Good Tidings?

I'm going to break my own rule about posting anything related to the government and religion here. If I lose readers over this post, so be it.  It's time we all faced reality, and I'm not going to censor myself when I have dear friends  being tortured by a system they've supported with tax dollars their entire life.  I could promote a book, share a video, or a Christmas recipe, but frankly, I'm not in the mood today. I'm not asking you to share my viewpoints, rather just recognize that something stinks and it's right under our noses.

I'm finding it extremely hard to get into the Christmas spirit.  Oh, I'm excited for my grandsons (two more get added at Christmas), but saddened for those with less who search for some shred of happiness.  It's easy to say count your blessings when you have them, but when you are watching your belongings and feelings of safety slip away, how do you find the energy to count the good that remains?  I'm running out of positive things to say to my friends.

If someone told me I could make a wish on the Christmas Star this year, it would be that our dear friends and neighbors, people who have gone out of their way to help others and have been so good to us, would find jobs and gain back the self-respect and integrity they had.  I would add in a special request that my sister find an employer who accepts and realizes what a wonderful and productive worker she is, and appreciates just that. It's a shame when you have to swallow your pride, bite your tongue, and submit to the wishes of management just to keep a roof over your head.  I don't know which is worse...a crappy job that beats you into a ball of depression or no job at all which plummets you into depression's depths.

Our friends had jobs for quite a while...until the company was bought by a bigger company and the owner felt threatened by two people so close to management.  So, both were fired although they were fully qualified to continue to help the new company benefit.  Tennessee is an "at will" state, which pretty much means you can be screwed at any moment without any provocation.

  Now, the husband's unemployment has run out, and the government, who has the power to extend those benefits to keep them clinging to a thread of hope, is engaged in a pissing contest over the Democratic versus Republican viewpoint.  Isn't this just more of an indication that the two-party system continues to fail us...divide us as a nation?

In a time when so many are homeless, hopeless, and bordering on suicide to escape the stress, how can over 6000 earmarks totaling over eight billion dollars get anywhere near a bill to be passed?  When I watch my friends belongings disappear through sales or repossession, I get fighting mad.  Do we really need a Nikita Khrushchev memorial hiking trail?  Do we need money allocated to a memorial for the biggest pork-barrel spender ever--John Murtha?  I'm sorry that he passed, but he should have retired years ago like all others reaching retirement age.  Congress has become a place where elected officials stay until they gasp their last breath because God-forbid they have to live the life without their white-collar benefits.

My friend had a wonderful idea.  There is so much reality TV happening these days...shows like "Wife Swap."  How about developing a show called, "Life Swap."  An elected official has to switch places with someone suffering at the moment because of the economy.  While the "sufferer" goes to Congress and engages in useless rhetoric, the Congress person or Senator has to come live in the "sufferer's" shoes, try to eak out an existence on unemployment benefits...not counting when the benefits cease to exist.  I wonder how large the viewing audience would be for that?

So, now that I've expressed my feelings, I'm going to continue to search for a way to help my friends.  I'm not a wealthy person or I would give them the moon.  I'm a senior citizen so my time on earth is limited in years, but I fear for my children and grandson who have already been living life under the thumb of a government who cares more about who's right and who's wrong over what is human and real.

I pray that everyone reading this can find the real reason for Christmas, as I've just reminded myself.  It's only one day, set aside to be thankful for the gift given us so long along by God.  Somewhere, someone came up with the saying "God will provide," but I think we eventually have to learn to take care of ourselves just like our children do.  We can't rely on God for everything...support, strength, yes, but we have to become responsible for our actions or lack thereof.  Grow up America, and take a little off the Lord's shoulders.  If we all turn a blind eye to what is happening outside our cozy little piece of the US, then something is wrong.


  Help someone else have a Happy Holiday.  I plan to, although I'm not quite sure how at the moment.  I wish you all God's blessings...because yes, I do believe.

Welcome, Jannine Corti-Petska

Writing Through Depression

“On an afternoon in September of 1994, I sat by myself with a razor blade in my hand. Outside, the weather was hot and still. But in my head a storm raged. Dozens of disordered voices howled in the wind of that storm. Most of them were of the opinion that my work had no value; that I would never succeed as a writer, and thus would never realize my most cherished dream; that the pain of my existence had made me a liability to myself and to my family; and that I would be better off dead. Luckily, the voice I heard most clearly as I held the razor poised above the veins of my wrist was that of my young son, asking me to think about what his life would be like without a mother. I put the blade down and cried, unable to do what I had intended, but finally convinced that I was seriously ill and needed help.”



 The above quote was the beginning of an article written in 1995 by Nancy Etchemendy. I could have written it, replacing the razor blade for scissors and the young son for my teenage daughter who found me standing at the kitchen sink. I had actually pressed the opened scissors into my skin. A little more pressure and a quick slice, and my suffering would have ended. My daughter saved my life.

The dictionary defines writer as “one who writes, especially as an occupation.” That’s it. A single line.

But for depression, there are 8 definitions. Psychologically speaking, the dictionary defines depression as “a psychotic or neurotic condition characterized by the inability to concentrate, insomnia, and feelings of sadness, dejection, and hopelessness.”

All of the above characteristics have been with me for most of my life. Why then did I decide to become a writer? In a business where rejection is certain, you’d think I’d steer clear of that stress. But when you have a creative mind, even depression can’t stifle the plots, characters, and everything else that goes into writing a book. It did, however, make it difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

When I started writing in my late 20s, the ideas flowed, and the pen burned up the paper from the speed at which I wrote. I wrote long-hand. No computer at the time. I could write at least two full-length novels a year (including doing the research) while researching and gathering ideas for two more. It was non-stop. I worked on plot and characters in my sleep. And I remembered it in the morning and wrote down the details while they were fresh in my mind. My three daughters were young, and I wrote when they were at school, at lessons and doctor’s appointments. Depression wasn’t so hard on my concentration, and life didn’t seem so complicated back then. That was in the late 70s.

The doctors had labeled me painfully shy when I was a teenager. In my 20s, apparently it was all in my head. I lived with that diagnosis until my early 40s when I finally found a female physician who told me I suffered from clinical depression. I felt like the weight of the world was lifted off my shoulders. There was a term for what I felt nearly every day.

During those years prior to my diagnosis, it became increasingly difficult to write and to come up with creative ideas. But writing was therapy for me. It focused my mind on something more than what caused any number of my depressive episodes. I had even written through a traumatic experience one year. About fifteen years later, I pulled out the book and couldn’t believe how angry my characters were to each other, how down and depressed the entire story was. Yet writing it helped me through a physically and emotionally rough time.

Psychologists found that writers suffer from depression more than any other group. In a study Kay Redfield Jamison wrote about for the Scientific American, “….her study population met….criteria for manic-depression or major depression at a rate far greater than chance. ‘In fact, it seems that these diseases can sometimes enhance or otherwise contribute to creativity in some people.’”

There was a landmark study written by Nancy Andreasen and published in a 1987 issue for the American Journal of Psychiatry. She had taken 30 members from the Iowa Writer’s Workshop and compared them to a control group. She discovered that “80% of writers had an affective episode at some point in their lives, compared to 30% of a control group.” And while “37% of the writers had suffered from major depression, two of the 30 writers killed themselves during the course of the 15-year study.”

Writing is a solitary effort, but I believe it is responsible for keeping many people who write sane. Whether we find an outlet for our troubles from writing on paper or typing directly into the computer, our creativity can see us through the worst of times. I can’t say that everything I wrote while depressed was all bad. I actually had some good, publishable stories. Yet there’s always that fine line between soundly sane and teetering on the edge in a writer’s mind. Perhaps creative people are just more sensitive.

Whatever I’ve been through in my life, I have an entire writing community who often lift my spirits. Writing is the key. No matter what the future holds, as long as I have all my faculties, I’ll be writing. And, of course, my husband and daughters were always—and still are--there for me.

Depression is nothing to be ashamed of. If you’re experiencing symptoms of depression, don’t be afraid to talk to your doctor or someone close you can confide in. The important thing to remember is to seek help. I am so grateful I did.

Note: I go in-depth into what brought me to that point in my life when I tried to slice my wrist during a weeklong blog about my writing life at Novelspot, November 15-21.

Available now from Jannine:

CARINA AND THE NOBLEMAN, book 1 in the Sisters of Destiny trilogy.

Look for the re-release of book 2 in the Sisters of Destiny trilogy, CHARLOTTE AND

THE GYPSY, from DCL Publications in 2011.

Three psychic sisters separated at birth; will they discover the secrets of their past?

KNIGHT'S DESIRE

Visit Jannine at www.jcortipetska.com

REBEL HEART