Author: Samantha Jane Buice

When mental illness leads you down an impossibly long chute or up an extremely steep ladder, hospitalization is an option; in my case, it was a step toward health. There are many stages of healing. The hospital was full of therapists, psychiatrists, medications, hot meals, and the closest friends I have ever had. They were kindred spirits, and we kept each other from tipping the boat. Deep love happened there. It was easy for me to remember everyone’s names by giving them fairytale labels.

“Cinderella” leapt out of a moving car to escape an abusive marriage. We conversed while slightly distracted by our coloring books. “Robin” has severe schizophrenia. We learned our similarities through group activities, and became quite close. “Prince Jesus” helped us to stay calm, and prayed with us. I told him once that if he stopped calling himself “Prince Jesus” they might let him out. The goal is to heal and be released. When that happened, we lost our friends forever. We were left to wonder: Where are they? Are they safe? Are they warm? Taking their meds? Can they afford them? Are they in the hospital or are they at home? Are they alive?

Friends on the outside make time for each other. Relationships only exist when each party is dedicated; nothing is permanent unless it is important to both people. Some of these friendships do not stand the test of time.

Friends detained within locked doors together are friends forever. We filled our hearts with others who shared our deepest secrets and judged not. It was a relief to find these souls. No one taunted us, glanced sideways, treated us as though we were weird. We know we are weird. It’s part of what makes us unique; we gravitated toward one another. There were no “mean girls,” or “jocks” or hypocritical outsiders there. It was just us, and it was refreshing.

We held each other tight, laughed, cried, prayed, lifted the fallen. These relationships brought us freedom behind bars.

–SJB

Many people are perpetually hypnotized by some form of virtual reality. Faces are glued to screens, eyelids are closed. Surroundings do not exist. Friends and loved ones are neglected, and life passes by; we do not say “Hello,” or “Goodbye.” Little is talked about, texting or video chatting is the norm. When did you last stop to look into the eyes of the person sitting in front of you? How many relationships are real; who has time for those?

We are sinking further into technology quick sand; basing our truth on the news channels we watch and believing that the internet has all the answers. The thinking is done for us. The public has lost its ability to communicate in the physical realm, turning to vices more dangerous than we may realize. Children are exposed to uncensored material. Texting has simplified vocabulary to its barest components. The world has become isolated.

I like to speak to strangers, making brief personal connections. I often ask random questions to other shoppers in the grocery store, fishing for advice and suggestions. Some people are obviously engrossed in their virtual bubbles; I have seen a trend of headphones! People are so distracted they don’t realize you are talking to them. Headphones! How will we survive if no one can hear us?

We have built impenetrable walls around ourselves. When I was little, walls were flexible. My siblings and I would barricade ourselves behind cereal boxes at breakfast, blocking our view of each other. Mornings can be rough. Throughout the day, the walls were demolished. My sisters and I laughed and played outside; we used our imaginations. There were no smart phones or social media and we didn’t watch much television. We climbed trees and ran wild.

Those days are gone, but I feel so lucky to have grown up this way. In the physical world, we didn’t worry about how many “likes” or “hearts” were awarded to our posts. There were much better ways to pass the time. Trends come and go, but you cannot put a price on an imagination. Remember that reality will only survive if we listen and create original thoughts. Look away from your screen. Look up and experience “real” life.

–SJB

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed it’s the only thing that ever has.”

-Margaret Mead

This morning, as I set my coffee mug down, I reached for pencil and paper only to realize that my computer was before me. How long has it been since I wrote a story with a pencil? The words are faint, the pictures faded, but I used my imagination to create those tales. It involved much time and energy. These tasks were not in vain. I was filling my heart with joy, and it spilled out onto the pages and into the lives of those around me. Art comes in many different forms. Paintings and sculptures are versions of art, but this world has accomplished so much more. Art is the embodiment of a life’s journey. Professional success, fruitful endeavors, a legacy of breadcrumbs left for our descendants. Kids are miracles, and raising them is an art form. A labor of love, a source of comfort. Lives without children can also be rewarding; some people value this life instead. Marriage is an art form, and not an easy one. We find ourselves surrounded by artists, from canvases to kitchens, from written words to actions; we are all experiencing the world around us in our own unique ways. A smile is a temporary work of art. If you blink, you may not notice that warm expression. The mind stores these moments, recording them for future contemplation. When we open our eyes, we can see not only what is before us, but what is within us. Fill your life with creativity, utilizing your personal art form. Life is short. Live it wholeheartedly. The pencil marks may fade, but the story continues.

-SJB

Running was a big part of my life. It brought happiness to my brain, peace in my heart, and fierce drive. There is a recording of my three year old self exclaiming that I was going to “Run, and run, and run, and never stop!” Much to my dismay, I let her down. My knees gave up, I lost focus with my eyes, and I began to hear distracting voices almost every time I set foot to the ground. I ran for as long as I was able.

In elementary school, no one could catch me. I joined the track team in middle school. When I discovered cross country in high school, my life was forever changed. I gave every fiber of my being to those races. Pushing myself to the finish gave me a “runner’s high” I have not found elsewhere. I have scoured the exercise arena and found that nothing scratches the surface compared to that kick at the end. When a runner reaches this euphoria, sometimes there isn’t energy to remain standing; often there is no time to reach the bathroom.

Running two miles through the woods is drastically different from running eight laps around a track.

The track coach approached me and begged that I take the “two-mile” slot for one competition, and I begrudgingly accepted the position. It was the one and only.

When your face is beet red- sunscreen having long expired-strands of hair are clinging to your neck, legs dragging like they are made of stone, and your breath is ragged, “You’re almost done!” shouted from the bleachers is not reassuring, knowing you are not almost there. Almost is never close enough!

Experience with mental disorders has taught me many lessons. For example, I did not win every race. It has been difficult to stave off my competitive nature. When I was seventeen, I was dealing with the beginning stages of bipolar 1 disorder. Doctors tried many different medications and combinations until the right ones fit. I thought about and researched this topic thoroughly to understand the many changes in my behavior, some of which could be treated but none that could be cured. It has been a long and complicated process. I hated losing races. Those linger in hammocks inside my mind. They sway and slumber, but those races never escape my memory. I lost races when my meds weighed heavily on my shoulders, when all I desired was sleep. I lost races when my eyes betrayed me. For months I suffered with a side-effect called ocular gyro crises. It affected my vision, but was hard to describe, so it went untreated for a while. I lost pieces of myself along the way, but I gained more than I lost. My family and friends stepped up when I needed help. Now I stand on solid ground, the lost races fading and giving way to my accomplishments. It is possible to win some of your races, while learning how to cope with your losses.

This is a lifelong journey, and you are not almost there. Keep running.

–SJB

I have been away, my mind scattered. One might call it writer’s block. My therapist says that not being “in the mood” to do something is just that. Laziness and procrastination are sometimes due not only to boredom or stress. I have not been “in the mood” to write blog articles or to create art in general. I am dipping my toes in the water today, attempting a comeback. I hope I haven’t turned you away, because soon my creations will ensue. I have written hundreds of articles, and never run out of things to say. If you know me personally, you know that words come easily from my “outside” voice. I am known to speak without thinking, but my written words sometimes escape me.

My third book is underway (not published yet). The story is complete and ready for readers, including twenty pages of writing. Overwhelmed by the numerous illustrations (there must be twenty), this project has been daunting.

Recently, my sister visited. She reminded me that other forms of art can help stimulate the mind; taking a break from the pressure of my difficult task has inspired me to open myself, the train finding its way back onto the track. My little sister can read my energy and aides me even when she does not realize. I was lost, and she found me.

I’m back.

–SJB

Samuel Walton Buice has been a mischievous child, a class clown, and a great friend to many. Sam is wise beyond his years (though there have been a few). He is funny and playful, joyful, and childlike. He listens; he asks questions and cares about the answers. His presence is bright and warm, with laughter and smiles, which will be remembered long after his lifetime. Sam has been a reckless teenager, a motorcycle and vintage car enthusiast, and grew into a fine young man. He fell in love, married this awesome lady and became a husband. Following this stage, he became a father. Dad is thoughtful, kind, and special. The best of the best. He taught us how to solve problems with words instead of violence. Sam keeps the peace and shares it with everyone. My dad is more than a child, an adult, a husband, a father (and a grandfather sometime this week). He is a gardener, a recycler, and a chicken farmer. He became an Episcopal priest, and studied the way of God. God has always had a place in his life. Now, he is retired, but still finds ways to help others in need. I have never known a person like Dad. Sure, I may be biased, but I’m not the only one who sees his light. Today, and every day, I celebrate my father’s birth and his presence in my life. I am grateful for our time together and our friendship. Dad, I love you a lot ‘n’ a lot. Happy birthday!!

–SJB

When terrible events befall others, sometimes we fleetingly think, “Glad that isn’t me.” It may not be “you,” this time, but life throws us curve balls we never see coming. It is not until we are faced with similar circumstances that we open our eyes. The unknown is terrifying, the truth buried beneath denial. We lose sight of ourselves and the people around us, taking loved ones for granted. Hug your friends and family tight, as if it is your last encounter. Let them know, in ways without words that you love them.

My mom is my best friend. We share everything, including laughter, love, a mind and a heart. The simple things in life bring us joy. Recently, she was in a horrific car accident. She survived (surprisingly) and suffered some major injuries. Her recovery time is estimated three months. This shocked me to the bone. She nearly left without a proper goodbye. It was an unexpected experience about which people will say, “Glad that isn’t me.” Now, I continue to hug my family and friends tightly, but my best friend gently.

–SJB

Once Upon a Time…twenty years ago, an invisible force invaded my mind. It wiggled its way into my life like a worm infested apple, changing it forever. Mental illness was not prepared for me.

When I was a teenager, I faced my psychiatric disorder with every ounce of my strength, and fought to keep it at bay. I lived every day with the knowledge that I was different. I was obsessed with my search for answers, and spent a good portion of my days keeping up with mood journals and reading biographies. I studied and learned, then helped others by sharing my story. Silence can have devastating consequences.

Despite my mental illness, I graduated high school (while juggling Algebra and Geometry simultaneously). I was captain of my high school cross country team, and ran varsity in college. I did not run away from my problems, but toward them. Running eased my mind. I graduated from college, where I was taught the many ways of art, and how to express myself.

In 2013, I suffered from psychosis for six months in several psychiatric hospitals, fighting for my life. Mental illness almost killed me, but my desire to live and love outweighed that outcome.

Throughout my life, there has been a tipping scale in need of stability. Therapy, research, and medicine have balanced this requirement. Trial and error have been a lifetime challenge in my relationship with medication. I have heard that after a “new” medication has been in circulation for a while and has become an “older” drug it would be less expensive. I am grateful that my medications are performing successfully, but after twenty years, my prime drug has not lowered its price. Until today…

Today, I will fill a prescription for Geodon that has cost me nearly $130 a month for twenty years. This prescription will cost me absolutely ZERO dollars. It’s about time.

–SJB

As I’m sure you are aware, Christmas is not about how many gifts are under the tree. It’s not about slaving away in the kitchen over the perfect meal to feed a hungry army of extended family members. Essentially, it is and always has been about the birth of Jesus, and God’s love for us. It is about the love we have for one another. Sharing precious moments and being grateful for the blessings bestowed upon us.

For many, Christmas is a happy time, but not for everyone. Many people are experiencing loss of family members, friends, and neighbors. This holiday has been one of the most tragic for people struggling with mental illness. People are dealing with grief, drastic changes in mood, suicide and depression. Some have no tangible reasons to feel this way. Psychiatric disorders are invisible, after all.

If you are struggling with major depression and having thoughts of suicide, know that there are people around you who love you very much and never want to lose you. Spend as much time in the sun as you can, and find time to exercise during your day to increase the flow of endorphins in your mind. Talk to someone about your feelings; consider therapy; and keep an open mind about medication. Above all, remember that the end is not the answer. There are always ways to fix things with words, actions, and support from others. You are not alone! There is a light in the darkness. If you have no one to help you bear this burden, call this number:

NATIONAL SUICIDE PREVENTION LIFELINE:

988

Available 24 hours

A message to all of the friends, families and loved ones of those afflicted: Pay attention and be prepared to listen. You can also call this number if you need extra support.

I hope you all have a safe and Happy Holiday!

—SJB

Once Upon a Time…thirty-five years ago…my life was forever changed. I became a big sister for the first time. I was extremely excited. My sole disappointment was the discovery that she would not be able to play with me immediately.

As an only child, my parents set up play dates with friends my age, but I never knew how to truly love someone until my sister was born. When you spend your life knowing someone, there are always adjectives to describe them; as you both grow and learn together, your relationship takes you to a place where words are unnecessary.

Jessica is selfless and kind. She listens, and her heart is so full. She loves her family to the greatest extent, and cares for others above her own needs.

Over the years, as I was Jessica’s big sister, she was also mine. I walked her down the aisle at lunch, taking great care to protect her from peanuts. We have laughed and cried together, played and fought. I made all kinds of mistakes, and supposedly she was meant to learn from them. Whether or not they were lessons, we made a lot of them together. We never turned our backs to each other. She has stood by me in my darkest hours.

Jessica is an extraordinary person, my best friend, and my first little sister. She is my hero, and certainly an angel on earth. I am so grateful to have Jessica in my life, and I am honored to be her big sister. I love her beyond measure. On this day and every day, I celebrate her life.

Happy birthday, Stister!

–SJB