The Nest: More Care and Feeding for Depressed Friends

It’s easy to minimize a person’s hurt without understanding the nature of pain. People often like to categorize how much a person should or shouldn’t hurt about things. For example, when someone is upset about something, they say, “At least you’re not paralyzed, or starving in Africa.” While it’s imperative to be grateful for what we have, I think people often mistaken the nature of pain, when they ‘categorize’ in this way. The criteria for how much something hurts is not dependent on the thing itself.

~ Yasmin Mogahed

May is National Mental Health Awareness Month.  Join me in blogging to erase the stigma of mental illness so our loved ones can seek the help they need.

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etting go of an idea ~ no matter how good it was, or might still be ~ is really okay when it’s not working for you anymore.

Oh, so you noticed no more Top Fives on Friday, have you?

Well, it began as a post idea from some blog challenge many challenges ago that was supposed to be the “easy” post.  You know ~ in case you suffer from blogger’s block, just throw a top five list together and voila!  So I picked Five, because that was substantial without being crazy and posted them on Fridays because I like alliteration.

But pretty soon my arch nemesis, Perfectionism, reared her head and suddenly, making lists became the toughest post to write.  Because I didn’t want to send you to sites I hadn’t actually visited ~ at least once.  Or recommend books I hadn’t read.  I wanted to add value to your life, not fluff.

And sometimes, when you suffer from depression (or any other mental or emotional illness), the amount of energy it takes to do that just isn’t there.

The Nest

As I was brainstorming what to talk about today, I did have some great ideas for future posts, though.  Why is my brain like that?!  Argh!

But since today is generally a kind of laid back, weekend is almost here kind of day, I try to save the not so serious posts for Friday.

Okay, fine.  This is actually an excuse for me to cruise Pinterest for hours on end and finish my beta reading project.  As well as that new Elizabeth Hunter book.

But you’ll love this anyway:

 

Image credit: Pinterest/robot-hugs.com

See?  How cute is that?! 

Aaannnd, it perfectly illustrates another aspect of care and feeding of friends with depression that I mentioned last week.  Sometimes, you just need to build us a nest.  And sometimes, you just need to curl up in there with us.

No need for grand gestures of support.  Just be creative. 

Build an old fashioned table fort with sheets like you did when you were a kid.

Get out your sleeping bags and have a movie night/slumber party.

Clear your to do list for a day and stay in your PJs all day.

Have breakfast in bed.

Buy a hammock and fill it with pillows and soft blankets and rest under the trees.

You'll comfort us (even if we don't show it) and you'll recharge your care-giver batteries too.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

What kind of “nest” would you build?  What kind of “nest” would you want built for you?

It's Okay to Take Meds When You Feel Like Crap

I've hit the ground. Gone right through it. Never in my life have I felt this. Nothing like this. I've felt shame and cowardice, weakness and strength. I've known terror and indifference, self-hate and general disgust. I've seen things that cannot be unseen.  And yet I've known nothing like this terrible, horrible, paralyzing feeling. I feel crippled. Desperate and out of control. And it keeps getting worse. Every day I feel sick. Empty and somehow aching.

~ Tahereh Mafi

May is National Mental Health Awareness Month.  Join me in blogging to erase the stigma of mental illness so our loved ones can seek the help they need.

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feel like Jonah in the belly of the whale” three days floating in darkness, damp,  and fish bones.

Well, except for the fish bones. 

And it was really five days.  Plus half of last Friday, when it all started with a little sore throat.  That turned into a couple of sleepless nights with an outrageously hacking cough.  That is now a mildly annoying hacking cough and a stuffy nose.

All of which is to say – that’s why all the radio silence this week.  I was. . . abed.

If I wanted an overflowing inbox and tons of work on my desk, I would have taken yet another day off to rest.  But I dragged myself in, politely hacked into a tissue, warned all and sundry to stay clear of the contagion zone, and tried to catch up on three days’ worth of work.

Sick. . .

Drugs are wonderful.

Image credit: Google

Call me a coward and hypocrite. . .actually, I accept with grace the first, and scratch my head at the second.  I may very well be at other points in my life, but on this one, I’m pretty sure I’ve already stated somewhere in this great white canvas of thoughts and opinions, that while I embrace the natural and alternative path to health and well-being, I also recognize that some drugs are more helpful and indeed necessary for equilibrium and a more “normal” way of life.

So with a “oh what the hell” attitude, I downed Nyquil for three days and sprayed my throat with a nasty No 5 red-based monstrosity that promised “instant relief” (it lied) and sucked on zinc lozenges for hours.  Anything to ease the pain.

Well, we’ve already determined I am a coward.

. . .and Ashamed?

So when I read Tania Runyan’s article over at Image Journal today, I understood.  PPD is not a type of depression that I have personal experience with, but the shame she encountered ~ both from her inner critic, and those around her ~ that was all too familiar.

I went home, ashamed for even visiting a psychiatrist. I was a strong, spiritual woman. Several people told me not to give in to the pills that “doctors hand out like candy.” Tom Cruise had just lambasted Brooke Shields about taking medicine for PPD, and although I knew he wasn’t the most credible source, his view reflected a common opinion: You’re better than this. . . .I tossed the prescription, vowing to take more vitamins and pray harder.

How my heart ached for her in that moment!  The belief that seeing a shrink is somehow, degrading, or means you've hit the mental crap-jackpot, makes me want to pull my hair. Because it's a belief rooted in misinformation, superstitions, and plain bunk.  I’ve mentioned this kind of stupid advice from well-meaning friends before, and I’m going to take a page from Bob Newhart and tell y’all to just

Stop It!

Praying harder, sucking it up, putting on your big-girl panties, pushing through the pain, are really just ways of saying: 

“I’m uncomfortable with pain in general and your pain in particular.  So I’m going to spit out some clichés that I’ve heard other morons say and maybe you’ll be comforted and go away.”

In Ms. Runyan’s case, the pain got so bad, that she wisely went back to the psychiatrist, actually took the medication, and could now function more like herself.  Because guess what, strong, spiritual women (and men) have chemical or hormonal imbalances sometimes too. 

And there are medications for that.  And it's okay to take them.

Do I think that many doctors are happy to be pill pushers as opposed to healers?  Yes.

Do I think that all medications are therefore suspect?  Hell, no.

Do I think we should be our own patient advocates when it comes to our health.  Damn straight.

Now off to find some colloidal silver, pop a zinc lozenge, and maybe down another Nyquil.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

I’m pretty loud and proud about alternative medicine.  But I hope I never hate on anyone who takes meds for things.  And you should never feel ashamed for trying to do the right thing.  Be healthy my friends – in mind and body.

Depression Lies: I Am a Fraud

All my friends thought I was a very happy human being. Because that's how I acted- like a really happy human being. But all that pretending made me tired. If I acted the way I felt, then I doubt my friends would have really hung out with me. So the pretending wasn't all bad. The pretending made me less lonely. But in another way, it made me more lonely because I felt like a fraud. I've always felt like a fake human being.

~ Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Last Night I Sang to the Monster

May is National Mental Health Awareness Month.  Join me in blogging to erase the stigma of mental illness so our loved ones can seek the help they need.

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id you miss me?

Yeah, kinda obvious that I didn’t post yesterday.  I had every intention of doing so in the morning.  But as the day wore on, I just felt more tired, less focused, less confident, and more anxious. Most of all, I felt like a fraud.

Just another day in depression land.

“I am a Fraud”

Many people feel this way from time to time, especially creatives.  But people who suffer from depression (and creatives are more likely to suffer from depression) feel like this all the time.

It’s not always at the forefront of our minds, but it is there somewhere.  Lurking.  Waiting.  It can smell exhaustion and weakness like a shark smells blood.

Wait, do sharks actually smell?  Like, they have a nose that sniffs in water?  I never thought about that.  Oh, sorry, a little ADD moment there.  Where was I?  Oh yes…

Image credit: Lori Tennison

I am a fraud.  Sometimes this is very true, in the emotional sense.  I pretend to be happy-happy, joy-joy because that is what is expected.  And to a degree, that’s okay.  For the most part, I’m not an even keel, Eyeore type.  My depression is what’s known as cyclothymic, which is just as its name implies: cycles of mood.

It’s related to bi-polar disorder, but not as extreme.  And mine is a mild case.  And dear God, if mine’s mild, I truly ache for those who suffer from moderate to severe cases and those with bi-polar disorder.

Because let me tell you, even a mild case sucks.

Self-criticism is huge bogey for any creative.  But especially if you’re depressed.  Common phrases that play on repeat in our brains are:

“You’ll never be good enough.”

“If they only knew who you really are…”

“Who are you to think you can contribute anything worthwhile?”

“Why can’t you act nicer/happier/more outgoing?”

“If you weren’t so lazy, you would accomplish X, Y, Z.” 

We weren’t born with these phrases playing.  We heard them growing up and they’ve stayed with us, haunting us, crippling our abilities and our stripping us of joy. 

It becomes worse, the critical voice becoming louder, when we don’t sleep well, are dealing with a stressful situation, or have huge changes in our routine.  I was dealing with a stressful situation (or not dealing as the case may be) and so the feelings of inadequacy were heightened.  So the message I heard was

“What makes you think you’re qualified to write about this topic?  You haven’t suffered nearly as much as some have.  Why would anyone want to hear your story?”

And I’m sorry, but I just didn’t have the energy to withstand the negative onslaught of my lizard brain, so I walked away from the computer in shame and defeat.

But I also figured it would be better to do that, than to lie and pretend that everything was hunky-dory if it really wasn’t.

After all, that’s what this month is all about ~ destroying the stigma, and embracing who we are fully ~ depression and all.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

What do your inner voices say and how do you silence them?

I'm Too Tired to Go Out: The Care and Feeding of Depressed Friends

A kind gesture can reach a wound that only compassion can heal.

~ Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free

May is National Mental Health Awareness Month.  Join me in blogging to erase the stigma of mental illness so our loved ones can seek the help they need.

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isery loves company. Especially if that company also enjoys watching episodes of Psych.

A few weeks ago, I suggested to one of my local gal pals that we needed to institute a regular Girls Night In with Fake TV Boyfriends.  As we’re both WhoLock fans and Psych nerds, this turned out to be a brilliant plan.

Until the other night, when we realized that we really weren’t in our twenties anymore and apparently couldn’t handle two bottles of hard cider and talking until 3am.

But despite our cranked out sleepiness the next day, we discovered that we were better for having laughed, cried, and eaten comfort food together.

We took comfort in the fact that we were in this mental illness dance together.

The Care and Feeding of Depressed Friends

It’s tough to know what to do for your friends who are depressed.  Even though I suffer from it, I’m at a loss for words sometimes.

Image credit: Shiny Starr Light

So here’s my Top Ten list of how to care and feed your friends who are depressed.

1.       Find out what their Love Language is.

2.      Send them a card or write them a note.

3.      Give them a call.

4.      Listen.

5.      Make a care package for them.

6.      Go over for a visit.

7.      Take them shopping.  Not for clothes.

8.     Schedule a spa date for the two of you.

9.      Send them flowers.

10.  Bring/cook them dinner.

The key is to listen and engage with them.  Respect their level of energy.  If it’s really low, stay in and watch movies and order pizza.  If they’re having a good day, go get massages. Bottom line?  Let them know you care and that they’re loved and not alone.  

You don’t know whose life you may be saving with that unexpected phone call.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Show your friend support today!

Distractions and Depression

Sand was dribbling out of the bag of her attention, faster and faster.

~ Sarah Blake

May is National Mental Health Awareness Month.  Join me in blogging to erase the stigma of mental illness so our loved ones can seek the help they need.

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istraction is a large part of my depression.  I don’t enjoy my pain, so I find ways to forget it.

Some good ways.

Some bad ways.

Laughter is a good way.  But I’m not sure laughing like a hyena at Pinterest pins of crazy Tumblr posts is entirely healthy.

Then again, Pinterest is like crack, and crack is whack…so there you go.

Distractedly Creative…and Sad

I read somewhere that easily distracted people are more intelligent and creative.  Perhaps it is more realistic to say that creative and intelligent people are easily distracted.  Makes sense ~ there are always several story and post ideas zipping around in my head: bright and colourful as humming birds ~ and just as elusive.

A good friend describes his ADHD as his brain being cable TV with several channels playing at the same time.  He thinks he’s crazy. 

I know he’s brilliant.

Preparing to write this post, I clicked through Pinterest to find a good image, and came to an hour (or three) later.  And had three or six more ideas on where to take this.  Which, despite what you might think, is actually a gift.  Because those ideas got written down and might be used later.

Yet my energy is still low.  I still have a little spot of quicksand sadness that’s just sitting here in my chest, waiting to suck me down.

Less Distractions = More Sleep…and Vice Versa

Energy levels are a huge factor in my distraction equation.  The less energy I have, the more easily distracted I become.  And the less restful sleep I get, the less energy I have.

You would think that with my depression, sleep wouldn’t be an issue, but that is a myth. Yes, depression causes a drop in energy, which can cause us to sleep more.  But sometimes the depression walks hand in hand with anxiety and that keeps us awake.

One night, I had a waking dream that was so real and touched on a deep seated insecurity, that I cried so hard and so long that I gave myself a quadruple play: depression, dehydration, migraine, and lack of REM sleep.

The next day was so ugly, my friends, not even Tumblr’s antics could turn my sad into glad. (Although this one made me laugh so hard I snorted.)  Hey admit it, we've all felt that way once or twice.

Tonight, though, I’ll try to up my energy levels in a more constructive way.  I'll work in my garden, walk around the property, soak in a bubble bath, drink a cup of chamomile tea with lemon, read for an hour, and turn out the lights earlier.

Hopefully that will equal less distractions and higher energy levels tomorrow.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Are you more distracted when you’re depressed?  How do you deal with distractions?

Depression Is Not Spelled S-E-L-F-I-S-H: Compassionate Self-Care

Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries.

Without them, humanity cannot survive.

~ Dalai Lama XIV, The Art of Happiness

May is National Mental Health Awareness Month.  Join me in blogging to erase the stigma of mental illness so our loved ones can seek the help they need.

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his weekend mirrored my life: a little light, a little dark; a hill of joy, and a hole of sadness.The moments of light outnumbered the darkness.  But darkness weighs more. 

And when your Sunday ends with both your energy level and your mood on the craptastic end of things, Monday is a just a joy-filled experience.

Not.

The Necessity of Compassion

All I could feel as I sat at my desk this morning was loss, betrayal, anger, and helplessness.  It was compounded by the text I received from my therapist, who tried to be supportive, but ended up pushing my spiritual cliché b*itch button.  

I waited half a beat before texting him a snarly reply, and he agreed that his words weren't actually helpful. 

Two minutes later, I followed it with a “I’m-so-mind-f*cked-please-ignore-whatever-I-say” text.

To which he replied: 

“No worries – we understand and accept each other just as we are: fire and light; light and shadows.” 

Which immediately calmed me down.  The feelings didn’t go away, but the hold they had on me lessened.  I was not my feelings ~ they just were what they were, and soon, they would pass.

Pack Your Bags for a Guilt Trip!

Even still, I struggled with ideas for today’s post, beating myself up for not having something more encouraging to say.  Why couldn’t I just focus on the good feelings that

had made up the majority of the weekend?  I should be ra-ra-ing and being a beacon of light for mental health, blah, blah.

Well, yeah.  And guess what?  Part of shining a light on mental health is being truthful and transparent about my own struggles.  And having suffered with bouts of depression on and off for years, I know that self-care is a huge stumbling block for us.  Because many of us ~ probably even the majority of us ~ are care-givers in some capacity.  

The expectation that we need to be “on” twenty-four/seven is hammered into our psyches and woe betide anyone who is switches to the “off” position.  

If we feel exhausted in the middle of the day and lay down to take a nap,
we feel guilty.  

If we’re depressed or anxious and take a pill to cope, we feel guilty. 

If we make plans to meet friends, and then call off because socializing takes energy we don’t have, we feel guilty.

The sad thing?  Our loved ones ~ who should be supportive and accepting ~ usually help us pack for the guilt trip, berating and upbraiding us for our “failures” and our “weaknesses.” 

And because we are already depleted, our boundaries bombarded and our hearts bruised by mental illness, we listen to their lies and their barbed words and fall deeper into the rabbit hole of isolation and depression.

Planting Your Own Garden of Self-Care

But it’s okay to take a nap during the day.  Hey, the Europeans do it and no one calls them lazy!

It’s okay to take medication to help lift your spirits.  Not, I’m not a huge fan of Big Pharma, but I do believe there is a time and a place for certain medications.  And certain mental illness are chemical in nature, so meds are a necessity, not a superfluous luxury.

Image credit: Eleanor Brownn

It’s okay to back out of plans if you’re depressed.  I know this is not a popular sentiment, but the ones who usually get upset are friends and hostesses who don’t understand what it’s like to have such low amounts of energy that getting from the bed to the bathroom takes a Herculean effort.

And I am eminently qualified to make such a statement because I used to be the kind of hostess that would huff and puff if someone canceled on one of my big fancy dinners at the last minute. 

Now I’m all like ~ hey, no problem, more for me!  Just kidding, I’ll make a plate and bring it by if you like.

Learning As I Go

I don’t have all the answers, but that’s okay too.  I’m suffering and learning as I go.  What works for me, may not work for you.  But what is universal is that we need to give ourselves permission to relax.  

To sleep when we need to.  To eat healthy.  To have a bubble bath in the middle of the week.  To get a massage or a have a full spa day.

And to remember, we understand and accept each other here: light and fire and sun and shadow.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Why is that taking care of ourselves is seen as selfish?  How can we destroy this false belief?

The Ivory Tower has a Rock Bottom: When Depression Taught Me Humility

And this mess is so big

And so deep and so tall,

We cannot pick it up.

There is no way at all!

~ Dr. Seuss, The Cat in the Hat

May is National Mental Health Awareness Month.  Join me in blogging to erase the stigma of mental illness so our loved ones will seek the help they need.

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f you get up and go outside/go to the party/stop sleeping so much ~ you’ll perk right up!”

“You’re not praying/meditating/centering enough.  You would feel so much better if you were.”

“You wouldn’t be depressed/have schizophrenia/be bi-polar if you went to church regularly/volunteered/did something for someone else.”

Willfully Blind

Can you imagine going into a hospice and telling everyone in there that they’re just being lazy or selfish and that if they weren’t, their cancer would go away?

You would get disbelieving stares, some disgusted glares, and might even be thrown out on your rude and ignorant ass.

 

Image credit: DepressionIsReal.org

Yet people who suffer from mental illness are routinely bombarded with hurtful and rude statements like those I listed above.  As a Christian, the refrain of “God heals all your ills” is just one such thorn in my side.

Before I found my current kick acre therapist, I would hear these words, cringe, and add on another hour of prayer, and feel worse than before.  Or scrupulously re-examine my conscience and mentally beat myself up. 

After all, I must have done something very heinous indeed to feel so wretched and worthless.

Now that I’ve been in therapy for a while, I hear these phrases, roll my eyes, think to myself ~ what a dumb ass ~ and say,

“Oh yeah?  Did He heal your leg when you broke it last year or did you go to the ER and have a doctor set it?”

They mean well.  But they have no idea what it’s like to suffer from mental illness.  Best case? They awkwardly show support for someone in pain.  Worst case?  Their words cause more harm than good.

Woefully Ignorant

Someone with a family member with cancer once told me, “If you don’t know what to say, just hold their hand.  Or cook dinner for the family.  Best thing  ~ do, and not speak.”

The same could be said for mental illness. 

Today, we have knowledge at the touch of a finger.  Want to know the feeding and mating habits of the Mexican grey wolf?  Just “Google” it.

Want to know all the No. 1 hits of 1980?  Type it and hit “enter.”

Have a family member who’s been diagnosed as Bipolar II?  The DSM will give you pages of information, GoodReads will recommend books, and Google will give you pages of both information and support groups in your area.

There is no excuse for ignorance.

There may, however, be a reason for it.

The Ivory Tower has a Rock Bottom

I admit it.  For years I was a hard-ass, rigid, know-it-all.

People who hear me wax poetic about sustainability, organic farming, and the beauty of Alaska will say I still am, but I digress. . .

I had been blessed with the TRUTH and therefore I was obligated to:

speak it at all times;

hit people over the head with it;

feel sorry for those who didn't know it.

Pride was the blanket I wrapped my heart in.  If I knew it all, then pain couldn't touch me.  I wouldn't get hurt, and my heart couldn't break.  And I could be sure I was doing the right thing.

But despite my best efforts, one day, the unthinkable happened.  I fell from my ivory tower and hit rock bottom quicker than Monsanto pays off politicians.  Suddenly, everything I thought I knew was called into question.

But I’m grateful that it happened.

I’m grateful I got sucker punched by depression.

I’m grateful the lines got blurred.

I’m grateful for the humility it taught me.

Because my penthouse view had a foundation of elaborate defense mechanisms and emotional walls that I began building at the age of five.  And once all that rot was torn down, it was obvious how much pain I’d been ignoring all these years.

So now, when well-meaning friends blab clueless platitudes about psychology vs. spiritual healing that make me want to simultaneously gag and punch them in the nose, I take a deep breath and remember that no one had a perfect childhood.  And that underneath all of the well-meaning phrases is probably the saddest ignorance of all:

Denial of their own pain.

And I wouldn't be able to see that if I hadn't had my own blinders ripped off.

Say Something (and) I’m Giving Up on You

Short of getting knocked on your proverbial backside, the best advice I can give about supporting those who suffer from mental or emotional illness is the one my friend gave me years ago:  say nothing and just offer the comfort of your presence. 

Or do something for them as you would anyone who had a physical illness: bring them dinner.  Offer to clean their house.  Watch the kids for a night.  Most important?  Do all this without judgment and without comment.  I assure you, we already feel like the lowest of the low, thanks to our biggest critic: 

the one inside our head.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

What are some other ways to support someone with mental illness?  Share in the comments, Tweet them to me, or post on my Facebook wall!

Blogging for a Cause: I'm Coming Out!

Macbeth: “How does your patient, doctor?

Doctor: Not so sick, my lord, as she is troubled with thick-coming fancies that keep her from rest.

Macbeth: Cure her of that! Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with some sweet oblivious antidote cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff which weighs upon her heart.

Doctor: Therein the patient must minister to himself."

~ William Shakespeare, Macbeth

May is National Mental Health Awareness Month.  Join me in blogging to erase the stigma of mental illness so our loved ones can seek the help they need.

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should win an Oscar.

I’ve kept a deep, dark secret from my closest friends for years and no one has ever suspected.

Only two of them know the truth, and that’s because I chose to tell them.

But only one of those two understands and empathizes. Because he carries the same secret.

A secret that about 58 million Americans hide.

I’m Coming Out…of the Cave

I suffer from depression.

It is not clinical. 

It is not chemical.

It is not an Axis I disorder.

It is painful.

It negatively affects my relationships.

It negatively affects my physical health.

And until today, I was ashamed to talk about it.

I’m one of the luckier ones, I suppose.  My depression doesn’t keep me from working, although at times it makes it more difficult to be productive.

All those days I didn’t blog? Yeah.

My depression hasn’t led to any suicide attempts.  But I have thought about it.  And it has prompted me to wish I’d never been born.  Or that the doctors and nurses hadn’t been successful in bringing me back from the beyond in 2013.

All those times I didn't call you back?  Yeah.

It makes me avoid social events and friends because “no one wants a Sally Sad-Eyes around to bring the party down.”  This is especially true for those of us with a reputation as the "life of the party."

It stops me from getting out of bed some weekends because I'm too exhausted from all the mental and emotional gymnastics my mind and my heart pull non-stop.

And it stops me from reaching out to others who might also be carrying a similar burden. 

Until today.

Blogging for a Cause

Today, I want to end the stigma surrounding mental illness.

Today, I want to encourage you to seek therapy.

Today, I want to make mental health a priority.

Today, I want you to join me in embracing the darkness inside, and shining a light on it.

I hope you join me for the next twenty-two days (blogging five days a week).  I’m sure either you are suffering, or have a loved one who is suffering from some form of mental illness.  And that’s not something you should ignore or think will just go away.

It is nothing to be ashamed of.

Will you sit with me?  We can curl up in a corner and share our stories.  Or we can just sit in comfortable silence…together.

Because today…we stop suffering alone.  

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Disclaimer: I am not a doctor and I don’t have a degree is psychology.  Everything I post this month comes out of my own experience as someone who suffers.