Mental Health Awareness Month Quotes

God judges men from the inside out; men judge men from the outside in. Perhaps to God, an extreme mental patient is doing quite well in going a month without murder, for he fought his chemical imbalance and succeeded; oppositely, perhaps the healthy, able and stable man who has never murdered in his life yet went a lifetime consciously, willingly never loving anyone but himself may then be subject to harsher judgment than the extreme mental patient. It might be so that God will stand for the weak and question the strong.

I feel sorry for people who maintain relationships and friendships detrimental to their mental health. Everyone is guilty of it at one time or another- but the idea is to strive to be your best; right? So, meanwhile why are so many people faking it? Security? Fear of loneliness? Fears of independence? Fears of being self ? Or just the idea that you can make someone change? Regardless of the justifications you give & treat yourself to... , I hope all of you - "new year -new me types" strive for self care , honest and pure friendships and relationships based of love- and not based off the fake realities of your mind. These delusions of what you hope for instead of what's there, where you and your puppet show master focus more on everyone else and less on self. To change the world you must start within. But you must first BE HONEST with yourself. My new year started a few months ago-- and it was the best choice I ever made- and I hope your recreations are progressive and successful in THE NEW YEAR

The bird carried me inside his song. It was so beautiful that I couldn’t help myself. I reached out and tried to embrace it, the bird, and when I did, I put my arms around you.

In 2008, the national Coping with Cancer project published a study showing that terminally ill cancer patients who were put on a mechanical ventilator, given electrical defibrillation or chest compressions, or admitted, near death, to intensive care had a substantially worse quality of life in their last week than those who received no such interventions. And, six months after their death, their caregivers were three times as likely to suffer major depression. Spending one’s final days in an I.C.U. because of terminal illness is for most people a kind of failure. You lie on a ventilator, your every organ shutting down, your mind teetering on delirium and permanently beyond realizing that you will never leave this borrowed, fluorescent place. The end comes with no chance for you to have said goodbye or “It’s O.K.” or “I’m sorry” or “I love you.” People have concerns besides simply prolonging their lives. Surveys of patients with terminal illness find that their top priorities include, in addition to avoiding suffering, being with family, having the touch of others, being mentally aware, and not becoming a burden to others. Our system of technological medical care has utterly failed to meet these needs, and the cost of this failure is measured in far more than dollars. The hard question we face, then, is not how we can afford this system’s expense. It is how we can build a health-care system that will actually help dying patients achieve what’s most important to them at the end of their lives.

Im wunderschönen Monat Mai, Als alle Vögel sangen, Da ist meinem Herzen Die Liebe aufgegangen. Im wunderschönen Monat Mai, Als alle Knospen sprangen, Da hab' ich ihr gestanden Mein Sehnen und Verlangen. Translation: In the beautiful month of May, as all the birds were singing, love started to blossom inside of my heart. In the beautiful month of May, as all the buds were blossoming, I confessed to her my yearning and longing.

Dear Hourglass, Months ago, you were turned upside down. I do not know why. I haven’t seen the moon in months. I guess that is why I’ve been fighting the tides. There’s no way I can humble the tides in my mind without the moon. Where is the moon? It is supposed to balance the tides and my emotions. I guess that is why I am drowning. Hourglass, are the grains of sand all in the other end? Tell me, has my time run out to change? May you give me another chance? My heart is in chains. Can the stars untangle the chains that are suffocating it? Or have the stars forgotten all about me too? I hope not. I need the moon and the stars to help me get through the rough tides and unpredictable currents. Everything is closing in.

Due to the progressing sickness that the doctors appeared not to understand, I could only hold a job for months before I would be laid off. My manager would slowly become aware that I had health issues. Chronic fatigue and mental confusion are hard to hide on a daily basis! I was working for older electrical engineering managers and they also appeared to have health issues. One was constantly taking vitamin energy drinks, another had a brain tumor removed in the past, another would open his desk drawer and there would be several bottles of prescription medications in there, and another had been wondering the streets in confused state a year earlier! Engineering staff I was supervising had unusual personalities and issues with progressing their work. Some appeared to have health issues comparable to my own. This was the reality of my “American Dream”.

Chris opens a Twix as he studies the photo. He has his annual medical in two months, and every Monday he convinces himself that this is finally the week he gets back into shape, finally shifts the stone or so that holds him back. The stone or so that gives him cramp. The stone or so that stops him from buying new clothes, just in case, and that stops him dating, because who would want this? The stone or so that stands between him and the world. Two stone if he's really honest. Those Mondays are usually good. Chris doesn't take the elevator on Mondays. Chris brings food from home on Mondays. Chris does sit-ups in bed on Mondays. But by Tuesday, or in a good week, Wednesday, the world creeps back in, the stairs seem too daunting, and Chris loses faith in the project. He's aware that the project is himself, and that drags him further down still. So out come the pastries and the crisps, the garage lunch, the quick drink after work, the takeaway on the way home from work, the chocolate on the way home from the takeaway. The eating, the numbing, the release, the shame, and then the repeat. But there was always next Monday, and one of these Mondays there would be salvation. That stone would drop off, followed by the other stone that was lurking. He'd barely break sweat at the medical, he'd be the athlete he always secretly knew he was. Text a thumbs-up to the new girlfriend he'd have met online. He finishes the Twix and looks around for his crisps.

The month of June: National PTSD Awareness Month Suicide is as an axe to a tree, a commitment to a delusional freedom, that you have not yet learned to be freed, when indeed you can set yourself free by doing little or as much as needed to care for you in the state of hopelessness, and when you are one of the seeds prematurely fell from the tree that you need to find your ground to grow among the forest. Living is a passage to an endless potential of tomorrow that your worth is not bounded by the society’s narrow values, but you strike with the principles that preserve your worthiness to find your pathway to meet the ultimate goal of happiness. by Tina Leung June 2023

June: National PTSD Awareness Month Suicide is an axe to a tree, a commitment to a delusional freedom, that you have not yet learned to be freed. Living is a passage to an endless potential of tomorrow that your worth is not bounded by the society's narrow values, but you strike with the principles that preserve your worthiness to find your pathway to meet the ultimate goal of happiness.” June 2023 by Tina Leung

(voiceover, slow fade to black) And so I stayed, nine months in a room where the air barely moved and the days slipped like melting film frames, no taper, no consent, just the great severing—one moment I was a man, and the next I was something else entirely, twitching in a shell, my muscles screaming in forgotten tongues—dystonia, akathisia, the cruel choreography of withdrawal that dances even when no one’s watching, and they weren’t, because by then the footage had been taken, the books erased, the houses emptied, the names unspoken, and the faces—God, the faces—just shimmered like heat in an empty field, and the contracts were voided by vanishing acts, and every archive, every masterpiece, every sentence I carved from bone was swallowed by men who said they’d help and left when the lights dimmed, and I watched the systems collapse, passwords vanish, deliveries stop, the world closing its door with a soft, polite click, and I made the calls—I made all the calls—and they never came back, and maybe they never existed, or maybe I never did, and now I lie here not waiting, not hoping, just drifting in the beautiful machinery of a body I no longer command, still asking for redress, for continuity, for the return of a name, for some kind of line in the sand to stop the next erasure, even if I know this isn’t a plea, it’s not even survival anymore—it’s just the last reel burning in reverse, the story folding in on itself, the dream telling me gently: you were here once, you made something, and even if they don’t remember it—you did. (silence) (credits roll)