Speaking as someone with a mental health disorder, my illness can get worse because I’m trying to keep it quiet, and I’m embarrassed about it. This is partly because many people have stereotypes about those who say they have a mental illness. “If you would just _____,” or, “You’re so _____;” having no professional experience to say what you say, and all those negative messages add to the shame and blame we already feel for not being a normal productive member of society. Most of us try our hardest, we really do! So by the time we give in and realize we CAN’T do it by ourselves, our health has already deteriorated past what it needed to. And as far as being dangerous, a person who is shamed into avoiding help can possibly get to the point of being dangerous, to others, but most often, to themselves. Shamed for taking medication, some won’t take it, and again, this can lead to a person being out of control. Use a little compassion, try to understand, treat it like any other disease that requires medical attention. Spiritual intervention is extremely useful, but often it is not enough to treat the disease. You take insulin; that’s not in the Bible either. Have a heart.
So for about a nanosecond my Cymbalta seemed to be working. But I can attribute the blahs to being sick with a cold or “whatever.” Don’t really have much to say except that hopefully I will have much to say when I feel bettah.
Have I ever publicly proclaimed my predilection for coffee?
How did this happen? I distinctly remember turning up my nose at it, but, when I was in my late teens, my father was having me get up and out by five a.m. to play handball before I went to work at McDonald’s. Out of self defense I forced myself to drink it – how else was I supposed to get through a shift? After a while my adoration grew. I began to love the taste of it, the smell of it, and of course, the effects of it.
But it turned on me. The over-stimulation aggravated my familial tremor (also known as essential tremor). And it definitely exacerbated my anxiety.
But I didn’t care. By the time these symptoms appeared, I was hooked. In other words, I was going to drink it by hook or by crook. (Is that where the expression “hooked” came from?)
Coffee is actually supposed to be good for you, in moderation, and I suppose what I do is moderate (my neurologist doesn’t agree). I drink 2-3, or 4, cups a day. According to Healthline.com, there are 13 different health benefits to drinking coffee. I don’t really care what they are, I just don’t want you to tell me to stop drinking it. My excuse is that I’ve stopped drinking alcohol (1985), smoking pot (1985), smoking cigarettes (2006), chasing boys (only because I can’t run any more), and various other bad habits, I ought to be allowed at least ONE vice.
And don’t mess with my coffee. I just want hot, with cream. None of that flavoured stuff. Although this summer I was introduced to sugar-free-French-vanilla iced coffee at McDonald’s, and it has created a new monster in me. Not only is it good, but it is relatively cheaper than that other stuff out there. MMM hmm hmmmmmm…..
So anyway, that’s enough on that subject.