Mental Health: Drowning

On Sunday some friends so graciously took me and Rick out on their boat. It was the most sun and fresh air I’ve gotten in more four months, since before the pandemic it was still winter time in New York. It seems I forgot how to behave in the sun… and got a pretty big burn to show for it.

(Fortunately I keep an aloe plant in my apartment. But, this post isn’t about burns and aloe (although there’s a mental health analogy in there somewhere…) No. I’m gonna make another corny analogy that came to me, because it was such a good parallel to my mental illness.)

In order to get away from the hoards of people in their individual boats and get some more space for swimming and fishing, we left the channel and went out into the ocean. The front of the boat slammed down with each wave, the significantly more violent movement signaling our entrance into the Atlantic. The channel was mild by comparison, a completely different ballgame. The only waves we seemed to encounter were from the wakes of other boats. The boat was rocking big time now, but we got what we were looking for. Solitude.

Rick jumped off the side and we all gave him a hard time because he asked for a rope to hang onto while in the water. We giggled watching him bump up against the side of the boat that had become at the mercy of the ocean’s movement and, after a very brief swim, he climbed back aboard.

“Okay, that’s good for me,” he said, laughing.

It was my turn to jump in, now. Seeing nothing around me but water kinda creeped me out, but I had gotten queasy on the ocean so I needed a dunk in the water to cut the nausea, anyway. I tugged at my bathing suit and stared down at the hazel water lapping against the boat and accepted my fate. While everyone was distracted, and someone was mid-sentence, I jumped starboard. No countdown, no witness, no pressure. Doing things on my time, just how I like it.

It felt good. Cold. I quickly swept past the boat’s side, enjoying the relief of both the nice temperature and having just gotten the shock of that first immersion over with. The boat bobbed passed me as I treaded water, looking on. Okay, that’s enough, I thought. I swam toward the ladder and looked up to find I was no closer than where I’d started. In fact, the boat was a little further away. I tried again. Nothing. I laughed and looked at everyone on the boat, now watching me.

“I don’t think I can do it!” I said. I tried again.

“You gotta swim, babe,” Rick called. “You’re not swimming.”

Our friend dog paddled the air with a smile on his face. “Do you know how to swim?”

“Guys, of course I know how to swim.” My disembodied head scowled from the water. Normally I was a dry-from-the-neck-up, breaststroke type swimmer, but in this circumstance I needed to swim properly. I gave it a shot. Nothing.

“I seriously don’t think I can do it.”

“Seriously?” Our friend asked, no longer joking. He was our captain and handled his role with care. Also, his friend’s wife like, couldn’t swim.

“For real.” I laughed nervously. I was stuck, nothin’ but water around me and below me, and I was floating further away by the second. The waves picked up.

I knew they wouldn’t leave me, or something, so I didn’t panic, although I easily could’ve being so out of control in the middle of the ocean. I embraced the fact I was out of control and relaxed my body, even turning around to observe the big waves coming my way. Nothin’ but water and lack of control. Nothin’ to do but wait and survive.

I heard the boat rumble to life and turned to see our friend inching toward me in reverse. He closed the gap and cut the engine, and I swam the last couple of feet with great effort against the current to reach the ladder. Rick was waiting at the back of the boat in his royal blue swimsuit with his hand out to help me.

“Are you okay?” He asked, supporting the weight I was putting on him as I stepped back aboard. Gripping the crap out of my husband’s hand. Relief.

case study of me being a solid hand gripper

“Yeah… but I was a goner!” I laughed.

“You were not getting any closer to us,” our friend said, partially stated as fact, partially in disbelief.

“Yeah, I was def a goner. Thanks for coming to get me, because I think that was almost it for me.” I turned to Rick. “I think I need proper swim lessons for real because that was scary.”

“We would’ve saved you! Don’t worry. Remember, I’m a floater, babe.” Rick thinks it’s funny to make toilet jokes about how his body behaves in bodies of water.

“Yeah, I know. It’s so comforting that you’re a floater, the ultimately water survivor.”

“Girl, I got you!” My friend said, sunning on the boat’s edge in a gorgeous designer swimsuit and shades. “I for real could’ve saved you.” I think she used to be a lifeguard. Either way, I believed her. My friends and family got me.

I smiled with incredulous relief and wrapped my arms around Rick’s warm body, so grateful to mash my head against the chest of the #1 floater of my heart.

Then, I felt like I was gonna ralph again. Then, everyone felt like they were gonna ralph. So, we retreated back to the placid channel, a magical place where no one feels like they’re gonna ralph.

I guess my brain couldn’t help but Carrie Bradshaw an analogy, here, because something bobbed into the waves of my thoughts. <- LOL I COULDN’T HELP IT.

When I see a big, dark wave of depression coming on, or get pulled into one unexpectedly, I can fight it, or I can panic. Or, I can just relax my body into it, wait it out, and communicate to those around me what’s happening and what they can do to help, if anything. In a weird way, I’m really proud of myself for turning around and looking out into the ocean that day, looking at the waves head on. Waves keep coming. Like it’s the nature of the ocean, it’s the nature of mental illness, too. If you accept what’s happening and remember all waves that come up must come down, and that depression lies, it will end. You will feel better.

If it’s never better, and you’re just getting slammed with life’s waves with no relief or sustainable way to cope, please, please see a psychologist to have talk therapy. If applicable, they can refer you to and work with a psychiatrist for meds. A lot of times, people just need to spit out what’s happening in their minds, even if, no, especially if it doesn’t even make sense. When you think out loud with the help of a good therapist, a lot of times you organize your thoughts and feelings in the process. Then, you can put a lot of the trauma you’ve been consciously or subconsciously grappling with behind you.* Don’t drown. You don’t have to drown. There are life preservers, friends, family, and your own steely resolve nearby.

Warmest,
Bailey

*Concept from studies referenced by Dr. Bessel van der Kolk in The Body Keeps the Score (2014). Important, highly recommended read.


Wednesday posts cover something that’s top of mind for me that week and are written in a short period of time. This means that editing is not strong. While it’s not my best work, it is my best, unfiltered thought.


More on Bummed Out Bailey:
Mental Health: What About People with Depression?
Mental Health: The Social Toll of Invisible Illness
Mental Health: The Best Cure for Anxiety


The best way you can support me is to share my blog with friends! Another way to support is on my Patreon where you’ll find exclusive content. Your word of mouth and contribution mean more to me than you’ll ever know!

To subscribe to Bummed Out Bailey by email, scroll all the way down to the bottom of the website and enter your info into the form. I can also be found on InstagramFacebook, and Twitter!

If you or someone you know needs help right now, please call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.


Mental Health: What About People with Depression?

Preface: I acknowledge and respect that many populations feel underrepresented and scared right now, but I’m just speaking to what I know, which is living with mental illness. I am the type of person who values respect and word impeccability, and typically speak and most certainly write with careful intention and inclusion of populations that are not my own. This post is “not like me.” But, after 4+ months of isolating, I’m considering my own health for a brief moment. I wrote “For once, I’m gonna be a self-concerned butthead,” thinking I’d be apologetic for being self-centered, and then deleted it. I hope to receive the same respect and consideration I so readily give to people with other health issues. Just because mine are invisible doesn’t make them any less serious. Or lethal. I owe this to myself and people like me.

We’re on the look out for people with physical ailments and the for the immunosuppressed. We’re on the look out for seniors and other physically at-risk populations.

Is anyone on the look out for people with depression?

Most people don’t like being shut in their home indefinitely, and that even includes me, the queen of needing to be alone in my own space to recharge. I’m not going to pretend I know anything about doing the unpaid full time job of parenting and the stress of chasing babies and children around during a pandemic while also maintaining your own sanity. I’m also not going to pretend I know anything about working a full time job from home without childcare. I’m also not going to pretend I know anything about working a full time job. (Ha ha just kidding. Sort of. I’m the professional world’s #1 bachelorette.) Something I do know about, though, is chronically sad people. Those are my people.

I’m struggling to find work because the job market has largely frozen. Even if just temporary, money has dried up. Rent is still due and the buck is stopping at individuals like me, a typical American with a touch of credit card debt and a looming date, August 19th, when Rick and I lose the health insurance we bought through my grad school. Of course, the plan was for me to get a job after graduating in May and, with the cushion of insurance through the summer, we’d be covered through (or at least mostly through) the standard trial period at a new job before being granted benefits.

I’ve mentioned this a handful of times, but my psychiatrist is $400/visit, which is basically the New York City standard. A friend told me about a hospital with excellent psych care that’s covered by insurance(! a true unicorn), and I was thrilled to look into them and switch over to save on a colossal monthly expense for me and Rick. Then, COVID happened. I’ve done the legwork, and an uncertain time is not the time to play roulette with your mental healthcare provider, so any kind of switch got put on ice. Now, my insurance is up in a month, rendering any kind of insurance-based switch financially meaningless, as it’ll be out of pocket anywhere I go August 20th on if the job market stays on course. If that happens, hopefully I will find a psych who uses a sliding scale.

All of this is to say: quality psychiatry is essential healthcare for me. If my mental illness is not monitored, I can die.

I’m frazzled. Rick says he’s relaxed but he’s been driving weird, which makes me even more frazzled. (Rick turns into a weird driver when he’s stressed out, a public health risk in and of itself.) Nobody tell Rick about this paragraph.

I’m trying to figure it out, keeping a detailed Excel spreadsheet of jobs applied to, reaching out to mutual friends of people working somewhere I’d like to, perfecting cover letters, combing the ‘net, seeking advice from anyone potentially helpful, keeping a positive attitude, and trying to figure out the color of m’dang parachute. Because things have gotten more desperate by the day, the end game is now money and health insurance. Good old fashioned purpose and fulfillment would be some kind of rainbow icing on top. Community would be good, too, but I know, I know- I’m getting a lil crazy with all these hopes and dreams. I just want to contribute to the world! I want to make things that help people! I have a lot to give! I work very hard and with integrity, something that’s unfortunately rare! But, I also have mental illness that’s challenging to maintain in the throes of a global pandemic! One where there seems to be no sure light at the end of the tunnel! Only a flickering, creepy, lightbulb-in-a-haunted-house light! I like haunted stuff, but not this!

I feel like I need to course correct what’s become a wiggy digression: with illness, isolation, economic downturn, and job uncertainty, a person with typical mental health could struggle, let alone people with diagnosed mental illnesses. The suicide rate in America increased 35% from 1999 to 2018. The second leading cause of death in people ages 10-35 is suicide, and that’s without factoring in a global pandemic.

You may be thinking, well, what about the ER? What about suicide hotlines?

Do you know what happens if you go to the ER (by either self arrival or ambulance)? You’re humiliated by people blabbing about your ideation as if it’s not extremely sensitive (“Dennis, she said she wants to kill herself. Oh, you can’t hear me? I SAID SHE SAID SHE WANTS TO KILL HERSELF! Yeah. Kill herself.”). They monitor you for a bit, sometimes overnight, and then let you go to free up the bed. Last July I tried to get someone on an emergency hotline, and couldn’t get through. Either way, hotlines are staffed by good-hearted volunteers, not psychiatrists. These things are highly fallible last resorts, not solutions, let alone effective care.

An article on PsychologyToday.com muses on suicide during SARS as it may pertain to COVID: “…most [SARS-related] suicides involved elderly or chronically ill people who were afraid of becoming burdens to their families due to becoming infected, a concern that is already common among many COVID-19 patients.” A lot of people don’t consider the fact that “chronically ill people” includes those with lifelong mental illness issues. The guilt of being a burden is real.

Isolating with no end in sight might be “flattening the curve,” keeping hospitals manageable, and protecting some at-risk populations, but what about my at-risk population? Sometimes, people with mental illness need help to continue living, period. Living with any sort of normalcy/quality of life is just a bonus. Trust me, sometimes I’m tempted to say, “Just let the people with mental illness go. Let Darwinism run its course,” like I’m sure other people secretly think about my population. It’s a dark thought and, some days, I don’t disagree.

Then I remember that depression lies.

I have to fight for my bright moments, reminding myself that the offerings I bring to the world are important enough for me to stick around. But, when you feel undervalued, and that feeling is coming from inside my head and from inaction/lack of a solid public game plan for people like me, it’s hard to maintain that grit.

The world we live in is a real humdinger.

I’ll continue to move through the world sanitized, masked, and appropriately quarantined, I just have no idea how sustainable this all is for people like me.

Thanks for reading,
Bailey

Sources:
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s “Preventing Suicide” page, last reviewed April 21, 2020
Psychology Today, “Are We Facing a Post-COVID-19 Suicide Epidemic?” Posted June 7, 2020


Wednesday posts cover something that’s top of mind for me that week and are written in a short period of time. This means that editing is not strong. While it’s not my best work, it is my best, unfiltered thought.


More on Bummed Out Bailey:
Mental Health: The Gold of One’s Spirit
Mental Health: The Social Toll of Invisible Illness
Mental Health: The Best Cure for Anxiety


The best way you can support me is to share my blog with friends! Another way to support is on my Patreon where you’ll find exclusive content. Your word of mouth and contribution mean more to me than you’ll ever know!

To subscribe to Bummed Out Bailey by email, scroll all the way down to the bottom of the website and enter your info into the form. I can also be found on InstagramFacebook, and Twitter!

If you or someone you know needs help right now, please call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.


Mental Health: Valentine’s Posts Are a No From Me Dog

Saddle up for a series of hot takes. Yeehaw!

Social media! A journey of jealousy and curation, trendy filters and ever-changing lexicon, FOMO and even some JOMO. Variations of “remember, social media is just someone’s highlight reel!” have become a common refrain when considering’ profiles, and now manufactured vulnerability has become de riguer, much to ole Bummed Out Bailey’s chagrin… my culture of crippling anxiety and ideation is not costume, [hot influencer selling something via fake mental illness confessional].

Your moods can be soaring or plummeting while you post something in opposition. You can display energy while you’re exhausted, or take a sleeping selfie (???how) when you’re actually up and at ’em. Maybe these things end up being self-fulfilling! Except for the selfie taking while you’re sleeping, ’cause that sounds witchy. Maybe social media presentation is all an evolved take on the “fake it til you make it” mentality, but I suspect it’s still more of a manipulative tool or façade. Who knows.

So, something top of mind this past week in regards to social media are, naturally, Valentine’s posts. I’d like to even the playing fields here.

Dear people who are coupled up on Valentine’s,

Guys, what the hell? Stop it. Your lover is not shipped off to ‘Nam. Why are you gushing about your S.O. on a social media platform when A) you can just tell them how you feel in person or on the phone, which is more meaningful anyway, and B) it makes people who are lonely on V-Day feel worse? It’s weird. And it was like the more people posted love letters to their S.O.s, the more other people did until it was a deluge of saccharine. I like sugar, but… gag. I’m sneakin’ in some salt.
I post goofy tributes to Rick ’cause I crack myself up and also ’cause I know ain’t nobody wanna read about what we mean to each other except… each other. So, I talk about, like, Rick’s vest collection or how he complains about Sprinkles cupcakes icing to cake ratio being off.
It comes off as insecure to rave about your romance online, which may or may not be true IRL. Sometimes you just wanna publicly celebrate your person, I get it. But I know what it feels like to be lonely and scrolling through people’s love stories advertised all over the place on V-Day. It hurts, so be cognizant. And maybe take a romantic social media-less trip to ‘Nam together.

Love,
Bailey

Dear lonely people on Valentine’s,

Reminder: marriage or romantic partnership does not equal ever-lasting emancipation from loneliness. The loneliness inside of these relationships actually compounds when you feel isolated or misunderstood because, even though you have a person to alleviate those things in theory, we’re all fallible human beings in practice and fail each other sometimes. Whether or not you’ve been in a longterm partnership, this is important for all people to keep in mind.
If you’re wondering what the heck is going on, and where your relationship(s) went wrong, they didn’t. It’s just that no one is posting the miserable stuff on the internet.com.

Love,
It’s Still Me, Bailey

P.S. One of my favorite podcasts I listened to this week was Bad On Paper’s “Being Single Doesn’t Have to Suck!” episode. I love the women who host this pod.

Three months after Rick and I got married my boss moved to Abu Dhabi and I asked to follow him. I created a deck and pitched why I’d be great and how badly I wanted it. I reasoned that Rick and I would fly back and forth and see each other every six weeks, equaling one trip for each of us every three months. I had it mapped and Rick’s arm twisted. My boss called me up on a Sunday morning and said that he and his wife had been married for 30 years, so this was kind of a drop in the bucket for them, but that my and Rick’s marriage was so new (he’d been there to celebrate with us) that he was wary to condone such a vast separation. I was so bummed when it didn’t work out back then, but Rick and I laugh about it now. The hindsight idea of us being separated by a 13 hour flight when we were just beginning to establish the foundation of our home is, for us, preposterous, especially considering how rocky it all was for us in the first two years. Rick likes to laugh and say “Hey remember when we got married and then you immediately tried to move away to the Middle East?” It seriously could’ve been a quick nail in the marital coffin.

Anyway, while Rick and I have only been together 5-6 years, I can appreciate that it’s a beautiful thing for two people to choose each other over and over, every day. However, I can’t just get up and move to the Middle East because I feel like it anymore. On October 1, 2016 I committed to consulting and considering another person on all big choices for the rest of my life. Maybe I’d actually like to be shipped off to ‘Nam for a three month teaching adventure where I get a long weekend to fly over to Chiang Mai and snuggle an elephant, but I can’t just jet off into the sunset. And because Rick still thinks Linkedin is social media, I wouldn’t find a romantic Valentine’s post online, anyway, unless it was an allusion hidden in an article about ROI or how to scale product.

Whenever I see precious babies on social celebrating birthdays, family vacations to the beach with sandy Michelin-man buns, and matching Christmas PJs and the joy/terror of meeting Santa, I think about how nice that must be to have: a cozy home with children underfoot. But, in the same vein as marriage v. singledom, there are pros and cons, right? Longterm relationships, children – each one of these things is like a root that grows deeper, making it evermore challenging to uproot from the place you’re in geographically, professionally, etc. Sometimes I long for a little house with a yard and a derpy golden retriever and my own herb garden and a baby toddling around, but I try to recalibrate my thinking to remember that while there are wonderful things about that potential, there are also wonderful things about life without children (yet), if that’s something you desire. The same goes for life without a longterm partner (yet), again if that’s something you desire.

I think it’s so easy to look at someone else’s life online and feel as if you’re missing something fabulous. It’s not all creative baby announcements and promproposals, though (good golly so glad that didn’t exist when I was in high school. THE PRESSURE). Instead it’s staying up all night fighting, begging your S.O. to please not sleep on the couch, that you’ve got to work through it instead, no matter how long it takes or how exhausted we’ll be tomorrow. It’s not getting more than three consecutive hours of sleep for months on end due to a challenging baby schedule. It’s an inexplicable pit of despair or impatience with your partner cause they keep griping about someone stealing their socks and people driving with their brights on when no one is stealing their socks and not everyone they think has their brights on actually does. But, enough about Rick. It’s children you adore but who are driving you crazy with constant bickering. It’s parents with cancer or a lonely grandparent with Alzheimer’s. It’s car wrecks and missed trains and cold coffee and someone shoulder-checking you on the street and cruel words. It’s resenting your S.O. ’cause he’ll never understand what it’s like to have a dear brother experiencing homelessness and heroin addiction. It’s unfair. It’s also a thoughtful gift and a new friendship and a stiff cocktail and a loved one showing up to surprise you and fun bops on the radio and an exciting new career change and a gorgeous manicure that lasts a long time. It’s laughing at the bad times to make it through, it’s treasuring the good times when they come. It’s so, so many things, and I hate the limitations we put on ourselves when we compare the arbitrary bits we choose to feature on social media.

For years now we’ve been sanding down the bumps of social media unrest and what lies beneath those peaks and chasms. I think we know deep inside that everyone has their highs, lows, days when they feel bad about themselves, elated, gassed up, drained, inspired, decimated, anything. And the content doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with what’s really going on.

This actually brings me a sense of peace. Maybe that peace will be fleeting as we learn more and more about how we intertwine with the internet’s tendrils but, in this moment, remembering the fallible person behind the screen is freeing.

Free motto: Is my lover shipped off to ‘Nam?

Just kidding.

Kind of.


POST SCRIPT BONUS!

While I’m on a roll, here are more social media things that need to die:

– “my forever wedding date”
– “#blessed”
– “this man/this one”
– “I did a thing/we did a thing”
– “long hair don’t care” (good grief Nicki Minaj said this on the “Can’t Stop Won’t Stop” freestyle in 2007. 2007! Let’s find a new hair ref.)
– while on the subject, “can’t stop won’t stop”
– anything about tacos or Hocus Pocus, they’re the new PSL
– TBT/”throwin it back” to anything less than, like, five years ago

Wow, I feel so much better getting that off my chest.


Wednesday posts cover something that’s top of mind for me that week and are written in a short period of time. This means that editing is not strong. While it’s not my best work, it is my best, unfiltered thought.

More on Bummed Out Bailey:
Mental Health: Construct. Deconstruct? Reconstruct. Struct? Help.
Mental Health: Tired of Me
Mental Health: The Things We Carry


Do you love Bummed Out Bailey? Want to help keep it going? Support me on my Patreon. Your contribution means more to me than you’ll ever know!

To subscribe to Bummed Out Bailey by email, scroll all the way down to the bottom of the website and enter your info into the form. I can also be found on InstagramFacebook, and Twitter!

If you or someone you know needs help right now, please call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

Mental Health: Construct. Deconstruct? Reconstruct. Struct? Help.

I’m having a hard time structuring my life right now.

First of all, announcement! After two and a half years and most of our marriage living with my in-laws, Rick and I signed a lease for our own place starting March 1. We’re over the moon, or as Rick would say, “super jazzed.” However, our belongings are in storage, in the city, and intertwined with my in-laws’. Rick and I have cobbled together our home life for years now, and we’ve got to untangle it. Moving is a good time to purge, and of course moving in general is stressful. But, we’re moving! We. Are. Moving. :) It’s a magical place on the Upper West Side in a renovated town home. It was a working fireplace(!) and is a half block to Central Park(!). I walked in and immediately knew it had to be ours. I kinda won’t believe it is until move-in day. I’m so grateful. Meanwhile, our bank account is dry heaving.

Too much?

Anyway, enough gushing about Barbie Dream House. What is and should be top of mind for me is my thesis. I’ve begun piecing through all of my grad school notes kept both in my notebooks and in my phone notes. On floating post-it notes and book margins I’ve scribbled cryptic blurbs that pertain to my brother Alex’s story, our relationship, and the fabulous potpourri of mental illnesses in my family, and now I’m categorizing everything and creating a master list of big events and touching details to be pieced together in a can’t-put-downable book. (Self-affirmation.) I guess you can think of it as a book skeleton.

A huge part of writing, of course, is reading, and I’ve got a fat stack of books to study to inspire/inform my own work via similarities in genre or subject matter. I also need to keep up with exercise, post here on Bummed Out Bailey, manage the move, market Tidy B Organizing, submit my writing to publications, research agents, and start planning for work life post-grad, but more and more I’ve been wondering if I’m harming the progression of my book and usefulness of my thesis semester by cluttering my life with arguably unnecessary things, like posting in a blog I enjoy. I don’t want to press pause on Bummed Out Bailey because I made a commitment and want to stay with it. I want my word to mean something. But, at what cost? I need a cost-benefit analysis up in here. Up in here, up in here.

There’s no field guide to being a freelance creative, which is its inherent liberation and restriction. Some days that structural freedom is celebrated, and other days it leers at me and taunts. What’re you doing? You don’t deserve this. Why aren’t you doing more? What’s wrong with you? You’re not good enough. You’re a spoiled, navel-gazing brat from an affluent, privileged white family who gets to solely focus on their art during grad school while your peers turn out good work… and have JOBS! AND you don’t even have children to worry about!

But enough about me.

Basically I just sit around steeping in a pool of my own guilt that I’m not doing enough, which I constantly have to remind myself is untrue as I’m doing my very best. Depression is woven into this feeling of failure and inability to juggle. Out here hopin’ the Prozac is kickin’ up my seratonin levels enough. Come onnnn seratonin! You’re #1!

In the past 24 hours I got upset thinking about unchosen dogs while reading about a person’s experience walking through a pound. I worried my acupuncture office thinks I keep rescheduling because I’ve become xenophobic due to coronavirus and their feelings are hurt. I was in a rush and hung up on some kind person calling from Big Brothers Big Sisters cause I didn’t know what to say and kind of panicked. I’m like a giant turtle trundling along weighed down by barnacles of guilt and sadness that cling to me wherever I go. It’s fun to be me! At least I’ll soon have a magical apartment to sloth around inside of while in the depths of my unqualified guilt and shame!


Wednesday posts cover something that’s top of mind for me that week and are written in a short period of time. This means that editing is not strong. While it’s not my best work, it is my best, unfiltered thought.

More on Bummed Out Bailey:
Mental Health: Tired of Me
Mental Health: New Year Goal Mapping
Mental Health: Location, Location, Location


Do you love Bummed Out Bailey? Want to help keep it going? Support me on my Patreon. Your contribution means more to me than you’ll ever know!

To subscribe to Bummed Out Bailey by email, scroll all the way down to the bottom of the website and enter your info into the form. I can also be found on InstagramFacebook, and Twitter!

If you or someone you know needs help right now, please call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

Mental Health: 31 Birthdays

This post has been removed in order to submit to publications. Stay tuned!


Related on Bummed Out Baker:
Mental Health: A Birthday Wish
Mental Health: Saying No in the Spirit of Self-Care


To subscribe to Bummed Out Baker and get my mental health musings and recipes emailed to you directly, scroll all the way down to the bottom of the website – Follow on Instagram for behind-the-scenes panic attacks and my begrudging, meat-eating husband captured in the wild – Follow on Facebook for mental health articles and discussion – Follow on Twitter for sassy tweets and a sprinkle of nonsense.

If you or someone you know needs help right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.