Hope, and the writings of Peggy Symons
Hope, and the writings of Peggy Symons
"The weight of hopelessness is the heaviest burden of mental illness.
As this message  is written ...Hope will pick up its passengers in this website and deliver them on the other side of despair."
Peggy J. Symons

A Place To Discover Hope

 

 

 

 

 

Welcome To The Website of Hope

 

My name is Peggy Symons.

 

I am a writer, a daughter, an aunt, and a sister to seven siblings.

I am a friend to many and I am proud to be called a friend of many. But most importantly, for this website, I am an advocate for the understanding of mental illnesses. I am an individual who has lived with a major mental illness most of my life and struggled to find meaning and order in its cyclone of symptoms.

I would not have survived the neurobiological destruction of this powerful disorder of the brain without a village of assistance. Family, friends, expert and attentive professionals and the National Alliance on Mental Illness of Greater Orlando have surrounded me with encompassing help and hope. I am also grateful to my faithful friend Tandy C. Chiles for the advice and encouragement that has kept me grounded for twenty years. Without the lantern of hope that she carries I would have lost my way entirely.

As I travel through this life I see so many others who have gifts to bring to the table of life, although mental illness would try to hide or bury these gifts.

All of us need a village of assistance. Daily vigilance, medication, freedom from stress and the safe harbor of my family and friends have helped kindle the message of hope I carry and given me the courage to share the light of my journey.

As for me and many others this illness doesn’t go away – it remains encrypted in biological code that is not yet completely understood. But hope is the resting place where the darkness of mental illness gives way to light.

My hope is to give you a life-line; for yourself, a family member or a friend that suffers from often-misunderstood illnesses that will touch the lives of one in five people.

My desire in creating this website is to bring hope to the hopeless, light to those in darkness, and beauty to those who cannot yet see the hope of God's rainbow.

I invite you to join me in this unending journey with hope and her sisters, light and beauty. This is the inspiration for my website.

 

 

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The Light of the Christmas Star

 

Thanksgiving Day opens the floodgates into the annual shopping season even before the dishes are put away.

 

So we run, run, run through internet sales, grocery stores and New Year’s parties timed to the relentless drumbeat of too much to do and too little time to finish.

 

But when the rush of the day is over and night nears, sometimes there is little left but a vague sense that something important slipped through our hands.

 

If we pause here and look deeply into these quiet moments, we can see the holidays as they really are; they are filled with people who are lonely, depressed and confused.

 

Every year armies of tired shoppers sort through sales racks silently looking for the light of Christmas, knowing that their hands will be empty when they get home; there is nothing left of the light but Black Friday. They shop until they drop, but running the Christmas treadmill is useless; the light just keeps moving farther from reach. Discouraged, they quietly slip into the ranks of people who lived through holidays so dark and difficult that when Christmas comes, they close the doors and shutter their windows, because the light hurts their eyes.

 

Many think they don’t have anything to give or even that their lives don’t matter but they are among the brightest treasures of the season; life’s greatest gifts are in their reach.

 

With courage, forgiveness and the persistence to keep looking past empty sales racks and beyond the artificial lights of the season, it is still possible to see the light of the Christmas. His name is Jesus. He followed us all the way from a little town named Bethlehem to illuminate the dark and lonely places Christmas is slipping through our hands. All the silver bells of the season cannot overtake the value of His gift; no darkness or distance can extinguish His light, even depression and despair cannot diminish the power of His freely given gift.

But the eyes of this weary world are still sweeping the silence of the night sky looking for the promise of peace for a planet that never rests.

The star that rose over the birthplace of hope hasn’t disappeared into the blinking lights that deck the halls of the holidays; it doesn’t rise or fall or come and go with passing seasons. The light of Christmas present is the same as Christmas past.

 

Although the tumult of our times would seem to hide the light, we have never been left alone to lose our way in the blinding speed of the unimportant.

 

Hope is not far away; just follow the Christmas Star

 

Peggy J. Symons  © Copyright

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                   THE HOLIDAY BRIDGE

 

 

The holidays are falling over the city in a blanket of holiday trees and blinking lights.

Bells are ringing out for the needy hoping to be heard.

Embraced by the sights and sounds of the season I thought of the advocates and workers who have dedicated their lives to helping people with mental illnesses.

I saw them as they are; people from all walks of life with their hands joined in a just and common cause.

In a vision of many colors and details, I could see they were building a bridge. It was a beautiful bridge, finely designed and engineered with the best of intentions, dedication and hope. There were many people at work; everyone who came to the work of the bridge had a different but necessary gift or trade.

No one’s gift was insignificant or diminished in any way by a mental illness.

I wondered “What if all of us had the same skills or talents?” The bridge would never be built. In the light of the bridge building, advocates were welcoming the workers; others were bringing the gifts of laughter and smiles that lightened everyone’s work. Many people living with mental illnesses were working on the bridge knowing that it cannot stand without them.

The rivets that held the work together were made out of the promise of a new day; the strength of the bridge was in its finest details and the efforts of many hands.

Everyone who came to the building of the bridge brought gifts of light and unique beauty but the brightest lights on the bridge came from the hands of the workers who thought no one had noticed their gifts.

When the bridge is done, it will span the distance between darkness and daybreak. It will illuminate the night sky where stigma and discrimination still have their hold.

People will cross from one side of the bridge to the other; the generosity of the builders will show them the way. They will find courage, perseverance and the hope from which the plans of the bridge were drawn.

As I walked around the vision of the bridge and its exquisite details I could see that it has already been built in Heaven.

I saw the workers and advocates, especially the weary ones, and the gifts they brought to the bridge.

They were not ordinary gifts packaged in paper or wrapped up with ribbons; they were gifts of their finest work, freely given in the hope of a better day.

The light and beauty of the bridge are gifts for all seasons.

Through the advocates, I can see that the greatest gifts we have to give are not holiday trees or the blinking lights of a passing season; they are the steady lights of our finest works, unblended hope and the vision of a better day for all of us.                                                

 Peggy J. Symons © Copyright

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''I don't know what Jack asked Santa for but I hope it wasn't live mice.''....

Peggy Symons

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Dust in the boxes

Dust in the Boxes

Dust in the Boxes was the most haunting image of mental illness I ever held in my hands.

The vision hasn’t dimmed or faded with the passing of time. It is as clear and present as the day I saw it.

 

 

I don’t remember where I saw the inside of an abandoned state mental institution; whether it was a documentary, a few pages of a narrative, a lecture, a dream or something half remembered. Somewhere in the mix a story rose that wasn’t there before.

And so I saw a giant state mental institution, one of many that were built in the early 1900’s. Completely banished from society, thousands of people lived out their lives and died in these massive monuments to despair.

In the 1950’s the early psychiatric medications came to market. Some people improved enough to return to their communities. The hospitals emptied even further in response to a 1960’s federal mandate to deinstitutionalize people with severe mental illnesses.

With most patients gone some of these institutions closed and then were abandoned entirely.

Time reached up and overtook the memory of the inmates. There was nothing left except cemeteries lying adjacent to these huge human warehouses.

Some filled to capacity over the decades, and with no other options, cremation was the final resting place of severe mental illnesses.

I came to the edge of this historical vision and opened the door into one of these crumbling institutions. I was struck by the silence, nothing was moving in these ruins not even the breath of life.

The light was dim and I walked into deep shadows. I looked around and saw a shelf with a half a dozen small, worn cardboard boxes lined up against a wall. The boxes were filled with ashes.

Unknown and unclaimed, they were the dust of people who lived and died as captives to these giant institutions and the hopeless hold of mental illnesses.

I picked up one of the boxes and turned it over and over in my hands.

There was no name inscribed on the cardboard. Anyone who entered these human warehouses was sentenced to obscurity.

But I knew who they were; they weren’t the remnants of ghosts, they were the mothers and fathers, the sons and daughters, the children and the brothers and sisters who were committed to these institutions and never came home.

I saw a small window in one of the walls of this concrete crypt. It was hazy and yellowed with age. It was raining outside of this forsaken place. It was always raining.

I put the box down and pressed my hand against the pane. Rain drops were hitting the window. They hit hard; the falling rain was hopelessness and its river of tears.

I put the silent box of ashes back on the shelf, it was filled with despair and heavy in my hands.

The door into the vision closed and I left. But my memory of the people who lived and died in the wracking anguish of untreatable mental illnesses will never pass away.

The only things that separate me from the dust in the cardboard boxes is time and modern medications.

 

Peggy J. Symons

 © copyright
 
 

 

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The Looney Room

The Looney Room came to me in bits and pieces; some were like shards of broken glass.

I took my mother to the emergency room of the local hospital. We were left alone so long that when a nurse finally came in we said something about leaving.

He laughed and said everyone is free to leave unless they are in the Looney Room.

I knew the Looney Room. It was a small, secure room with a thick, unbreakable observation window located across from the main hub of the emergency room. Anyone held in the Looney Room probably had a mental illness and was in direct sight of doctors and nurses.

I thought of telling the nurse that I had been committed to a psychiatric facility from this hospital but I knew it would only be a tiny chip in a solid, high wall of stigma.

As my mother and I waited, I thought of thousands of Looney Rooms across the nation and that prejudice and ridicule still overshadow the veil of tears that brought people to the hope of hospital care.

So, I didn’t see the Looney Room from outside of its thick glass. I saw it from the inside and thought there was nothing I didn’t see.

The persistent mentality of the looney room is discouraging. It should have vanished along with the word lunatic decades ago. The Looney Room, so causally thought to be funny, was hiding the torment of mental illnesses as a cast of comical characters under a mountain of mocking prejudice.

Several weeks later when my mother and I returned to the emergency room. I overheard the staff dealing with a young man who arrived after swallowing enough pills to kill him.

Apparently, they gave him a form of charcoal the binds overdoses, moves through a person and then out. I heard staff laughing about the man “shitting out” the charcoal binding the overdose. How could they not see death stalking him?

Why would anyone would keep jabbing these illnesses and their lethal doses with laughter and ridicule?

Before we left I briefly entered the despair of the Looney Room and prayed it would be free of the ridicule that made its bed there. Too many lives have been chopped short by suicide or the unremitting severity of mental illnesses to laugh at the magnitude of suffering. I knew there was nowhere to put the Looney Room except its proper place.

So, I stopped at the thick window and looked into deeply into this place of great suffering; I saw an unexpected light. It was beautiful and far greater than the artificial light coming from the ceiling. It was the light of compassion.

In the light, I saw the hands of those who laughed reach out to those who were at the brink of despairs final momentsI saw healing rise and prejudice fall. I saw the resurrection of hope. 

This was the turning of heart that shattered the glass between hope and hopelessness and broke through the intensity of misperceptions labeled the Looney Room.

The Looney Room was no longer the Looney Room.

As I wrote this chapter of the Gift of a Captive Mind I saw the future when laughter will not run through the lives of those who are falling in the darkest, most desperate moments in their lives.

When someday becomes every day and there will not be any Looney Rooms in the nation. Levity will not overtake compassion; laughter and derision will not close the doors into hope.

Let us keep our eyes focused on the future when the word “lunatic”, used in reference to mental illnesses, will never blemish the face of another speaker or those who would take the barb at the end of the jester’s sword.

And into the days ahead as the light of compassion breaks through the misunderstandings that have held mental illnesses in contempt of the truth.

The future is so close; hope is the key to the Looney Room. All we have do is turn the key in the lock, let the light in and the heart of the nation will be moved.

Who would ever think that a light in a Looney Room could enlighten the eyes of a nation?

Peggy J. Symons  © Copyright 2018

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Daytona Beach News-Journal Online
 

Shots and stigma                      September 3, 2018

 

 

Shootings piercing the heart of the nation repeatedly spotlight the connection between mental illness and violence.

 

Regardless of whether the shooters have a mental illness, these murders are driving an increasingly powerful tidal wave of fear-driven stereotypes and the deeply stigmatizing belief that people with mental illnesses are categorically violent.

[READ: Shooting suspect was twice hospitalized for mental illness]

 

A fraction become violent, almost always without treatment. Generally, people with mental illnesses are far more often victims of violence than perpetrators.

 

It is vital to overturn the way we view these illnesses.

Stigma protects indifference to mental illnesses and it shelters stereotypes. It sweeps away the humanity of people who should not be feared and diminishes the rights of citizenship. It runs deeply countercurrent to the values we hold high as a nation.

 

Stigma is getting stronger and stereotypes louder. It’s time to engage a more principled vision, tear down the prejudice engrafted into the way we treat mental illnesses and dismantle old ideas holding mental illnesses captive as unconditionally violent and unworthy of care.

The future of the way we view mental illnesses can be a fragile mix of hope, responsibility and accountability. We can run from it or build it; the choices are clear and the consequences great. The substance of the vision is what we do now.

 

We are the future.

 

 

Peggy Symons     Deland, Fl.

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Bullying: An Appeal to Hero’s Hearts

This is a story about the heart of a hero.

I attended a Catholic school for several years. By seventh grade I was clearly struggling with a mental illness. But all of us wore the same socks and uniforms and I was never bullied in a school atmosphere that required respect for other students.

Transferring into the public-school system was a shock. Between wearing a uniform for so long and cluelessness and I had no idea what to wear the first day of school.  I looked in my closet and pulled out a red skirt, a purple blouse and red sneakers along with socks. I had no idea at the time, public school girls didn’t wear socks or red sneakers.

From the first day I was a target for ridicule and rejection. Among other things I was quickly labeled with the name of a bear on a TV show. When I was taking a shower after gym class the kids took the clothes I put on a hook outside the shower and threw them into a sink full of water. Before class they took my books and put them on top of the public address box near the ceiling where I couldn’t reach them before substitute teachers stopped it.

In November, my mother allowed me to walk up to the neighborhood shopping center to buy a jacket. I bought a blue size twenty jacket although I was a size fourteen because I thought I was getting more material for my money. Looking back, wearing the jacket to school was a mistake; it was so big I was probably floating in it. The other kids spotted the ill-fitting jacket immediately and it became the object of more ridicule.

One time, uninvited and unexpected, I sat down at a table in the cafeteria with a group of popular students.

One boy was so embarrassed his face flushed red and he left the table. No one wanted to be seen with me. I was weird, overweight, had unwashed frizzy hair and could not relate to the other kids.

I felt totally alone even though there were hundreds of students in my school. I could not find friends on my own because I had difficulty communicating like everyone else.

The bullying and rejection hurt me as if I was being stabbed by a knife. I could not fight back. I didn’t know how.

Let me tell you about a boy named Bob. He sat next to me in math class. He was friendly, popular and a good student. I was the weirdest, ugliest, most unpopular kid in the school.

But Bob talked to me in full view of the other kids risking his own good standing with them.  He joked around and treated me the same way he treated his other friends.

About half way through the year he invited me over to his house to look through his new telescope. I saw the moon up close and how bright the stars were through the lens of the telescope and the respect of my friend.

Finding friends in kids who are being bullied is the truest test of a hero’s heart. It is doing what is unpopular or even laughed at.

Like Bob, heroes have the courage to split off from what other kids think and reach out to kids who are being torn to pieces by bullying because they have a mental illness; kids who can be rejected and avoided as the weirdest kids in the whole school.

It’s easy to see hero’s when they run into burning buildings to pull others to safety or come to the rescue of someone who is drowning. It’s harder to see the hero’s hearts of kids who see the helpless pain and desperate loneliness of bullied kids and pull them to safety in the hands of friendship.

When Bob reached out and befriended me he rescued me from the torment of rejection, loneliness and hopelessness.

I lost track of Bob after high school but I will never forget a hero’s heart because my friend turned towards me, instead of away. He pulled me into the safety of complete acceptance. 

I will never forget Bobs kindness and the risks he took to be my friend.

I will never forget my hero.

Peggy J. Symons Copyright

 

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The Gift of a Captive Mind Continues to be Written.

 

The original title of this book was Mental Illness: Notes of a Native in the Night. Over time, notes became stories and then pages and chapters.

 

As I wrote, I began to see the value of The Gift of a Captive Mind filling out the academic presentation of mental illnesses.
The Captive Mind doesn’t contradict the facts and statistics essential to the academic press, instead, it writes between the lines with the actual experiences of living with these illnesses.

 

In the end,The Gift of a Captive  Mind becomes a gift for every mind.
It tunnels through a lifelong illness and comes out into the places we are all alike in one way or another.

 

Whether or not we have a mental illness we are all running the same rapids.
But it is also important to know these disorders can be persistent, biological and there are currently no cures. So, it is not possible to tell the story of a Captive Mind and put false faces on these illnesses lest anyone who walks this way become discouraged in their own struggle to survive.

 

Like many others I live with sufficient remnants of this illness and its habits of reemergence that I would never leave any impression I have walked completely away from a serious mental illness in some act of high- held virtue.

 

During the time The Gift of a Captive Mind was written, I finished a book about thirty years of posttraumatic stress disorder and finding my way out.
It took thirteen years to write. 

 

Someday, I hope it will lead others out of the captivity of Post-Traumatic Stress.

 

 

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Capturing Rosalyn Carter,

Capturing Hope



 

 

Rosalyn Carter was first lady to President Jimmy Carter. She was a passionate, public and powerful advocate for people dealing with mental illnesses.

At the time she wrote this letter (March 23, 2007) Mrs. Carter was a high profile ally of the national push to enact laws mandating insurance coverage for mental illnesses and substance use to be equal to other medical conditions.

On October 3, 2008, the Paul Wellstone and Pete Domenici Mental Health Parity and Addiction Equity Act was passed into law.

I hope Mrs. Carter is remembered for the lantern of hope she carried and her willingness to pursue justice on behalf of people who have no voice.

Millions were touched by her light.

July 31,2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                       

Fund mental care before a tragedy

Orlando Sentinel -Tuesday, June 3, 2014



Since the Columbine High School shootings in Colorado 15 years ago, one mass murder after another has shaken the nation. The latest rampage was at the hands of a California man who had a long history of mental illness.
It is a grave error to look away from the high-profile tragedies seizing other states with the complacent illusion that somehow Florida is immune from the toll and consequences of untreated mental illnesses.
Keeping in mind that people living with serious mental illnesses are overwhelmingly nonviolent, it is becoming increasingly clear that there is a small fraction of individuals who do become violent, almost always in the absence of treatment and modern medications.
Legitimate debate over how to prevent further loss of life is breaking out all over the nation, including Florida. Searching for answers to violence and mental illnesses must encompass the fact that the greatest loss of life to mental illness in Florida isn't to homicide; it is to suicide and early death accruing through decades of restricted access to timely and effective psychiatric services.
Suicide rates are rising; 2,922 people in Florida ended their lives in 2012. More than 90 percent of those who commit suicide have a diagnosable mental illness.
In addition, nearly two-thirds of those suffering with these diseases of the brain are not receiving treatment.
More than two dozen psychiatric hospitals have closed since 1995, leaving thousands of the most acutely ill people in the state nowhere to go.
These statistics are a sliver of Florida's fatally flawed policy of neglecting serious mental illnesses.
Prejudice and discrimination have put serious mental illnesses at the back of the bus for decades; yet lawmakers never seem to see the collision between failed public policy and preventable loss of life.
Predictably, the 2014 Legislature convened and adjourned leaving Florida stubbornly stuck at 49th in the nation for funding community-level psychiatric care.
Until the state of Florida is stunned into action by a sudden strike of violence, significant reform of one of the nation's most inadequate and underfunded mental-health systems will remain mired in low priorities and the hidden suffering of thousands of people, including children, who are shut out of any hope of recovery from serious mental illnesses.
There are warning bells tolling through every life lost to mental illnesses. We cannot turn away as if we do not hear; the bells are tolling for us.

 
Letter To The Editor,  Peggy Symons
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Mental illness treatment left out of Parkland shooting

Make mental illness treatment a priority

 

Intense media coverage of the school-shooting rampage that left 17 people dead is creating a detailed picture of what happened. However, there are missing tornadoes in the multitude of these accounts.

 

The hardest hitting is failure to spotlight the magnitude of suicides associated with mental illnesses. People are ending their own lives at a rate over double that for homicides and at numbers that exceed traffic fatalities. Ninety percent had a diagnosable psychiatric disorder, including concealed depression.

Without fully assessing the shocking death toll of those with mental illnesses, there is no cohesive vision to bring the treatment of mental illnesses to the forefront of legislative priorities.

Relatively small bumps in funding sideswipe the truth: Mental illnesses in Florida are seared with hopelessness. We remain immovably present at the bottom of the nation for per-capita spending on mental illnesses in spite of a deep need and some dedicated lawmakers who have already tried to pursue a path forward.

Given the staggering death toll associated with these common disorders of the brain, we can’t do anything less — not without compromising the right to life.

Peggy Symons of  DeLand, Florida

  February 26, 2018

 

               A Focus On School Safety, Mental Health

 
USA TODAY (Arlington, VA) - Friday, April 5, 2013
 
For many people, the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary
School in Newtown, Conn., ripped the shadows of indifference off the face of
mental illness in America and exposed a fractured and utterly failed mental
heath system.

The eyes of the nation should be riveted on the consequences.

In 2010, suicides outnumbered traffic fatalities, and chronic homelessness haunts our streets. One in five families is affected by mental illness.

A high-profile push for access to vital psychiatric
services rippled out of the first aftershocks of the Newtown massacre, but
momentum is quickly slipping away, eclipsed by the gun-control debate.


Time is ticking; we must create a funded and functioning system of
psychiatric services for our most desperately ill. If not now, when?


Peggy J. Symons   Deland, Fla.

Copyright 2013 Gannett Co., Inc.
All rights reserved.
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Letters to the editor Thursday, October 23, 2014

Daytona Beach News-Journal

                 

            Greatest toll of gun violence

 

Mary Sanchez’s Oct. 13 column, “Guns, mental illness equal tragedy,” considers the impact of neglecting these illnesses with an indisputable point: Some of our most profoundly ill citizens are falling through the cracks of a deeply flawed mental health system and landing with deadly force.

Contrary to the high-profile violence that keeps grabbing headlines, the greatest toll of mental illnesses isn’t murder — it is suicide. Suicide outnumbers homicide at a rate of approximately 2-to-1, and 90 percent of those who die by their own hands have a diagnosable mental illness. Any other medical condition with preventable mortality rates this high would command swift, decisive and newsworthy action.

But we continue to pursue a path of complacency rife with imminent danger. Unfortunately, Florida is leading the way, at 49th in the nation for per-capita spending on mental illnesses. Two-thirds of those in need of psychiatric services, including children and teens, are going without treatment. Every year the hope of families desperate for psychiatric services rises and then falls as the Florida Legislature makes annual budget decisions that segregate mental illnesses into a category of conditions deemed to be unworthy of medical care. It is unthinkable that we would deny medical treatment, hospital services and social assistance to people suffering with cancer and heart disease or turn them out onto the streets to die, become homeless, imprisoned or victims of violent crimes, but it is to this measure we have abandoned our mentally ill.

The greatest toll of mental illnesses comes with the death of hope. Suicide is the mortal wound of despair.

The best way to disarm mental illnesses is to provide immediate access to effective psychiatric services before these treatable disorders of the brain take their last breath in preventable acts of violence.

Peggy J. Symons

DeLand

Copyright: Copyright, 2014, The News-Journal Corporation

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Care could save lives, money

 

The News-Journal's front-page focus on Florida's failed mental health system was well-timed and graphically accurate.

 

Although violence is not inherent to mental illness, the shootings in Newtown, Conn., have pushed

Florida's response to mental illness into the headlines.

The neurobiological legitimacy of mental illnesses has been established for decades. However, the belief that these illnesses are character flaws or the consequence of personal irresponsibility are still widely held stereotypes. Unfortunately, they continue to drive funding decisions in Florida.

Without understanding the costly consequences, slashing funds for psychiatric services and modern medications creates an avalanche of losses, most of them hidden.

 

Mental illnesses, like any other medical condition, can get worse without treatment. Long waits for appointments and restricting access to medication creates dismal outcomes. Of note, Harvard Medical School found that missing as few as one day to 10 days of antipsychotic medications doubles the risk of hospitalization.

 

In addition, mental illnesses in Florida are still shackled to inappropriate criminalization. At the rate Florida is using prisons for hospitals, taxpayers are on the hook for $3.6 billion in the next 10 years to build and operate new state prisons. Without fundamental reform of the criminalization of mental illness, taxpayers will continue to feed a perpetual-motion machine with grinding jaws.

 

But the ultimate cost of mental illness is suicide. Suicides now outnumber traffic fatalities. Ninety percent of those who commit suicide have diagnosable and treatable mental illnesses. The measure of suffering imposed by mental illnesses is in these numbered lives; many of whom had no hope of help.

 

Clearly, the most expensive treatment of mental illness is no treatment. Florida's mental-health system is in critical condition. Our legislators must reframe funding decisions based on Florida's facts. When people with mental illnesses win, everyone wins.

 

PEGGY J. SYMONS

of DeLand, Florida

 

 

 

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

We can all help prevent suicide. The Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones, and best practices for professionals.

1-800-273-8255

 

http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

 

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Call 24/7

1-800-273-8255

 

No matter what problems you are dealing with, we want to help you find a reason to keep living. By calling 1-800-273-TALK (8255) you’ll be connected to a skilled, trained counselor at a crisis center in your area, anytime 24/7.

If you feel you are in a crisis, whether or not you are thinking about killing yourself, please call the Lifeline. People have called us for help with substance abuse, economic worries, relationship and family problems, sexual orientation, illness, getting over abuse, depression, mental and physical illness, and even loneliness.

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Common warning signs of suicide.

1. Threats or comments about killing themselves. This may begin with seemingly harmless comments like "I wish I wasn't here."
2. Increased alcohol or drug use.
3. Aggressive behavior
4. Social withdrawal from friends, family and community.
5. Dramatic mood swings
6. Talking, writing or thinking about death.
7. Impulsive or Reckless Behavior.
8. Putting their Affairs in order or giving away possessions.
9. Saying goodbye to family and friends.
10. Mood shifts from despair to calm.
11. Planning, possibly by looking around, to buy, steal or borrow the tools needed to commit suicide, such as a firearm or prescription medication.
 
Thinking about suicide is a medical emergency on par with a heart attack.
Don't wait or feel like no one cares.
Go to the emergency room and tell them how you feel and that you need and want help.
Your life is too precious to lose.
 
 
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                Capturing Esmine Green

Esmine Green: The Violence of Indifference

I have come to bring Ms. Esmine Green out of the shadows of lost hope and cries of unheard anguish.

On June 19, 2009, Ms. Green was taken by ambulance to Kings County Hospital in New York City acutely ill with schizophrenia.

She sat and waited over 24 hours until blood clots formed and killed her.

Although she writhed, fell out of her chair onto the floor and died, she was ignored until a worker finally came over, pushed her with his foot and saw she was dead.

Evidence of her death and the circumstances in which she died were immediately scurried away in falsified documents. Ms. Green died waiting for help that never came.

I will never forget the brutal force of indifference to her suffering or the global news and outrage covering her 24 hours in hell.

I also knew Ms. Green would be quickly and completely forgotten-and she was.

The helpless horror of the way she died disappeared as fast as it burned the news but conscience and accountability were standing by with a note pad.

Everything was video recorded and subsequently obtained by the Americans for Civil Liberties Union.

The city settled with her family for two million dollars but what price was paid for the violence of indifference?

Ms. Green was not a captive of bygone era; she was captive of a place she didn’t matter.

We should not forget her story; she left red flags flying over indifference. It is the nucleus of neglect and the crown jewel of hidden abuse.

Peggy J. Symons  © Copyright 

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THE DYING BIRD

Sometimes violence is in the eyes of the beholder.

 

This is a true story.

 

I had taken my friends dog to the vet. As the dog and I were settling our account at the front desk, a young man came through the front door. His hands were cupped together, he was holding something. He looked to be in his twenties and was obviously mentally ill. He had long, dark hair flying everywhere. He was also dressed in rags, I had little doubt that he was homeless as well.

When he approached the desk I could see he was holding a badly injured bird in his hands. He asked the ladies at the desk if the vet would take care of the bird.

Whether it was because he was mentally ill or poor or that it was true they didn’t take care of birds, they sent him away with the injured bird in his hands.

As my own tears fell I thought the world has it all backwards; it isn’t always the violence caused by people who live with mental illnesses that steals from society; it is the hardness of heart that sees our humanity and turns away.

I don’t know what happened to the bird or where the young man went, but I will never forget what compassion looks like when it is cradled as a dying bird in the hands of a human being who is mentally ill and homeless.

 

Peggy J. Symons of Deland, Florida

Copyright  © Peggy J. Symons

Mental Ilnesses and Mental Health: Capturing the Slippery Bridge

 

Another article on death due to “mental health disorders” captures the slippery bridge between mental health and mental illness.

Reports on mental illnesses ranging from murders to movie reviews are peppered with the words “mental health” freely switched for “mental illness.

What seems a minor twist of language is a symptom of a broad national consensus to engage the words “mental health” and pretend they mean mental illness.

Misappropriating “mental health” is so deeply entrenched it is difficult to refer to these disorders of the brain without using deceptively uniform language that corrupts the biological nature of these hard hitting diseases.

Stripped of charades, the irrelevant words “mental health” are a wink and a nod hiding an insurgent truth

America’s “mental health” system is fractured, failed and vastly underfunded, leaving millions of people behind with no hope of recovery.

In a travesty of mistaken identities, one in five individuals, including many children, are struggling to survive brain diseases with extraordinary mortality rates but their “mental health conditions” makes it easy to deny treatment and modern medications and then turn away from the death and devastation that follows. We are hiding their hopelessness in a familiar clash of opposing words.

Ninety percent of those who end their own lives have a diagnosable mental illness. Virtually meaningless “mental health disorders” do not drive people to suicide; mental illnesses do.

Switching illness for health allows us to bury this massive loss of life in an avalanche of indifference without bearing the weight of conscience. 

In addition, these neurological disorders are the only medical conditions overshadowed with sufficient fictional license to blur the boundaries between illness and health; a substantial mistake that further minimizes the crushing power of these illnesses and dismisses the suffering they cause as less than real.

Finally, these brazenly contradictory terms become outright ludicrous when we seal our most seriously ill citizens in the “mental health” sections of our jails and prisons.

We are hiding one of the deepest moral failures of our times in jail jumpsuits-out of sight-out of mind.

We have coddled the incongruence between mental health and mental illness too long. It serves no purpose except to hide the way we treat our mentally ill.

The evidence keeps pouring in; the disparate corollary between mental health and mental illness isn’t innocent; it is disastrous.

Peggy J. Symons  © Copyright 

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Message to the Florida Legislature, April ,2017

 

I am bringing thousands of people with mental illnesses with me.

Many are silenced by stigma and discrimination; others cannot tell the stories of the life and death impact of delays and denials of psychiatric medicines.

 

The people I speak for have serious mental illnesses. Schizophrenia, bipolar disorder and suicidal despair are not mental health disorders. They are caused by real, life threatening, physical ravages in the function of the brain. Ninety percent of those who commit suicide had a diagnosable mental illness.

 

Before expertly and tediously prescribed modern medicines schizophrenia was either a life sentence or a death sentence; I lost half my life to it.

 

I failed on over thirty medications before my doctors finally found the right medications at the right doses. Failing on some of these medicines was like getting hit by a truck; hospitalization followed.

 

It is critical to note many psychiatric medications don’t work the same way; in addition, the function of the brain is individually unique and extraordinarily complex; medications that can save the life of one person can send someone else to the hospital. Carefully prescribed and balanced, our medications can build some beautiful bridges between what is broken by the physiology of mental illnesses and a meaningful life.

 

For me, as for others, missing one dose of carefully and individually prescribed medication, or the wrong medicine, begins to break the fragile bridges between hope and hopelessness.

 

In fact, Harvard Medical School found that missing from one to ten days of antipsychotic medications doubles the risk of hospitalization; its three days for me.

 

It is far easier and less expensive to prevent a psychiatric collapse than have to go back and pick up the pieces of the shattered hope of a meaningful life.

 

The future is closing in on mental illnesses. Science and suffering will join hands and then move on having created better treatments and medications and eventually cures. Research will eventually free us but for now, granting doctors the unimpeded ability to prescribe the right medicines at the right time at the right doses is the best hope of surviving these sometimes rapidly moving, too often deadly illnesses.

 

These difficult disorders of the brain don’t dwell on either side of a partisan divide; they dwell in families. One in five of us will have a mental illness at some point. No one is immune; not by wealth or estate, male or female, young or old. Stepping up to the Florida Legislature to represent all of us is both honorable and difficult.

 

Right now, we are at the intersection where many lost lives can become meaningful lives. If we look deeply into the faces of serious mental illnesses we will see our own humanity in these crossroads.

 

Time is turning in the light of this shared vision. There is a profound communion between hope and responsibility in our hands; what we do now will determine the future of mental illnesses in Florida.

 

Unfettered access to psychiatric medicines is the foundation of hope and the bridge into normal lives.

 

Never doubt you are appreciated.

Peggy J. Symons  © Copyright 

 

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MY FAMILIES JOURNEY INTO HOPE

 

The Genetic Study of Schizophrenia;
National Institute of Mental Health

 

 

It has been several years since my family
and I found a description of the Genetic Study of Schizophrenia in the  “Advocate”, a quarterly publication of National Alliance on Mental Illness.

 

This research is an ongoing study at the
National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH) in Bethesda, Maryland.

 

Researchers are looking very closely at the genetic and non- genetic factors that raise the risks for schizophrenia.

 

Of eight siblings, I am the only one with a schizophrenic disorder.

 

Our family applied to this study knowing that this research is generating information giving neuroscience the keys that
are beginning to break into the complex biological codes of
schizophrenia.

 

At the time, my brother’s business interest was providing computer technologies to researchers studying the genetic abnormalities within the full and complex human genome.

 

He recognized the neuro-imaging and genetic technologies as the most advanced tools of neuroscience in the world.

 

We embraced the opportunity to benefit others with this disorder.

 

This particular study, one of several, compared the genetic differences between siblings who are affected by schizophrenia and those who aren’t.

 

It was an opportunity for seven siblings to add an unusual wealth of information to research.

 

We were accepted into the study and welcomed as respected and valued partners in this pioneering research.

 

The National Institute of Mental Health arranged our flight schedules, hotel bookings, and testing days to maximize the rare time we had to spend together.

 

The study was a fast moving two days of detailed magnetic resonance imaging, interviews, and neuropsychological testing.

 

Other than a routine blood draw, there was no invasive testing.

 

For our family, the long road to the genetic
study of schizophrenia began almost three decades before.

 

I was hospitalized in 1975 after a three year slide into a psychotic
illness.

 

I fell into the hands of a psychiatrist who psychoanalyzed my hallucinations and assessed my entire family as“schiziophrenigenic”

 

Despite the fact that neurobiological anarchy was sweeping through my brain like a forest fire, realitybegan to dawn
on me by 1979: I had seven brothers and sisters and none of them were like me.

 

They were all working, going to school, or were in college.

 

We were of the same parents, and we were all raised by a courageous and hard working single mother who loved us all.

 

I was different from early in life.

 

As a young adult, hallucinations and depression were taking over my entire life.

 

None of my brothers and sisters had ever
been brought to their knees by visions and voices and depression that paralyzed even my will to live.

 

I knew my family was not doing this to me; there was something wrong with my brain.

 

I found another psychiatrist who remained with me for twenty-five years as a constant source of expertise and encouragement.

 

Looking back from 2009, I call the primitive and hopeless psychiatry of the 1970s the “dungeons of the day.”

 

Old Freudian ideas that twisted the psychiatry of schizophrenia away from the brain onto blaming families were still widely held.

 

It was a dated era still spun with mythically monstrous mothers named and blamed as “schiziophrenigenic mothers”

 

The psychoanalytic psychiatry of the 1970s perpetuated the influence of a century of Freudian ghosts that linger to this day as
the deep shroud of shame, guilt, and misunderstanding that continues to obscure the neurobiological legitimacy of this illness.

 

Before we left the NIMH, I talked to the lead investigator of the study.

 

I told him what it was like for me coming from the “dungeons of the day” 28 years ago to be working with the NIMH as a
full and respected partner in research that I never thought would happen in my lifetime.

 

At the time, I was told that five or six genes increasing the risk for schizophrenia had been discovered.

 

There are now many more genes suspected to have a role in this illness.

 

The empowering character of this progress is
a clear and bright light of new hope and promise moving at light speed in the right direction.

 

It is a privilege to be part of this revolution in neuroscience.

 

I believe that with more study volunteers
like my family and I, the complex puzzles and codes of mental illnesses will be mapped out and solved in our lifetimes.

 

Looking back at the NIMH study, I can see my brothers and sisters in the full light of their loyalty and love.

 

They were all indicted as “schiziophrenigenic” 34 years ago, but when this illness threatened to take me
away from them, they rose to the challenge and held out their hands to me in the moments that I otherwise would have drowned.

 

Six of them were younger than I was when
this illness swept out of hell, yet they have traveled this distance with me unafraid.

 

They have made my life richer, funnier, and filled to overflowing as a sister, an aunt and a friend.

 

Without them, it would have been a dark and difficult journey.

 

With them, we walked this 34 year road out of darkness into daybreak.

 

 

Peggy J. Symons

National Alliance on Mental Illness of Greater Orlando

 

Peggy J. Symons  © Copyright 

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More focus on kids' mental health

 
 The Orlando Sentinel
Monday, September 9, 2013
 
Orange County Mayor Teresa Jacobs' bold move charging the
new Youth Mental Health Committee with proposing real changes in children's
mental-health services not only legitimized the suffering of children with
untreated mental illness, it focused a light on mental illness in general.
 
Jacobs understands that the toll and consequences of neglecting these
illnesses is too great to ignore.

Seventy percent of the children locked
in the nation's juvenile-justice system have some form of a mental illness.
Clearly, our approach to mental illnesses in children is a junior version of the
well-known and disastrously expensive criminalization of adults who should also
be in hospitals or cost-effective community care.

The neurobiological nature of mental illness is well-established, but people with these treatable
disorders of the brain, including our children, continue to deal with stigma and
discrimination. Inappropriate incarceration of children is part of a disturbing
picture of untreated mental illnesses.

According to the Florida Suicide Prevention Coalition, suicide is the third-leading cause of death for children ages 5 to 14. Suicide is an inherent risk for both children and adults with
mental illnesses. Access to timely and effective psychiatric intervention for these individuals is a lifeline.
 But every year, our legislators make policy and funding decisions that keep us at the bottom of the nation in per-capita spending on serious mental illnesses. Without sufficient funding for
the treatment of brain disorders, the only future for some is more jailings,
suicides, homelessness and crisis-center admissions.

The eyes of ever lawmaker in the state should be riveted on the hidden fates of those with mental illnesses in Florida. They are the darkest places in the Sunshine State.
Many priorities are established before the annual legislative session
begins in 2014. Now is the time to take our children and loved ones into the
district offices of those who represent us in Tallahassee, and with one voice,
tell them when there is help for mental illnesses, there is hope for recovery.

 Thousands of lives that could have been saved, including those of our
children, have already been swept away by years of neglect and political
indifference. Together, we can turn this terrible tide.
 
Peggy J. Symons lives in DeLand
Copyright (c) 2013, Orlando Sentinel Communications. All rights reserved
 
 
 

CENTER STAGE FOR SCHIZOPHRENIA

 

THE ORLANDO SENTINEL 
- Friday, March 22, 2002

Author:
Peggy Symons

 

 

As the date of the Academy Awards approaches, once again A Beautiful Mind is on the American mind.

The box-office draw of the story of the Nobel Prize
winner John Nash's journey through life with schizophrenia has pulled this
illness out of the dark and dusty basement of non-awareness right onto center
stage. It has created a bridge of shared experience as the story of Nash's life
unfolds with some striking parallels to my own experience of living with a
psychotic disorder.

The frightening intensity of Nash's delusional world
was so authentically presented that I, of all people, thought it was real.

In the three months since the release of A Beautiful Mind, the widely
held stereotypes that we are categorically violent people or "split
personalities" are yielding to the understanding of just how human we are. There is a new understanding that a person living with schizophrenia can have a beautiful mind. People are now asking who we are. They are beginning to
understand our humanity and that this is an illness of intense impact. It is no
one's fault, and it is never a choice.

Neuroscience is advancing on
schizophrenia, but it is a complex, chronic and challenging disorder. It will
give up its secrets slowly. The current focus on mental illness is an
opportunity of immediate relevance to present the needs of mentally ill people
as issues of substance. One in five families is struggling with the brain
disorders causing mental illnesses.

If anyone is looking for us, many of
us are behind the locked doors of prisons. Often we are arrested for our
symptoms rather than for true criminal intent. It is illegal to lie on park
benches or trespass on Dumpsters.

As funding for vital mental-health services dwindles, prisons have become the de facto psychiatric hospitals of the 21st century. Reduced to dollars and no sense, the costs of jailing us are more expensive than it would be to treat us. We exist behind the locked doors of "no access" to effective treatment. We live behind the walls of stigma and misunderstanding. This is where much of our humanity remains hidden.

It has been through the new lens of A Beautiful Mind that we have been given the vision to understand, to value and to respect the inner beauty of so many people like John Nash, walking through life with chronic, severe mental illnesses.
These are our neighbors and our loved ones. Who will see their inner beauty and who will know their names? How do we answer the age-old question of conscience and responsibility? Am I my brother's keeper?

If my brothers and sisters are the most profoundly ill and vulnerable among us, then, yes, the answer always comes back close to me:

I am my brother's keeper.

 

Memo: PeggySymons lives in Deland,Florida. She is a member of the National Alliance for the Mentally Ill and the Mental
Health Association.

 

 

 

LOVE LIGHTS CHAOS OF MENTAL ILLNESS

THE ORLANDO SENTINEL - Friday, January 14, 2000

 

Author: Peggy Symons , Special to the Sentinel

 

Who are these mentally ill people? They live under the interstate overpasses of every major city. Some sit locked away in prisons, talking to voices no one else can hear. They are voiceless; they are faceless. They are my less-fortunate mentally ill brethren. They look like me. They are my own.

Mental illness, with all its terrible power and consequences, swept out of hell, and struck me down at age 19, as I grew into adulthood. Schizoaffective disorder is a biologically determined brain disease that has symptoms of both schizophrenia and depression. Like all major mental illnesses, it is caused by a devastating disruption of the finely balanced chemistry of the brain.

All my off-and-on time in the hospitals presented the still-unanswered question, ``Why did this happen?'' I was just starting a very promising college career, and my hopes and dreams for the future were solid and intact. Perhaps, in my lifetime, as the mysteries of the human brain unfold, I will know why.

Instead of focusing on why I became mentally ill, I seek to define my purpose. I look for a reason and direction to evolve from the chaos of my illness. During the years, sometimes the direction that this schizoaffective disorder has taken me appears to be a downward spiral. Through depression, psychotic thinking and impaired functioning, it has dragged me through hell with no apparent purpose or mercy. With expert management of medicines that have sometimes helped, I emerge with new eyes and gratitude. I see the world and other people from a newly visible land of the living.

At these times I experience life with a new quality and dimension, with a depth of understanding that can be experienced only by someone who has journeyed through hell and by the grace of God has emerged alive and intact. I have come to know the deepest currents of the human condition. I know fear. I know pain and despair, and I have touched the face of death. But, most of all, I know love. I know the love of God and the love of the people who cared for me. They never abandoned me even as I slipped away from them.

For 23 years my long-term support group has met every week. All of us have major mental illnesses. We have moved into midlife together, meeting every Friday to gather enough courage from each other to go out, each week, and keep trying. We have learned from each other that mental illness in no way diminishes anyone's humanity. We are all people, whatever the state of the chemistry of our brains.

The darkness of mental illness has sensitized me to the goodness and warmth of other people. I look for it. I reach for it. And, when I find it, I treasure it.


 

I share this account of schizophrenia and depression to illustrate the essential humanity of mentally ill people. It speaks of what I know of the light that illuminates all souls, mentally ill or not. This is the light that binds us all together, for better or worse, in this sometimes-leaky human boat. As I search for a way to tell people who never gave up on me how much they've meant, and I think of the people under overpasses and the people locked away in the prisons of their own minds, I remember something the son of God said in Matthew 25:40: Whatsoever you shall do unto the least of my brethren, that you do unto me.

 

Memo: Peggy Symons is a long-distance bicycle rider and lives in Chuluota with her cat, Lambie. 

 

Edition: METRO  Section: EDITORIAL Page: A15
Column: OTHER VIEWS MY WORD  Index Terms: LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
Record Number: 0001140129 Copyright 2000 Sentinel Communications Co.

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THE HOPE GIVERS

Hope is a fragile flame and a bright light. It is easy to give and even easier to take away.      Once the flame of hope is lit it must be carefully kept and kindled.

When hope burns brightly there is fire in its feet and the breath of life is on its lips.

There is purity in its purpose, vision in its light and healing in its truth.

Whether we teach, write, counsel or mop the halls the hopeless walk we are all called to be hope givers and keepers of the flame.

Blessed are the hope givers.

Peggy J. Symons ©  Copyright 

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VOICES
By Peggy J. Symons

They steal in on airways,
Reserved for what is real,
Make my thoughts all frightened slaves,
And twist the way I feel.

They'll never walk away with me,
or steal what I love,
they'll never snatch away my key,
to God and human love.

So, I walk in quiet courage
As all around me spins,
And come to know the strength I wage,
I know what's real wins.

 

© copyright Peggy J. Symons

 

 

The Gift of a Captive mind

The Gift of a Captive Mind

I am currently writing the Gift of a Captive Mind. It is new.

The only voices in the Captive Mind are those of the narrator. It is not a collection of other peoples stories either.

It is simply written to fill out academic presentations of mental illnesses with the actual experiences of living with them.

The purpose is also to highlight the grief and losses that come with mental illnesses so that the suffering of individuals and families will never be discounted or shuffled away unseen and without hope.

I don’t know when the Gift of a Captive Mind will be finished but the end is in sight.

I have never been part of any other book on mental illness that has any hope of coming into the light of day.

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