DiscussMormonism.com

I was thinking about this last night, when the discussions about Harmony's daughter and the perceptions about women who had been abused were going on.

The US is a very open country these days about the subject of self help, people are much more likely to get help with regards to mental health issues, substance abuse issues, abuse issues in general. It's not like it was a generation ago when people "didn't air their dirty laundry in public". People are simply more, I don't want to say comfortable, but more likely to seek help for their problems. But with that comes a sort of stigma, I'm seeing.

It seems that these days, if a person admits to seeking help for a problem, they have all sorts of unpleasant things just bubbling under the surface waiting to jump out and bite someone. If you're in therapy, then obviously you spend each week just sobbing about what happened to you in your past. If you're on meds, then it's to control some urge you couldn't control otherwise. If you admit to abuse, then you're definitely hiding some issues due to that abuse...who knows, you might just have a freezer with weird things in your basement.

This attitude bothers me.

It's a good thing that our society is more open about issues of mental health. We're not lesser people because of mental illness, be it someone else's that resulted in our abuse or or own. In fact, we're greater for being brave enough to face the problem and seek help for it. Struggling with mental illness is not a failure on the part of the victim, it takes a lot of strength to live with these things.

Sometimes one is born with a chemical imbalance that causes the illness. Sometimes one is simply born into a situation that fosters the illness. Sometimes, as in my case, it is a combination of the two, a generational curse of parents who were depressed who didn't know how to deal with their problems who passed both beliefs and abuse onto their kids.

So why are the stigmas still so prvalent in an age when there is so much education around?

When I first started being vocal about my depression, it took my parents a minute to catch on. My dad was a bit more open, mom was reserved for many years, now I can't keep her out of my therapy sessions (and no, I don't go there sobbing...I think I cried maybe four times in therapy in 14 years). I feel that if those two could get in the know, then so can so many others...the information is out there, especially since we have the internet. The information is out there, the support is out there...not only for the people who suffer, but for those who support them, because the supporters often need support too (and those resources are available!).

It just gets me, the moment you hear about someone being abused, all of a sudden that person has all these hidden issues that "no one wants to deal with". How do you know?

Most folks who talk to me have no idea the hell I went through growing up. You can't look at me or talk to me and see evidence of the physical, emotional, spiritual, or psychological abuse I had to endure. They don't know I'm on meds (and it's more to quell some of the physical aches and pains than it is to quell the depression, I'm not really sad anymore...depression meds take care of more than just depression you know), they don't know I'm in therapy, they don't know I'm a stroke survivor. They don't know that I spend half the week sick...and it's not because I hide these things. Not intentionally. Only if you become my friend do you get a glimpse. Only if you're family do you have an inkling. Only if you live with me do you really know, because you're there to see the ambulance carry me out every other month. And Steve (significant other) is the first to know a great deal of what I've held in emotionally from literally everyone other than therapists, and some things even from them...I have years worth of journals I've shown no one. They're not filled with horrors, but sometimes you just don't want to parade your heart around to just everyone...the assumptions made on the other board are a prime example...

You cannot assume that just because somone was a victim that they carry heavy baggage. Some victims are strong survivors who have much to teach the world, and those who walk away from them in revulsion and fear are really missing out. Also, there are those in the world who have been throug far less who have let lesser circumstances weigh them down far more who are impacting the world much more negatively than someone like me.

Think about that...

Sami, you are strong. Don't let what people say on here make you doubt that. You don't have to prove it to anyone.

It's not me I doubt, it just bothers me when I see it happening to others...because I remember what that's like. Nothing bothers me more than seeing someone where I was, under that stigma. Nothing makes me angrier...

And it's pathetic that with so much information out there, there should be so much ignorance...

This board is a mental breakdown in many ways!

I'm okay with that! I get it! It's fairly fascinating for me.

Yet, it gets under my skin that they don't recognize that some of these posters ARE emotional baggage themselves.

Sheesh louise!

*disclaimer* If this doesn't apply to you then don't assume I'm talking about you -- just think of the "issues" all over this damn board!

Moniker wrote:This board is a mental breakdown in many ways!

I'm okay with that! I get it! It's fairly fascinating for me.

Yet, it gets under my skin that they don't recognize that some of these posters ARE emotional baggage themselves.

Sheesh louise!

*disclaimer* If this doesn't apply to you then don't assume I'm talking about you -- just think of the "issues" all over this damn board!

I don't assume that you're talking about me, but maybe I should?

Nah, honey. Not you. Come down to the Goddess suite for lunch. :-)

Sam Harris wrote:Nah, honey. Not you. Come down to the Goddess suite for lunch. :-)

Now why did the story, "The Spider and the Fly" just pop into my head?

;)

"Come into my parlor, said the Spider to the fly. 'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy..."

liz3564 wrote:

Sam Harris wrote:Nah, honey. Not you. Come down to the Goddess suite for lunch. :-)

Now why did the story, "The Spider and the Fly" just pop into my head?

;)

"Come into my parlor, said the Spider to the fly. 'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy..."

HUGE GRIN

One night at dinner Steve asked me a question. He asked me if the relationship was what I had expected. I looked at him and told him that I had walked into the interaction with no expectations. After all, I had finally decided to stop running.

I had hated him for so long, figuring that the look I'd seen in his eyes (lust) was the same that I'd seen in the eyes of every man before him, every man that had taken of my body and taken of my soul and left me for spiritually dead. Little did I know that this man would enjoy but respect as well.

We sat in the Outback and I saw vulnerability in his eyes for the first time.

"You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into," he told me.

"Then explain," I said.

"This isn't just about you and me. I have daughters, I have an ex-wife. No one has ever met my daughters before. You're not coming into this with just me involved. This is far more complicated than you know. I'm not by myself, and there's no way that I could be. My daughters are everything to me. Do you understand this, Samantha?" There was a glint of steel in Steve's eyes as they changed from green to blue.

"Yes."

"I'll ask you again, because I don't think you are hearing me." LOL, he's had too much Sam Adams "Do you understand this, Samantha?"

I begin to speak.

"I understand your daughters far more than you know. The reality of the "other woman" was something that I lived with for many years. She came into my life at age nine, and I had no choice but to get to know her, to learn to love her, and to love her child. She was in my life for ten years, and it wasn't until she died that I learned how much I loved her. It wasn't until my father died that I learned how much I loved her son. Your daughters are safe with me because I know how they feel. Know that with me around they will never go through what I went through. Steve, it is my desire that should this go where I want it to go, where I'm hoping you want it to go, that your daughters will never feel like guests in their father's home. Because that is what I felt like. I lived in my father's home for a year-and-a-half and felt like I didn't belong there, like I wasn't wanted there. And it was hell. Your daughters may live with their mother, but in our home they will have their room, with their clothes, their things. It will be their home, because it is their father's home. That is the way that I wish for it to be."

Steve regarded me with a mixture of sadness and mistrust. I could see in his eyes the memories of all that had come before me, the pain of those days, the desire to move forward, the love he had for me, and also the fear. The struggle was as real for him as it was for me. It was time for me to chase him. He'd given me five months to get used to the fact that he cared for me, now I had to get used to the fact that he was unsure about the fact that I all but held his heart in my hands.

"Samantha, you have me."

"I know." I smiled at him.

"This isn't a joke," Steve glowered at me.

"Sweetheart, I know it's not. But I also see straight through you. You're feeling vulnerable at the moment, so you're acting out. You've been acting out all day. This 'tough boy' persona I don't buy one bit. You're scared."

"You run from me for five months, and now that you have me, you expect me to trust you in two weeks?!"

"No, I'm prepared to give you all the time you've given me." I regarded him steadily.

"Okay, fine."

I looked at him. I'd been trying all week to get him to understand that I'd be the peaceful one for now, to offeset the unrest I knew he was feeling at this point in time. The man had all but given me his soul, and after having witnessed his wife bear another man's child, that had to be difficult...so I had to stay calm. Not to mention, he was a little tipsy.

Both of us sat there feeling like we'd ran full force into a brick wall. It hadn't been two weeks since we'd started dating, and yet it felt like months emotionally. I'd lost my apetite, he'd lost his. What was this we were going through? How in the hell did we, two people who'd been through so much in life end up in such a situation where you just fell into place like this, where even though so many problems existed around you, the foundation seemed to just fall rock solid?

We paid for our food and got up to leave. It was bitterly cold outside. I huddled up close to Steve for warmth. Some mushy alternative song about heartbreak was playing over the restaraunt's loudspeakers, and all of a sudden I found myself in this fierce embrace with this man-child holding me...looking at me with these eyes that seemed to say, if you hurt me, you demolish my very sense of being, and I will never attempt this again. This is it, and I'm doing it with you. Please take this seriously...because I do. I cradled the man-child in my arms, this individual who was trying to hide all these things from me, and channeled my mother-earth aura.

Because who knew when it would be my turn to be held.