Depression, suicide, and hallucinations…

“You’d have to dig pretty deep, kiddo, before you can find anything real. We live in a kingdom of bullshit. A kingdom you’ve lived in for far too long; so don’t tell me about not being real. I’m no less real than the fucking beef patty in your Big Mac. As far as you’re concerned, Elliot, I am very real.” – Mr. Robot
 
Brings to mind the axiom “If you build it, they will come”. A very poignant commentary on the life of a schizophrenic. If you believe, it’s as real as you assume it is. If you don’t believe it, it’s not real. Who’s reality is the correct one? Are some people more attune to certain “wave-lengths” as science suggests or “out of their head”?
 
Every experience is ‘real’, to a certain degree. Night Terrors and the awful experiences are real to our brains, bodies, and memory. Perception drives reality. To those that suffer, these trespasses upon our expected dream-drives are legitimate obstructions.
 
If an “average” person has a nightmare that they died, they wake up and are freaked out for a bit. If a sufferer of night terrors has the same dream, it’s likely going to be on more than one occasion and in plenty of horrific ways. We wake up and think, “Am I dead?” Pretty much every time.
 
I was recently asked why writers and poets have a perceived history of suicide. Here is my response:
think that a lot of writers have gone through experiences that were traumatic or difficult to live with. In my case, I have lived with night terrors my entire life and that is extremely depressing. Knowing that it will likely never just go away has caused me to question whether or not it’s a life I really want to live. Night terrors have only recently received attention and research. It could be very possible that a lot of writers experienced them or similar symptoms that drove their writing and their eventual suicide.
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Studies Link Social Anxiety To Empathetic Ability, High IQs, & Sentinel Intelligence

By Steven Bancarz| A few years ago, a series of studies came out in an attempt to sort of ‘debunk’ people who practice spirituality.  The study found that people who have a spiritual understanding of life tend to be more susceptible to mental health problems, addictions, and anxiety d

Source: Studies Link Social Anxiety To Empathetic Ability, High IQs, & Sentinel Intelligence

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A wonderful little note about writing

A fellow writer posted this on her facebook page and it really spoke to me.  I wanted to share it with everyone as I know other writers feel the same way.

By Ali B. Thomson

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Break time is over

quill-penSo, I’ve taken a long hiatus from writing and working on my books.  I’ve decided that break time is over and I’m ready to get back to work…  Starting with doing some edits on the first chapters of book three because, well, it was just bad.

In addition to getting back to work, I’m going to be offering book one, Discernment, for free over the Christmas holiday.  If you haven’t read it or know someone that is interested but they haven’t picked up a copy yet, it will be free on Amazon from December 23rd to the 27th.  If you don’t have a Kindle, you can still download it using Amazon’s cloud reader for free.

I hope everyone enjoys their Christmas holiday and I look forward to hearing your feedback on the books.

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Discernment 3 – Chapter One

balloons1

Twenty-six years ago…

Lying in my bed and unable to sleep, I try to imagine what roller skating would be like.  My friend, Autumn, is having a birthday party at the roller rink, tomorrow, and it will be the first time I’ve ever been able to skate.  My brother said that it was hard and that I won’t be able to do it because I’m clumsy but I don’t believe him.  My mother had told Autumn’s mother that I wouldn’t be able to go unless my brother could come, too.  At first, I was upset because I didn’t want him to be there but, now, I’m glad he’ll be there because I can show him that I’m not too clumsy and that I can skate.

In fact, I think to myself, I won’t fall down but he’ll fall down and then me and my friends will laugh at him. That’ll show him that I’m not so little.  With this thought, I happily settle down further into my blankets and imagine the party.  There will be balloons, a giant cake with lots of candles, a pile of presents, and the invitation said that there would even be pizza and soda.  The thought of varieties of soda makes my mouth water and I want to convince myself to pick whatever kind I want, even though my mother said we could only have 7Up.  With a sigh, I realize that I won’t venture to try any of the other kinds of soda because I know that my mother will find out, somehow, and I really don’t want to get in trouble again.

Opening my eyes, I stare at the ceiling and wish that I could just go to sleep like my brother can.  I also wish that I hadn’t broken my clock so that I’d know what time it is.  It seems like I’ve been lying here all night and I’m pretty sure the sun has to come up soon.  Squeezing my eyes shut, as tight as I can, I tell myself, “Go to sleep!  Go to sleep!  Go to sleep!”  In response to my voice, a scratching sound comes from the bottom of the wall, where the corner at the end of the bed, meets it.  I open my eyes wide, as a shiver runs through my body, and I listen.

I sit up straight and peer into the half-lit darkness of my room.  Someone has turned off the bathroom light that is supposed to stay on and the only light I have is coming from my little 1’x2’ window behind me.  Tingling butterflies of panic begin to unfold and flutter in my abdomen as the sound comes again.  I feel the bed vibrate slightly with each noise, –Skerch, skerch, skerch-.  I suck in air, in one big gulp, and prepare my lungs to scream for help but a vision of my mother’s face, in my mind, stops me.  She doesn’t want to be woken up. She’s tired. Don’t be afraid anymore, toughen up, stop being a baby, there’s nothing there, stop waking her up, it’s all in your head, change the channel, think of something else, your monsters aren’t REAL! Continue reading

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Am I haunted? Or just going Crazy?

Here’s my guest post (that was actually posted yesterday) on another writer’s blog.  I hope you enjoy and would love to read your comments!

Something woke me up, last night.  Not the usual creepiness that comes at night.  Not my kids.  I don’t really know what it was; it was like a night terror experience but it wasn’t terrifying — almost calming.  This was a whole new way to wake up for me.  But, being who I am, I laid there and tried to go back to sleep until my brain made it clear that it wouldn’t let me.  My brain likes to think about food pretty much all the time.  So, not being able to vanquish the visions of a late-night snack, I got up.

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Comma.. That’s right, I said it

Borrowed from CargoCollective

Borrowed from CargoCollective

This has absolutely nothing to do with my books but I’m going to write it anyway because, after all, this is a blog.  There’s a fair amount of people that don’t like commas, a very sad amount of people that never use them, and even some people arguing heatedly over whether or not we even need them (don’t know about the Oxford comma debate? I’m sure Google does).  I use commas a lot.  Probably more than most people I know and I use them in my writing.  The point of a comma (as I was taught, a long time ago) is to show the reader where to pause.  Sentences and writings are all intended to convey the voice of the writer (except in textbooks) because you can’t just sit around and listen to people talk all day.

When I write, people know exactly where I would pause if I were speaking.  When I read stuff by other people, with no commas, I actually try to force myself to not pause automatically.  Take this sentence, for instance: “The following day Jo hiked up a very large hill with her cat boyfriend and picnic basket.”

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