Social Anxiety Versus Mom Duties

It has occurred to me on more than one occasion lately that my two year old son, J, needs some time around other kids his age.  Seeing as how I am almost completely homebound due to anxiety, and that same anxiety prevents me from arranging playdates here, I know his social skills are lacking.  He needs someone to converse with besides his parents and his much older sisters.  So, his dad and I decided to try out Kidzersize at the local library today.  

That decision was made two days ago and I tried to not think about it until today; otherwise, I would have talked myself out of going.  Even so, the realization that I would be in a room with strangers didn't exactly make me jump for joy.  I was fairly cranky as I got ready this morning. Trying to pick out something acceptable to wear from my limited wardrobe only reminded me how much weight I have gained.  Brushing my hair highlighted the fact that I have over two inches of dead ends because I have been too nervous to make a hair appointment to get it trimmed (and I know better than to try cutting it myself). I got J dressed extra early and then tried not to annoy my fiance to death as I waited for him to mosey out the door.  After all, I knew if I got there late there would be no way I could walk into a full room. It's better to get there early and let the room slowly fill up after me, kind of like putting a frog in lukewarm water and gradually boiling it to death. 

We managed to get there on time.  First ones there, in fact.  J was already excited because he loves the library (we go to get books fairly often), but he was practically delirious when he got to walk into the large room that the Kidzercise program would take place in.  He began running in circles and giggling, and the librarian thought he was absolutely adorable. His dad left to peruse the book aisles, and I tried to feel as comfortable in my skin as a person with social anxiety possibly can. Then a few kids came in.  J was so happy to see little people his age!  He went to hug a little girl, but his version of hugging turned into a hold-her-by-the-shoulders-like-a-sea-crab-and-never-let-go, so I had to break that up.  I told him to be gentle with others, and he bounced off to do some more pre-Kidzercising. He wasn't doing anything bad.  I thought the whole idea of the program was for the kids to exercise and socialize, so what's the harm of him running around a little?  Other than the death-clamp he had previously had on the girl, he hadn't bothered anyone.  But then it began.  The whispering.  One old grandma told her grandson "You better not run around like that!"  When J went over to investigate another little girl (no hugging, just looking) her mom said "Let's go over there where those nice behaving little girls are."  I felt the heat in my face and immediately felt like scooping J up and darting for the door.  But he was having such a good time, so I stuck like a statue to my chair and wrung my hands in misery.  

When the actual program began, J loved the music.  He did his own little thing, but he did imitate a few of the moves that everyone else was doing.  I still felt like all eyes were on me and my son, though, and I was so glad I had taken a Klonopin before leaving; else I would have succumbed to a full blown panic attack by then.  I tried to do the movements that all the other parents and children were doing, even the part where we all had to crawl on the floor.  I was feeling so self-conscious, but I was trying so hard to be a good parent. I want my kids to have as normal of a childhood as possible, so stuff like Kidzercise just comes with the territory.  I was unbelievably happy to see my fiance walk inside though, and I immediately asked him to take over while I went out into the library to look for some books.  I went out to the book aisles with my list but I couldn't even read it, I was so nervous.  So I just pretended to be looking for books.  Because, you know, all eyes are on me.  That is my version of reality.  A few short minutes later, here came J and his dad; apparently he didn't like Mommy leaving the room.  I got my fiance to help me look for the rest of the books, and I took J to play with some puzzles.  He happily put together a picture of farm animals while I tried to slow my breathing.  A van full of people from the halfway house that is run by the mental health clinic I go to had come in and most of them were using computers nearby.  I couldn't help think maybe that's where I belonged.  What set me apart from them?  The fact that I am living on the outside, but unable to work due to my illness, and reliant so much on the man who for some unearthly reason loves me?  They looked so happy, much like J had looked when running around in the Kidzercise room.  And there I was, uncomfortable, trying not to run out the door into oncoming traffic.  As if on cue, I heard a siren down the road.  As it got closer, I felt my courage melting away.  I wanted to run, to cry.  I wanted to be stronger than this.  I wanted this to be a good experience for my son.  Now look what I had done.

J fell out of his chair and let out a cry.  The whole room -the people, the books, the walls - all turned to look at us.  I picked him up and walked toward the door.  On the way, I whispered to my fiance that I was taking J to the car.  He knows what that means all too well, so he went to check out the books he had already gathered.  

As I half-walked, half-ran to the car, the others from Kidzercise were leaving the building as well.  I tried not to look at them in hopes that would somehow make me invisible.  I strapped a still content J into his car seat and made my way to the passenger seat.  A man was sitting in the driver's seat of the van beside us, and I felt like he was staring at me.  I began to worry he was waiting for us to move our car because we were parked slightly crooked.  Maybe he was angry at me.  I refused to look in his direction, busied myself "looking" for something in my bag.  Finally he cranked his van and left.  My fiance came to the car shortly after, handing me the books.  I held my breath as we made it out of the parking lot.  He said the librarian had told him to bring J back next week. 

We'll see.  We'll see.  

The Appeal of Self-Harm

It's been a rough day, so I may blog about it in a little while.  That usually helps me more than anything, especially since I haven't been to the therapist in a while.  Everyone needs an outlet, a way to release the tension that is self-expressive without being harmful.  I honestly think writing is what has kept me from engaging in more self-harm.  It's a figurative slicing of the veins, as opposed to the more dangerous, literal form.  I recall a brief time years ago when I did engage in self-harm, mainly cutting, and it was because I was such a wreck I couldn't even get words out on paper (or on the computer screen).  I was stuffed to the brim with emotion and terror, and there seemed no way to get it out.  So I cut.  And it helped somehow.  Obviously, it was not a good solution, and it's not something I would recommend to anyone.  When I didn't cut I drank.  And sometimes I did both. Later, I found other ways to help release the pain when I am unable to focus enough for writing. Like painting (which I am horrendous at, but it's relaxing).  I still occasional have an urge to hurt myself when I am extremely upset about something, but I think it's been about three years since I actually did it.  I am very proud of that.  I am also very aware that those three years could go down the drain in a matter of seconds if my need for relief becomes too strong.  As much as I normally hate pain, it has such an appeal when my emotional turmoil is so high. It's the ultimate distraction from what is going on inside my head, and add in the release of endorphins: voila! A messy bliss, though for me it was always accompanied by a horrible shame for what I had done, and then disgust (I have an aversion to the sight of blood). For anyone who has never had the urge to self-harm it may sound like the weirdest thing ever, but for those who do struggle with it, it feels like the only way to get that monster out. 

America's Issue with Mental Health & How We Can Fix It

In America, mental health issues often carry a negative stigma that can interfere with a person’s ability to seek out and receive the appropriate treatment. Although many people view mental health issues as an individual problem, the unfortunate truth is that mental health conditions impact all of society. From the workplace to social relationships, the consequences can be dire when a person is unable to treat their mental health condition. While there is no easy answer, there are several things that can be done to fix mental health issues in America through a combination of understanding, education and financial support that will ensure everyone has access to mental health services.

Mental Health Issues in the Headlines

Recent headlines have demonstrated the serious consequences that can occur when individuals are left to cope alone with untreated mental illness. As more information comes available regarding the recent tragedy of the Washington Navy Yard shooting, it has been discovered that the shooter, Aaron Alexis, had a long history of untreated mental illness. This included serious symptoms such as paranoia, insomnia and hearing voices. Tragically, his mental health condition led to him taking the lives of many other people who had no idea of the hostility that was brewing. While there is no excuse for his actions, knowing that Alexis struggled with violent thoughts and hallucinations can explain his lack of self-control.

Reasons Why People Forgo Treatment

Sadly, many people decide to forgo treatment even when they suspect they have a mental health disorder. This can be due to one or a combination of reasons. In addition to concern regarding the negative view of society that pervades discussions of mental illness, many people who struggle to cope with a mental health condition cannot afford to seek treatment or follow up on filling their medicine prescriptions. According to a study conducted in 2011 by the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, being unable to afford the cost of treatment was the primary reason why people left their mental health condition unchecked.

Being financially unable to seek treatment may seem as though it is a problem only associated with the very poor; however, the issue of affordability goes much deeper than one’s bank account. The study also showed that those who did have insurance still could not always afford their treatment, and some people also struggled with finding a provider within their network. To compound the issue, many people with mental health issues on their medical record have found it virtually impossible to be accepted for a health insurance plan.

How the Affordable Care Act Plays a Role

After decades of negativity surrounding mental health treatment, it is finally becoming a recognized public health issue that is being addressed by federal, state and local levels of government and community involvement. One of the main ways that access to mental health services is being addressed is through the Affordable Care Act. Currently, health insurance companies are no longer allowed to deny a person a policy based upon pre-existing conditions. Additionally, 2014 heralds the beginning of an era when health insurance companies must also pay for mental health services.

As the nation moves forward toward a new beginning where health care coverage will be more accessible to everyone, it is important to stop the debate regarding the negative connotations of the plan. Instead, it is important to recognize the benefits that come with treating some of the most vulnerable members of the population who may be struggling with a mental health condition that with treatment, can be overcome so they can be a positive contributor to society as well as their families.

Derek is currently blogging for Aligned Signs, a site that helps connect like minded people by using astrology, psychology, and personality tests. When he is not blogging, he enjoys relaxing with his girlfriend and catching up on their favorite movies.

Say It Forward 2013

The International Bipolar Foundation and the Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance have dedicated the month of October to the Say It Forward Campaign. It is an attempt to reduce stigma by educating through means of social media about mental illness.  Be sure to check out the site for ways you can join in the campaign.  

Being open and honest about having a mental illness is one of the hardest things I have ever done.  The only thing harder was keeping silent.  It ate me up inside for many years.  Even after I sought treatment, I still tried to remain very hush-hush about what was going on inside my head.  Unfortunately, many of the symptoms of my illness made complete secrecy impossible.  Still, I didn't want everyone to know my business!  It caused a lot of anxiety for me, and that anxiety doubled as rumors about me began spreading throughout our small community.  I felt like the spotlight was on me, and all I wanted to do was hide.  I didn't want the people who had always known and loved "Normal Amy" to know I had mental issues.  I didn't want them to know about my suicide attempt, the downfall of my marriage, my inability to take care of my children at the time.  It just didn't seem fair that I had to deal with having a mental illness and on top of it deal with people's nosiness and ignorance. It just wasn't fair!

Roughly two years ago, I made the big decision to attach my real name to the blog I had been keeping throughout my diagnosis and treatment of mental illness.  I deleted most of the old posts and began anew, vowing to do my part to reduce stigma by opening up the darkest part of my history.  I didn't know what to expect.  Would everyone shun me?  Well, some people had already, so I was used to that, right?  Would it make me look stupid to talk about this stuff?  Would they think I just wanted attention?  Would they even believe me?  

Through this blog and my Facebook page I have shared a lot of details about what I have went through.  There are some things that I don't get specific about because I want to protect my children and other people involved, but for the most part I put it all out there, and every time I click "Post" I get a little queasy.  I think this is it, this is the time I have went too far and told too much. But then I get a kind comment, or a heartfelt email saying "thank you for what you are doing.  You have made me feel less alone"  and I know what I am doing is worth it.  I am just a small person in this vast world, and it's hard to feel like I could possibly make any size of impact on something as hefty as stigma.  But all of our small parts add up to a large part of what brings communities together in the fight against mental health ignorance.  And the reduction of stigma leads to more people seeking help, less people feeling ashamed for an illness they didn't ask for, and more understanding from those who know us.  Some minds will never be changed.  I call those the closed ones!  But our efforts will change something, and we all deserve that nudge in the right direction.  

How To Make Children Feel More Confident

It is really important that a child develops a sense of self-confidence from early on to guarantee the best possible chances of success later in life. It can be very helpful to learn to trust in yourself and your own abilities early so that you are able to take life’s challenges head on.

But sometimes children might seem unable to break out of their shell and not feel very confident in strange situations. Therefore it is crucial that you learn to encourage your child to be more confident.

Build Positive Self-Image

Much of the confidence is based on the perception that children may have of themselves and thus it is really important you ensure their self image is as positive as possible. There are many different ways you can guarantee that their self-image is as positive as possible and it is a good idea to try and employ some of these tips.

First, Ask Dr. Sears website reminds parents that they need to make sure their own self-image is positive because children take so much influence from their parents. So if you are constantly putting yourself down the child will learn negative behaviour and will lose confidence in himself. So try to learn to love yourself so that you can teach your child to do the same.

Of course it doesn’t mean that you need to be unrealistic about it. It is also important for the child to learn to view herself in a realistic way and learn that people are different. It is okay to tell them that some people are better at some things, just as long as they understand it doesn’t make them any worse as a person.

Practice Real Life Situations

Often for a child a lot of different situations can feel very foreign and thus be very scary. For instance, going to the doctor might make them feel a bit scared because they aren’t used to the situation. Therefore a good way to provide children with more confidence is to practice these sorts of situations beforehand.

You could, for example, get a few dolls and gather them around and go through what happens during a doctor’s visit. When your child can be the doctor and the dolls act as the patients then the child will be able to control the situation and learn that there is nothing to worry about.

Dolls are really good for building up confidence in children because they can play the part of the child and the child can take care of them and express their feelings through the dolls. A Girl For All Time collectable dolls, for instance, is a really good way to build up your child’s confidence in a fun and controlled way.

Building up confidence through play is a really useful and simple way to encourage your child to stay confident and will also make them less anxious when they are faced with different situations in life. Learning about different behaviours this way will also allow them to ask questions and thus they won’t have to wonder why adults act the way they do in real life.

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•  License: Creative Commons image source 

Hannah likes to help parents handle their children better and wants to guarantee children have the best possible start in life. She loves to spend time with youngsters and volunteers at her local youth club whenever she can.

Quote of the Day

"Progress always involves risk; you can't steal second base and keep your foot on first." -Frederick Wilcox

"Did You Forget to Take Your Meds?"

*Please note that any side effects from the specific drugs mentioned in this piece are from my own personal experience.  It in no way indicates what you could expect from the same prescription. Drugs affect people in different ways.  Also, make sure to discuss with your doctor any changes in your own medication.

One of the most confusing aspects of mental illness is treatment, and whether medication should be part of that treatment.  While I can't answer that for you, I can tell you about my own journey through the medicating process.

My first psychiatric drug was an antidepressant prescribed by my gynecologist after the birth of my first daughter. He prescribed Zoloft, primarily for prevention of the daily migraines I had begun having, but also for the severe postpartum depression that, though I did not say much to him about, he must have sensed from my demeanor.  The "happy pills" worked their magic; my migraines decreased in frequency, and my depression lifted significantly. I do remember an embarrassing moment after taking the first pill.  I was walking through Walmart a few hours later when suddenly I had a dire urge to go to the bathroom.  Like, in a really bad way.  I nearly didn't make it to the toilet (I may have knocked a few people down as I ran through the aisles), and it was ghastly once I sat down! Loud and ghastly! I don't think there was a soul left in that public restroom once I got through. Fortunately, this smelly little side effect only lasted a few days. I stayed on Zoloft for about three years, content with the results.  I did notice that it lowered my libido a bit and heightened my irritability, but my husband was understanding (or scared of me) so it didn't concern me too much.  

Since Zoloft is considered safe during pregnancy, I remained on it while pregnant with my second daughter and also while I breastfed her for a year. I had never been happier, and I had a lot of energy.  Nothing out of the ordinary until...

Things started to change.  There was a definite shift, but I couldn't pinpoint it then, and I certainly can't now.  I just knew I wasn't "okay" anymore.  The depression was back, yes, but sometimes I was really happy too.  I was too happy, and the irritability was at an extreme. I was irritated that I was happy, and irritated at anyone and anything around me.  I made an appointment with my primary doctor and told him I didn't think my antidepressant was working anymore.  I admitted to feeling depressed and irritable, but I didn't mention the "too happy" feeling. I didn't think it was relevant.  He prescribed a different antidepressant, Lexapro.  I don't remember if a wean-off from the Zoloft was necessary; I just remember the Lexapro was the ultimate Turn Me Into a Royal Bitch drug for me.  I didn't even make it a week before my husband and I both decided that it was a mistake.  If I had taken it longer, possibly the bitchiness would have subsided, but it was not a gamble we were willing to take.  

My doctor tried me on a couple of other antidepressants, but they all produced the same effect.  Finally, I told him about the other symptoms I was experiencing, and he referred me to a mental health clinic.  At that point I just wanted relief, so I made an appointment to see an intake therapist at the clinic.  After speaking with her (this time I was honest and didn't leave out any symptoms), she gave me a preliminary diagnosis of bipolar disorder.  I had read very little about the illness prior to this, but I had had my suspicions; still, it was a shock to be right.  I was scheduled to meet with the psychiatrist, and she confirmed a diagnosis of bipolar disorder (it was later down the road when I was additionally diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder, social anxiety, and panic attacks). And of course, her first course of action was to get out her prescription pad and start scribbling out drugs I had never even heard of before. 

The first combo was Depakote and Effexor.  I immediately hated the Depakote, as it made me gain 5 pounds a week and caused a lot of scary hallucinations.  As far as I could tell, it did nothing to stabilize mood, so she switched my meds. And switched them again.  And again. Along with each drug came new side effects; some annoying and some downright unbearable. Many made my symptoms worse rather than providing any form of relief. Finally I got fed up and *like an idiot* I just stopped taking any of it.  Okay, maybe "idiot" is harsh, but I was definitely an uninformed individual about the potential dangers of abruptly stopping psychiatric medication.  Besides making me dizzy and sick, it was most likely the main trigger of the biggest psychotic break I have thus experienced.  Very bad things happened after that, and I will spare you the details since I have written about most of it before, but suffice it to say I went off the deep end and lost my family in the process.  I'm not going to sit here and blame medication (or the lack of) for the things I did during that time period, but I do feel like the constant switches between medications (often with no reprieve in between) and then the complete absence of medication so abruptly did nothing to help my mental status.  I made some very irrational decisions that seemed perfectly rational (to me, and only me) at the time. I was a mess, and it didn't seem like I would ever get better.  I was committed to a mental hospital on two separate occasions, and there were so many med changes I can't even remember them all. The second hospital wanted to change my diagnosis to schizophrenia and so anti-psychotic medication got added to the pile.  Those made me so groggy and zombie-like, I didn't even feel alive.  It led me to wonder, countless times, which is worse: the symptoms of my illness or the side effects of these drugs?  I would get fed up with meds and go without them for a while.  Then I would end up in such a mess that I would succumb to trying them again.  This cycle repeated oh so many times.  I really didn't think there would ever be a "perfect cocktail" for me.  I didn't even want to try anymore.  In the midst of this I had started drinking (something I had never done before), and my hair had started falling out.  My marriage had fallen apart in the beginning of all of this, and my subsequent relationships fell apart as well. I still had joint custody of my daughters, but I wasn't allowed to be with them without the supervision of another person.  I had hit rock bottom, and even that bottom seemed to be crumbling underneath me.  

Then, a breakthrough!  Cymbalta and Lamictal did the trick for me, along with regular therapy.  My moods stabilized, the more psychotic symptoms went away, and I was eventually able to hold a full time job.  I found an apartment and was able to get my kids every other weekend like a "normal" parent.  At some point I decided I was all better - cured!  never had bipolar to start with! - and I weaned myself off the medication that had supposedly helped me so much.  And, surprisingly, I actually did quite well without them.  For about two years, in fact.  I did have a suicide attempt at one point during that drug-free era, and now that I look back there were instances that hint at the fact that perhaps I wasn't doing so great after all, at least not all of those two years.  But I was able to keep my full time job - I even advanced to a management position - and I kept my inner demons at bay as much as I could while I was at work or any other public place.  I was also trying desperately to keep it together at home, but my new marriage was not a happy one, and it added a lot of stress to me.  I recognized that I needed more than just therapy to keep me afloat and I resumed the Cymbalta and Lamictal.  Klonopin was eventually added to help with my anxiety. It became a regular occurrence for my husband to flip out on me and say "did you forget your meds today?"  This wouldn't just happen when I actually had an obvious bipolar symptom rear its ugly head.  It was whenever I showed the least bit of emotion about anything. I really detested hearing that said to me, especially when I knew it was unwarranted. But sometimes (increasingly more often) I wondered if he was right.  Sometimes I would double, even triple how many times I took my medication in a single day, in hopes that it would make me act "right" for him.  But it didn't fix my marriage, and it didn't fix me.  I started drinking again, and even more so after my dad passed away.  

Thankfully, I had a good therapist at the time, and she helped get me through the death of my dad and another failed marriage, and I stopped relying on overdoses and drinking to get me through my life.  I abruptly walked out of my job one morning, but I think I just needed a clean break from everything that had been weighing me down.  It wasn't a mature, or even sane, thing to do, but I was one step away from the breaking point at that time, smothered in stress and discontent, and I saw a window to fly out of. I moved out of my apartment and tried to move on with what little self-worth I had left. Things got better, and I began to unbury myself from the wreckage.  I found another job and began a healthy relationship. I didn't feel like I was breaking anymore.

I have went through med changes since then, and I have stopped/started many times too.  It seems to be one of those lessons I never learn, though I am trying! Right now, my current medication is not doing so great for me and I am going to make an appointment to discuss what my next options are.  It's an overplayed scene, but I'm used to it.  My bipolar is of the rapid-cycling variety, and it's harder to treat. I accept this.  Do I like it?  Of course not!  But I do what I have to in order to be the best I can be.  Sometimes I actually do better without any meds at all, but sometimes they are a necessary part of my treatment.  I'm never going to wake up and be cured from mental illness.  I doubt I'll ever be able to go drug-free for any lengthy amount of time, let alone forever, but who knows.  It could happen.  Some people do great without medication.  Some don't.  Me?  I don't know if I'll ever feel completely "fixed" either way.  

The Relationship Between Occupational Injury and Depression

Depression is more than just feeling sorry for yourself for a couple of days. It usually lasts for weeks or even months at a time, and left untreated can develop into a severe illness. It can prevent you from enjoying life and cause distress to those around you.

There are many triggers for depression. These include stress, lack of sleep, certain medications, alcohol or drug abuse, trauma and so on. Some people seem more susceptible to stress than others and research has found that one group apparently has an elevated risk – those who are injured at work.

Although empirical evidence is still limited, it appears that occupational injury leads to an increased likelihood of depression. According to a study published recently in the online medical journal BMC Public Health, 5.5% of workers injured on the job later suffered depression, against 4.7% of workers injured away from work and 3.1% with no injuries. The study also found that, the heightened risk of depression aside, the likelihood of the onset of depression increased as the length of time since the injury increased.

Studies have attributed two possible explanations for the increased likelihood of those suffering depression after a workplace injury than after a non-workplace injury:

1. An injury at work might result in reduced quality of life and lower socioeconomic status. Occupational injuries are often severe and the physical impairment and reduced income combine to increase the possibility of depression.

2. Those injured at work often have to go through an inquiry to find the cause and attribute blame. Employers and insurers may be unwilling to accept responsibility, meaning that the injured worker has to face additional stresses.

The most at risk of stress are those who have suffered life-threatening injuries or injuries that have caused disfigurement, but the onset of stress often remains undiagnosed or undetected for a considerable time. This can result in chronic anxiety, depression, substance abuse or somatic illnesses (those with physical symptoms but no biological cause).

As with all stress-related illnesses early intervention is crucial to recovery. Given the elevated risks of depression after a workplace injury, a timely assessment of the injured worker will allow strategies to be put into place that will obviate the risk of later problems. In the long term, this will have benefits both for the company itself and for the worker and his or her family.

The relationship between depression and workplace injury has only relatively recently come under scrutiny – first recognised since the 1970s when the link between occupational hazards and post-traumatic stress syndrome was established. Armed with new knowledge, occupational health practitioners will be able to become more effective in the prevention of stress and depression in the wake of workplace injuries.

Presently, however, injured workers may continue to struggle with depression or other emotional problems. For them early depression treatment is vital if their condition is to be controlled and they are to achieve full recovery before it seriously impacts on their lives.

This article was written by Alexander Thornton an expert in Mental Health and Addiction based in the UK.

Humor and Its Role in Patient Health

An article published by the New York Times last year focused on how a study found that humor is now one of the ways people identify themselves and others. Specifically, the Nielsen Entertainment Group polled 2,000 males online to find out more about their perceptions of humor. Interestingly, 88 percent said they used humor as a tool in self-definition, and more than half of respondents said they relied on funny videos to make an impression on someone else. Although that data is related to the general male population, it aligns with similar data published about how humor can aid people in recovering from illnesses. Keep reading to learn more.

Caregivers Can Use Humor to Relate to Patients

It’s worthwhile to remember how when someone goes to a hospital to receive treatment, they’re likely scared, embarrassed or uncertain. Fortunately, all these emotions can be alleviated if a nurse or doctor uses humor as a way to relate to patients. By nature, the healthcare industry can be very stressful for patients and caregivers alike, and a well-timed joke could be just the thing to keep the mood as light as possible.

Humor to Reduce Heart Disease Risk

We’ve all heard the saying “Laughter is the best medicine,” and an article from the American Heart Association suggests there’s truth in it. The piece states how laughter can reduce blood pressure and increase a person’s amount of “good” cholesterol. Information in the article also states how people who have heart disease are 40 percent less likely to laugh than people who have not been diagnosed with the disorder. It’s also notable that the good effects of laughter can last as long as 24 hours. With that in mind, it could be important to let yourself laugh regularly, especially if you’re at risk for heart disease.

The Effects of Different Types of Humor on the Recovery of Cardiovascular Patients

Further supporting the benefits of laughter for a person’s well-being is a University of Montana study which examined different types of humor when used in the context of helping cardiovascular patients recover more quickly. In general, humor helped to improve social and psychological health perceptions. Looking deeper though, researchers found how antidote-centered humor was beneficial, but other types, such as distancing humor, had negative influences on patient recovery.

Lee Glickstein’s Use of Humor for Recovery

A man named Lee Glickstein holds “Humor in Recovery” classes in San Francisco, CA, and those focus on stand-up comedy to help patients laugh no matter what stage of recovery they’re going through. He uses the audience’s own empathy and personal stories to create laughter that’s genuine but doesn’t take cheap shots that could be considered offensive by people who are ailing. Some people who have benefited from Glickstein’s approach are people who are recovering from addictions or other issues that have a combination of mental, physical and emotional components.

Don't Forget to Laugh!

Steve Wilson, a psychologist and staff member from the World Laughter tour, offers the strong reminder that although preschoolers laugh an average of 400 times per day, adults only do so less than 15 times over the same period of time. No matter which sector of the healthcare industry you’re in, don’t overlook how humor could be a powerful tool to help people feel better after an illness, or even prevent future health problems. It could even reduce your own stress around the workplace.

Brett Harris believes laughter is the best medicine to cure an aching heart. If you would like to help cure an achy heart check out the 10 most affordable online nursing programs.

Stumbling Through the Dark

Why is it so hard to tell the people closest to you things like "I'm struggling" and "I need help pulling through this depression"? I think it's because even when we do try to tell others, it doesn't get through. It comes out all wrong. It's misinterpreted, or ignored. Sometimes it seems much easier to keep it to yourself, to pray it passes soon, before it ruins everything and everyone you hold dear. 

The truth is, I hate myself when I am this way. I know it's not the real me, but I can't find any part of this monster that even resembles her. I just want to wake up from this awful nightmare, but I can't. Not yet anyway. I want to tell everyone I love I'm sorry. I don't mean to lay around doing nothing. I don't mean to cry at odd moments, and to seem absolutely void of emotion at the wrong times. I don't mean to be troublesome, obnoxious, a bore. I want to pull through. I really do. The fact that I am still breathing proves that. For all I do to try to help the ones I love when I can, why is that not enough when I am the one who is broken? Why do I feel like such a burden, like my living causes more grief than my death would? Is that this illness talking, or is it the truth? Because I can't tell right now. And that scares the hell out of me.