Samantha Jane Buice

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

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!

samanthabuice@gmail.com

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