Author: Samantha Jane Buice

Many people talk to themselves in one form or another. We curse at ourselves when we fail. We pat ourselves on the back for a job well done. Sometimes we mumble under our breath. But does anyone else get a response?

When I was first diagnosed with Bipolar I Disorder, I strived to uncover the mystery of my mind. I learned how to recognize the symptoms of oncoming mania. It was obvious when I was depressed. My mental illness became a self project. I employed workbooks, read memoirs, researched, watched and became more aware of my situation. I learned to harness my emotions, as if I were riding a horse for the first time, or biking with training wheels. I couldn’t always catch the signs, but as my illness progressed, so did I. Truthfully, I was dealt a cruel hand, but I squeezed that rotten lemon and moved on with my life.

As I ran, and slipped, and fell, I realized that in order to rise to the top you must first hit the bottom.

I worked my way through education with heavy eyelids and acne that threatened to claim my face forever, side effects of several medications hindering my progress. I loved to run and I was captain of the cross country team in high school. Toward the end of my running career, I began to experience a side effect called “ocular gyro crisis.” I lost control of my eyes. I didn’t know how to explain it, so this continued for a few years before it was diagnosed. It is one of the rarest side effects of one of the heavy medications in the cocktail.

Shortly after my twenty fifth birthday, I was hospitalized. After many months, different combinations of drugs, several shots in violating areas, and miserable weeks in solitary confinement, it was clear that Bipolar I Disorder was not the entire truth. When I returned to my home after the nightmare of captivity, I was diagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder. It is a mix of Schizophrenia and a mood disorder. My illness had taken control for a while. I can hear things and see things others cannot. When I talk to myself, she answers. She is not the only voice I hear. Sometimes, there is a conversation between two strangers in the back of my mind, to which I am not privy. Random keys and phrases from their discussion pop up and make no sense.

Voices in my head often sing songs and tell jokes. Often, they are good company.

Sometimes voices influence people to do bad things. These are not voices to follow, no matter the constant beckoning. You will find yourself lost in a sea of confusion, drawn to the sirens. It is impossible to find peace when voices surround you. Typically, they cannot be silenced. I just want you to know that you are not the only one who deals with this, and I hope you can find some comfort in knowing that. I am one of those people and I haven’t figured it out myself.

While I was in solitary confinement, I grew used to conversations with myself because she was all I had. My best friend. I am aware that others have predicaments like these. The mental health system does not have the capacity, resources or knowledge needed to care for everyone; especially people who need it most and cannot afford it. This is wrong. Some people, despite having money, also have difficulty finding relief of their burdens. The system is flawed. Everyone has a mental illness of some sort, whether or not they care to be diagnosed. Some cases are worse than others, but no one is “normal,” no matter how much they want to believe it.

Those voices are inside you, but YOU are the boss.

–SJB

I want to open the floor for any questions you may have, which I will answer to the best of my ability. If you would like to read about a particular topic for a blog, please inform me of your wishes. Your feedback is of utmost importance. If you do not want to publicly request a topic or voice concerns, my email address is listed on the site; it is the best way to reach me. I am here to help!

[email protected]

Thank you for your continued support!

–SJB

Rush and I met eight years ago, when I moved to north Georgia. He owned and managed a local art gallery downtown. Over the course of a few weeks, I knew for certain that he was my person. Much of my time was spent visiting Rush in his gallery. I felt I had to come up with some alternate reasons to visit him, other than the fact that I enjoyed his company and was not ready to make the first move. I brought him coffee from the coffee shop around the corner; we had lunch together as friends; I pretended to be in search of the perfect pair of earrings, because the earring tree was right in front of him. I honestly visited him because I was falling in love with him, and he wasn’t aware. I finally summoned the courage and after four years of dating, we have been married for four years. I have learned a lot about this man in all those years. For one, he does not like to accept compliments, but it’s his birthday. He is a special person, worthy of celebration.

My husband is a calming presence, a good listener, and my best friend. He is delightfully funny, and I cannot kiss him without smiling. Rush is kind and generous. He is one of the most selfless people I know, with a big heart and not a hateful bone in his body. Rush cares not only with his words but with his actions, giving of himself and leaving no room for doubt that his works are a product of his unconditional love.

I searched for my soulmate over the course of my whole life. Rush was worth the wait. Today and every day, I celebrate his life. I am so very grateful that our paths finally crossed.

Happy birthday, Rush!!

–SJB

Be Safe. Have Fun. Lose the Stigma.

While you are watching classic 80’s horror films this weekend and eating your children’s candy, notice that most of the movies involve asylums. When the characters’ accounts of evil deeds and supernatural encounters are disbelieved, they end up in psychiatric facilities where they are deemed “crazy.” Please know that these depictions are far from the truth. People are afraid of the unknown, so they create stories that feed the stigma of mental illness. There are no “crazy” people, and the ones suffering the most are in need of help, not fear. We are not the bad guys.

–SJB

P.S. Halloween can be a dangerous time for pets. Beware of unsupervised candy. Even dragons are allergic to chocolate.

Four years ago, I married my best friend.

Standing on a rock in the middle of a creek, white water rushing beneath us, we said our vows before a small audience of close family. The world was suffering from a pandemic, so the wedding was outside and only ten people were allowed to attend. There are six members of the Buice family and four Smiths, so we did not have to struggle with a guest list. Mom and I had fun planning, and it was much less overwhelming than a large wedding may have been. My sisters stood beside me, as they always have. Each had a part in reading psalms, taking pictures, bearing rings, and trying to maintain dry eyes. It was a beautiful ceremony, and the best day of my life. My mom made the cake, my dad performed the service, and Rush’s parents drove for hours on their 50th wedding anniversary to witness the beginning of our marriage. After we pledged to love and keep each other for the rest of our lives, my dad turned to Susan and Walton, who renewed their vows.

There was a small reception, with a dance floor solely for a “first dance” and a “father/daughter.” My husband let me choose the “first dance song.” Not every man is as wonderful as he-for many reasons-and even though I chose a cheesy boy band number, he led me around the dance floor as if it was Classical.

I could not have gotten luckier.

I have acquired incredible in-laws who have always treated me like family. I am honored to have a loving sister in-law, a fun big brother, and have become an aunt to three nieces and a nephew. I have joined a family full of kind and welcoming aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents. Life does not get better than this.

We celebrate eight years of life together and four years of marriage. The world is full of puzzle pieces that do not fit. It is a beautiful occurrence to find the piece that connects perfectly. During the first week I spent with Rush, I knew I had met my match.

Let the fifth year commence!

–SJB

Since the beginning of time, there has been mystery revolving around why we began and how. Many turn to God, others to science. Some believe that maybe there wasn’t a why. We just are. No matter the reason, we have many questions. Does one grow into adulthood having followed the breadcrumbs scattered by their ancestors? Is the environment in which we mature a major factor in our development? Why are we all so different?

Humans exist in many parts of the world, puzzle pieces that do not fit together. We are born into feast or famine; into lands long coveted and violence in the name of greed and power. People are different colors, speak different languages, live in cultures misunderstood by others. I wonder why.

Why is it so difficult for us to communicate? This is surely not due to our conflicting languages. Humans are selfish by nature, and though we may fool our parents, we never learn to share. Sadly, tragedies bring us together above all else. We realize we are not so different. We are all human. A devastating storm provokes the empathy inside ourselves we thought was depleted. We create a ripple. It seems we are not here solely to serve ourselves, but to learn how to love one another. With eyes open, we spread our arms and step closer to peace.

–SJB

Death is an event for which we are never prepared. When our time is up, it is difficult to let go of control. It is hard to leave loved ones behind, sometimes worse for the survivors. No one deserves to die, based on their behavior or their lot in life. The Reaper finds us all. Life is not fair. Death is not fair. Angels are sometimes snatched from Earth before we are ready to let go.

In the 1990’s, Accelerated Reader was a program utilized to encourage students’ comprehension of written material. Children read books, then tested their knowledge of those books. Depending on positive scores, points were awarded. There was a heated competition for the top spot on the ladder. Derrick Dendy and I held the top two spots. He was always a few points ahead. I began to consider him “Reader One,” and resigned myself to “Reader One Too.” That kid did nothing but read. I imagine he had a book in the bath, on his lap on the toilet, in his bed with a flashlight long past bedtime. He must have read books during breakfast, lunch and dinner. He probably took ten books on vacation. Derrick Dendy did nothing but read. I could never obtain the top spot, no matter how I tried.

When my family moved, I lost touch with Derrick. Then, years later there was social media. I became curious and reached out. When I found Derrick’s account, I asked him how many books he had read over the summer. Six. I was halfway through my fifth. Even then, I fell short of the top score.

A number of years ago, Derrick passed on. He had a heart condition and was unable to receive a transplant. Though my friend is no longer with us, he will never be forgotten. “They” say to “Write what you know.” I know that Derrick is enjoying an endless selection of books. He is reading, because it’s all he ever does. May Peace Be With You, Reader One.

–SJB

Thirty-one years ago, my baby sisters were born. For months, my sister, Jessica, and I anticipated their birth. When Jessica was born, I was disappointed when I discovered that she was not capable of playing as soon as she emerged. This time, I thought I was prepared. I was wrong. In my wildest dreams I could not have imagined life with two new sisters. Now, I can’t imagine life without them.

Kimberly is two minutes older. She is an incredible person. In situations where others may have thrown in the towel, she battles to the end and accomplishes her goals. She is highly intelligent and confident, teaching English in a room full of teenagers. She is a planner and throws great parties. She travels so much that I almost never know her whereabouts. Kimberly is thoughtful, and intuitive. She knows how to make people feel better when they are down. She is beautiful inside and out, and her life is a gift to all who cross her path. I am proud of Kimberly and honored to be her big sister. I celebrate her birth every day.

Amy is the baby. She is hilarious and a joy to be around. She is goofy and fun. She is also stubborn and does not take “No.” for an answer. She works harder than anyone I know, and she is dedicated not only to her job, but mostly to her family. Amy showers people with the love she carries inside and leaves no room for doubt. She is comforting and holds people together when everything is falling apart. She is the glue, the rock, the home. I am proud of Amy and honored to be her big sister. I am so very glad she was born.

My sisters are my best friends. I have heard the phrase “You can choose your friends, but not your family.” I choose my family always.

Happy Birthday to my “New” Sisters! I love you both beyond words.

-SJB

There will be a third book. I wrote and illustrated a third book, then decided not to publish it, as it delved too deeply into my present mind. So I started over. I have changed everything. I think in order to further develop the pieces that define me I must look to my past. This book will be a prequel to the first, and will include personal stories from my childhood.

When I was twenty-eight and single, I lived in a studio apartment in the shape of a small cabin. It was one of my favorite residences. My growth was stunted at sixteen, so my interior decorating taste and collections are child-like and colorful. This was my haven. It was a nest, and I shared it with the special people in my life and kept it hidden from those I expected would judge me. It was deeply personal. One day, some of my parents’ friends came to visit, and they wanted to see my space. I allowed them, knowing they would leave with knowledge unlikely to share. I was mistaken. After visiting my home, they described it in detail to the people I did not invite inside, and would have to live with after they left. My insides are kept secret in order to keep me safe, thus I publish the secrets I choose to tell. I do not tell them all.

The third book in my series will be about internal voices. Young adults in middle and high school are my target audience, though I hope others may find this helpful as well. These years are pivotal in their lives, and I wish I had a book like this when I was first experiencing symptoms of psychiatric disorder. People are prone to feel alone when they can see and hear things others cannot.

It is easy to feel “crazy,” though that is impossible.

Stay Tuned…

–SJB

Once, there was a lovely rose bush. In the morning, it brightened the world outside my kitchen window. The house adjacent to ours was dilapidated and had been vacant for several years, yet the flowers were always in bloom. Recently, the owners have decided to clean up and rent out that house. The construction workers paid no respect to the rose bush. When I peered out the window, the roses were gone. In their place was a large orange dumpster. For a couple of weeks, there has been no labor next door, but the dumpster remains. Yesterday, people came by explicitly to throw out garbage. The property is becoming horrifyingly close to a landfill. Maybe the roses are in a better place.

I live in a quiet little neighborhood, surrounded by delightful people. Retired couples dot the street; they pop their heads out of windows to say hello, and invite me to share their company. I have lived in this house for nearly six years, and everyone has been so kind and welcoming. My friends across the street are always working in their yard, taking pleasure in being outside. They have aided us with our own lawn, and helped me to pot and re-pot indoor plants that follow me home from Lowe’s. They have cared for our dog, Logan, on numerous occasions. These neighbors are protective of me, and they keep me in the loop about where they are when they aren’t home. I feel safe with the knowledge that I can count on them if I am in trouble. I hope they know they can count on me as well.

I have enjoyed many visits with the nice woman who lives to our left. Her back porch is level with our back yard. She has indoor cats, and our dogs seem to be in a competition for loudest “conversation,” as they almost always go outside simultaneously. This week, the massive ivy tree we share will finally be demolished, after many years of neglect.

One of our neighbors is knowledgeable about animals, and in an emergency dog situation she has imparted her wisdom and saved the day. She owns a female dog and has also hosted Logan several times. Logan pauses outside her house to get a glimpse of his “girlfriend” through the window every time we pass during a walk.

There is a warm and empathetic woman at the end of the street, who always has a word of encouragement. She offers her shoulder for tears which have yet to fall, and is very supportive of my endeavors. My heart swells when I see her and I have no doubts that she is in my corner.

One particular Disney princess felt ostracized in her neighborhood and sought refuge in a large, frightful, dark, mysterious mansion in the middle of nowhere. I am fortunate to live in a place where the people do not drive me away, but open their hearts. My neighbors have displayed that even in a world full of dilapidated buildings, flowers thrive.

–SJB