Below is Ethar’s poem “Almost”, and her artwork of what helps her make it through the day.
“I will go down to the lake
And dip my toes in the blue-green water,
Tadpoles tickling my feet.
It would be a cliché scene
If it weren’t for my bottle of morning Prozac
Sitting beside me,
On the grass.
Growing up I was taught at a very young age the only way to become successful was to earn a 4.0 GPA. A high GPA meant acceptance into the best universities across the country. So I pushed myself to earn nothing but the best grades so I wouldn’t disappoint my parents. Year after year I continued to beat myself up if I received anything less than an A. But then something happened that would change my life forever.
My mom had a psychotic break.
Jacquelyn (Pictured far left), her siblings, and mother (Far right).
She was diagnosed with severe depression and bipolar disorder. Witnessing the acts of mania my mom exhibited scared me – she did things that I thought only a “crazy” person would do. My mom was hospitalized in a psychiatric ward for months on and off for a whole year. I was 13 at the time and remembered absolutely dreading going to visit her. Everything was locked and I thought that the patients were treated like prisoners. My mom’s doctors even made me sit in a conference with my mom and her psychiatrist asking if I wanted my mom to get better. That to me was scarring – of course I wanted her to get better but not in a place like a psychiatric ward.
It was all too much for me to handle.
This post is a little late, but HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!
My personal life has become hectic once again, and found myself beginning to neglect the website through the holiday season. But I wanted to take a look back and reflect before going forward into 2016.
In February of 2015 Dear Hope started out as a personal blog for a class I was enrolled in for college credit. By May, I had remodeled that blog into this website; one that I hoped would turn into a community of people sharing experiences about their relationships, struggles, and triumphs with mental illness and mental health.
That’s what I did.
But what did we do?
We started off the first year with over 31,000 hits on the website. We brought together people struggling as teenagers, to college students with eating disorders, to fathers finding new purpose after a suicide attempt, to mothers in their sixties with a bipolar diagnosis. We spanned the globe, connecting over 99 countries and 1,035 dedicated followers together through heart, honesty, and passion.
We gave hope.
We gave hope to so many people that we may never know. And for anyone who helped contribute to that, I am eternally grateful, and so are so many others.
But what’s next?
2016 will continue to expand in every way possible for Dear Hope. I currently have multiple submissions sitting in our inbox from new places around the world. The Consumed: Mental Illness Through Photography project will continue to be shot and is expected to be completed in April.
I plan on revamping the website again by summer, and have some new series I wish to start. The one in the forefront is Music Mondays where people discuss a song, album, or artist that has helped them through a tough time and why. (If this sounds interesting to you, shoot us an email!)
There’s also some more things I’m working on, and can’t wait to share them with you all.
I look forward to this journey together with all of you.
Always remember,
You are not alone.
PF
As many of you know, and experience regularly, the downsides of mental illness can be exhausting and extremely detrimental to well-being. Many of you have regularly experienced the impossible tasks of arising from bed on a dreary morning, having no escape from an overwhelmingly anxious situation, or containing a dangerous manic state. Obviously, these are not easy occurrences to handle or control. Obviously, mental health issues have plagued enough people where they are worthy of careful observation.
To gain more knowledge of mental health and its discrepancies, we must ask two questions- “How?” and “Why?”. When we look into modern psychological pathology, the former question seems to dominate the latter. Chemicals, and a lack thereof, have been most abundantly accepted as the main reason why mental health issues physically exist. When we have an abundance or scarcity of certain chemicals in our system, we experience maladaptive mental symptoms. However, when we ignore the “Why?”, we avoid some of the most important information behind mental health.
The Deadly Promise
The real me is disguised
by this massive unwanted weight.
Staring blankly into the glass,
praying to be given the most
valuable quality, that of perfection.
I don’t need anyone.
All I need is you.
My happy little addiction,
sweeping me away into your
false, troubled world.
The more withered I get,
the stronger you and I become.
Together we are reckless,
doing anything it takes
to be empty and accepted.
I can never be too critical
you always leave room for my improvement.
You promise me joy.
So I follow you willingly
into the depths of disappointment.
It’s never enough for you.
Therefore it’s never enough for me.
I signed your contract,
because I worship your
ability to beautify others.
Make me like them, my friend.
Transform me into something magnificent.
This poem was submitted by Kelsey-Brooke Scheumann.
Remember you are not alone.
You are loved.
Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health or mental illness? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com
Let me set the scene: approximately one in the morning, awake typing at the computer, eyes sliding shut, surrounded by anime posters and photos of my friends taped to the wall, trapped in forums and social media sites. At fifteen, I was your average blunt-bangs-wearing, journal-writing, hanging-out-in-a-graveyard teenage queer girl stereotype.
I wasn’t aware of it at the time, but I romanticized mental illness and mental health issues. I longed for an emotionally tortured soul who might be able to accompany me into the late hours of the night, kept awake by insomnia, angry at the world for its discrimination. I ached for someone who I could save – or the other way around – from the trials and traumas that life hands us. With low self-esteem and a deep sense of loss after my mother’s death, I was a mess of Post-Traumatic Martyr Syndrome (that’s not real – it’s my name for how survivors of loss feel the constant need to sacrifice themselves for ‘the greater good’ because they lived and the other person did not) and striped arm warmers courtesy of the mid-2000s.
Anyone can be lonely.
Even those with all the friends in the world can still feel like they are all alone amongst the sea of friends in a group. A lot of the time, that’s just how I feel – kinda like the smallest fish in a school of fish – there, but not really noticed. Hell, I came into this world with a built in best friend who looks like me, and I still feel alone more often than not.
It’s been like this since around the time I started middle school. It’s gotten much better over the years, but I feel like I have not been able to shake this feeling. Looking back now, I can see just how stupid I was for letting little things that didn’t matter affect me as much as they did. But back then they were anything but little things.
When I talk about my personal journey with mental health, music is something that is seldom left out. Music was one of the first ways I personified and expressed what I was feeling. It was a way to cope with my depression and anxieties, and a great way to feel like I belonged. It gave me my own microcosm of a community. One that I felt a part of.
But the scene isn’t always a welcoming place (especially depending on the genre), and different labels and artists can often come under fire for the ways bands and artists portray themselves and what they preach.
Sounds and Tones Records is not one of those labels we have to worry about.
My passion grew
unknowingly
with thorns
outside eyes view.
Shadows,
with no known source of light
left more questions
than admittable answers.
Watching microwave numbers
countdown to zero,
acknowledging time passes
is a privilege in concept.
Teased with control,
long abandoned
when the hands unfroze.
So on a rainy day this past summer, I woke up with depression at its finest, where it was one of those days where I felt so drained of energy that I definitely was not going to be able to go to work. I called out, slept for most of the day, and managed to write this. I hope it can be relatable to those of you having a bad day, or those of you who may have felt similarly. Here’s “Monday”-
I’m not taken aback by the beauty of the sun or moon.
But that’s okay, at least I’ve learned in time that there are very little differences between objects labeled mine and days considered wasted time. Entitlement is a false concept paralleling a religious purgatory.
Dear Hope 