal with things was "Maybe I should get drunk..." Yeah. Didn't make sense at all...but frequently nothing did.
I did well at work. I did well at school. I had always done well in school, especially in the "abstract classes" like English, composition, literature, art, etc. But wow, my head could give me fits at times.
One other thing, depressed or hyper, or even just on "even keel" - a condition that was never comfortable to me for some reason - I have almost always had voices in my head. I've explained it as like having a TV on or a radio talk show going all the time. The voices don't comment on me or talk to me, except for rare instances when my bipolar is not under control and twice on medication that caused auditory hallucinations as a side effect. Instead, it's like I'm eavesdropping on other people's conversations. Sometimes, I get a visual in my head of who the people are that are talking. It just lasts a second or two, then the "station" will change and it might be someone else talking, another show to listen to, or maybe nothing at all.
I have been through episodes of major depression - once after miscarrying twins, once when my husband at the time had a psychotic break and we found out he was schizophrenic. I was hospitalized for depression the first time after his diagnosis and after having been under extreme stress and major life changes for three years straight. Later, I was being treated for depression and had been doing well enough, but as the medication stopped working, I became depressed and started having visual hallucinations, thoughts of harming self, wanting to stop existing, etc. I wasn't sad, though, that was the thing. I just felt hopeless and worthless. I wanted to shake out of it, but I couldn't. I remember telling my family doctor, who I had worked for at one time, that "I should be stronger than this!" He just looked at me and asked me, "Why?" That's when we discussed depression as a condition and not just a reaction to something sad that has occurred.
We continued to treat the depression with different medications. I then took a job at a small newspaper, as the news reporter and photographer. I loved it! But there were long hours, lots of deadlines (of course!), and so many things to do at all times of the day or night that needed to be covered. For some reason, all those years of anxiety - reaching back into childhood - came to a head and I started having panic attacks.
I didn't realize at first that they were panic attacks. I was in the ER many times for outrageously high blood pressure, severe waves of heat spreading through my body, then massive cold waves, electrical tastes in my mouth, and a feeling that I was going to die at any second. It took a while to be diagnosed (finally!) with the panic and anxiety disorders, but after getting some counseling and medical intervention, as well as learning coping techniques over the course of several years, the panic attacks decreased and I rarely have them anymore.
After that diagnosis, and while still working at the paper and on anti-depressants, some really weird things began happening. I started acting less and less like myself. Dropped out of church. Stepped away from many of my acquaintances. Became involved in online friendships with men that were really pretty inappropriate (several guys were married, one was probably a stalker, and I married the one that had just gotten out of prison and had anger issues). I did wild things in the course of that long manic phase: slept in my husband's truck in the church parking lot because I was angry and didn't want to go home; covered my upstairs apartment patio so no one could see me, and slept naked under a full moon just to see what it felt like; mooned someone while I was merely a block away from the police station. Not at all the behavior of a professional woman. Not at all the behavior of anyone I'd ever been before. We won't even talk about the stupid, stupid things I did before I married my Internet boyfriend. How I did not see that I was behaving bizarrely, I don't know. My mom saw it. My daughter saw it. Friends saw it. But even when they pointed it out, I didn't get it.
Eventually, I ended up in the hospital as I crashed from the long manic episode. I was depressed. I was seeing horrible images in my head - very destructive ones. I was afraid I was going to hurt myself and I didn't want to. And we always treated the depression every time I went to the hospital - which, in the first year, was four times. It wasn't until the fourth time that my doctor realized I was bipolar, and looking back on all the symptoms from when I was a little kid, I probably always have been. Once we started treating the bipolar (adding mood stabilizers or anti-psychotics to the anti-depressants), things gradually got better. Gradually, though, because I ended up separating from and divorcing my new husband - which was probably one of the best things I could have done for my mental health at the time.
In the past six years, while I have had some depressive episodes that have interfered with being able to work and function sometimes, I at least have not had to be hospitalized again. I have learned to recognize my symptoms for episodes and try to work with my doctor to handle things. I know to pull back from things that I can when stress starts triggering the overt symptoms like bad mental imagery or more voices. I've managed to go back to school online, hold an A average, and take classes every term but one (because of financial aid problems that term) for the past three years.
In spite of how my head can be sometimes, I'm still amazingly funny (albeit wicked and warped); I still have friends and family to communicate with and can usually function at work, though I only work very, very part-time. I'm writing again, which I couldn't do for several years after I left the paper - either because I was too hyper to really do so or because I was too depressed.
What I'm trying to say here is what Matchbox Twenty says, "I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell." Some days are not great. But I'm still a functioning human being, capable of feeling deeply, dreaming big, and having fun with most other human beings, too. I have multiple interests and follow them as far as I can. I haven't "been off the deep end" in a very long time. And actually, even with all the weird stuff in my head all through childhood and my teenage years and adulthood, I still managed to graduate in the top 10% of my high school class, made friends along the way that I still cherish, and ended up with an amazing daughter who has a bright future in spite of what she went through with her parents.
If you are bipolar, have an anxiety disorder, know the depths of depression, regret some of your actions when you've been living larger than life - I can relate. But always know this: You're not crazy. You just may be a little unwell.
(The lyrics in this video are what resonate with me; the actual video just makes me bemused as I watch it. I know some people actually see things like this...I just never have...not in that way.)
"Unwell", lyrics by Rob Thomas
Still, I also knew what my friends and peers did not know: that sometimes, there were things going on inside of me that I had absolutely no control over. While part of me considered that these odd thoughts, random visions, and creepy sensations possibly normal, I also had some sense that maybe they weren't. Maybe it wouldn't be a good idea to tell anyone some of the stuff that happened inside my head.
For instance, before I was three years old, I remember waking up and feeling like monkeys - really evil monkeys - were sitting on my back, daring me to turn around and look them in the face. I could never breathe when that happened. I would lay really still and wait them out. Because I was afraid of what they would do to me if I ever told anyone about them, I never did. Not until I was an adult and they had been gone for decades.
When I was in grade school, I would get these odd ideas that if I did something in a certain way, or thought wrong thoughts, then something awful would happen. I can remember having obsessive thoughts (not knowing what they were at the time) that kept repeating themselves in my head, scaring me, and making me sure I was going to hell for having them. I also had a special litany of catastrophes I had to pray against every night, being very specific, so that God would protect us all. If I didn't remember to do it, I knew if anything happened, it would be my fault. That went on for several years, probably until I was 9 or 10, when I finally took the chance that maybe God could handle things and knew what He was doing better than I did. I quit praying that particular prayer...and nothing happened. Our house didn't burn down. We weren't robbed. No one died. I'd had no power or magic that was keeping it from happening; it just didn't happen.
In junior high was the first time I had actual "outside my head" hallucinations. It was always an image of the hooded figure of Death, complete with his sickle for reaping souls. It was bad enough when I saw it at home at night in my room, but when I started seeing it while playing softball, I remember being really freaked out. At the same time, I started having what I know now were episodes of "depersonalization" - when my own voice sounded like it was coming from someone else, when other people sounded like they were talking to me from across a great chasm, and when time (the fact that it kept passing and passing and passing) became a threatening and awful thing to contemplate. I detested looking at clocks and watches, the ringing of bells to change classes, watching the sun follow its course through the day. It overwhelmed me. Again, I don't remember saying anything about this, though once my mom and I were talking and she did ask if I felt I needed to see a psychologist. I said no...because I didn't want to think I was insane, and back in 1975 that's all I knew about psychiatrists - they saw people that were really, truly insane.
In high school and college, I was having wild mood swings. Mom (and I'm sure everyone else) knew when my period was due because I'd get snappy and crabby. But I didn't let anyone know, when I would become so horribly depressed that I was mapping out a will in my head, that anything more than just typical teenage angst was going on. Because honestly, I didn't know that it wasn't just that, anyway. I would also have these tremendous bursts of energy, days and days when I could just go and go and go! I've always been a talker (ask the people that freaked when the 9-month-old in the shopping cart at the store would greet them in complete sentences), but I felt compelled to talk and would...faster and faster. I know now that is called "pressured speech". I would have these amazing ideas, start all kinds of projects and never finish them, blow any money I had on buying gifts for my friends just because I felt expansive and in love with the world. In college, in 1981, I remember feeling it was a kind of "frenetic peace" - and I wrote once that it felt like God was tagging me on the shoulder and saying, "Come on...let's go play!" Creative? Intelligent? Very likely manic.
I never did the hypersexual activity, I was too much of a prude. Drugs? Nope...I was terrified of them. I couldn't even take an aspirin correctly, or prescriptions without worrying they would kill me (can anyone say, "comorbid anxiety disorder"?); besides, no one ever offered me any. That's probably a good thing. I also never drank. Oddly though, when I would go into what I was calling a funk (now what I realize were depressive episodes), the first thing I would think about to deal with things was "Maybe I should get drunk..." Yeah. Didn't make sense at all...but frequently nothing did.
I did well at work. I did well at school. I had always done well in school, especially in the "abstract classes" like English, composition, literature, art, etc. But wow, my head could give me fits at times.
One other thing, depressed or hyper, or even just on "even keel" - a condition that was never comfortable to me for some reason - I have almost always had voices in my head. I've explained it as like having a TV on or a radio talk show going all the time. The voices don't comment on me or talk to me, except for rare instances when my bipolar is not under control and twice on medication that caused auditory hallucinations as a side effect. Instead, it's like I'm eavesdropping on other people's conversations. Sometimes, I get a visual in my head of who the people are that are talking. It just lasts a second or two, then the "station" will change and it might be someone else talking, another show to listen to, or maybe nothing at all.
I have been through episodes of major depression - once after miscarrying twins, once when my husband at the time had a psychotic break and we found out he was schizophrenic. I was hospitalized for depression the first time after his diagnosis and after having been under extreme stress and major life changes for three years straight. Later, I was being treated for depression and had been doing well enough, but as the medication stopped working, I became depressed and started having visual hallucinations, thoughts of harming self, wanting to stop existing, etc. I wasn't sad, though, that was the thing. I just felt hopeless and worthless. I wanted to shake out of it, but I couldn't. I remember telling my family doctor, who I had worked for at one time, that "I should be stronger than this!" He just looked at me and asked me, "Why?" That's when we discussed depression as a condition and not just a reaction to something sad that has occurred.
We continued to treat the depression with different medications. I then took a job at a small newspaper, as the news reporter and photographer. I loved it! But there were long hours, lots of deadlines (of course!), and so many things to do at all times of the day or night that needed to be covered. For some reason, all those years of anxiety - reaching back into childhood - came to a head and I started having panic attacks.
I didn't realize at first that they were panic attacks. I was in the ER many times for outrageously high blood pressure, severe waves of heat spreading through my body, then massive cold waves, electrical tastes in my mouth, and a feeling that I was going to die at any second. It took a while to be diagnosed (finally!) with the panic and anxiety disorders, but after getting some counseling and medical intervention, as well as learning coping techniques over the course of several years, the panic attacks decreased and I rarely have them anymore.
After that diagnosis, and while still working at the paper and on anti-depressants, some really weird things began happening. I started acting less and less like myself. Dropped out of church. Stepped away from many of my acquaintances. Became involved in online friendships with men that were really pretty inappropriate (several guys were married, one was probably a stalker, and I married the one that had just gotten out of prison and had anger issues). I did wild things in the course of that long manic phase: slept in my husband's truck in the church parking lot because I was angry and didn't want to go home; covered my upstairs apartment patio so no one could see me, and slept naked under a full moon just to see what it felt like; mooned someone while I was merely a block away from the police station. Not at all the behavior of a professional woman. Not at all the behavior of anyone I'd ever been before. We won't even talk about the stupid, stupid things I did before I married my Internet boyfriend. How I did not see that I was behaving bizarrely, I don't know. My mom saw it. My daughter saw it. Friends saw it. But even when they pointed it out, I didn't get it.
Eventually, I ended up in the hospital as I crashed from the long manic episode. I was depressed. I was seeing horrible images in my head - very destructive ones. I was afraid I was going to hurt myself and I didn't want to. And we always treated the depression every time I went to the hospital - which, in the first year, was four times. It wasn't until the fourth time that my doctor realized I was bipolar, and looking back on all the symptoms from when I was a little kid, I probably always have been. Once we started treating the bipolar (adding mood stabilizers or anti-psychotics to the anti-depressants), things gradually got better. Gradually, though, because I ended up separating from and divorcing my new husband - which was probably one of the best things I could have done for my mental health at the time.
In the past six years, while I have had some depressive episodes that have interfered with being able to work and function sometimes, I at least have not had to be hospitalized again. I have learned to recognize my symptoms for episodes and try to work with my doctor to handle things. I know to pull back from things that I can when stress starts triggering the overt symptoms like bad mental imagery or more voices. I've managed to go back to school online, hold an A average, and take classes every term but one (because of financial aid problems that term) for the past three years.
In spite of how my head can be sometimes, I'm still amazingly funny (albeit wicked and warped); I still have friends and family to communicate with and can usually function at work, though I only work very, very part-time. I'm writing again, which I couldn't do for several years after I left the paper - either because I was too hyper to really do so or because I was too depressed.
What I'm trying to say here is what Matchbox Twenty says, "I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell." Some days are not great. But I'm still a functioning human being, capable of feeling deeply, dreaming big, and having fun with most other human beings, too. I have multiple interests and follow them as far as I can. I haven't "been off the deep end" in a very long time. And actually, even with all the weird stuff in my head all through childhood and my teenage years and adulthood, I still managed to graduate in the top 10% of my high school class, made friends along the way that I still cherish, and ended up with an amazing daughter who has a bright future in spite of what she went through with her parents.
If you are bipolar, have an anxiety disorder, know the depths of depression, regret some of your actions when you've been living larger than life - I can relate. But always know this: You're not crazy. You just may be a little unwell.
(The lyrics in this video are what resonate with me; the actual video just makes me bemused as I watch it. I know some people actually see things like this...I just never have...not in that way.)
"Unwell", lyrics by Rob Thomas
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
"Kindness, like a boomerang, always returns." *
When I had my dachshund, Frappy, she was the light of my life. A beautiful Isabella dachshund (think Weimeraner on short legs), she was quite the little independent diva. One day, she lost use of her back legs. It turned out that she'd ruptured a disc in her back. To save her, we needed to do surgery...and it was going to cost $3,000 that I just didn't have.
Frappy Hart
The woman who had sold Frappy to me still loved "our" little girl, too, and started a ChipIn for me to help offset the cost of the surgery. People I never knew, will never know, donated various amounts of money and raised $500 for me. I used that money to pay back my uncle who had fronted me the money for Frappy's surgery. The surgery was successful and Frappy lived another six months. At that time, she ruptured a second disc. However, that time, they weren't able to repair the damage and I had to put her down.
However, when she had her surgery, I showed up at the veterinary hospital to pick her up, only to find a gift bag and card for her. The nurses told me that someone whose dog had the same surgery several months ago had read about Frappy through the ChipIn, and wanted to reassure me that she'd be fine. There was a little shirt for her to wear to cover the surgical scar until her fur grew back, as well as a note from "Lucy" to Frappy, to tell her how well she'd recovered from her own surgery. Lucy is a beautiful doxie owned by an amazing woman named Susan Rear, and her note and generosity meant the world to me. Everyone's generosity was such an amazing thing, but Susan went above and beyond with that shirt and note. I cried and grinned.
Now it is my turn to start a ChipIn for Susan and Lucy. Lucy ruptured a huge disc earlier this week and had to have surgery to repair it. She's standing now and will recover well according to the surgeon. However, Susan has had a really rough year. She has lost her sister to cancer. Her husband, who had cancer treatment last year, has had his cancer return -- he is being treated for it, but there is no cure, and he has a prognosis of approximately one year. Lucy has been with Susan for eight years -- through all kinds of ups and downs, and she needed to keep Lucy with her for what is going on in her life now and what is coming up. As I said, Lucy has had the surgery, but it would be awesome if all of us could chip in a little bit to help Susan pay off that bill.
If you can donate any amount, I will make sure that Susan and her vet get everything that has been donated for her bills. It's my turn to chip in and help facilitate passing a blessing on to someone else. I hope you will join me in "paying it forward" and being part of the "boomerang."
Lucy
Thank you very, very much!!!
* Anonymous
Frappy Hart
The woman who had sold Frappy to me still loved "our" little girl, too, and started a ChipIn for me to help offset the cost of the surgery. People I never knew, will never know, donated various amounts of money and raised $500 for me. I used that money to pay back my uncle who had fronted me the money for Frappy's surgery. The surgery was successful and Frappy lived another six months. At that time, she ruptured a second disc. However, that time, they weren't able to repair the damage and I had to put her down.
However, when she had her surgery, I showed up at the veterinary hospital to pick her up, only to find a gift bag and card for her. The nurses told me that someone whose dog had the same surgery several months ago had read about Frappy through the ChipIn, and wanted to reassure me that she'd be fine. There was a little shirt for her to wear to cover the surgical scar until her fur grew back, as well as a note from "Lucy" to Frappy, to tell her how well she'd recovered from her own surgery. Lucy is a beautiful doxie owned by an amazing woman named Susan Rear, and her note and generosity meant the world to me. Everyone's generosity was such an amazing thing, but Susan went above and beyond with that shirt and note. I cried and grinned.
Now it is my turn to start a ChipIn for Susan and Lucy. Lucy ruptured a huge disc earlier this week and had to have surgery to repair it. She's standing now and will recover well according to the surgeon. However, Susan has had a really rough year. She has lost her sister to cancer. Her husband, who had cancer treatment last year, has had his cancer return -- he is being treated for it, but there is no cure, and he has a prognosis of approximately one year. Lucy has been with Susan for eight years -- through all kinds of ups and downs, and she needed to keep Lucy with her for what is going on in her life now and what is coming up. As I said, Lucy has had the surgery, but it would be awesome if all of us could chip in a little bit to help Susan pay off that bill.
If you can donate any amount, I will make sure that Susan and her vet get everything that has been donated for her bills. It's my turn to chip in and help facilitate passing a blessing on to someone else. I hope you will join me in "paying it forward" and being part of the "boomerang."
Lucy
Thank you very, very much!!!
* Anonymous
Friday, August 10, 2012
"Write What You Know" *
How many of us have heard those four little words whenever we've sought advice about our writing? "Write What You Know." What exactly does that mean? Does that mean that we will have no adventure stories, no great romances, no epic science fiction tales, and no psychological thrillers in our repertoire? Did Robert E. Howard live in a land of barbarians? Did Barbara Cartland live a life of chaste romance between the social classes of old England? Was George Lucas involved with extra-terrestrials and futuristic time travel that allowed him to create "Star Wars"? And how about Stephen King? What on earth has that man been through that he knows about possessed cars and demonic dogs?
Those four words, "Write What You Know", can be discouraging to those of us who live what are probably, for lack of better words, "just normal lives." However, this video, by Nathan Englander, gives a different perspective on that once trite advice which just might encourage us all.
Aha! So that's where all those writers have been coming up with those fantastic stories. It hasn't come strictly from experience, though that certainly plays a part. Instead, it comes from the heart, the soul, the spirit. Those emotions we have, those questions we ask, the things we fear and the things we love - all of that works together with our imaginations to create the stories that make new journeys; not only for ourselves, but for our readers, too.
* Ancient Writing Wisdom, and a YouTube Video from BigThink with Nathan Englander
Those four words, "Write What You Know", can be discouraging to those of us who live what are probably, for lack of better words, "just normal lives." However, this video, by Nathan Englander, gives a different perspective on that once trite advice which just might encourage us all.
Aha! So that's where all those writers have been coming up with those fantastic stories. It hasn't come strictly from experience, though that certainly plays a part. Instead, it comes from the heart, the soul, the spirit. Those emotions we have, those questions we ask, the things we fear and the things we love - all of that works together with our imaginations to create the stories that make new journeys; not only for ourselves, but for our readers, too.
* Ancient Writing Wisdom, and a YouTube Video from BigThink with Nathan Englander
Sunday, August 5, 2012
"Example is the best precept." *
Setting up a professional writer's page in today's social network can be daunting; but in comparing the Facebook pages of some well-known authors, I have been able to find both bad and good examples to follow in order to create a successful online presence. Tasked with searching through the professional pages of three authors, I chose those of Patricia Cornwell, John Hart, and Debbie Ridpath Ohi. Cornwell, one of my favorite authors, writes serialized crime novels, while Hart produces mysteries and Ohi writes and illustrates for children and middle grade students. Of the three, the one whose Facebook page has given me the best example of utilizing a social network as an author is Ohi's.
When it comes to having a natural voice, one of the best practice points in our class lecture this week, Ohi appears to have no pretensions at all. When she is excited about something, you know it; but she never comes across as a braggart at all. For example, her profile picture shows Ohi broadly grinning and holding up a new copy of the latest children's book she has illustrated. While there are posts on her page about the book throughout its development, that one picture shares with her readers the exhilaration she feels about her accomplishment.
In one post, Ohi speaks about an illustrator whose doodle is described thusly: "Cuuuute pig on Katie Wools' illustration blog. I could so see this fellow in a picture book!" This is definitely a more casual way of sharing another person's work about which she is excited. In that same post, she goes on to give a link to the doodle and blogpost. In yet another post, indicating some technical issues she is having with some linking from one site to another, Ohi asks for advice and input from her readers. When she receives it, she is quick to express her gratitude. All is done naturally and easily, as if she is speaking directly to the reader face to face, and not from "on high".
In reading John Hart's facebook page, I noticed gaps in posting that went on for a month or more at times (he has been on facebook since 2010). That kind of inconsistency would lose me as a reader or subscriber if it were carried to extremes. Cornwell and Ohi were much more consistent with both women posting several times a week, if not daily. Cornwell may actually be the more consistent in posting, but from a writer's standpoint (and because of some other issues that threw me personally on Cornwell's page), it is Ohi that I look to as an example. If there is a gap, it is seldom longer than a week, and there are hardly ever more than one or two postings on a given day. With Cornwell, sometimes there are far too many posts (many unrelated), that can be confusing to a reader.
All three of the authors' pages I studied showed diversity in their topics, but again, I was drawn to Ohi's most. Hart shared some news on his writing, some comments about his community, and information about other writers. Cornwell shared many, many updates on her latest book to be released and a book being turned into a TV movie, but she also shared comments on current events (including the Colorado theater shooting), pictures of her piloting her helicopter or working in various forensics areas, etc. Some of what she shared was almost distracting because it covered so much territory and little related to actual writing. Ohi, though,shared information on her work, information about numerous other authors and illustrators, interviews, links to other websites, photos of interest to readers, and much more. Being able to learn more about other authors in addition to the one I'm following on Facebook helps me as a writer to broaden my horizons and I greatly appreciate that. Also, I greatly enjoy the humorous aspect of her illustrations that she posts; it keeps the page interesting and lively.
(by Debbie Ridpath Ohi)
The one area in which I find Ohi's Facebook page lacking is that there seems to be very few comments made to her posts, and virtually no posts made by others to her page (this is not to be confused with the actual responsive comments). This leads me to believe that the posts are moderated or somehow disallowed. It may be that people don't feel compelled to comment on Ohi's posts as often. It may be that she isn't comfortable leaving a lot of "kudos"-type comments left on her page in case that seem self-serving. It is not a topic that is addressed on her page that I have found.
Both Hart and Cornwell have many comments on their pages, both individually generated and in response to their updates. There is even a debate on Cornwell's page in which a reader has become huffy because she just found out that Cornwell supports psychiatric and psychological research for the mentally ill. (This makes sense to me as Cornwell has bipolar disorder). The reader has berated Cornwell for this support; and while she acknowledges the author's great work in her books and has loved the stories, she will no longer read them and is giving away what she already has. The last time I checked, Cornwell has not yet replied on this thread, but she is active in other threads on her page. In any event, the comment and other readers' responses are allowed to stay for all to see. There doesn't seem to be any overt moderation of comments on her page.
In this aspect of interaction, I don't see that Ohi is as involved. Readers' interactions seem to be involved in only the ability to "like" a status, rather than to comment. If she were to reply more frequently to her followers, I think her facebook page would be almost perfect as an example to follow. Still, I do enjoy her natural voice and the exuberance that comes across in her page, the consistency with which she posts which is not overwhelming in quantity, and the diversity of her postings. She inspires me to do much the same thing on my own writer's page (Kimberley B. Hart).
Cornwell, Patricia. Patricia Cornwell. Facebook.com. Web. 5 August, 2012.
Hart, John. John Hart. Facebook.com. Web. 5 August, 2012
Ohi, Debbie Ridpath. Debbie Ridpath Ohi, Author & Illustrator. Facebook.com. Web. 5
August, 2012.
Weingart, David. Debbie Ridpath Ohi. 2012. Debbie Ridpath Ohi, Author & Illustrator.
Web. 5 August, 2012.
Ohi, Debbie Ridpath. Punctuation for Sale. 2012. Debbie Ridpath Ohi, Author &
Illustrator. Web. 5 August, 2012.
* Aesop
When it comes to having a natural voice, one of the best practice points in our class lecture this week, Ohi appears to have no pretensions at all. When she is excited about something, you know it; but she never comes across as a braggart at all. For example, her profile picture shows Ohi broadly grinning and holding up a new copy of the latest children's book she has illustrated. While there are posts on her page about the book throughout its development, that one picture shares with her readers the exhilaration she feels about her accomplishment.
(Debbie Ridpath Ohi, by David Weingart)
In one post, Ohi speaks about an illustrator whose doodle is described thusly: "Cuuuute pig on Katie Wools' illustration blog. I could so see this fellow in a picture book!" This is definitely a more casual way of sharing another person's work about which she is excited. In that same post, she goes on to give a link to the doodle and blogpost. In yet another post, indicating some technical issues she is having with some linking from one site to another, Ohi asks for advice and input from her readers. When she receives it, she is quick to express her gratitude. All is done naturally and easily, as if she is speaking directly to the reader face to face, and not from "on high".
In reading John Hart's facebook page, I noticed gaps in posting that went on for a month or more at times (he has been on facebook since 2010). That kind of inconsistency would lose me as a reader or subscriber if it were carried to extremes. Cornwell and Ohi were much more consistent with both women posting several times a week, if not daily. Cornwell may actually be the more consistent in posting, but from a writer's standpoint (and because of some other issues that threw me personally on Cornwell's page), it is Ohi that I look to as an example. If there is a gap, it is seldom longer than a week, and there are hardly ever more than one or two postings on a given day. With Cornwell, sometimes there are far too many posts (many unrelated), that can be confusing to a reader.
All three of the authors' pages I studied showed diversity in their topics, but again, I was drawn to Ohi's most. Hart shared some news on his writing, some comments about his community, and information about other writers. Cornwell shared many, many updates on her latest book to be released and a book being turned into a TV movie, but she also shared comments on current events (including the Colorado theater shooting), pictures of her piloting her helicopter or working in various forensics areas, etc. Some of what she shared was almost distracting because it covered so much territory and little related to actual writing. Ohi, though,shared information on her work, information about numerous other authors and illustrators, interviews, links to other websites, photos of interest to readers, and much more. Being able to learn more about other authors in addition to the one I'm following on Facebook helps me as a writer to broaden my horizons and I greatly appreciate that. Also, I greatly enjoy the humorous aspect of her illustrations that she posts; it keeps the page interesting and lively.
The one area in which I find Ohi's Facebook page lacking is that there seems to be very few comments made to her posts, and virtually no posts made by others to her page (this is not to be confused with the actual responsive comments). This leads me to believe that the posts are moderated or somehow disallowed. It may be that people don't feel compelled to comment on Ohi's posts as often. It may be that she isn't comfortable leaving a lot of "kudos"-type comments left on her page in case that seem self-serving. It is not a topic that is addressed on her page that I have found.
Both Hart and Cornwell have many comments on their pages, both individually generated and in response to their updates. There is even a debate on Cornwell's page in which a reader has become huffy because she just found out that Cornwell supports psychiatric and psychological research for the mentally ill. (This makes sense to me as Cornwell has bipolar disorder). The reader has berated Cornwell for this support; and while she acknowledges the author's great work in her books and has loved the stories, she will no longer read them and is giving away what she already has. The last time I checked, Cornwell has not yet replied on this thread, but she is active in other threads on her page. In any event, the comment and other readers' responses are allowed to stay for all to see. There doesn't seem to be any overt moderation of comments on her page.
In this aspect of interaction, I don't see that Ohi is as involved. Readers' interactions seem to be involved in only the ability to "like" a status, rather than to comment. If she were to reply more frequently to her followers, I think her facebook page would be almost perfect as an example to follow. Still, I do enjoy her natural voice and the exuberance that comes across in her page, the consistency with which she posts which is not overwhelming in quantity, and the diversity of her postings. She inspires me to do much the same thing on my own writer's page (Kimberley B. Hart).
Cornwell, Patricia. Patricia Cornwell. Facebook.com. Web. 5 August, 2012.
Hart, John. John Hart. Facebook.com. Web. 5 August, 2012
Ohi, Debbie Ridpath. Debbie Ridpath Ohi, Author & Illustrator. Facebook.com. Web. 5
August, 2012.
Weingart, David. Debbie Ridpath Ohi. 2012. Debbie Ridpath Ohi, Author & Illustrator.
Web. 5 August, 2012.
Ohi, Debbie Ridpath. Punctuation for Sale. 2012. Debbie Ridpath Ohi, Author &
Illustrator. Web. 5 August, 2012.
* Aesop
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