A POWERFUL SONG (300 days by Rob Murphy)

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zyN4jy27LZc

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WINNING ENTRIES -- 2014 Literary Competition - Moncton Anglophone School District High School Students

 

1st PLACE - POETRY CATEGORY

 

THE CLOAK

by Chloe

 

I hate this cloak

It's dark, hides me and smells like smoke.

It swallows me whole and it won't come off.

It's long and tight, it trips me, it hurts to breathe.

Its hood won't let me see myself the way others do.

I'm trying to leave but it's no use.

 

I hate this cloak,

because it's the darkness hanging over me.

It smells of smoke

because it holds the ashes of my former life.

I hate this cloak

Because it won't let in any light.

 

This cloak engulfs my soul

It won't let me go.

I'm drowning in the many folds.

It keeps pulling me back

and I'm going nowhere fast.

And it won't leave me alone.

 

This cloak is long and hides me.

No one can see my struggle.

This cloak is tight and constricting,

It's like I'm dying

but there's no light at the end of this tunnel

I'm stuck in the eternal dark.

 

This cloak has pitched me into this pit of nothingness

but they tell me I'm full of light.

I'm blinded by the darkness,

So how can I be supposedly bright?

People see potential and beauty.

All I see, is someone worth shooting.

 

I'm pulling and scratching

and tearing and cutting at this cloak.

I was ripping and biting until someone spoke.

So I folded the cloak away

and put on the nice girl from the old days.

And everything was fake.

 

The cloak was still there

Buried deep inside

Shrouding my mind

Making joy rare.

Maybe this cloak will kill me

And hopefully.................. it will.

 

1st PLACE - SHORT FICTION/NON-FICTION

Hello, Old Friend

by Kathleen

(To come...)

 

2nd PLACE - POETRY

 

ALONE

by James

 

She is one out of three

Hiding from you and me

'Cause one feels alone in this world

And the weight brings her down

 

So she reaches for the razor

That keeps her heart from breaking

For a little while she can fake a smile

And fool everyone

 

When she is all alone

And the lights are all off

She feels broken and doesn't know why

The breath leaves her lungs and she cries

 

They say it's all in her head

But if no one believes her, how is she supposed to get better?

 

So she reaches for the razor

That keeps her heart from breaking

For a little while she can fake a smile

And fool everyone 

 

2nd PLACE - SHORT FICTION/NON-FICTION

 

MY MOTHER'S VOICE

by Hannah

 

To start talking about my drugs, I will tell you that I seem to be on the right medication now as well as therapy to help with severe depression and high social anxiety. The therapy is the kicker, the pills enable me to get out of bed to start the day, and they keep the deep hopelessness buried while the therapy helps me keep my thoughts in check.

 

My first drug of choice is cigarettes. They have been my crutch for 40 years. Even though I know they are killing me, my body craves the drug and my mind never lets me forget to replenish the stock. I would smoke before eating if it came down to it. Looking back 40 years from now, I never thought I'd be an addict, you don't know much when you are thirteen.

 

In the course of my life, I tried a multitude of things, always trying to mask my emotions. It was always bitter being sober so I searched and yearned for that feeling of lightness and freedom. Cocaine came to me once, in a room, filled with friends when I was in my late twenties. I felt safe, and I thought to myself "why the hell not?" It was a rush, it was what you intend to feel from every drug. It helped me escape for a little while, but the reality around me was too heavy. Fighting the craving was not worth the ride it gave me, but I got out of it, somehow.

 

When I think back ten or so years ago, I was an undiagnosed, depressed woman, who numbed herself with alcohol. Why I was depressed, I couldn't decide. It may have been tied to my cheating husband, but that's a different story. Alcohol was all the medicine I needed to get through the day. When my mother died, my whole world started to crumble; she was the strength in my otherwise extremely unhappy life. She was my rock, the one person who told me things would be okay, and when she died, I needed a new rock, so alcohol took her place.

 

I drank more until I realized I didn't want to stop. I just wanted to die. This scared the shit out of me, this inability to want to be able to face a day. I couldn't build a home for my daughter, or participate in a 'normal' family life. I couldn't maintain my marriage. What was there in life for me? I was physically present but I felt so far away in my mind that no one could reach me.

 

I had to change my life at this point and get it together. The first step was rehab, when they put me on anti-depressants for the first time and counseled me for a month on life changes, self-esteem, dependence, grief and trying to get to the bottom of what ailed me.

 

The first anti-depressant was Effexor. I took this for nine and a half years and rarely felt 'right'. There were annoying side effects with the drug that had to be tolerated as well. These included almost electrical shock-like feelings in my neck and face that would happen between dosages. After a long period of taking Effexor, I thought I was 'cured'. I started to feel good again and I decided I didn't need the medicine anymore so I stopped taking it. Huge mistake, as these types of drugs have to be slowly withdrawn from your system.

 

I crashed. I crashed into a deep depression and was grateful to get back on the Effexor along with a new drug, Risperidol, to make the Effexor work better. At this point, I began using marijuana daily to self-medicate my anxieties. Although by times I am a little too relaxed and lazy now, it somewhat hides the fast breathing and facial sweating.

 

You could look at me and almost think I am normal, yet, that's not quite the case. When I find myself having to go outside, I panic and my breathing gets really shallow. I can't seem to get a deep breath. My face starts to sweat and on the days when I wore makeup, this was a royal pain. That hasn't been an issue for me for a long time, the makeup that is. Putting on makeup requires energy and motivation, something I have little of. If I can't sometimes motivate myself to get out of bed, I surely will not find the motivation to make myself look good.

 

Even on these new drugs, I still felt like hell and became very anti-social, hiding out in my house, sometimes in my room for days on end, just wishing every day would end so I could sleep and avoid life. I realized this wasn't what I wanted, so I got myself in to see a psychiatrist who changed my prescription to a drug called Pristiq, a 'tweaked' version of Effexor. This drug has made all the difference, whatever they did to it seems miraculous. I feel as though a cloud has been lifted off my soul, when I wake up I feel a desire to get up and start the day, to work on myself and my life. I feel myself caring about the world around me and participating in it more and more.

 

Along with Pristiq came the therapy. From the two, I have come to the conclusion that, although medicine is necessary, for now, the work that I must do on myself and my thoughts is what will lift the veil of defeat even higher. It gives you that ah-ha feeling and I know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, with work on myself and the medicine to keep me balanced.

 

Am I addicted to prescription drugs? It's very likely. Am I addicted to cigarettes? Most certainly. Will they both soon leave my life? Hopefully. And Marijuana? Is that even a question? Christ, I'm even addicted to diet coke.

 

It is not my addictions that trouble me; it is the ongoing fear that my daughter will share my voice, that my addictive nature will become hers.

 

 

SHORT VIDEOS

 

     My Parents' Support Shaped My Recovery

     https://www.nami.org/Personal-Stories/My-Parents-Support-Shaped-My-Recovery#

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      DOTS N.B.

       http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FkESo1U1Rao

       Believe in Yourself

       https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PGatzxZx7u8

 

       Mike Santoro's and his '80/20 Project' ...trailer
       http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IlBN5YORojM&feature=youtube

 

       Marijuana and Psychosis - from the Schizophrenia Society of Canada

       http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5y7n988r1Q

 

       End the Stigma 
       https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xsMPHUV11PM

 

      Assertive Community Treatment (ACT)

      https://www.ementalhealth.ca/Canada/Assertive-Community-Treatment-ACT-teams/index.php?m=heading&ID=113

 

MUSIC

 

      Song:  You Belong

      http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UeJL9F-4rNA

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      Song:  300 days by Rob Murphy

      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zyN4jy27LZc

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STORIES

 

AMANDA'S STORY

Each morning, the serenity prayer dangles blocking my reflection from the vanity mirror. Before I apply my makeup, I recite the prayer in my head, and then move the prayer over so that I can see myself. This is how I begin each day. Growing up, I’ve always had low self-esteem, especially in high school. I never realized how much of an issue this was until I woke up in a psychiatric ward. I tried to take my own life because I didn’t feel good enough. I felt like a loner—an outcast. I was tired of being called a “goody-good” and later “crazy". The twenty-four hours I spent in an extremely uncomfortable bed, alone with my thoughts, made me realize I am beautiful, despite what anyone says. I came to this conclusion after I prayed to God and thanked him for my survival. I thought of how He loves everyone and forgives each sin. My experience in the psychiatric ward was the worst and most significant day of my life.    

  

In my loneliness, God truly did help me find serenity in the things I cannot change. I can’t change the chemical makeup in my brain, or the things others say to try and make me feel insignificant, but I can possess the courage to change my outlook on myself and the world outside of me. I can see my flaws as inner beauty; that which makes me unique. I try to use my experience to help inspire others. I tell my story so it may encourage others to see that they are also beautiful, despite their past, despite what others say, and despite the way they see themselves.  

    

After this incident, I became very involved in a nonprofit organization called Lets Erase the Stigma (L.E.T.S) which is dedicated to erasing the stigma of mental illness and educating others on mental illness. I can truly say I am proud of myself because I was the first person to start this club on the East Coast, and it was not an easy process to start the club at my public high school. In the club, I share my story and I encourage others that it’s OKAY to be different. I even got the amazing opportunity to do my senior project with the organization in Los Angeles and meet Glenn Close, and learn about her mental health organization, Bring Change 2 Mind. The experience I had in California was absolutely amazing. I’ve come to realize that my past is a part of me that cannot change and I have the courage to view the event as a miracle in disguise. With L.E.T.S, I understand people in my community better and can observe lives change as people learn to accept their flaws and realize that beauty really is skin deep. I can honestly say L.E.T.S played a huge role in my recovery. I talk to amazing students everyday and have saved others lives by making them realize there life is worth living!

L.E.T.S helped me to learn to love myself and loving myself helps me cope throughout the day. I am a firm believer that everything in life has beauty—this is a simple truth that a person cannot understand until they see the beauty in themselves, first.

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 KATHY’S STORY 

 

I was a Human Resources Rep. for a large University but have since retired. My 32 year old son has schizoaffective disorder and had been hospitalized many times since he was 18. While working I never told anyone at work about my son, accept for two close friends. I don't think I ever felt so alone and sad during that time because employees that had mental health issues were laughedat and it was "just a matter of time" before they were terminated. At a staff meeting one day, one of my co-workers was talking about an employee that said she could hear through walls and that her computer was talking to her. They all laughed and made comments such as "I bet she wears an aluminum foil hat too." I excused myself and went into the ladies room and cried because my son use to say the same things. My heart was broken and then I decided that enough was enough. At our next staff meeting I told them that my son had schizoaffective disorder and that when they were making fun of the female employee it really hurt me because my son had gone through the same hallucinations. I spoke to them about how hard it is for someone with a mental illness and then I explained the stigma. I told them that the stigma kept me from telling them right away but after their comments I needed to stand up for my son and employees that are suffering. They apologized and asked how he was doing but things were never the same again. Six months later I decided to retire because I couldn't work in an HR department that had no compassion. Today I work part-time in a small gift shop and my co-workers know all about my son and they are compassionate. I see the teachers, parents and friends that my son went to school with and when they ask how he's doing, I tell them that my son has a mental illness. I don't hide it anymore, I'm tired of the stigma so I speak up and will continue to do so...

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JAN’S STORY

Mental illness is just that: Illness. We often forget that. There is always suffering with pain, but with the type of anguish that mental illness brings, pain takes on a sometimes more sinister feeling. I might suffer some pain if I break my leg, but it will eventually heal and I will walk again without agony. It’s not the same with those of us with “broken” brains. Our brains frequently try to kill us. Our brains tell us messages that are hurtful and scary; or they tell us things that are ridiculous and fabulous, designed to make us behave outlandishly or insanely. We can’t heal our brains and we can’t replace them with new ones. We’re stuck with them. Our illness doesn't garner the sympathy that diabetes or cancer or leukemia brings in, yet our illness is as fatal as those listed. Once we are given the diagnosis of a mental illness, we are stigmatized. Even in this enlightened day and age, there are adverse reactions to the words “mentally ill”.I was once on a city bus, listening to a man and a woman discussing their battles with certain ailments, almost relishing their stories of pain and discomfort, indifferent doctors and hospital stays. I thought about what their reactions would be should I chime in and say: “I remember this one time when I wanted to kill myself by jumping out a seven story window because my brain was telling me my life was worthless.” I knew my two-cents worth of input would cause them to recoil and move away from me. That is what mental illness is: A fearful condition to not only those who have it but to those who don’t.I've lived with Bi-polar II/Depressive disorder for years. Most of my life. Almost all of my life. It was the albatross around my neck. It was the tie that bound me like a prisoner. It was the abusive marriage of insanity and self-medication that led me to finally hit bottom and seek help with addictions. I gave up alcohol and drugs, recovered from the effects of them, and went on to learn about my other illness.Education wasn't enough. I learned about my mental illness, but it didn't prevent the illness from attacking me on occasion. My recent stay at a crisis stabilization unit is proof of that. I've had to battle suicidal thinking and ideation even into my middle-aged years. There is no rest for the weary.I do not hide my illness from people, including employers. It's important that they know who and what they are dealing with, and it's important to me that people around me know what I have and what the symptoms exhibit. If I had diabetes, I'd certainly want my fellows to know how to respond to me when there is a crisis.I bless those of you who work to erase the stigma of mental illness. I'm with you. I shall always be with you. I shall always be who I am.

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BECKY’S STORY

What I can see now is that I’ve had some kind of anxiety and depression since childhood. I can remember several instances as a girl of feeling incredibly sad and discouraged for no reason. Needless to say, this left my little brain bewildered. What was wrong with me? Before any big event (piano recital, the first day of school, etc.), my stomach would twist itself into an anxiousknot, and my mind would do the same. “Snap out of it!” My well-meaning mom would say. “Be excited, not anxious!” Easier said than done!In late high school through early college, my mental issues became centered on my physical appearance. I was obsessed with exercise, calories, etc. After dining with my friends in the cafeteria, I could tell you precisely what I ate… and what they ate! I never missed a workout- even if I was tired, or sick. To exercise further control, I started purging whenever I felt like I’d had too much to eat. It wasn’t often, but it was enough for me to realize that I had a problem. With my parents’ encouragement, I went to my college counseling center. I started seeing a counselor and taking an antidepressant.A couple years later, I started having panic attacks. My last semester of college was a trial-and-error of different medications. It was so difficult to find something that made me feel like myself again. I became so discouraged that, on my 23rd birthday, I told my counselor that I’d been thinking about suicide. Together, we rode in the campus police cruiser to the hospital, where I was admitted to an inpatient behavioral health unit. I stayed for 5 days- long enough to get my meds finally straightened out, and to learn some valuable skills and tools from some amazing counselors. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but also the best thing I could have done for myself. My parents and brothers were so supportive and loving through the whole process- I couldn’t have done it without them.Fast forward 7 years…I am married, employed, and preparing for graduate school. I see a counselor and take medication every day. I am very honest with others about my own experiences with mental illness. Continually, people respond with surprise that I’ve had such problems, and that makes me so happy. Why does it please me? Not because I think I’ve achieved acting “normal,” and not because I think I hide my problems well. It makes me happy because I know that, with each person I meet, I am helping to change society’s perception of mental illness.

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ROBIN’S STORY

I could feel my elbows propped up in prayer position sinking into the soft couch. I recall pleading that the tightness of my abdomen cease and desist as my breath was taken away due to the pain. About seven and a half hours later, going from 0 centimeters to full birth, going from the extreme pain that created primitive grunts and groans that arose from my chest throughout that evening, there in a dimly lit hospital room my boy was born...my beautiful, flawless baby, untouched except only by God until that moment.They handed him to me so I could touch him for the first time, so I could hold him for the first time. There he squirmed upon me, there in that moment I held onto him for dear life so he wouldn't fall. There placed on the outside of his old home, my womb, I held a gift from God that I have said and still say with unshakable conviction is the greatest gift God ever gave me.In those moments I hadn't a clue that pain would literally take me to my knees many more times. Pains of watching my son struggle, the pains of watching what was once a fresh new family full of joy and hope, be torn down into rubble because of mental illness. I didn't know that hundreds of more times my breath would be taken away. I never imagined a love so strong, the unconditional love I felt for my son. I never imagined I would hold tight to him at times, so gripping, so as to prevent him from falling in life. In that hospital room, in those moments, I didn't know so much. And ironically I think if God had revealed even a small portion of our future I may have rethought motherhood and stayed on the pill. I may not have even married my best friend. I may have even run. I can recall times where I believed after a stumble I might not be able to get back up again. I can recall times where just noises would come out of me because the emotional pain was so bad I couldn't find or use words to articulate it. Mental illness just doesn't affect the person diagnosed, it affects all who love them.For so long I tried to cover up our family secret, it is so full of shame and stigma. There is rarely any empathy or compassion for this illness as there is for cancer or even a broken bone.The fact is that if you get the proper medical care, you can live a very good and successful life with mental illness, certainly you will have more speed bumps in life, but you can succeed. I have seen it and it is my experience. We have joys and successes all the time too. With that being said, the other harsh facts are it leaves families bankrupt monetarily and emotionally at times too. I have lived that as well. Medical insurance, resources for mental health care etc are becoming less and less with budget cuts.I have prayed and wept for moms like me, for all the children who are diagnosed with a mental illness who hear words from the media that cut like a dagger into the heart, "Crazy", "Mad", "Mental" etc. Hearing those crude words can shut down those young minds, instill fear in them that they can't have a productive life, that if they speak about their illness, they will be labeled. I worry that we might lose one more to this illness due to suicide because of the stigma, despair and shame.I pray our government will look at mental health care and make sure there are no more cuts to the already chipped away programs that remain. We need to talk about mental illness and mental health care not just in times of tragedy where the media instills shame and fear, but all the time; so we can say "bipolar", "schizophrenia" etc as easily as "cancer" with no fears of shunning or cruel nicknames. These are my prayers...in the meantime, I am going to continue to be a warrior mom, I am going to continue to do my part in advocacy and education. I hope all who took the time to read this will too.

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BRENTON’S STORY

I'm a 22 year old male college student living with Bipolar Disorder. I would say that I suffered from various symptoms of the disorder well before I was diagnosed. I wasn't diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder until the second semester of my sophomore year of college. It was during that time that I experienced the most severe manic episode that I've ever had. I was hospitalized at a local mental health hospital and began my first set of medications. Adjusting to the medication was very challenging for me and resulted in me having to withdraw from a couple of the courses I was taking that semester. I began meeting with a therapist regularly and registered with the Academic Achievement and Access Center for students with disabilities so that I could receive academic accommodations if need be. With the unbelievable amount of unconditional love and support I receive from family and friends I am able to focus on not letting my condition define me and continue seeking the things I wanted out of life. I am now only taking one medication that helps stabilize my mood and I’m functioning well in several aspects of my life.Before graduating from the University of Kansas with a degree in Psychology in 2012, I was hospitalized a total of three other times for exhibiting minor symptoms of Bipolar Disorder. My personal struggle with Bipolar Disorder has definitely influenced my educational and career aspirations. I am now a graduate student at Southeast Missouri State University working on my Masters in Higher Education Administration with an emphasis in Counseling. It is my hope to work with and provide support services for students and employees in collegiate settings who have mental illnesses or are living with someone who has a mental illness. Increased awareness of mental illness is essential to helping friends and loved ones cope with the ramifications of having or living with someone who has a mental illness. I am wholeheartedly on board with Bring Change 2 Mind's movement so I’m using my life as a testimonial to help eliminate the stigma associated with mental illness. Having Bipolar Disorder has not impeded my success in life. If anything, it has molded me into the man that I am today. There are a host of others who can attest to that.

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