i dont really know how to say this..but i want to. i want you to know. i have been a fan of you & your writing since i read the first chapter of dont mess with him he's mine. i wasn't in a good place at the time... CW suicidal thoughts.. I almost ended things and maybe it's stupid but i wanted to find out what happens next in dont mess with him he's mine. the way you wrote tony as someone who was depressed and dealing with trauma,,that was me. i felt seen and i guess i wanted to see if he'd end up where i was. so i waited. i figured i would end it once i found out what happened in the end.

but you gave him a happy ending. you helped him come to terms with and process his trauma and gave him a support system that made him feel loved. ik you can't overcome mental illness but therapy and having people you love helps, and thats what you gave tony. maybe its weird bc its a fictional story but seeing tony get a happy/hopeful ending made me find hope i could have my own happy ending. or at least hopeful. so i waited a little longer

then you started posting other stories for Frostiron (and Winteriorn too that i love). and i noticed a theme: you put your characters into painful, very difficult situations with mental illness or trauma etc etc...and then you help them heal. therapy, a support system, learning to process trauma and get healthy coping mechanisms...they list goes on. the ending of your stories is always a message of hope. and idk i needed that.

i've been in therapy since a few months ago. its hard but it does help. im still working on a support system but i want my own happy ending. i want a better life than the one ive had and you've helped me realize its possible to have. maybe its weird im saying this but i really think you saved my life. thank you for that.

it's okay if you share this btw. ik im on anon but id like to know you've seen this and know how grateful i am to you. thank you again truly <3

My dear anon... I have read this message over and over again these last three days. I honestly don't know what to say. I'm not entirely sure there are words to properly do my feelings justice, but I am going to try. So let me start by saying: I am so glad that you are still here. I cannot possibly tell you how glad I am that you are still here. And I am endlessly proud of you for being here. Battling mental illness, battling trauma, battling life in general...that is not easy at all. In the face of all that, hope can be lost. And that's a very lonely, devastating, and grim feeling.

And I've been there. If I'm honest, writing is my main coping mechanism- it's what I use to process my trauma (I have PTSD) and to combat my depression and anxiety. In my own life, I have found myself lost without any hope for my future at all. And that led me to my own battle with suicide. I've come a long way since then- therapy, antidepressants, and the love of my family and closest friends has done wonders for my mental health. When it comes to my writing, you see that theme of pain/trauma at the beginning of a story leading to a path of hope/healing at the end of the story because I write my stories with the intention of it serving as a reminder to hold onto hope when all feels lost. I'm glad you (and hopefully others) have found that reminder helpful to hear too <3

There's a lot I still want to say, but I honestly don't know how to. I am so, so glad that my writing could help serve as a reason for you to keep going. I hope in the future, my stories always give you a reason to smile :) I have to say it again because it needs to be said again: I am so glad you are still here with us. And I am so, so glad to hear that you are in therapy and finding it helpful. It takes a lot of bravery to take that first step to get help, and I am endlessly proud of you for taking that step for yourself <3 That's really amazing, and something you should be proud of. And you can count me in as part of your support system- please, feel free to message me anytime (anon or not) if you need someone to talk to! I'll be here. I'm wishing you all the best and I'm sending you all my love and support <3 <3

I get that ADHD post so much! Im lucky enough to have been diagnosed as a child but had to get re-diagnosed in order to get meds through school. Most places had a 2 YEAR waiting list and i got lucky with an opening but it still cost me $500+ WITH a sliding scale. it's definitely not easy to get diagnosed officially the older you get and everyone should look into their own health and see what mindfulness techniques and options they have to help themselves :)

Exactly, exactly!! This is absolutely about to set off another lengthy ramble from me.

To share a bit of my personal story, diagnosis is not the be-all end-all of treatment! I was diagnosed just at the start of heading into middle school, and honestly because we couldn’t afford to continue with long-term therapy beyond diagnosis, our run-of-the-mill family doctor probably gave my family less tools and information to cope with my disorder than you can find on some of the ADHD resource blogs on this site! I was just kinda put on meds and told I had trouble focusing, and then succeeded academically for six years through a combo of Gifted Kid Shit and pushing myself insanely hard while being filled with buried emotional turmoil and self-loathing, until I reached university and hit a brick wall HARD.

And like, even at that point, I just thought I was regular-brand depressed? The biggest thing my diagnosis did for me back then was that when I went to the school psychologist (which I could only do bc school insurance plan, covered by student loans) and said “I think I’m clinically depressed bc I can’t make myself do anything anymore”, after like 4 sessions and a review of my medical file she said “I think we should consider something: are you depressed because you have diagnosable clinical depression, or are you depressed because your ADHD is going almost completely untreated, and your meds have been the same for 4 years despite massive hormonal changes, and this is leaving you overwhelmed and barely treading water?” “Oh. OH.”

And if she hadn’t had the ADHD diagnosis on paper to reference, I don’t know if she would have reached that conclusion rather than suggesting antidepressants, so it gave me that. But it still took years after that of actually learning about how hugely multifaceted my disorder was beyond just “attention span”, and adjusting meds over and over, and going to a LOT of weekly therapy (including half a year with an ADHD specialist, which I’ll probably do more of next year if insurance coverage allows), for me to actually understand my brain, unpack all the ways I was mistreating it, and start living a mentally healthy life. There’s SO much more to it than diagnosis alone, and a lot of it you don’t necessarily even need a shrink’s stamp saying “YEP, it’s ADHD alright” to start tackling.

Another facet of my journey has been watching my own mother watch me be diagnosed with ADHD, look at the similarities between how she and I process the world, do a little reading online, join a Facebook support group for ADHD adults to learn more, and go “OH! Oh my god, I’ve been living with this my whole life and I had no idea.” Mom can’t afford to get a diagnosis, especially like you said as an older adult, but it is VERY clear and certain that she has ADHD and that it is the source of certain patterns she has noticed all her life and struggled to address or change, but can now start to understand. Aside from talking to me, online community and web resources have been huge for her (and bonding over shared ADHD experiences has been huge for our relationship as adults).

And seriously, I just think you’d have to be a real jerkwad to look at someone like her and say “Sorry, you can’t be a part of this community of people and resources that has helped you make sense of things you struggled with all your life, because they’re only for people who are Officially Diagnosed. 😤” Like, give me a break. Who is that helping?

It's ok if you don't want to answer this but I was wondering what you take meds for? I know you have said you have mental health problems and that you take antipsychotics but I wanted to ask why. Im not trying to be rude or nosey, it's just that I look up to you quite a lot and i have problems as well. Finding out you had to take tablets made me feel a bit better about taking my own. I always felt kind of ashamed about having to take antideppresants but not so much now I know you take stuff too.

I don’t mind answering this at all, especially if someone can relate to it. This is probably going to be a hell of a wordy response though, and may be triggering for some people to read, so proceed with caution guys. 

The story of my mental health is a really long one, and goes back quite far. It goes back to when I was a fetus actually. 

My mother was a drug addict, who used while she was pregnant with me (my dad was unaware of this), and as a result I was born with minor ‘defects’. My lungs didn’t form properly, and a part of my stomach tubing is malformed (We’ll come back to that). During labour, I tore the womb on my way out and nearly killed my mother. 

The trauma of that, as well as her own mental health and addiction issues made it hard for her to bond with me. It’s worth noting that my mum was 19 when I was born, but my dad was 32. They were married about a month before my birth and split up three days later. 

They shared custody for the first year of my life until something went down, but I’m not sure what, and my father took full custody. 

He was a good dad in his defence. He loved me, and did anything he could to keep me safe and happy. But when I was 18 months old, he met another woman and eventually married her. 

My stepmother didn’t want me as a part of her family, but put on a good show for my dad and the rest of the world. Behind closed doors though, she physically and mentally tortured me. The stuff she did to me was vile and it left me quite damaged. 

Because of the stomach deformity, I am prone to vomiting. I was also starved on a regular basis by my stepmother, which left me quite malnourished. I was deathly afraid of her, so when I was sick I didn’t tell anyone because I was afraid of being punished for it. Eventually, I was found out, and my stepmother managed to convince people the vomiting was why I was so skinny. I don’t have a fucking clue how it was never mentioned that I have a hiatus hernia and that’s why I was sick, it was in my medical notes, and I found out when I was 13. 

This kind of stuff continued throughout my childhood. My stepsister had a son when I was 9, and she didn’t really want him, so I had to take care of him. My grandfather died and my granny was very ill, so our living room was turned into a bedroom for her. I nursed her, raised a baby (who called me mum the first time he ever spoke) and all the while I was beaten, starved and tortured. I couldn’t handle it and tried to kill myself when I was 11. 

Because of the suicide attempt, I was put into a childrens home. The abuse could never be proved because the only witness was my stepsister, and she had often joined in so she wasn’t inclined to back me up. My dad decided that he wanted to take his wifes side, and not mine. 

Being in care was not an easy thing, and there was other kinds of abuse to be suffered. Eventually, I snapped. I became incredibly violent, to the point where I can’t excuse the things I did. I would snap, and the people I hurt weren’t always the people trying to hurt me. I hurt innocent people. 

As is the norm, at 16 I was tossed out. I lived in hostels for a while until I managed to get an apartment/flat, but it was in a small town quite a way from the city. I was unable to get help for my mental health, and I declined rapidly. 

That was when i started blacking out. Sometimes it would only be for a few minutes, sometimes it would be for longer. The longest was three days, three days I lost. I once came back to myself while holding a knife to my own chest. I often woke up covered in blood, wounded or miles away from my home. 

That was when I got put in a psychiatric ward where I ended up for a year. 

After being released, I moved 600 miles away to be close to my boyfriend, because he loved me. It was an idiotic thing to do of course, and I quickly learned that once I was there. 

Then my dad had a breakdown, and in the process reached out to me. He ended up on the same ward I had been on and it made him realise the depth of his mistakes. He admitted he knew what had happened to me as a child and he felt guilty. I forgave him, because I’ve fucked up enough in my life to not hold it against someone who truly wants forgiveness. 

My dad got better and moved away from my childhood home, and got a divorce. When he found out I was in an abusive relationship, he drove to England and got me and brought me to live with him. 

I live alone now, and it’s been years since all this happened. But the damage is done, and the wounds aren’t bleeding anymore but they are scarred. There’s much more to it, so much more. There’s the years of self-harming, the singular traumatic events, the betrayals, but I’ve told you the bare bones of my story. 

I could tell you all my diagnoses, list all the damn acronyms, but it wouldn’t explain anything. I struggle to say present in the world, and not disassociate. I have severe anxiety, depression, sleeping problems, paranoia... It’s not exactly shocking.  

What I can tell you is this. I saw my first psychiatrist when I was five years old. I have been seeing them since. I have been to every kind of therapy, taken so many different drugs. It doesn’t always help. But I knew a girl, call her Emily. She was a couple of years older than me, and so much worse. The stuff she had been through made my childhood look idyllic. I had to take her to hospital more than once, I had to talk her off the ledge, pin her to the ground to stop her hurting herself when “they” were trying to get her. 

Emily has a husband and a daughter now. She posted photos on Facebook a couple of weeks ago of her trip to London Comic-Con, her little girl dressed up as Belle. Emily got better. Emily fought for it, she made it, she won and she keeps winning. 

This battle I’ve been fighting my whole life, it IS winnable. 

Take your meds anon, and don’t be ashamed of it. We all have our demons, and they aren’t comparable. We all have our struggles, we all have our own battles. Don’t waste time or energy feeling bad for needing to take a pill to help you fight your fight. If you have a vitamin deficiency, you take vitamins, and if your brain doesn’t produce quite enough serotonin, you take an antidepressant. 

Strength, true strength, is in admitting you need help, be if from a therapist, a pill or a friend. There’s not a single person in the history of humanity who didn’t struggle with something at some point. We are not infallible, we are not unbreakable. Our beauty comes from the way we piece ourselves back together. I’m still working on that part, and I can’t wait to see what I’ll be when I’m finished. The excitement for what i can one day be is far more important than any shame I might feel from needing to take some medication to help me get there. 

Like I said, we all have our battles, and in a battle, you need a weapon. Think of the medication like a blade, stabbing at the demons in your head, and by taking the pills, you’re picking up the sword. 

Don’t be ashamed. Be brave, be beautiful and fight. You’ve got this, and I can’t wait to see what you become one day. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

here it is: the post Literally no one was waiting for. i'd put it under a read more thing but i'm on mobile and can't be assed to get out of bed so fuck it. we air our dirty laundry on main for the world to see like men.

so waaay back in february or something, i started seeing a psychologist again. i'd been seeing a psychologist for a while last year, but she had a private practice and got too expensive over time, so i had to stop. now, however, i finally got a referral to the public mental health offices in my county. which is nice, because norway has this neat thing that means when you go to the doctor, public health care facilities, refill prescriptions for medications you have to take daily, etc, the money you spend on those things gets recorded and after you've spent like $260, you get a free card that gets logged into your medical records and you don't have to pay for any of those things for the rest of the year.

anyway, i mentioned a couple of years back that i finally got put on antidepressants for the first time. they helped a lot, but then i just... stopped taking them. there wasn't a reason, really. i just forgot to take them one week when i was stuck in bed with a headcold, and then it was hard to get back in the habit again. i tried to get back on them off and on for a long time, but i'd inevitably just forget again. until, like, i wanna say november/early december last year? i started taking them again. there were still some slip-ups every now and then, but for the most part i took them almost every day. any gaps were no longer than two, maybe three days at the most, and those gaps were maybe once a month or so on average. averages aren't really useful in this context, but i hope you get the idea.

anyway, i finally convinced my doctor that, no, seriously, i really need to see a psychologist, i've always needed to see psychologists my whole life, seeing psychologists help me, i can't afford a private psychologist so i need a public one, and after a lot of begging and insisting on my end and a lot of hemming and hawing on her end she finally agreed to refer me. except she forgot to actually send the email she'd been typing in front of me, and then she quit, so there was a lot of confusion and time spent sorting things out until i got my first appointment.

i didn't like my psychologist at first. she was way older than i'm usually comfortable with (that's a personal me-problem that i know is irrational, and i'm not gonna go into the why but yes i'm working on it), and very blunt in an exasperated sort of way. she made me angry sometimes. she made me feel like i wasn't trying hard enough. but she helped me get shit done, so i guess she was doing something right.

in june she called in a psychiatrist to help adjust my medications, so i started taking zoloft in addition to the other medication (remeron, aka mirtazapine) that i was already taking. the mirtazapine was helping with my depression, but my anxiety was still pretty bad. the zoloft helped.

by my second appointment with my psychologist, she asked me whether i could have adhd, or if there was a history of it in my family. now, i have a lot of family with adhd (how closely related we are by blood is a bit of a mystery to me, my family tree is more like an overgrown hedge and who knows who fits where), and my grandma used to joke that the women in our family "all have a little bit of that adhd brain in us", but as far as i knew, nobody in my immediate, direct bloodline had such a diagnosis. i had my suspicions about myself, of course — i knew that not every focus or attention related problem necessarily has a specific attention disorder source, but i also knew that what i was experiencing couldn't be "normal," in the sense that if i walked into a room with 100 people in it, 86 of those people wouldn't necessarily look at a list of my symptoms and go "oh same hat." i've had add on my about me for a while now. maybe that was silly of me; i hadn't been diagnosed with it, and what i knew about the specifics of it were picked up piecemeal off the internet. you know, that super-reliable place where everyone is honest and factual all the time?

anyway, this began the process of investigating the merits of such a potential diagnosis. research was begun. questionnaires were taken. my mom was invited to one of my sessions, in which she revealed that, oh yeah, bee tee dubs, she's always suspected i have adhd. did she mention that she has also apparently always suspected ocd and that i'm autistic? no? whoops, well, she has now.

end of june i was referred to the neuropsychologist devision of the public health care place. over the course of a little over 6 weeks i went in for 2 interviews, in which i answered several questionnaires, talked about my life and childhood and traumas and what my mom had told me about her pregnancy and labor, every possible symptom i'd ever had, and was sent home with even *more* questionnaries. in addition to these, i went in for two rounds of "testing," in which i was tested on my memory, pattern recognition, reaction time, impulse control, and probably a dozen other things. i was nervous. it was exhausting. i wanted answers but was terrified of what those answers would be.

end of august, my mom came with me for the big reveal. and guess what? she was right. primary diagnosis: adhd, special emphasis on the attention deficit part. bonus diagnosis: asperger syndrome. surprise! i'm autistic, i guess.

it was hard to come to terms with. which sounds really silly, since i wouldn't have even been taking those tests if i didn't think the outcome was a possibility. and it's not like the diagnoses were surprising either. the adhd part was easier to accept, mostly because i already felt pretty confident i had it. but the asperger diagnosis was harder. having to unlearn all those ingrained ableist stereotypes and social stigmas is hard, especially when you had some you didn't even realize were there. it's very surreal to think a thought and be like "no, wait, i do that. that joke is about me." it's a very surreal and slightly upsetting experience to realize how biased you are as general rule, but especially about a facet of your own identity you weren't aware of. and the feeling of everything and nothing changing all at once. i've always been like this. a doctor telling me i have two cognitive/developmental disabilities isn't an event that magically gave me these disabilities. my brain has always worked like this. the only difference between me now and me a year ago is that i have an official, medical reason for Why now.

that's another thing: coming to terms with the idea of being "developmentally disabled." it's not like i'm suddenly a different person — i have to constantly remind myself that my brain has always been like this. but having a piece of paper confirming that i am legally entitled to special allowances in the workplace or at school because i have not one, but two "disabilities" is absolutely buckwild to me.

it makes me reevaluate my life and my past. how many situations did i make worse because i did not have the capacity or knowledge about how my own brain works to self-reflect? was i high-functioning in the past because life was simpler? was it because i subconsciously had a better handle on what works for me and what doesn't, and somewhere along the way i lost that? or was it simply because i didn't have the option to be anything other than high-functioning? it's confusing.

i also lost my spot at college. i can still reapply next year if i want, but at least now i know why i was failing out lmao

anyway, by my birthday in september we started the process of adjusting my medication again. upping my zoloft, getting me off remeron, and as of 6 weeks ago or so, beginning ritalin.

it was a rocky start, but i'm up to 60mg now. two pills in the morning, one in the afternoon. i have a goddamn alarm for 8am every day, even weekends. my sleeping is still wonky, but at least im genuinely tired by 8pm every night. the psychiatrist still wants me to try melatonin for a month (even though i told her multiple times it has never worked for me, and my problem has never been "i'm not sleepy enough"), so i'm on a whopping 2mg of melatonin for the next 30 days. norwegians are fucking WEIRD about melatonin, don't even get me started.

a slightly unexpected side-effect (on my end) of these medication changes: remeron made me gain weight. like, a lot of weight. and i was constantly hungry all the time, overeating to ridiculous amounts. why did nobody ever tell me that weight gain and metabolism changes are a side-effect of anti-depressants? i was more active this summer than i'd been in, like, three years and i just got fatter. which was incomvenient because i kept outgrowing my clothes. anyway, a side effect of ritalin is a loss of appetite and general weight loss. the combination of regularly taking ritalin and dropping remeron entirely? i eat a fraction of what i used to before, i've almost entirely stopped snacking, and i've lost 15 lbs in less than a month. i've already noticed my face is slightly slimmer now. maybe by christmas i'll be able to fit into my old tshirts again.

anyway, my psychologist quit, so i have a new one now. i've only seen her a few times, but she's veeeery different from my old one. i can't decide if i like her or not.

in the middle of all this, i've been going to the social security office as well to kind of get some of my own money, possibly help me get a job at some point in the future. my caseworker is super nice. if she's over 30 i'd be shocked. i relate to her really well, she's very helpful and understanding, and she's very patient with me and my bullshit. she's the kind of person where if we met at a party or something we could probably hang out.

anyway, she's helped me get out of the house sometimes. she introduced me to this youth club volunteer group thing called the fountain house, designed for young people who've dealt with or are currently dealing with mental illnesses and such. i hung out there yesterday and the day before and did some basic office work. it's nice. and then there's a work placement place that can either give you a job on site in one of their four departments, or help you get a job at an actual business elsewhere with more support and leniency than you might get if they just hired you off the street. i'd start in their second hand store. they clean and restore all donations they recieve, and they're super fucking cheap. i treated myself to my literal lifelong dream of owning a vintage typewriter (!!!!!) yesterday, because it's almost christmas and goddammit, i've been doing so much shit the past couple of months i deserve it. do i have space for it? not really. do i have a plan on what to use it for? no. was it heavy and miserable trekking through the snow and rain yesterday back and forth? was it worth the backache in the morning? fuck yeah it was.

a fucking lot of things are happening all at once. diagnoses, medications, lifestyle changes, work placement, social clubs, dealing with bureaucracies on all sides just so i can feel like a person again, not to mention juggling hobbies like writing and drawing and maintaining my irl friendships. i'm getting as many balls rolling as i can while i have the opportunity and mental/emotional capacity to, but i'm worried i'll burn out again. i'm stabilizing and slowly building my life back up, but jesus christ it would suck if this stupid house of cards collapsed again. but i'm tentatively optimistic. who knows, maybe it's not to late to course-correct my mistakes.

so long story short, that's why i've barely been active on tumblr for months. that's why i haven't been writing, drawing, or reading fic. it's coming along, but it's slow.

i guess the most important thing is that it's coming along at all.

Asking for help

My struggle to get some sort of psychiatric help spans about 6 years now, starting when I was 14 I think. Somehow I’ve always been forgotten about, let slip through the cracks. My belief in the NHS or even private counselling services is just nonexistent at this point. For some reason I always have to fight for every inch closer towards the support I need. And every time I’m just dropped. I don’t expect anything else at this point. Being abandoned by people (specifically those I’m romantically interested in for some reason) was kind of a given, but I always held the belief that eventually someone would give me the help I need. This weekend confirmed that that might not ever be the case. 

This is the story. The chronology might be a little off or I may have forgotten something, but this is the gist of it. When I was 14 I started self harming with a compass. I told my best friend at the time and she encouraged me to tell a teach at school, which I did. I think received 3 sessions of counselling from the school but that wasn’t enough. My mum arranged private counselling sessions, but I just didn’t click with the guy and I left the sessions feeling angrier and more frustrated so I stopped after a few weeks. The matron at my school gave me a number for a counsellor she knew, so I arranged an appointment with her. That seemed to go well and a second one was arranged. Except she didn’t turn up. She messaged me apologising and saying she would arrange another appointment for me for free but I never heard back from her. So that was the first time I felt like I had properly just been forgotten about (quite literally). 

There had been multiple visits to the GP’s over the months around that time to try and get some sort of antidepressants or counselling or something. All that ever happened was some numbers were printed out and I was sent on my way. I always tried the numbers but for some reason I never seemed to be eligible for counselling with the organisations. I tried going to a NHS self-harm help workshop or something to that effect but it was pretty useless. At 16/17 the suicidal feelings started getting worse, to the point where I tried to overdose a couple of times. One of those time I went to hospital, and whilst the memory is a little hazy, eventually I somehow managed to get onto the CAMHS programme. I was with them for a little while, but since I was turning 18 I couldn’t  stay with them for long (they only dealt with under 18′s). So once again I was left to fend for myself without any resources. 

I don’t think in the gap between the end of school and university i sought out any help, partly because I was just tired of constantly being turned away or mislead or just dropped. Then in my first semester at university I tried to overdose again, ending up with me going to hospital. Once more, I was just released with a few numbers printed. I called them but yet again somehow I just didn’t fall into their bracket. I went to the GP and got some medication, and even an referral to a mental health organisation. A little while later I went to an appointment with them, and for what seemed the millionth time had to tell someone why I wanted help. They said they were unequipped to help me to referred me to a psychiatric nurse. One more to add to the list of time I’ve been passed on to someone else, but at least some progress is now being made right? I’m finally getting somewhere, right? Several weeks before this, I had put in an application to be seen by the university counselling services. In the waiting period to see the psychiatric nurse, the uni services got back to me and an appointment was made. I went to see them, thinking finally I’m actually able to see people! All this waiting and trying and it’s all paid off. Unfortunately, this was absolutely not the case. Because I was on the waiting list to see the nurse, the uni services said they could no longer see me as I couldn’t be registered with multiple services at once. Then my psychiatric appointment came around, and YET AGAIN I had to tell someone why I was there. Going through all the traumas and reasons for wanting to hurt or even kill myself; I was so tired of it. A week or so later, a letter came for me saying they did not think I was high priority enough for them. I was in hospital and had nearly jumped off a bridge not too long before, but apparently I still wasn’t high priority enough. It seemed like I actually had to kill myself before anyone would notice, which surely defeats the point. 

Now the most recent. My self harm tendencies came back, so I contacted the services again and got a consultation. They said they would try to prioritise me but I still haven’t heard back. Last week I sort of tried to slit my wrists, but managed to get my flatmate’s help in time. The wounds were dressed and it seemed fine.  Friday night I tried to overdose again and spent most of early saturday morning vomiting. On sunday I noticed that the cuts looked like they were starting to get infected. I ended up at out of hours minor injuries unit, but was sent to a&e due to the overdose. They took my bloods, then once they came back okay I was packed off home. It was on the records I was in the year previously, but still apparently I “don’t need to see the psychiatric team”. Not even any numbers were printed off. I am so sick of constantly going through these loops of reaching out to someone in a desperate attempt protect me from myself, having to retell the same old stories of why I’m depressed and suicidal, waiting and waiting and waiting, only to be dropped because I’m not ‘high priority enough’. Even though my overdoses in the last 3 years number about 4 or 5 now. My self harming has been on and off for 6 years. What do I actually have to do to get someone to help me? It took years for me to finally persuade a GP to give me medication, how much more do I have to do for someone to actually notice I am well on my way to being a serious danger to myself. I wasn’t even surprised at the lack of reaction from the hospital. It seemed fitting - this is what always happens. Im tired. I don’t want to try anymore, it’s too exhausting. I don’t know what to do.

Tommy Boy/Romeo? they need more content-spottie ❤️

they definitely need more content!! i will lead a tOMMY BOY/ROMEO REVOLUTION IF I MUST

warnings: talks about depression, also tommy has shitty parents

×××

●aight yall. theyre both pan.

▪romeo makes constant pan puns and tommy is So Done▪"guess you could say we’re…. PANicking about that test in calculus today"▪"youve been spending too much time with race"▪"youre just jealous because i couldve been spending that time with you"▪"you motherfucker,,,,“●romeo wants to cuddle w/ tommy basically any chance he gets because tommy spends a good chunk of every day busy with either school work, his job, or dance▪literally always down for cuddles????▪sometimes tommy is just like "hey wanna watch a movie”▪and ro will LEAP onto the couch so fast it scares tommy and he’ll bury himself in tommy’s arms▪"HELL yes"▪tommy’s highly amused▪through laughter: “ok cool”●tommy does NOT get nearly enough sleep every night and it rlly worries romeo▪they have some ap classes together bc romeo isnt in all ap classes like tommy is▪the latest he’ll have to stay up w/ tommy on a weekend is like?? 1am maybe▪but he gets up like 3 hours later for a drink of water and tommy STILL isnt in bed and he is Worried ▪he’ll find tommy passed out at the table they were working and just sighs▪as much as he’d like to get tommy into bed he tried dragging the boy into the room but he was absolutely exhausted by the time he did▪so he just grabs a blanket and drapes it around tommy and prepares for neck cramp complaints in the morning●tommy gets SUPER dramatic abt his soreness after extended dance classes or rehearsals for shows▪he will absolutely just collapse on the couch the moment he gets to it and start moaning▪"romeoooo im in paaaaaaain"▪after the first couple times romeo just kinda gets used to it and laughs at his drama queen of a bf but helps him ease the soreness●romeo really takes care of tommy the days his depression acts up▪literally cancels everything and stays w/ tommy the whole day▪he doesnt want to nag at tommy too much bc he understands that that can get annoying/overwhelming/etc

▪but time to time he’ll ask tommy if he needs anything or if theres anything he can do to help▪kind of different but ro always always reminds tommy to take his antidepressants ▪tommy will sometimes just spill to romeo about how much it means to him that he’s doing that▪sometimes he starts rambling which leads to apologising which leads to more rambling so romeo will place his hands on tommy’s arms and kiss him rlly soft and quick ▪"its okay, i love you"●tommy’s parents never really supported his love for dance???? at all?▪they wanted him to do something ‘more practical’▪like. he couldnt take dance classes outside of school at all unless he paid for it▪so he kinda just like took up jobs and worked them to pay for lessons and until he saved enough money on the side for a plane ticket and arranged to live w/ an aunt in nyc▪when hes starting to build up a career and a name for himself he gets a call from his parents congratulatjng him on his success▪gets so bitter????? literally tells them off abt the whole thing and then doesnt even wait for a response before he hangs up▪romeo is helping him calm down afterwards and assuring him that he did the right thing●romeo is amazing at photography ▪also at maintaining aesthetics????▪his isntagram account always has such a nice theme tommy loves it▪theres this whole month where ro literally just posts pictures of him and tommy▪mainly to annoy his friends who told him “honestly can you two get any more gross”▪[he took it as a challenge]●so these two dont get a lot of free days to just spend time together, which they absolutely hate▪thank god for ny winters▪sometimes its too snowy so neither of them have to go to class or to work▪they spend the entire day just lounging around with each other ▪so many cuddles. so many kisses. so. many. ●yall know romeo’s thing is more playful flirting so sometimes tommy will crack a dirty joke and this boy’s face will go RED

▪tommy thinks its hilarious and the cutest thing hes ever seen▪"ro,, baby are you ok"▪"n O"▪he cant stop laughing. and romeo only smiles bc he loves hearing tommy’s laugh so much●gotta end this on a soft note cuz yall know how it be;;;;; they 10000% send each other wholesome memes and/or super long and sappy lovey dovey texts▪tommy is Bad With Words so usually he’ll send ro the memes▪sometimes romeo will send tommy 4am texts abt how lucky and in love he is and tommy will see them either a.) as soon as theyre sent bc hes working on stuff or b.) first thing in the morning bc he always checks for texts from romeo after waking up▪they always make him smile! so much!!▪side note ro loves tommy’s smile▪he thinks its the cutest thing ever▪every time tommy smiles ro says “the sun is quaking” and tommy snorts w/ laughter. every time. ▪theyre Soft as Heck yall

×××

aaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAA i love them. so much. sndjldvfs i hope u liked these hcs. i would Die for these boys (tbh i’d die for all the newsies what else is new)

-sanj 💕

tag list:

@but-let-us-seize-the-day

@one-candy-cane-please​

@suddenly-im-respecsable​

@intoomanyfandomstopickaname​

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen​

@aw-jus-let-em-try

@bencookisagod​

@well-the-kids-do-too​

@auspicioustarantula​

@spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn​

@have-we-got-news-for-you​

@not-a-scab​

@newsiesgarbage​

@pineappapizza

@andthewoildwillknow​

@concrete–donuts​

@stopthe-presses​

@thomasbeingthomas

@i-love-loki-and-sherlock

@maxvanna

[if you want to be added to my tag list, please shoot me an ask or a message letting me know! i’d be happy to add you.]

I'm so stumped. Reading all about it i really think most of my struggles would make so much sense to come from having ADD but i can't get diagnosed??? I asked my therapist and she said its possible, but she doesn't have the aparatus to know for sure. She reccomended me a place. I called. The test costs half of my rent's worth.

I asked my psychiatrist. He was awful, and fed me such bullshit i switched him for another one, but i'm still scared he could have a point.

He literally said that i can't have adhd, because i wouldn't be able to form such a long complicated sentence correctly (?), he said that i probably just want to have adhd because its easier and you get a very heavy drug and no therapy (also bullshit, at least the second part), he also said i know to much when i said i have ”an attention deficit" (which my therapist confirmed with tests, but said she cant be sure of the exact reason for it). But what if he's right? What if i just want to have ADD?

Cause of course i do, i would love to know that lots of my complicated issues comes from a one uncomplicated issue. And so many symptoms fit...

I was a well behaved child but i was always someplace else with my thoughts. I played by myself a lot and would get completely sucked in

I was very inattentive, i would go back from school wearing two different shoes or after the whole day i would realise that i had my shirt on backwards or there's a sock stuck to a velcro on my backpack.

Multiple teachers would say that i'm ”stuck in my own world"

I had some excess energy i burned by playing in a sports team

I was a smart kid in elementary school, than struggled in middle school and highschool, and barely keeping up at university. I always heard "you're smart but not trying hard enough"

Which also led me to believe that i'm a dumbass my whole life

I have problems processing what people say to me like. A lot. But i can pick up very quiet sounds so i think there's nothing wrong with my hearing.

And i,have problems picking up when people have finished their sentences, and i cut in a lot. Or sometimes i juSt CAnt WaiT tO SAy STuFf

I fidget a lot, and always have

And i talk a lot. Man. I do talk a lot.

I get overwhelmed all the time and hyper sensitive to stimuli

I hyperfixiate and hyperfocus on stuff, as far as i understand what that means. When i got into the Beatles i listened to them for two years straight like. Exclusively. And i watched every interview and i memorised every date and every fact about their career

I have suffered from anxiety since i was approx 11, but had some bouts since i was like. 6

I have troubles focusing on reading books, but i like reading short articles and i read them super fast. I've got problems studying. I've got problems concentrating. All that shit.

I got antidepressants and since that time i feel i actually got worse, cause before my fear used to fuel me and now,im just. Unable to do anything.

And there's so so so so many more, i could list for hours, damn.

I'm also pretty sure my mum’s got adhd, cause she's like. A textbook example.

I just. I need validation. For my peace of mind. I don't care about the meds, i just want to know im not broken

Steak And Potatoes

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dean was laughing when I woke up.

“What..”

“Are you guys fucking kidding me? The fucking infirmary too?! You’re like a couple of damn teenagers!” Sam was yelling throughout the bunker.

“I guess Sam is home,” I said between laughs.

Dean tossed me a shirt and a pair of shorts. When he opened the door Sam was standing there with his arms folded.

“Sorry, Sammy!” I threw my arms around him, “Welcome Home!”

“Yeah yeah. Glad you’re ok. I’m going to take a shower. You guys want to go get something to eat since there is nothing in the kitchen?” Sam asked walking backwards towards his room.

“Im starving. I need to shower too,” I agreed, though I felt something uneasy clench in the pit of my stomach.

“How about we all get clean, separately, for the love of Chuck, and meet up in an hour?” Sam suggested.

“Ok. I’ll go clean up the…yeah. Oh drop your laundry in the laundry room please?” I said running to clean up after Dean and myself.

An hour later we were all showered and starving. Dean couldn’t take his eyes off me. I had put his shirt back on and paired it with my jeans and sneakers. I had it tied at my waist with a T-shirt under it. I was shuffling my feet and starting to pick at the skin around my fingernails.

“I’m buying industrial ear plugs before we get home.” Sam only half joked.

“Can we just not go to the diner? I really can’t even,” I said as we made our way to the garage.

“Then where to?” Dean asked.

“Something we can bring back? I don’t know. I’m just, I want to be home,” I said looking at the floor.

“Something wrong, Carebear?” Dean asked concerned.

“I just really don’t want to be out and about right now. I just want to be inside.”

“How about, I go get us some Chinese? You and Sam set up some Harry Potter movie?” Dean looked down at me hooking me under the chin so I would look at him.

Insert Winchester Eyes speak Here.

I nodded slightly.

Shit! I thought maybe this wouldn’t happen this time. I thought things would be different now. I felt the self loathing rearing it’s ugly fucking head.

I walked back to my room and changed out of my jeans, putting on comfy pajama pants.

I walked out in the hall not sure where Sam was. I hugged my arms around myself and backed into the wall sliding down to the floor. I hated this. I hated this so much. I put my forehead on my knees and just waited.

“Carebear? Come on, what’s going on? Something is wrong.” Sam sat down next to me and put his arm around me.

I sighed.

“Sometimes, even with my antidepressants, out of no where, BAM! The depression, paranoia, anxiety. They all come back. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t want to feel like this. I just want to be happy.”

“Caroline, why didn’t you say something?”

“It just hit. Like a ton of fucking depressing ass bricks. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about what? Something you cannot possibly control? You take your medication, you talk out your issues, still sometimes, it comes for you. Believe me, that is something Dean and I understand. Come on, let’s go down and pop in Harry Potter. Any one you want. We will get some blankets and pillows. Tomorrow you can make a list and Dean or I will go get whatever you need. I’ll help you set up your office here, too.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” I snuggled into his side not yet ready to move.

We were still sitting there when Dean came back. Sam stood up and took the food from Dean.

“I’ll go get everything set up, ok Carebear? Which movie?”

“Goblet?” Sam nodded and walked away.

Dean got down on the floor with me. He scooped me up and sat me on his lap holding me.

“So what’s wrong, Carebear?”

“It’s all just hitting me right now, Dean. I broke. My depression, paranoia and anxiety are all hitting at once.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Whatever you need. I’m here.”

“Thanks, Dean. We should probably go down and eat.” I pushed myself off of his lap and stood up. Dean got up next to me and pulled me into a hug.

“You know we are behind you, right? No matter what. Sam and I? We’ve got you.”

I hugged him tighter, trying to will myself to believe him.

I hate my brain sometimes.

Sam had set up the room absolutely perfectly. The lights were dim. There were pillows and blankets everywhere. The food sitting on the table with my favorite almond tea.

“You are the best big brother ever, Sam.” I walked over and gave him a hug before sitting down in a nest of blankets. They sat on either side of me and we ate and watched the movie in silence.

Halfway through the movie Sam got up and cleaned up all the food and brought me more tea. I gave him a small smile of Thanks. By the end of the movie I was leaning against Dean’s chest with my legs on Sam’s lap. I was almost asleep.

“Do you want to watch another movie or go to bed?” Dean asked. I just shrugged.

“You want me to help bring some of these things up to your room and get you settled?” Sam asked.

“Dean’s room?” I felt Dean smile.

“Absolutely! Come on. Let’s go get snuggly!” Dean joked and Sam rolled his eyes. I cracked a smile.

Sam and Dean grabbed a bunch of blankets and I hugged a pillow to my chest.

The two of them created a nest of blankets on the bed. Sam gave me a huge hug before saying goodnight.

Dean pulled me down onto the bed and held me.

“You know I’m here to talk to, right? About anything.”

I nodded, “I just get like this sometimes. Not often. Especially since I started taking my medication. It’s like there isn’t anything anyone can do to convince me my brain is lying to me. It will pass. I will be myself again in hopefully a few days. I’m not going to be much fun to be around over the next few days. I get it if you guys want to just avoid me.”

“Just because we have to take care of you for a few days? Care, you’ve done nothing but take care of us since you got here. We both care about you. Your happiness and wellbeing are important to us. What ever you need until you are feeling better. Just ask.”

“I don’t deserve either of you.”

“Darlin’ you got that backwards. By some crazy twist of fate you came into our lives and showed us what a Home should really be like.”

I just shook my head.

“Come on, I’ll put on League of Their Own til you fall asleep.”

I know I had nightmares all night. I don’t know what they were but they were terrifying. Dean had calmed me each time I woke up crying.

He just held me, letting me know he was there and I was safe. When I woke up, Dean was holding me playing with my hair.

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

“Morning.”

“You hungry? Want some breakfast?”

I shook my head. There was a knock on the door.

“Come in, Sammy.” Dean called out.

Sam opened the door carrying a glass.

“I figured you might not be hungry, but you need to have something. Chocolate Cherry.” He handed me the glass as Dean handed me my pill. Dean got up as Sam sat on the end of the bed.

“So, I’m going to run out and get the stuff on the List you wrote out yesterday. Is there anything else you need?” Sam asked.

“Can I see it?” I reached for the list.

Groceries and some cleaning supplies. I added a few more things to the list and handed it back before grabbing my phone and mindlessly playing a game. I snuggled down further into the blankets and stayed put. Dean and Sam looked at each other before both walking out of the room.

I played my game until I fell asleep.

Dean was at his desk, reading a book of lore.

“Hey,” I called out softly.

“Hey how are you feeling?”

“Tired. Like I need to get up,” I swung my legs off the bed and stood up. Dean watched me over the book while I walked out of his room and into the hall. I went to my room to get my towel, robe, and portable speaker. When I got to the bathroom I put on my “Fallout at the Disco of Happiness” playlist and jumped in the shower. The shower was ridiculously long, I may have used all the hot water in the bunker. But I felt better. Not completely but a little.

Tag List:

@idk-wtf-is-happening   @greengellybean   @read-the-reid

@anjiepot24   @wandering-rosebud   @xcarapherneliabearx

Chapter 27    Chapter 29  

Master List 

long one under the cut bois

So, Here’s the thing. I’ve had chronic pain for.... what? um. officially? a year and a half. Unofficially?... 5 years? Honestly? Probably since I was like 7 or someshit. When I was younger I used to struggle to sleep because of the pain in my knees. But no one really made a big deal about it so... I figured it was normal. And then my back started to really hurt... but I was also suicidal at the time so.. my doctor was very dismissive of anything but that. Even this crippling pain in my stomach that led me to drop out of school. So I figured it was normal.. And then for a couple of years I would try again sporadically and get generic “do more exercise and lose weight shit” to, and i shit you not, the girl with a fucking eating disorder. So, I didn’t go to the doctors again for a long, long time. probably about 4 years? Until my childhood friend was found dead in her dorm room. That triggered a depression and anxiety so profound it was the first time I ever agreed to go on antidepressants.  The first doctor I saw was an actual angel. He genuinely cared. I went back again I think a few months later? And she just threw meds at me. So many infact I still have some of them left a good 3 years later. So, naturally;  I didn’t go back. Flash forward to February 2019. My left knee was fucked. I could. Not. Walk. it hurt so badly all the time. Saw a paramedic at my surgery who legit gasped when he checked the mobility of my knee (this part of the story is important for later). It bent back so far he was legit just like “oh no”. So he gave me the good cush pain killers and a referral to a physio. My physio referral got lost. So I gave up. Until: August. I’m doing the dishes when a blinding pain shoots through my wrist. I could not move it, could not move my fingers without hot burning pain in my wrist. Could not even breathe. So, I went to the doctor because thats what you do when you’re in pain right? Dude didn’t even look at me. Asked me to put my hand flat on his desk. I couldn’t. So, he sent me to get blood tests for arthritis. While all this is going on mind, I was trying to ask my company to step down from a supervisor back to barista because I kept ‘hurting’ my shoulders while cashing up and the strain of carrying £800 in change every day back and forth from the safe to the office to cash up was killing my back and knees. Just keep that in mind. Blood tests came back.. Absolutely fine. The doctor who sees me cannot understand why that statement makes me cry. She was ready to send me on my merry way. So, with no explanation of what they are or what they’re for, she threw meds at me. I didn’t take them. Things get so bad and my pain is so extreme that I’m seriously starting to give up. Then, I remember the nice doctor from years ago. So I ask specifically to see him. God it was like a different dimension. He was like “oh that sounds like you’re subluxating your joints” and explained what the meds from the other lady were for and just really validated my feelings. Made me feel less crazy. Because sometimes you do feel crazy. I got re-referred to physio. After I casually wrote an incident report at work which is read by HR and my area manager, I amazingly went from being told there’s “just no way for me to step down” to demoted in about... a week? Physio goes really well. She was so lovely. I went every 2 to 3 weeks. I built up muscle really well. Learned that the way I hold myself will help keep my joints in place. It was a really validating experience. Both because she could recognize how fucked up my joints were and how gentle the exercises had to be to prevent me from just, breaking. And also because every time she’d tell me she could tell how hard I was working. That I really was trying and doing it.

Enter Covid.

so of course physio got canceled.

And the months go by. lockdown was fine. my hips subluxed during. so I had a few weeks of not really being very mobile, which was pretty scary since I live alone. But heyho. And then back to work. my body threw an almighty tantrum. I dislocated my big toe for one thing. But I didn’t work out that was what it was until after a “phone consultation” with the meanest physio ever. She basically told me I was delusional and to stop wasting her time. All because I told her “I think I may have subluxed my toe”. which probably would have gone over fine if it weren’t for the fact, I hadn’t had any kind of trauma to the area. I was in work, and one second I could stand and the next second? I could not put any weight on my right foot for fear of blinding pain. Sounds... uhhh familiar right? So I just... bought comfier work shoes and bandaged my foot as tight as I could.. and managed. I did end up calling the doctors again about 2 months later when the pain just. would. not. ease up. I still cant wear shoes that dont have really soft soles. So, I had more blood tests... that came back... FINE! BUT, Thats okay! Because the big appointment has finally arrived! The one my good doctor and my physio both told me would be the answer to all my prayers. Finally. I was going to a Rheumatologist! So my brother picked me up. Off we went to the hospital. I had to go in alone, because, you know.. covid. And I finally after a year of being on this waiting list, get called into the doctors office. At first it seems to be going okay. He’s taking notes, listening to my “story” (his words not mine). so then came the physical examination... where he made some bold claims. and then it was over. He sat me back down in his office and told me. “you dont have hypermobile joints, and theres nothing wrong with you”. Right? So, when I didn’t leave his office. He then backtracked and tried to throw “Chronic pain syndrome” at me. Bitch. Thats a fucking symptom not the cause. So, I still didn’t leave. So, this man deadass asks me what I think it is then. And so I was like “I dont know crazily thats why im here?????????????????” And he told me to go on GET THIS hypermobility forums online!!!!!!!!!!!!!! amd see what people on there recommend to help with pain and shit. He THEN asked me if I think I have fibromyalgia. Fam. Again. You are the doctor. I am a very sad 24 year old. And that was that. Bye. Peace out. Come back if you get any real symptoms. (No really he told me I was free to come back if I developed anything he could actually help with) So I walked out of his office. Back to the carpark where my brother was waiting. and then I cried. I cried so fucking hard man. it’s been 3 weeks and 3 days since that fucking day. I’ve stopped taking my meds. I dont eat. I haven’t had work this week so I haven’t left the house. Not once. I can’t even cry anymore. I’ve been depressed before and I’ve been suicidal before. But that was always grief fueled. Anxiety filled. This one hits different. I realized during lockdown I was depressed again. You know. The world is having a hard time atm. Throw in any extra struggles and its ripe for the old brain sads. But I am struggling to think of a time when I was ever this bad. Like. I am actually afraid of how unwell I am at the moment. And how unseriously my friends are taking it? And it hurts you know? Because a colleague of mine is having a hard time and my best friend is there for her... but not for me... and its just fucking with me even more because I for the first time in my god damn life. In the 13 years I’ve been depressed I reached out. I actually told the people who are supposed to care about me “Hey, im really not great atm” and they did exactly what I always knew they would. nothing. Thats not to say though, that my brother is like that. He is my ray of light. The only family I have. God. I would be so lost without him. But I just dont know what to do. I dont want to talk to some stranger over video call for “therapy” and I dont know if I’d be able to tell a doctor what’s wrong over the phone...and I am just so fucking lost. Covid is making this all so much harder. I just dont know what to do. I feel so lost. I needed to write this out though. Writing helps me clear my head.

85 Statements Tag Game
I was tagged by my mom @elegant-suffering and I’ll tag a few of ya at the end here 
THE LAST…
1. Drink: Sweet tea
2. Phone call: @mr-puppy-the-puppy
3. Text message: my friend about this extra ass assignment we have to finish 
4. song you listened to: Selling Out by the American Psycho cast
5. Time you cried: Last Sunday
6. Time you’ve dated someone: about two months ago now…🤔
7. Time you’ve kissed someone and regretted it: the guy I broke up with two months ago…
8. time you’ve been cheated on: kinda but kinda not (it was complicated)
9. Time you lost someone special: One if my childhood friends back in 2012
10. time you’ve been depressed: just got off my antidepressants 😊 11. time you’ve gotten drunk and thrown up: I’ve never had alcohol in my life
FAVORITE COLORS
12. Pink
13. red
14. Baby blue and black
IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU
15. Made new friends: yea some lit ass people
16. fallen out of love: with the world? Yes
17. laughed until you cried: YESSSSSS
18. found out someone was talking about you: HELL YEA I WAS MAD AS A MOFO
19. Met someone who changed you: oh most definitely but he doesn’t know 
20. found out who your friends are: Eh I guess you could say that
21. kissed someone on your Facebook list: don’t really use Facebook tbh…
GENERAL
22. how many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: all of them
23. do you have any pets: 5 neon fish
24. do you wanna change your name: Maya is nice enough for now
25. what did you do for your last birthday? Had a lovely dinner where I dressed up to look bomb af
26. what time did you wake up: I’m still awake but I have class at 11:30 so…
27. what were you doing at midnight last night: playing free cell solitaire 
28. Name something you can’t wait for: graduating for high school
29. when was the last time you saw your mom: 2 hours ago
30. what are you listening to right now: the pitch blackness of 3 am
31. Have you ever talked to a person named tom: my grandfather’s name is tom
32. something that is getting on your nerves: the fact that I have to go back to WonderBead Central™ that is my school 😊😊😊😊😊
33. most visited website: Instagram, Tumblr, YouTube, and canvas 
34. hair color: dark brown 
35. do you have a crush on someone: oh boy do it!!!!!!!
36. Long or short hair: medium 
37. what do you like about yourself: My singing voice, acting, artistic, smart I guess, my empathic nature 
38. Piercings: double ear piercing 
39: blood type: idk mate
40: nickname: Mayita Mama Cita
41. relationship status: single but only would date one person atm
42. zodiac: Taurus af
43. pronouns-she/her/
44. favorite tV show: The Nanny, The Addams Family, RPDR, Dead Like Me, and Pushing Daisies
45. tattoos: not yet but I’m getting a giant rose on my upper thigh, the reference Philippians 4:6-7 on my arm and the names of my children on my ankles 
46. Right or left handed: right
47. surgery: none yet thankfully
48. Sport: swimming
49: Holiday: Halloween and Christmas equally 
50. pair of trainers: I have TONS of platform sneakers 51. eating: Italian, Mexican, anything with eggs, salads
52. drinking: tea, coffee, water
53: im about to: take my ass to bed
54: waiting for: my new eyeshadow palette to ship
55: want: Urban Decay naked heat, sanity, clarity, a life for the Lord, a nice family, and a job where I get to help people
56: Get married: yes YES A HUUUUUGE WEDDING IN A CATHEDRAL OR ON A TROPICAL ISLAND!!!!
57: career: journalist or child psychiatrist/author on psychology
58: hugs or kisses: both are nice 
59: lips or eyes: eyes
60: shorter or taller: taller 61: older or younger: younger
62. Nice arms or nice stomach: nice stomach definitely 
63. Hook up or relationship: relationships are waaaaay better 
64: troublemaker or hesitant: hesitant yet opinionated and loud at times 
65: kissed a stranger: no?
66: drank hard liquor: nope!
67: lost glasses or contacts: lol yesssss
68: turned someone down: once
69: sex on the first date: nah
70: broken someone’s heart: not yet and hopefully never
71: had your heart broken: oh GOD yes…
72: been arrested: no
73: cried when someone died: yes
74: fallen for a friend: 👏🏽PREACHING👏🏽TO👏🏽THE👏🏽MUTHA👏🏽FUCKIN👏🏽CHOIR👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽
DO YOU BELIEVE IN…
75: Yourself: yes but I have to remind myself to keep it up sometimes
76: miracles: they’ve happened to me 
77: love at first sight: sure I guess but never consciously
78: kiss on the first date: hell yea
79: angels: Yes
80: current best friend’s name: Taylor
81: eye color: dark brown
82: favorite movie: Addams Family Movies, Coming to America, Kids, The Shining, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Repo! The Genetic Opera, The Avengers, Dancer in the Dark, The Hobbit Trilogy, the Fall, a HELL of a lot more 
83: Favorite music genre: experimental, rock, trip hop, vaporwave, rap, r&b, anything 80s
84: favorite item of clothing: my PVC red mini skirt
85: favorite friends character: phoebe (but I fuckin hate that show)

I’m tagging @mr-puppy-the-puppy @mildred-hubble-bubble @rockyhorrorpictureshowstyle

Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’

Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’ Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’ http://www.nature-business.com/nature-suicides-get-taxi-drivers-talking-im-going-to-be-one-of-them/

Nature

Image

Three taxi drivers, from left, Lal Singh, Nicolae Hent and Lakhbir Rangar, spoke after a New York City Council meeting to consider bills that would help drivers facing financial hardships as a result of the rise of Uber and other ride-hail apps.CreditCreditYana Paskova for The New York Times

Both men were longtime taxi drivers from Romania. Both were worried about paying their bills as Uber decimated their industry. They were best friends. And both had struggled with depression.

Nicanor Ochisor’s wife dragged him to a doctor in March to get help. Two days later, he hanged himself in his garage.

“I didn’t know he was so depressed,” his friend, Nicolae Hent, said.

Mr. Hent had taken antidepressants. He wished he could have told Mr. Ochisor that it would get better.

“I didn’t know. I still feel bad even now — why I didn’t know that,” Mr. Hent said recently as he drove his taxi through Queens.

Mr. Ochisor was one of six professional drivers to commit suicide in New York in the last year — a crisis that has prompted a flurry of legislation to address the despair plaguing the industry. Most were men in their 50s and 60s anguished about their finances and feeling hopeless about being able to retire.

Many taxi drivers are under incredible stress, but Mr. Ochisor’s story shows how difficult it can be to convince those with severe depression to talk about it. Life behind the wheel of a taxi can be solitary and the job tends to attract independent-minded people who might not feel comfortable talking about emotions that can carry a stigma.

Image

Nicanor Ochisor, a taxi driver who was struggling to pay off the loan for his taxi medallion, hanged himself in the garage of his home in Queens in March.CreditKholood Eid for The New York Times

But city officials are urging drivers to seek help. In August, the City Council approved a cap on Uber and other ride-hail vehicles — the first major American city to rein in the booming apps. Now the Council is considering a separate set of bills that would establish a health fund for drivers and create “driver assistance centers” for mental health counseling and financial advice.

One bill aims to help taxi medallion owners saddled with massive debt. Corey Johnson, the Council speaker, said the city was considering several measures to do that, including a partial bailout or a hardship fund for medallion owners who drive their taxis — not for large-scale owners like Michael Cohen, President Trump’s former lawyer who with his wife owned more than 30 medallions.

“For the smaller individual medallion owners, what can we do to help them get out from under this crushing debt?” Mr. Johnson said in an interview, adding that the Council should vote on the bills by the end of the year. “We’re trying to figure out a way to do that.”

The recent string of suicides and the intense publicity they have received are now prodding drivers to speak more openly about their mental health — with each other and with their families. As their industry collapses, the conversations among drivers are different, from sharing photos of their grandchildren or talking about hobbies like winemaking, to discussing how they are going to survive.

Lal Singh, a taxi driver for three decades, said he had thought about suicide as he endured long hours driving his taxi and worried about paying off the loan he had taken out to buy it.

“When I hear that somebody did suicide, I was thinking about me,” Mr. Singh said as he waited at the taxi parking lot at Kennedy International Airport on a recent afternoon. “I’m going to be one of them one day.”

Mr. Singh, who is 62, owes about $6,200 a month on the taxi medallion he bought in 2000. He often drives a long stretch of Manhattan, from Harlem to Wall Street, looking in vain for passengers.

Image

Rabi Musaav, left, and Joseph Kuinov, two cab drivers, played backgammon while waiting for customers at a lot at Kennedy International Airport.CreditChang W. Lee/The New York Times

“When you have nothing to do, we are suffering,” Mr. Singh said. “What are you living for?”

At the airport taxi lot on a recent afternoon, taxi driver after driver complained of mounting debt and of feeling abandoned by the city, which has made millions of dollars selling medallions. A taxi medallion, the aluminum plate required to drive a cab in New York, once sold for more than $1 million but is now worth less than $200,000. Many drivers still owe hundreds of thousands of dollars in loans.

One taxi driver, Muhammad Anil, said his children had seen the headlines about the suicides and asked him if he was O.K. Mr. Anil, 57, told them he was fine, though he is concerned about the more than $500,000 he owes on his medallion.

“I don’t want them to worry about me too much,” he said.

Middle-age drivers may be particularly vulnerable. The suicide rate for people between the ages of 45 and 64 has jumped in recent years, more than for other age groups, said Barbara Stanley, a psychology professor at Columbia University. Suicide is a deeply personal decision and it is difficult to know for certain the factors that drive a person to make that choice.

The drivers, Dr. Stanley said, “might have been depressed in the past or had a vulnerability to depression and you combine it with these terrible environmental stressors and that’s a recipe for disaster.”

Still, many drivers are resistant to the idea of therapy.

“They’ve driven their whole lives,” said Meera Joshi, the city’s taxi commissioner. “There’s a tremendous amount of pride involved, rightfully so. Part of our messaging is that there’s no shame to needing mental health help.”

At 70, Harbans Singh still works 12-hour shifts in his taxi to pay off his medallion debt. Mr. Singh said he was not interested in counseling, adding that he relied on his Sikh faith.

“We don’t need counseling from the T.L.C.,” he said in reference to the city’s Taxi and Limousine Commission, which oversees the industry. “I don’t trust the T.L.C.”

Image

Helen Ochisor, Mr. Ochisor’s widow, has taken over driving her husband’s taxi, while her son, Gabriel Ochisor, is managing the business.CreditKholood Eid for The New York Times

Many drivers have said the best way to help is to offer them financial assistance. But the city is in a difficult position. Any bailout of medallion owners could cost billions of dollars, and officials have said they cannot offer residents a payout unless they are indigent or legally broke. Lyft, another popular app, had discussed the idea of a $100 million “hardship fund” for drivers, paid for by the tech companies, but only if the city dropped the proposal for a cap.

Marlow Pierre, a taxi driver who leases his medallion, said the best solution would be to further restrict Uber.

“Let us get back to business,” Mr. Pierre said. “All these guys want to do is work.”

Two days before his death, Mr. Ochisor saw a doctor and started taking an antidepressant. But it was too late. “He was worrying too much,” Mr. Hent said. “He told me many, many times, we have to work until we die.”

Gabriel Ochisor has taken over managing his father’s taxi, which his mother Helen and another driver still operate. The taxi failed a recent inspection because of a ripped seat.

“I can see why you would get stressed and pull your hair out,” Gabriel Ochisor said.

Mr. Hent sought help from a doctor around 2005 after a crippling anxiety attack, due in part to the stresses of his job. He started taking two antidepressants and learned coping strategies. He took up tennis.

“I saw how many people are sick in America” with depression, Mr. Hent said. “I said, ‘Oh I can take care of this.’”

Now Mr. Hent, who is 62 and owes about $130,000 on his medallion, is pushing the city to assist taxi drivers. He spoke at a recent Council hearing, waiting three hours for his turn — time spent away from making money in his taxi.

“I’m not going to kill myself,” Mr. Hent said. “I won’t kill nobody. But I’ll fight until I die.”

If you are having thoughts of suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK) or go to SpeakingOfSuicide.com/resources for a list of additional resources. Here’s what you can do when a loved one is severely depressed.

Follow Emma G. Fitzsimmons on Twitter: @emmagf

Read More | https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/02/nyregion/suicides-taxi-drivers-nyc.html |

Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’, in 2018-10-02 14:40:21

Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’

Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’ Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’ http://www.nature-business.com/nature-suicides-get-taxi-drivers-talking-im-going-to-be-one-of-them/

Nature

Image

Three taxi drivers, from left, Lal Singh, Nicolae Hent and Lakhbir Rangar, spoke after a New York City Council meeting to consider bills that would help drivers facing financial hardships as a result of the rise of Uber and other ride-hail apps.CreditCreditYana Paskova for The New York Times

Both men were longtime taxi drivers from Romania. Both were worried about paying their bills as Uber decimated their industry. They were best friends. And both had struggled with depression.

Nicanor Ochisor’s wife dragged him to a doctor in March to get help. Two days later, he hanged himself in his garage.

“I didn’t know he was so depressed,” his friend, Nicolae Hent, said.

Mr. Hent had taken antidepressants. He wished he could have told Mr. Ochisor that it would get better.

“I didn’t know. I still feel bad even now — why I didn’t know that,” Mr. Hent said recently as he drove his taxi through Queens.

Mr. Ochisor was one of six professional drivers to commit suicide in New York in the last year — a crisis that has prompted a flurry of legislation to address the despair plaguing the industry. Most were men in their 50s and 60s anguished about their finances and feeling hopeless about being able to retire.

Many taxi drivers are under incredible stress, but Mr. Ochisor’s story shows how difficult it can be to convince those with severe depression to talk about it. Life behind the wheel of a taxi can be solitary and the job tends to attract independent-minded people who might not feel comfortable talking about emotions that can carry a stigma.

Image

Nicanor Ochisor, a taxi driver who was struggling to pay off the loan for his taxi medallion, hanged himself in the garage of his home in Queens in March.CreditKholood Eid for The New York Times

But city officials are urging drivers to seek help. In August, the City Council approved a cap on Uber and other ride-hail vehicles — the first major American city to rein in the booming apps. Now the Council is considering a separate set of bills that would establish a health fund for drivers and create “driver assistance centers” for mental health counseling and financial advice.

One bill aims to help taxi medallion owners saddled with massive debt. Corey Johnson, the Council speaker, said the city was considering several measures to do that, including a partial bailout or a hardship fund for medallion owners who drive their taxis — not for large-scale owners like Michael Cohen, President Trump’s former lawyer who with his wife owned more than 30 medallions.

“For the smaller individual medallion owners, what can we do to help them get out from under this crushing debt?” Mr. Johnson said in an interview, adding that the Council should vote on the bills by the end of the year. “We’re trying to figure out a way to do that.”

The recent string of suicides and the intense publicity they have received are now prodding drivers to speak more openly about their mental health — with each other and with their families. As their industry collapses, the conversations among drivers are different, from sharing photos of their grandchildren or talking about hobbies like winemaking, to discussing how they are going to survive.

Lal Singh, a taxi driver for three decades, said he had thought about suicide as he endured long hours driving his taxi and worried about paying off the loan he had taken out to buy it.

“When I hear that somebody did suicide, I was thinking about me,” Mr. Singh said as he waited at the taxi parking lot at Kennedy International Airport on a recent afternoon. “I’m going to be one of them one day.”

Mr. Singh, who is 62, owes about $6,200 a month on the taxi medallion he bought in 2000. He often drives a long stretch of Manhattan, from Harlem to Wall Street, looking in vain for passengers.

Image

Rabi Musaav, left, and Joseph Kuinov, two cab drivers, played backgammon while waiting for customers at a lot at Kennedy International Airport.CreditChang W. Lee/The New York Times

“When you have nothing to do, we are suffering,” Mr. Singh said. “What are you living for?”

At the airport taxi lot on a recent afternoon, taxi driver after driver complained of mounting debt and of feeling abandoned by the city, which has made millions of dollars selling medallions. A taxi medallion, the aluminum plate required to drive a cab in New York, once sold for more than $1 million but is now worth less than $200,000. Many drivers still owe hundreds of thousands of dollars in loans.

One taxi driver, Muhammad Anil, said his children had seen the headlines about the suicides and asked him if he was O.K. Mr. Anil, 57, told them he was fine, though he is concerned about the more than $500,000 he owes on his medallion.

“I don’t want them to worry about me too much,” he said.

Middle-age drivers may be particularly vulnerable. The suicide rate for people between the ages of 45 and 64 has jumped in recent years, more than for other age groups, said Barbara Stanley, a psychology professor at Columbia University. Suicide is a deeply personal decision and it is difficult to know for certain the factors that drive a person to make that choice.

The drivers, Dr. Stanley said, “might have been depressed in the past or had a vulnerability to depression and you combine it with these terrible environmental stressors and that’s a recipe for disaster.”

Still, many drivers are resistant to the idea of therapy.

“They’ve driven their whole lives,” said Meera Joshi, the city’s taxi commissioner. “There’s a tremendous amount of pride involved, rightfully so. Part of our messaging is that there’s no shame to needing mental health help.”

At 70, Harbans Singh still works 12-hour shifts in his taxi to pay off his medallion debt. Mr. Singh said he was not interested in counseling, adding that he relied on his Sikh faith.

“We don’t need counseling from the T.L.C.,” he said in reference to the city’s Taxi and Limousine Commission, which oversees the industry. “I don’t trust the T.L.C.”

Image

Helen Ochisor, Mr. Ochisor’s widow, has taken over driving her husband’s taxi, while her son, Gabriel Ochisor, is managing the business.CreditKholood Eid for The New York Times

Many drivers have said the best way to help is to offer them financial assistance. But the city is in a difficult position. Any bailout of medallion owners could cost billions of dollars, and officials have said they cannot offer residents a payout unless they are indigent or legally broke. Lyft, another popular app, had discussed the idea of a $100 million “hardship fund” for drivers, paid for by the tech companies, but only if the city dropped the proposal for a cap.

Marlow Pierre, a taxi driver who leases his medallion, said the best solution would be to further restrict Uber.

“Let us get back to business,” Mr. Pierre said. “All these guys want to do is work.”

Two days before his death, Mr. Ochisor saw a doctor and started taking an antidepressant. But it was too late. “He was worrying too much,” Mr. Hent said. “He told me many, many times, we have to work until we die.”

Gabriel Ochisor has taken over managing his father’s taxi, which his mother Helen and another driver still operate. The taxi failed a recent inspection because of a ripped seat.

“I can see why you would get stressed and pull your hair out,” Gabriel Ochisor said.

Mr. Hent sought help from a doctor around 2005 after a crippling anxiety attack, due in part to the stresses of his job. He started taking two antidepressants and learned coping strategies. He took up tennis.

“I saw how many people are sick in America” with depression, Mr. Hent said. “I said, ‘Oh I can take care of this.’”

Now Mr. Hent, who is 62 and owes about $130,000 on his medallion, is pushing the city to assist taxi drivers. He spoke at a recent Council hearing, waiting three hours for his turn — time spent away from making money in his taxi.

“I’m not going to kill myself,” Mr. Hent said. “I won’t kill nobody. But I’ll fight until I die.”

If you are having thoughts of suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK) or go to SpeakingOfSuicide.com/resources for a list of additional resources. Here’s what you can do when a loved one is severely depressed.

Follow Emma G. Fitzsimmons on Twitter: @emmagf

Read More | https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/02/nyregion/suicides-taxi-drivers-nyc.html |

Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’, in 2018-10-02 14:40:21

Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’

Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’ Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’ http://www.nature-business.com/nature-suicides-get-taxi-drivers-talking-im-going-to-be-one-of-them/

Nature

Image

Three taxi drivers, from left, Lal Singh, Nicolae Hent and Lakhbir Rangar, spoke after a New York City Council meeting to consider bills that would help drivers facing financial hardships as a result of the rise of Uber and other ride-hail apps.CreditCreditYana Paskova for The New York Times

Both men were longtime taxi drivers from Romania. Both were worried about paying their bills as Uber decimated their industry. They were best friends. And both had struggled with depression.

Nicanor Ochisor’s wife dragged him to a doctor in March to get help. Two days later, he hanged himself in his garage.

“I didn’t know he was so depressed,” his friend, Nicolae Hent, said.

Mr. Hent had taken antidepressants. He wished he could have told Mr. Ochisor that it would get better.

“I didn’t know. I still feel bad even now — why I didn’t know that,” Mr. Hent said recently as he drove his taxi through Queens.

Mr. Ochisor was one of six professional drivers to commit suicide in New York in the last year — a crisis that has prompted a flurry of legislation to address the despair plaguing the industry. Most were men in their 50s and 60s anguished about their finances and feeling hopeless about being able to retire.

Many taxi drivers are under incredible stress, but Mr. Ochisor’s story shows how difficult it can be to convince those with severe depression to talk about it. Life behind the wheel of a taxi can be solitary and the job tends to attract independent-minded people who might not feel comfortable talking about emotions that can carry a stigma.

Image

Nicanor Ochisor, a taxi driver who was struggling to pay off the loan for his taxi medallion, hanged himself in the garage of his home in Queens in March.CreditKholood Eid for The New York Times

But city officials are urging drivers to seek help. In August, the City Council approved a cap on Uber and other ride-hail vehicles — the first major American city to rein in the booming apps. Now the Council is considering a separate set of bills that would establish a health fund for drivers and create “driver assistance centers” for mental health counseling and financial advice.

One bill aims to help taxi medallion owners saddled with massive debt. Corey Johnson, the Council speaker, said the city was considering several measures to do that, including a partial bailout or a hardship fund for medallion owners who drive their taxis — not for large-scale owners like Michael Cohen, President Trump’s former lawyer who with his wife owned more than 30 medallions.

“For the smaller individual medallion owners, what can we do to help them get out from under this crushing debt?” Mr. Johnson said in an interview, adding that the Council should vote on the bills by the end of the year. “We’re trying to figure out a way to do that.”

The recent string of suicides and the intense publicity they have received are now prodding drivers to speak more openly about their mental health — with each other and with their families. As their industry collapses, the conversations among drivers are different, from sharing photos of their grandchildren or talking about hobbies like winemaking, to discussing how they are going to survive.

Lal Singh, a taxi driver for three decades, said he had thought about suicide as he endured long hours driving his taxi and worried about paying off the loan he had taken out to buy it.

“When I hear that somebody did suicide, I was thinking about me,” Mr. Singh said as he waited at the taxi parking lot at Kennedy International Airport on a recent afternoon. “I’m going to be one of them one day.”

Mr. Singh, who is 62, owes about $6,200 a month on the taxi medallion he bought in 2000. He often drives a long stretch of Manhattan, from Harlem to Wall Street, looking in vain for passengers.

Image

Rabi Musaav, left, and Joseph Kuinov, two cab drivers, played backgammon while waiting for customers at a lot at Kennedy International Airport.CreditChang W. Lee/The New York Times

“When you have nothing to do, we are suffering,” Mr. Singh said. “What are you living for?”

At the airport taxi lot on a recent afternoon, taxi driver after driver complained of mounting debt and of feeling abandoned by the city, which has made millions of dollars selling medallions. A taxi medallion, the aluminum plate required to drive a cab in New York, once sold for more than $1 million but is now worth less than $200,000. Many drivers still owe hundreds of thousands of dollars in loans.

One taxi driver, Muhammad Anil, said his children had seen the headlines about the suicides and asked him if he was O.K. Mr. Anil, 57, told them he was fine, though he is concerned about the more than $500,000 he owes on his medallion.

“I don’t want them to worry about me too much,” he said.

Middle-age drivers may be particularly vulnerable. The suicide rate for people between the ages of 45 and 64 has jumped in recent years, more than for other age groups, said Barbara Stanley, a psychology professor at Columbia University. Suicide is a deeply personal decision and it is difficult to know for certain the factors that drive a person to make that choice.

The drivers, Dr. Stanley said, “might have been depressed in the past or had a vulnerability to depression and you combine it with these terrible environmental stressors and that’s a recipe for disaster.”

Still, many drivers are resistant to the idea of therapy.

“They’ve driven their whole lives,” said Meera Joshi, the city’s taxi commissioner. “There’s a tremendous amount of pride involved, rightfully so. Part of our messaging is that there’s no shame to needing mental health help.”

At 70, Harbans Singh still works 12-hour shifts in his taxi to pay off his medallion debt. Mr. Singh said he was not interested in counseling, adding that he relied on his Sikh faith.

“We don’t need counseling from the T.L.C.,” he said in reference to the city’s Taxi and Limousine Commission, which oversees the industry. “I don’t trust the T.L.C.”

Image

Helen Ochisor, Mr. Ochisor’s widow, has taken over driving her husband’s taxi, while her son, Gabriel Ochisor, is managing the business.CreditKholood Eid for The New York Times

Many drivers have said the best way to help is to offer them financial assistance. But the city is in a difficult position. Any bailout of medallion owners could cost billions of dollars, and officials have said they cannot offer residents a payout unless they are indigent or legally broke. Lyft, another popular app, had discussed the idea of a $100 million “hardship fund” for drivers, paid for by the tech companies, but only if the city dropped the proposal for a cap.

Marlow Pierre, a taxi driver who leases his medallion, said the best solution would be to further restrict Uber.

“Let us get back to business,” Mr. Pierre said. “All these guys want to do is work.”

Two days before his death, Mr. Ochisor saw a doctor and started taking an antidepressant. But it was too late. “He was worrying too much,” Mr. Hent said. “He told me many, many times, we have to work until we die.”

Gabriel Ochisor has taken over managing his father’s taxi, which his mother Helen and another driver still operate. The taxi failed a recent inspection because of a ripped seat.

“I can see why you would get stressed and pull your hair out,” Gabriel Ochisor said.

Mr. Hent sought help from a doctor around 2005 after a crippling anxiety attack, due in part to the stresses of his job. He started taking two antidepressants and learned coping strategies. He took up tennis.

“I saw how many people are sick in America” with depression, Mr. Hent said. “I said, ‘Oh I can take care of this.’”

Now Mr. Hent, who is 62 and owes about $130,000 on his medallion, is pushing the city to assist taxi drivers. He spoke at a recent Council hearing, waiting three hours for his turn — time spent away from making money in his taxi.

“I’m not going to kill myself,” Mr. Hent said. “I won’t kill nobody. But I’ll fight until I die.”

If you are having thoughts of suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK) or go to SpeakingOfSuicide.com/resources for a list of additional resources. Here’s what you can do when a loved one is severely depressed.

Follow Emma G. Fitzsimmons on Twitter: @emmagf

Read More | https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/02/nyregion/suicides-taxi-drivers-nyc.html |

Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’, in 2018-10-02 14:40:21

Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’

Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’ Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’ http://www.nature-business.com/nature-suicides-get-taxi-drivers-talking-im-going-to-be-one-of-them/

Nature

Image

Three taxi drivers, from left, Lal Singh, Nicolae Hent and Lakhbir Rangar, spoke after a New York City Council meeting to consider bills that would help drivers facing financial hardships as a result of the rise of Uber and other ride-hail apps.CreditCreditYana Paskova for The New York Times

Both men were longtime taxi drivers from Romania. Both were worried about paying their bills as Uber decimated their industry. They were best friends. And both had struggled with depression.

Nicanor Ochisor’s wife dragged him to a doctor in March to get help. Two days later, he hanged himself in his garage.

“I didn’t know he was so depressed,” his friend, Nicolae Hent, said.

Mr. Hent had taken antidepressants. He wished he could have told Mr. Ochisor that it would get better.

“I didn’t know. I still feel bad even now — why I didn’t know that,” Mr. Hent said recently as he drove his taxi through Queens.

Mr. Ochisor was one of six professional drivers to commit suicide in New York in the last year — a crisis that has prompted a flurry of legislation to address the despair plaguing the industry. Most were men in their 50s and 60s anguished about their finances and feeling hopeless about being able to retire.

Many taxi drivers are under incredible stress, but Mr. Ochisor’s story shows how difficult it can be to convince those with severe depression to talk about it. Life behind the wheel of a taxi can be solitary and the job tends to attract independent-minded people who might not feel comfortable talking about emotions that can carry a stigma.

Image

Nicanor Ochisor, a taxi driver who was struggling to pay off the loan for his taxi medallion, hanged himself in the garage of his home in Queens in March.CreditKholood Eid for The New York Times

But city officials are urging drivers to seek help. In August, the City Council approved a cap on Uber and other ride-hail vehicles — the first major American city to rein in the booming apps. Now the Council is considering a separate set of bills that would establish a health fund for drivers and create “driver assistance centers” for mental health counseling and financial advice.

One bill aims to help taxi medallion owners saddled with massive debt. Corey Johnson, the Council speaker, said the city was considering several measures to do that, including a partial bailout or a hardship fund for medallion owners who drive their taxis — not for large-scale owners like Michael Cohen, President Trump’s former lawyer who with his wife owned more than 30 medallions.

“For the smaller individual medallion owners, what can we do to help them get out from under this crushing debt?” Mr. Johnson said in an interview, adding that the Council should vote on the bills by the end of the year. “We’re trying to figure out a way to do that.”

The recent string of suicides and the intense publicity they have received are now prodding drivers to speak more openly about their mental health — with each other and with their families. As their industry collapses, the conversations among drivers are different, from sharing photos of their grandchildren or talking about hobbies like winemaking, to discussing how they are going to survive.

Lal Singh, a taxi driver for three decades, said he had thought about suicide as he endured long hours driving his taxi and worried about paying off the loan he had taken out to buy it.

“When I hear that somebody did suicide, I was thinking about me,” Mr. Singh said as he waited at the taxi parking lot at Kennedy International Airport on a recent afternoon. “I’m going to be one of them one day.”

Mr. Singh, who is 62, owes about $6,200 a month on the taxi medallion he bought in 2000. He often drives a long stretch of Manhattan, from Harlem to Wall Street, looking in vain for passengers.

Image

Rabi Musaav, left, and Joseph Kuinov, two cab drivers, played backgammon while waiting for customers at a lot at Kennedy International Airport.CreditChang W. Lee/The New York Times

“When you have nothing to do, we are suffering,” Mr. Singh said. “What are you living for?”

At the airport taxi lot on a recent afternoon, taxi driver after driver complained of mounting debt and of feeling abandoned by the city, which has made millions of dollars selling medallions. A taxi medallion, the aluminum plate required to drive a cab in New York, once sold for more than $1 million but is now worth less than $200,000. Many drivers still owe hundreds of thousands of dollars in loans.

One taxi driver, Muhammad Anil, said his children had seen the headlines about the suicides and asked him if he was O.K. Mr. Anil, 57, told them he was fine, though he is concerned about the more than $500,000 he owes on his medallion.

“I don’t want them to worry about me too much,” he said.

Middle-age drivers may be particularly vulnerable. The suicide rate for people between the ages of 45 and 64 has jumped in recent years, more than for other age groups, said Barbara Stanley, a psychology professor at Columbia University. Suicide is a deeply personal decision and it is difficult to know for certain the factors that drive a person to make that choice.

The drivers, Dr. Stanley said, “might have been depressed in the past or had a vulnerability to depression and you combine it with these terrible environmental stressors and that’s a recipe for disaster.”

Still, many drivers are resistant to the idea of therapy.

“They’ve driven their whole lives,” said Meera Joshi, the city’s taxi commissioner. “There’s a tremendous amount of pride involved, rightfully so. Part of our messaging is that there’s no shame to needing mental health help.”

At 70, Harbans Singh still works 12-hour shifts in his taxi to pay off his medallion debt. Mr. Singh said he was not interested in counseling, adding that he relied on his Sikh faith.

“We don’t need counseling from the T.L.C.,” he said in reference to the city’s Taxi and Limousine Commission, which oversees the industry. “I don’t trust the T.L.C.”

Image

Helen Ochisor, Mr. Ochisor’s widow, has taken over driving her husband’s taxi, while her son, Gabriel Ochisor, is managing the business.CreditKholood Eid for The New York Times

Many drivers have said the best way to help is to offer them financial assistance. But the city is in a difficult position. Any bailout of medallion owners could cost billions of dollars, and officials have said they cannot offer residents a payout unless they are indigent or legally broke. Lyft, another popular app, had discussed the idea of a $100 million “hardship fund” for drivers, paid for by the tech companies, but only if the city dropped the proposal for a cap.

Marlow Pierre, a taxi driver who leases his medallion, said the best solution would be to further restrict Uber.

“Let us get back to business,” Mr. Pierre said. “All these guys want to do is work.”

Two days before his death, Mr. Ochisor saw a doctor and started taking an antidepressant. But it was too late. “He was worrying too much,” Mr. Hent said. “He told me many, many times, we have to work until we die.”

Gabriel Ochisor has taken over managing his father’s taxi, which his mother Helen and another driver still operate. The taxi failed a recent inspection because of a ripped seat.

“I can see why you would get stressed and pull your hair out,” Gabriel Ochisor said.

Mr. Hent sought help from a doctor around 2005 after a crippling anxiety attack, due in part to the stresses of his job. He started taking two antidepressants and learned coping strategies. He took up tennis.

“I saw how many people are sick in America” with depression, Mr. Hent said. “I said, ‘Oh I can take care of this.’”

Now Mr. Hent, who is 62 and owes about $130,000 on his medallion, is pushing the city to assist taxi drivers. He spoke at a recent Council hearing, waiting three hours for his turn — time spent away from making money in his taxi.

“I’m not going to kill myself,” Mr. Hent said. “I won’t kill nobody. But I’ll fight until I die.”

If you are having thoughts of suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK) or go to SpeakingOfSuicide.com/resources for a list of additional resources. Here’s what you can do when a loved one is severely depressed.

Follow Emma G. Fitzsimmons on Twitter: @emmagf

Read More | https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/02/nyregion/suicides-taxi-drivers-nyc.html |

Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’, in 2018-10-02 14:40:21

Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’

Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’ Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’ http://www.nature-business.com/nature-suicides-get-taxi-drivers-talking-im-going-to-be-one-of-them/

Nature

Image

Three taxi drivers, from left, Lal Singh, Nicolae Hent and Lakhbir Rangar, spoke after a New York City Council meeting to consider bills that would help drivers facing financial hardships as a result of the rise of Uber and other ride-hail apps.CreditCreditYana Paskova for The New York Times

Both men were longtime taxi drivers from Romania. Both were worried about paying their bills as Uber decimated their industry. They were best friends. And both had struggled with depression.

Nicanor Ochisor’s wife dragged him to a doctor in March to get help. Two days later, he hanged himself in his garage.

“I didn’t know he was so depressed,” his friend, Nicolae Hent, said.

Mr. Hent had taken antidepressants. He wished he could have told Mr. Ochisor that it would get better.

“I didn’t know. I still feel bad even now — why I didn’t know that,” Mr. Hent said recently as he drove his taxi through Queens.

Mr. Ochisor was one of six professional drivers to commit suicide in New York in the last year — a crisis that has prompted a flurry of legislation to address the despair plaguing the industry. Most were men in their 50s and 60s anguished about their finances and feeling hopeless about being able to retire.

Many taxi drivers are under incredible stress, but Mr. Ochisor’s story shows how difficult it can be to convince those with severe depression to talk about it. Life behind the wheel of a taxi can be solitary and the job tends to attract independent-minded people who might not feel comfortable talking about emotions that can carry a stigma.

Image

Nicanor Ochisor, a taxi driver who was struggling to pay off the loan for his taxi medallion, hanged himself in the garage of his home in Queens in March.CreditKholood Eid for The New York Times

But city officials are urging drivers to seek help. In August, the City Council approved a cap on Uber and other ride-hail vehicles — the first major American city to rein in the booming apps. Now the Council is considering a separate set of bills that would establish a health fund for drivers and create “driver assistance centers” for mental health counseling and financial advice.

One bill aims to help taxi medallion owners saddled with massive debt. Corey Johnson, the Council speaker, said the city was considering several measures to do that, including a partial bailout or a hardship fund for medallion owners who drive their taxis — not for large-scale owners like Michael Cohen, President Trump’s former lawyer who with his wife owned more than 30 medallions.

“For the smaller individual medallion owners, what can we do to help them get out from under this crushing debt?” Mr. Johnson said in an interview, adding that the Council should vote on the bills by the end of the year. “We’re trying to figure out a way to do that.”

The recent string of suicides and the intense publicity they have received are now prodding drivers to speak more openly about their mental health — with each other and with their families. As their industry collapses, the conversations among drivers are different, from sharing photos of their grandchildren or talking about hobbies like winemaking, to discussing how they are going to survive.

Lal Singh, a taxi driver for three decades, said he had thought about suicide as he endured long hours driving his taxi and worried about paying off the loan he had taken out to buy it.

“When I hear that somebody did suicide, I was thinking about me,” Mr. Singh said as he waited at the taxi parking lot at Kennedy International Airport on a recent afternoon. “I’m going to be one of them one day.”

Mr. Singh, who is 62, owes about $6,200 a month on the taxi medallion he bought in 2000. He often drives a long stretch of Manhattan, from Harlem to Wall Street, looking in vain for passengers.

Image

Rabi Musaav, left, and Joseph Kuinov, two cab drivers, played backgammon while waiting for customers at a lot at Kennedy International Airport.CreditChang W. Lee/The New York Times

“When you have nothing to do, we are suffering,” Mr. Singh said. “What are you living for?”

At the airport taxi lot on a recent afternoon, taxi driver after driver complained of mounting debt and of feeling abandoned by the city, which has made millions of dollars selling medallions. A taxi medallion, the aluminum plate required to drive a cab in New York, once sold for more than $1 million but is now worth less than $200,000. Many drivers still owe hundreds of thousands of dollars in loans.

One taxi driver, Muhammad Anil, said his children had seen the headlines about the suicides and asked him if he was O.K. Mr. Anil, 57, told them he was fine, though he is concerned about the more than $500,000 he owes on his medallion.

“I don’t want them to worry about me too much,” he said.

Middle-age drivers may be particularly vulnerable. The suicide rate for people between the ages of 45 and 64 has jumped in recent years, more than for other age groups, said Barbara Stanley, a psychology professor at Columbia University. Suicide is a deeply personal decision and it is difficult to know for certain the factors that drive a person to make that choice.

The drivers, Dr. Stanley said, “might have been depressed in the past or had a vulnerability to depression and you combine it with these terrible environmental stressors and that’s a recipe for disaster.”

Still, many drivers are resistant to the idea of therapy.

“They’ve driven their whole lives,” said Meera Joshi, the city’s taxi commissioner. “There’s a tremendous amount of pride involved, rightfully so. Part of our messaging is that there’s no shame to needing mental health help.”

At 70, Harbans Singh still works 12-hour shifts in his taxi to pay off his medallion debt. Mr. Singh said he was not interested in counseling, adding that he relied on his Sikh faith.

“We don’t need counseling from the T.L.C.,” he said in reference to the city’s Taxi and Limousine Commission, which oversees the industry. “I don’t trust the T.L.C.”

Image

Helen Ochisor, Mr. Ochisor’s widow, has taken over driving her husband’s taxi, while her son, Gabriel Ochisor, is managing the business.CreditKholood Eid for The New York Times

Many drivers have said the best way to help is to offer them financial assistance. But the city is in a difficult position. Any bailout of medallion owners could cost billions of dollars, and officials have said they cannot offer residents a payout unless they are indigent or legally broke. Lyft, another popular app, had discussed the idea of a $100 million “hardship fund” for drivers, paid for by the tech companies, but only if the city dropped the proposal for a cap.

Marlow Pierre, a taxi driver who leases his medallion, said the best solution would be to further restrict Uber.

“Let us get back to business,” Mr. Pierre said. “All these guys want to do is work.”

Two days before his death, Mr. Ochisor saw a doctor and started taking an antidepressant. But it was too late. “He was worrying too much,” Mr. Hent said. “He told me many, many times, we have to work until we die.”

Gabriel Ochisor has taken over managing his father’s taxi, which his mother Helen and another driver still operate. The taxi failed a recent inspection because of a ripped seat.

“I can see why you would get stressed and pull your hair out,” Gabriel Ochisor said.

Mr. Hent sought help from a doctor around 2005 after a crippling anxiety attack, due in part to the stresses of his job. He started taking two antidepressants and learned coping strategies. He took up tennis.

“I saw how many people are sick in America” with depression, Mr. Hent said. “I said, ‘Oh I can take care of this.’”

Now Mr. Hent, who is 62 and owes about $130,000 on his medallion, is pushing the city to assist taxi drivers. He spoke at a recent Council hearing, waiting three hours for his turn — time spent away from making money in his taxi.

“I’m not going to kill myself,” Mr. Hent said. “I won’t kill nobody. But I’ll fight until I die.”

If you are having thoughts of suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK) or go to SpeakingOfSuicide.com/resources for a list of additional resources. Here’s what you can do when a loved one is severely depressed.

Follow Emma G. Fitzsimmons on Twitter: @emmagf

Read More | https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/02/nyregion/suicides-taxi-drivers-nyc.html |

Nature Suicides Get Taxi Drivers Talking: ‘I’m Going to Be One of Them’, in 2018-10-02 14:40:21