“Amy” 11.05.21

I have three sisters. Jessica is a therapist; Kimberly is a high school English teacher; and her twin, Amy, is a lawyer. Amy is one of the strongest people I know. She is the kind of person you know you can count on to have your back when you’re in trouble. Not because she’s a lawyer, but because she’s my sister. She is fiercely protective, loves with her whole heart, and is only afraid of natural disasters, the dark, and being left alone in an empty house overnight. I love her deeply. I have come to realize that since I am so much older than my youngest sisters, I wasn’t always present in their lives. I don’t know who their friends are, cannot keep track of all their adventurous trips and special occasions, and feel a little lost when I think about how much of their lives I have missed. But when it comes down to the truth, we are all connected as if we are tethered to one another, and have been from the start.

Amy is special to me in ways she doesn’t even understand. Being her big sister is one of the best positions I have ever held. She is challenging, so we don’t always see eye to eye, and she usually gets what she wants. She is very competitive. For instance, when she was around six years old she made it her goal to be taller than me. For some reason that bothered me, but not enough to complain. It was kind of funny. When we stood next to each other, she would measure with a hand and see how much higher she needed to grow. Eventually, I became the shortest member of the family.

Amy beat my cross country personal record when she was in high school. There was nothing I could do to uphold my school record after I graduated, so she won that race. As much as I loved running, I always hated racing. And I hated to lose. I was proud of her, though. However; there were recurring instances which I found extremely annoying. I have always liked to keep a tidy house. Just ask my husband. Not a pillow out of place, not a throw blanket unfolded, laundry always clean, dishwasher always unloaded, floors swept more than often, and a scan of each room to make sure everything looks tidy and organized at all times during the day. These organizational inclinations began early in my life. In a house that was our family home and not solely my own, I still at least tried to keep the dishes clean and out of the sink. Amy had oatmeal for breakfast every day. She would leave the remains “soaking” in the sink and knew that after nagging her all day to clean her oatmeal bowl, I would end up cleaning it for her because I couldn’t stand to have it in the sink for another moment. These are incidents we laugh about now.

When I was in the psychiatric hospital in Savannah, GA, Amy came to visit me as often as she could, and she held my parents together. She bottled her emotions so that she could take care of everyone else. She has the largest amount of empathy I have ever seen in my life, and she is skilled in helping people feel better. My hospitalization was kept secret because I wanted it that way, so my family went about their daily lives trying not to think about it and not tell anyone. When I was released, I told my sisters that they could most certainly express their grief and lean on the shoulders of people they trusted in order to tell their sides of the story. Amy found Rob. Rob listened.

Rob became a fixture in our family. Our dog, LOGAN (I spell his name in all caps because he is a small dog with a large personality), is a good judge of character and absolutely loves Rob. Our whole family loves Rob. We look forward to the day when he becomes officially inducted. That exciting day is not so far away!

Amy is destined to make change, and to help many people. She is so special to me, and the world is a better place with her presence here. I am so glad that when my parents wanted a third kid they ended up with two instead. Jessica said, “Which one’s mine?” and we have been sharing them with each other for quite some time. Now, we share them with the world, and it is forever changed.

—SJB

“Happy Halloween” 10.29.21

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 this is fiction and 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

“Owning My Truth” 10.15.21

I feel more comfortable writing about my struggles and successes when my name is Jane. The name provides a little protection; it is my turtle shell. My name is not Jane. It is my grandmother’s name and my middle. I was named after my dad, Samuel. My name is Samantha. Most people call me “Sam.” It is an honor to be named after one of the coolest people I know.

I am ready now to own my truth and to step out of Jane’s shadow. I have a psychiatric disorder and a label stamped on my head, but I do not let it define me. I lead a stable life, and I have schizoaffective disorder. This psychiatric disorder is like a mixed salad that you did not make for yourself. Imagine that you went to a dinner party, and the host brought out the salad as the first course. There is so much going on in this bowl that you cannot distinguish all of the ingredients even after you have tasted it. Schizoaffective disorder is full of indistinguishable ingredients. Not all cases are the same, but many people struggle with one or more of these illnesses: schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, anxiety, depression, etc. with a dash of salt and pepper on top. My illness is a mix of bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. From my perspective, it is so complicated that even after tasting it I cannot decipher everything within this salad.

Known Ingredients:

*Shifts in mood/demeanor

*Unexplained dread in the pit of your stomach

*Sadness for no discernible reason

*Shopping sprees and accruing debt

*Insomnia

*Too much sleep

*Procrastination

*High energy

*Low energy

*Hallucinations

*Delusions

*Inner voices

*Anger

*Outbursts

*Weight gain

*Weight loss

*Lack of motivation

Unknown Ingredients: ???

As a writer, it is important to write what you know. This is what I know. As I embrace the complexity of my illness and the aspects I cannot fully understand, I must confess that I rarely eat salad.

–SJB

“Te amo.” 10.10.21 (on Sunday)

ONE YEAR

***Chester’s story continues…If you haven’t seen or heard of Chester, I encourage you to learn more about him from previous articles. He is my cartoon self. He portrays my actions, feelings, and big events in my life. It is easier to see what is going on inside my head when I step back and look through Chester’s eyes. I encourage you all to embrace the cartoon character who inhabits your mind. You will find it helpful and fun!

Our story continues as all stories do…but first, a look inside Chester’s heart on the week he first he met Lucy.

When Chester was a young boy, he watched a movie that changed his life forever. He is a romantic, and perhaps this is why. Toward the end of the movie, the protagonist goes to the fair and rides the ferris wheel with the girl he loves. Since then, Chester vowed never to ride the ferris wheel until he was absolutely sure he was riding it with his true love, and never before. Many years passed. No ferris wheel. When Chester was twenty eight years old, he moved to a small town in north Georgia, where he met Lucy. Chester has a friend named Krupa who had a shop called “Roots and Remedies” next door to Lucy’s gallery. Inside his friend’s shop, there was a section by the window filled with models you could build. There was a ferris wheel standing completed and only for show. Chester bought that ferris wheel the very week he met Lucy…

Chester began to really love Lucy. Not in the “We’re just friends,” kind of way. He more than liked her. Not the way people “love” each other when they are infatuated or projecting. He really loved her. He loved her when she was goofy and when she made him laugh. He loved her when she was grumpy and it was his turn to cheer her up. They became so close that they could read each other’s minds and finish each other’s sentences! But he was too afraid to tell her; he was afraid of her rejection. So, hoping she may (or may not) know what it meant, he told her in Spanish.

“Te amo,” he said.

She said it in return.

This went on for quite a while, as Chester built up the courage to tell Lucy that he loved her–in English. Chester’s friend, Diana, told him that it didn’t count until you both knew what it meant and it was said in your native language.

Lucy beat him to it.

They were pulling up to a Mexican restaurant for dinner when Lucy said, “I think I love you,” to which Chester asked, “You think?”

Lucy said, “I love you.” Chester was so relieved. He responded with, “I love you too, Lucy.” From then on, the love blossomed.

This is the beginning of Chester and Lucy’s epic love story.

Five years later, on the anniversary of their first kiss, Chester presented the Ferris Wheel to Lucy, as he had known long ago that it would someday find its way into her hands. Years later, Chester asked Lucy if she did, in fact know what “Te amo,” meant, and she said, “Yes.”

Chester and Lucy have been married for one year!

–SJB

“Harnessing Happiness” 10.01.21

As far as I know, we aren’t born happy. We enter the world screaming at the top of our lungs. This is a world outside the comfort of our mother’s womb–the safest home we have known. Once we step into this big, wild, complicated environment, we face issues that later seem trivial; right out of the belly they seem humongous.

Many people have to work diligently to achieve happiness. There are pills to relieve anxiety and depression, but no pills full of happiness. We make our own happiness when we are not enveloped in its presence. I take several medications which aid in my struggle for happiness. I also muster all of the energy I possess toward reaching the level of happiness I require.

My growth was stunted at the age of fifteen because of my illness. My mind reverted to happy times in my past to help me forget the hard times. When I was nine, I was interested in reading about and collecting historical dolls, their clothing, and accessories. I have a massive collection now, because when you are an adult and have money you can buy toys that your allowance couldn’t cover when you were little. I can hold my first doll and breathe deeply, remembering the happy Christmas day when I first saw her under the tree. This comforts me. I can do this remembering technique with every doll and stuffed animal I have in my “nest” at home. I can snuggle with Tigger and remember the Disney store in New York City on a trip with my husband. Every time I hold “Bert,” my teddy bear, I am reminded of my earlier childhood happiness. There is one book that can comfort me like nothing else.

My Grandmama Patte was a storyteller. When I was little, she told precious stories to me and my sisters. We would ask her to tell us a story and request our favorites. There were five that stuck with me. She embellished and the details differed somewhat each time she told them. She would ask us to help her tell the stories, as she couldn’t quite remember everything. We would fill in the blanks where she forgot. I think she was trying to commit these stories to our memories long after she was gone. She succeeded. We grew up thinking she made up these stories on her own. When we were older, she gave us one of the most special gifts I have ever received. She bestowed upon each of us a book of Native American folklore; we found all of the stories she had told us throughout our lives. This book is so important to me because she died a few years later, but the stories live on. The happiness I gain from this book is monumental. Whenever I want to hear my Grandmama’s voice, I turn the page and concentrate with all my strength. I can hear her reading the story to me. When I am trying to fall asleep, daydreaming, or trying to control a panic attack, I think of joyful times I have experienced in my life. Deep breathing is key. Grandmama Patte’s voice is soothing.

There are many avenues toward happiness. One should not rely on another person for one’s happiness, though it is wonderful to have people in your life who bring you love and peace. There are steps to be taken in order to harness happiness and everyone has their own way of coping. Making art brings me closer to contentment. I sketch and color under a bright light that keeps me focused and comforts me. I am a pen pal to my older neighbor across the street. Sending and receiving letters with him brings me great joy. Stepping out for sunshine is an excellent way to soak up some natural therapy. Exercise is also helpful and will raise levels of serotonin, which stimulate delight.

These activities help me as an individual and may not work for everyone’s brain. It’s worth a try, don’t you think?

—SJB

“Creative Outlets” 9.24.21

A psychiatric diagnosis is not required in order to express your feelings through creative outlets. In fact, it is a rewarding task. Even if you don’t consider yourself an artist, give it a try! There are many creative outlets to explore. Here are some examples:

*Painting

*Keeping a journal/Writing

*Keeping a sketchbook

*Drawing/Illustrating

*Photography

*Singing

*Playing an instrument

*Graphic Design

*Printmaking

*Sewing

*Weaving

*Basket making

*Candle making

*Baking

*Gardening

*DIY projects

There are many more, but these are a few to think about. I would love to hear about your endeavors. Send me an email or a comment about an activity that you found fulfilling. I suggest you try more than one!

Happy creating!

—SJB

“Birthday Blessings” 9.10.21

My Grandma Sandy is a fountain of wisdom, a brave soul, has a huge heart, and stands up for individuals who need her most. She invites strangers to her house on Thanksgiving. She loves all and she is full of prayer. She doesn’t tolerate bullying. She is a pioneer in the way of taking steps toward positive change.

Sandy befriended a person with mental illness and strives to engage him in social settings, getting out of the house, and living life to its fullest. These can be challenges when one feels down and out. Sandy is tenacious and I know that she will never give up on this endeavor. When someone is suffering with a mental health condition such as depression, it’s like drowning. We struggle to tread water. It can be difficult to get out of bed. Walking around feels like a chore. Cleaning the kitchen? Keeping a tidy house? Yeah, right. Think again. Sometimes, it takes too much energy to utter words. We must jump through hoops to get back on our feet. Society does not understand this invisible threat, and those who carry the burden of mental illness know this better than anyone, yet no one wants to talk about it. In their state of ignorance, “normal” people try to push these issues under the rug and ignore them; if you can’t see them, no one else will, right? Mental illness is not caused by fault and is not a shameful secret. The stigma associated with the mentally ill leads to the belief that we are the “bad guys.” Not so.

While the stigma rounds us all up and stamps a label on our heads, we all suffer differently and do not fit neatly in a box. There are human beings with mental illness who live beautiful lives despite the “Berman” traveling with them. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, cousins, grandparents, friends. Just because you aren’t labeled doesn’t mean that mental illness doesn’t lurk inside your mind.

Recently, my grandma and her friend were at a group assembly and people told her to “Stay away from him!” My grandma said, “Shut up!” She protected her new friend from close-minded bullies. There are those in society who live in denial about the existence of mental illness because they do not want to accept the truth and move forward. The world is full of nonbelievers, but I hope that gradually those numbers will see the light and treat people with respect instead of fear. I am so proud of my grandma. Bullies should never have the last word. Sandy is a blessing in my life and many others. May this day and all days be filled with her radiance and courage.

–SJB

I dedicate this article to two of the loves in my life, on their birthday.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GRANDMA SANDY!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, COURTNEY BLAIR CARROLL SANTOS!!!

“Mom” 8.27.21

I am grateful beyond words for my mom. I am her firstborn. She has always kept me out of harm’s way. She encouraged me as a child and as an adult to reach for my dreams, work for them, and achieve them. I realize how lucky I am. She is one of my greatest loves. I have many loves in my life, and thanks to her, I not only have Mom and Dad. She gave me three wonderful sisters. My mom is not only the bearer of daughters. She is my best friend.

When I was a child, I was very particular about clothing. I wouldn’t wear tights, hated elastic, and never wore shorts or pants. I didn’t want to wear tight fitting clothes. If I had my way, I would have run around naked. Before my chest developed, I pretty much did. I normally wore loose dresses that I picked out. I was all about comfort, without a care for fashion. It bothered my mom to no end. I would try to get away with wearing a dress several days in a row, and all of my family members–immediate and extended–remember a specific green dress.

Mom and I got into huge fights about my wardrobe. I pitched angry fits. One day, she handed me to Dad and he ended the dressing battles. The rules were that I came up the stairs, lifted my arms, and twirled around so he could smell me. If I didn’t smell like a “little goat” (as my mom would refer to me upon sniffing my forehead), I could wear whatever I wanted, much to Mom’s chagrin. My relationship with my mom began to strengthen after our frustrations subsided. I love my mom, and I always have. It is difficult to relay that message when you have had a big fight.

My mom has been with me through thick and thin. I am tired of talking about the hospital, which I think is a very good step away. One last time. Mom was devastated. She had to go to work every day knowing where I was, thinking about me, and telling no one. At one point, I didn’t recognize her. Still she fought to bring me home, knowing in her heart that I would return. She brought me her homemade bread when I wasn’t eating. I devoured it. There is no way to turn down that bread. Absolutely no way.

In my adult life, we have spent a lot of time together. I visit her and Dad every Saturday for breakfast; sometimes she stops by my house for coffee. Often we have walked together. We have been on many road trips and she is good company. She decorates her house for my birthday every year no matter how old I get, and makes my favorite cupcakes (red velvet with cream cheese icing). When Rush and I got married, she planned the whole day and helped to make it the best day of my life. She makes my whole life special.

My mom is a huge part of my life, and without her I would be lost. She is my guiding star.

–SJB