Take Five

November 9, 2014February 9, 2026 ~ Randy Seaver ~ 2 Comments

My wife, Governor Paul Lepage, Bill Nemitz, a charity auction and the in-patient psychiatric unit at Maine Medical Center.

How did these random things become connected last week, causing a bit of a stir on my Facebook page last night?

Let’s start at the top.

Last week, just days before the election, Governor Paul LePage joked that Portland Press Herald columnist Bill Nemitz should be placed on a “suicide watch,” speculating that he was going to win his re-election bid and his nemesis might jump off the Penobscot Narrows Bridge as a result.

Boom! Instant controversy. Once again, the governor found himself in familiar territory with his foot in his mouth.

The governor’s critics (Democrats) went wild, talking about how insensitive the governor is to issues regarding mental illness.

Reportedly, some people who have lost loved ones to suicide were also angry and upset about the remarks.

Other folks (Republicans) said the governor was joking and the comment was no big deal, pointing out that many in society make lighthearted jokes on similar topics.

Stop and think if you have ever said “I’m going crazy.” “That is a crazy idea.” “That guy is a nut job.” Have you ever laughed when hearing a joke about hearing voices? Late night talk show hosts had plenty of fodder more than a decade ago when actress Margot Kidder was found partially clothed, hiding in the bushes of an LA suburb.

The subject of mental illness makes us nervous. We laugh about it as a relief valve for our own anxiety and fear. But can you take it too far?

Who’s saying what

My wife has multiple sclerosis. It is a progressive illness with no cure. She often makes jokes about her illness, speculating about when she will need a wheelchair and telling me we will need to completely renovate our home to accommodate her decreasing mobility. She laughs about these very real topics, appearing on the surface light-hearted.

Her jokes about MS really bother me. They trigger a rush of feelings and incredible anxiety. I know that her jokes are just part of her coping methods, but still I cringe when she talks about putting “bling” on her cane.

When Laura jokes about her MS, I try to give her a pass because she has MS, not me. It is her coping strategy.

It’s sort of like the “N” word. An African-American man can use that word in public without recrimination and make jokes about its connotation and meaning.

If I did the same thing, I could possibly lose my job, certainly many friends.

Society draws a line. If you got it, you can talk about it. Otherwise, keep your trap shut.

Unless it’s Hollywood or the media , and then all bets are off, especially when it comes to mental illness.

In the days following the 2007 massacre at Virginia Tech, “Nightly newscasts reported “no known motive” and focused on the gunman’s anger, sense of isolation, and preoccupation with violent revenge. No one who read or saw the coverage would learn what a psychotic break looks like, nor that the vast majority of people with mental disorders are not violent. This kind of contextual information is conspicuously missing from major newspapers and TV,” wrote Richard Friedman in “Media and Madness,” an article published in the June 23, 2008 issue of The American Prospect.

Friedman goes on to explain that “Hollywood has benefited from a long-standing and lurid fascination with psychiatric illness,” referencing movies such as Psycho, The Silence of the Lambs, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Fatal Attraction.

According to Friedman, “exaggerated characters like these may help make “average” people feel safer by displacing the threat of violence to a well-defined group.”

Since the 2011 Tucson shootings, I have been an out-of-the-closet consumer of mental health services. I have testified before the legislature, published an op-ed in the Portland Press Herald, spoken at community forums.

My mission is to show, in a tangible way, that mental illness is generally not scary and more often than not impacts everyday people: your friends, your co-workers, your neighbors and even your social media contacts.

My life-long struggle with mental illness is not particularly funny, but I do make jokes about it. Have you ever tried to eat a chicken cutlet with a spork? (They don’t give you silverware on the psychiatric unit. )

Did you know that nine out of 10 psychiatric units have aquariums? Fish, apparently, relieve anxiety and stress.

I make these jokes and others when speaking publicly because humor helps break down communication barriers.

I got in trouble

On Friday evening, Laura and I attended the Biddeford-Saco Chamber’s annual holiday auction and dinner. By pure coincidence, my bidding paddle was labeled P-6, the abbreviation of Maine Medical Center’s in-patient psychiatric unit (located on the sixth floor of the Pavilion wing.) I held up the photo and had Laura take a shot of me and my label.

I posted that picture on Facebook.

Some people thought it was funny. Other people did not, questioning why I could joke about mental illness but Gov. LePage could not.

The tricky thing about humor is its intent.

For the record, I chuckled when LePage said Nemitz should be placed on a suicide watch. The two men have been battling for four years, and frankly, I’m not sure who hates who more.

But either way, I think humor is okay, so long as its intent is somewhat calculated and not malicious in nature.

As someone with severe and chronic mental health issues, it’s not up to me or anyone else to tell you what you can joke about. All I ask is that you think about the consequences and lighten up just a tiny bit.

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Shit happens

October 8, 2014January 26, 2024 ~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

Originally published Sept. 8, 2012

Over the last few days, I have learned some valuable lessons.

First and foremost, I was reminded this week that I am extraordinarily blessed to have a diverse cadre of superior friends and family members.

I also learned a valuable lesson about ladders, not to mention a very painful experience that drove home the importance of why access to affordable and quality health care is so important for our national security.

But having so much down time has also allowed me to reflect on at least two other subjects: balance and perception.

During this presidential election season we have all heard a bunch of rhetoric about “self-reliance” and about “being in this together.” But which philosophy is correct?

Just like working with a ladder, the most important lesson is too often forgotten: it’s all about balance.

And we lose our balance when our perceptions become too narrowly defined.

A week ago, I broke my left arm in two different places while helping my sons with their landscaping business. The injuries, although significant, will eventually heal.

These last few days have been tough. It’s amazing how much you take for granted the use of two working arms. For example, try zipping up your pants with one arm. Or opening a bottle of pain meds; typing or driving a vehicle with a standard transmission.

Most people understand those limitations. They instantly empathize, and are quick to offer assistance. After all, my injuries are very obvious. My arm is either in a sling or set into a wrap-around corset to keep it in place. I have visible wounds on my legs and my elbow.

Strangers ask what happened with sympathetic voices, and they often share with me their own similar experiences. My friends laugh with me about how the accident happened. It’s okay and acceptable to make jokes about it.

We are comfortable with physical injuries. They do not frighten us. Shit happens.

Anyone who has ever smashed their elbow into a 3-inch-thick slab of stone knows that it is a painful injury. They know why you need to take it easy and sometimes need the use of medication to cope or just sleep through the night.

I say all this because these experiences provided me with a very stark contrast to my much less obvious injuries; the disease that is invisible to the eye, that is masked by perception.

On balance (no pun intended) my mental illness is far more painful than a broken arm. But you can’t see it, and I am reluctant to show it to you.

Imagine a disease that rarely allows you to sleep through an entire night. A disease that constantly impacts your perception of the world around you; a disease that clouds your judgment, alters your reality and makes it almost impossible to get out of bed.

Imagine an intense level of pain that without medication would have you think every hour of every day about ending your life; a disease that inhibits your ability to maintain relationships and function as a productive member of society.

Imagine having a disease that is commonly ridiculed and often dismissed as nothing more than “feeling sorry for yourself.”

I live with the challenges of that disease every day. I fight it with every fiber of my existence, only to know that it will never go away; that there is no cure or remedy.

I refuse to allow my broken arm to alter my life. This last week has been one of the busiest and most challenging weeks of my professional career, and I have risen to each and every challenge.

Am I bragging? Yes, but only to make a point. This is the way the overwhelming majority of people who suffer from a mental illness operate. They struggle through each day. They go to work. They mask their pain. They pay their bills. They follow the law. They take their meds and follow their doctor’s orders.

They wince when they hear the words “sicko, whack job and nut case,” but they swallow and stay silent for fear of being labeled, judged or excluded.

They are just like you. They are your neighbors, your friends and your co-workers. They did not choose to become sick any more than you would choose to fall off a ladder. They are some of the most self-reliant people you will ever meet. They have abundant courage and determination.

We all have limitations. The trick is learning to balance and to expand your range of perception. With those tools, you can fix just about anything.

Conscience doth make Cowards of us all

January 22, 2014January 26, 2024 ~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

Several months ago, I posted a blog entry that compared how people react to physical illnesses versus mental illnesses.

In that post, I detailed the overwhelming support I received after breaking my arm in two places. I also bragged about how I refused to let it slow me down. Using only one arm, over a holiday weekend, I was able to produce fact sheets and other collateral materials for a very large and important client during a deadline crunch.

I also shared some aspects of my much less obvious illness:

Imagine a disease that rarely allows you to sleep through an entire night. A disease that constantly impacts your perception of the world around you; a disease that clouds your judgment, alters your reality and makes it almost impossible to get out of bed.

Imagine an intense level of pain that without medication would have you think every hour of every day about ending your life; a disease that inhibits your ability to maintain relationships and function as a productive member of society. Imagine having a disease that is commonly ridiculed and often dismissed as nothing more than “feeling sorry for yourself.”

I live with the challenges of that disease every day. I fight it with every fiber of my existence, only to know that it will never go away; that there is no cure or remedy.

Today is one of those days when I pretend that it is all so manageable. Generally, I pretend by using social media to argue and rant about politics or current events, anything other than the reality surrounding me. Presenting a false illusion of confidence and optimism.

It would be more convenient — certainly less difficult — for my friends, family and coworkers, if I could be more consistent in masking this disease.

Many of them, in fact, would prefer that I not talk about this subject, but I make no apologies, and I am not asking for much.

I would ask only, that on days like today, you treat me the same as you would if you saw my arm in a cast.

When I broke my arm, only one person told me I was “just feeling sorry for myself.” Only one person expected me to type a 300-page report or maybe sling a hammer and just “get over it by doing something productive.” Only one person told me I was too self-absorbed and ungrateful for all the amazing gifts God has bestowed upon me.

That one person was me, and it is the voice I imagine that others whisper when I am not in the room.

Judge me if you want, but also know this . . . you will never judge me more harshly than that voice inside my head

So, why do I write this shit? What’s the point? I have no answer. But if you click this link, you will find a wide range of others who share some unique insights and perspectives about a disease that remains invisible and generally misunderstood.

Paper Thin

October 31, 2013January 29, 2024 ~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

It was one of the worst places to watch the final game of the World Series.

But it turned out that it was the best place to watch the final game of the World Series.

I would dare say that watching the World Series from the confines of an in-patient psychiatric unit is about the most bizarre experience one can imagine.

I would have preferred to watch it on my flat screen, from the comfort of my living room with my wife and sons. I would have preferred to be among the throngs of fans hovering over Kenmore Square. I would have preferred to be hanging with friends, drinking beer and wildly cheering during the top of the ninth inning.

But instead I watched it with three other men who had few choices last night about where they would watch the historic event.

No, it was nothing like the scene from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, in which patient Randle McMurphy (Jack Nicholson) battles with Nurse Ratched (Louise Fletcher) for the “privilege” of watching the World Series, but there is an undeniable spirit to the World Series. Unlike the Super Bowl, it is a series of games that drains and demands the very best from its players.

In fact, our charge nurse made popcorn and watched the game with us. We were bonded in our situation, yet simultaneously celebrating with a much larger community.

Last night, we celebrated triumph over adversity; hope over despair; light over darkness.

No matter where we are, no matter what we are doing or experiencing, it’s always good to celebrate.

Alpacas, Obamacare and the thin line

October 6, 2013January 26, 2024 ~ Randy Seaver ~ 1 Comment

It’s been a tough week for a lot of us.

The days are getting shorter, the economy remains anemic and political rhetoric is intensifying in the face of a so-called government “shutdown.”

Just in the last seven days, our nation has witnessed some stunning and bizarre examples of citizen unrest.

On Thursday, a woman suffering from depression attempted to crash the White House barriers. She had her infant daughter in her car. She then headed to the Capitol, where she was eventually shot to death by police. Fewer than 24 hours later, a man set himself on fire near the National Mall.

Of course, two weeks earlier, Aaron Alexis went on a killing rampage that left 12 people dead at the DC Navy Yard.

Despite those horrific incidents, the nation remains bitterly, stubbornly focused on an intensely partisan battle that is still raging on Capitol Hill. These other incidents were mere blips on the radar screen, generally ignored like those blips that signaled the advance of Japanese fighter planes approaching Oahu on December 7, 1941.

It is mind-numbing stuff; stuff that is too difficult to even think about, much less the sort of stuff that we are willing to discuss in the sphere of public policy.

We avoid this stuff because it’s much harder to point fingers and assign blame. It’s not as convenient or simple as arguing about Obamacare. It’s stuff that we generally want to avoid.

What does this have to do with alpacas?

As a so-called “consumer” of mental health services, I have a wide range of my own diversionary tactics, a boat-load of coping tools I can deploy to ignore the obvious and the overwhelming.

I am also a semi-professional pundit, not to mention a professional consultant who spends the bulk of his time crafting public policy messages and strategies to help clients achieve their goals.

When those two worlds intersect, I need a distraction as much as anyone else. So, I began focusing on alpacas.

Go ahead and laugh. I will wait.

This week is also the week of the annual Fryeburg Fair. For many years, I have represented various clients at that fair, staffing booths in the Natural Resources building and thus unable to enjoy the fair like most people with my family.

Of all the animals on display at the fair, I have always had a soft-spot (literally) for alpacas. I have long fantasized about how cool it would be to have a pet alpaca.

It’s just a fantasy; it’s not the real thing

This year I did not have to work at the fair. Laura and I decided that we would go on Saturday. Our youngest son, Matthew wanted to join us and bring along his girlfriend. We began planning this day almost three weeks ago.

This year, we had other things to consider about attending the fair. Laura’s MS has been progressing. On Monday, the neurosurgeon ordered her to stay home from work. For the first time, I had to get serious about wheelchairs and their cost, function. Maybe I would not need it this year. But it is part of our family’s new reality.

Earlier in the week, I once again dreamed about how great it would be to own an alpaca. The little kid in me got very excited about this prospect. Matthew, in fact, suggested that we would name our alpaca Cameron.

I am terrified thinking about my wife’s MS. I want things to stay the same. The future looks so uncertain. This is the Fryeburg Fair, dammit. I just want an apple crisp, wager on a few races, smell maple syrup and hear reports about the Red Sox and their progress in the ALCS.

What happens if Laura can’t go back to work? What happens to our health insurance? How will we be impacted by Obamacare? What if . . .?

I went to bed early on Tuesday evening in a mix of anticipation about seeing the alpacas at the fair and worrying about my wife’s health. I wept like I have not wept in years.

I really wanted an alpaca. I researched alpacas, and the adult that also lives in me tried to be as gentle as possible. But reality won on Tuesday. Our yard is too small. Alpacas live in herds. We have no business, whatsoever, in even considering the purchase of an alpaca.

It was the clashing of reality and fantasy. This tool of distraction would soon need to be replaced. What do I do now?

Sometimes a fantasy is all you need

We had so much fun on Saturday. Despite the heavy traffic, the difficulty in finding a parking spot, we all laughed so much. People of all stripes, sizes and colors packed the fairgrounds. Yes, we saw the alpacas, and we even found Cameron.

The alpacas, goats, sheep and cattle all seemed somewhat oblivious to the incessant buzz of human activity that surrounded them. They were content to gnaw on hay, to root in piles of sawdust.

For several hours, I did not hear one word about John Boehner or President Obama. I did hear that the Sox scored another run in the bottom of the fourth. The air became cooler all around us, the night sky settled in quickly.

And then it dawned on me. There is a thin line that separates reality from fantasy, dreams from nightmares.

We spend so much energy fretting about the unknown.

Sometimes all you need is some hot apple crisp, a home run by the Red Sox, the company of those you love and the experience of petting an alpaca. That way, the buzz of human activity that surrounds you becomes little more than just another day at the fair.

I think I’m turning Japanese

October 4, 2013January 26, 2024 ~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

Two stories I found on the pages of the Portland Press Herald today:

[Maine’s] Riverview Psychiatric Center faces the loss of an estimated $20 million in federal funding because the federal government has decided that the hospital in Augusta has not solved staffing and governance problems.” Full story
The mother of a Connecticut woman who was shot to death by police after trying to breach a barrier at the White House said her daughter was suffering from post-partum depression. Mother: Daughter in Capitol chase was depressed

Considering the earth shattering news that Republicans are opposing Democrats, it’s understandably tough to remember things that happened a couple of weeks ago, like the Navy Yard shooting where Aaron Alexis, a former Navy reservist, used a shotgun to begin a massacre that left 12 people dead.

A few weeks before, Alexis called police in Rhode Island, telling them that he was getting messages from his microwave, according to the Associated Press.

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation,” wrote Henry David Thoreau.

But just look what happens when those desperate folks stop being quiet.

It’s easy and sexy to argue about the Affordable Care Act, gun control . . . my guy versus your guy.

But the silence becomes deafening if we dare mention other topics that (not surprisingly) have a direct and immediate impact on all the other stuff we love to debate.

Fewer than 24 hours after the incident in which a depressed woman was shot (justifiably) by Capitol police, that story has already become buried under the weight of Congressional bickering.

And the Aaron Alexis story did not fit into any of the convenient arguments for or against gun control. Don’t expect any tearful Congressional testimony there.

I return you now to the sport of pointing fingers and assigning blame. Enjoy.

Just Ask Superman

December 17, 2012January 25, 2024 ~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

Why do some people refuse to address their own or a loved-one’s mental health issues?

Well, do you remember the 1978 movie Superman? Do you remember what happened to its leading stars?

Superman was a cheesy adaptation of the famous comic book hero and television show, but its cast was stunning.

Some of Hollywood’s most enduring and iconic figures were featured in that film, including Marlon Brando, Gene Hackman, Ned Beatty, Valerie Perrine and Margot Kidder.

The film also launched the career of Christopher Reeve, a handsome, muscular man who was cast in the leading role as the Man of Steel.

While participating in a 1995 equestrian competition in Virginia, Reeve was severely injured and became paralyzed. His injuries elicited support from all over the globe. He spent the rest of his brief life trying to help others with spinal cord injuries and established the Christopher Reeve Foundation.

He was a sympathetic hero. He touched us all. The man of steel could not escape this batch of Kryptonite. He died in October 2004 and millions mourned his passing.

Now, let us examine the fate of Superman’s leading lady, Margot Kidder, a successful actress who was cast as the petulant, cynical and manic reporter, Lois Lane.

A year after Reeve was paralyzed, Kidder was found by police hiding in the bushes in a suburban neighborhood near Los Angeles, California. She was taken into custody for a psychiatric evaluation.

The world was not so nice to Ms. Kidder.

Kidder has a bipolar disorder, so she became fair game for the media, late night comedians and a slew of derisive web site commentary. She was certainly no Superman.

She was human, frail and vulnerable but in a different way than her co-star, and that difference was best amplified by the ridicule that continues to follow her today, some 15 years after her illness became fodder for her former Hollywood colleagues.

Maybe that’s why fellow Superman star Marlon Brando spent so many years keeping his mental illness a secret.

By the time Superman was released in 1978, Brando was already known as one of Hollywood’s most iconic figures. The star of “On the Waterfront” and “The Godfather,” he was a tough guy’s tough guy.

But his mental illness apparently was a bit tougher.

Brando was a deeply troubled man struggling with depression, anger, and loneliness, according to those who knew him and detailed in an article by the National Center on Physical Activity and Disability.

Brando was from a generation of those who didn’t talk about mental illness. A generation that believed depression was little more than self-pity run amok or some other sort of character flaw.

It was that same generation of actors which produced the original Superman, George Reeves.

George Reeves (no relation to Christopher) was an actor best known for his leading role in the 1950s television series, The Adventures of Superman.

Reeves’ untimely death at age 45 was officially ruled as a suicide by police, although there is much speculation about that fact, most notably in the 2006 film Hollywoodland, which stars Ben Affleck as George Reeves.

Whether Reeves committed suicide is irrelevant and will probably remain a mystery for a long time to come.

But we do know how Hollywood would have treated him if he had talked publicly about battling depression.

Just ask Lois Lane.

Catch 22

November 29, 2012January 26, 2024 ~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

There is a disturbing new trend in the U.S. military, and it’s killing our troops with increasing frequency.

No, we’re not talking about roadside bombs or militant terrorists. We’re talking about something that is much more frightening: suicide.

The U.S. military’s highest court is wrestling this week with whether it makes sense to punish service members who attempt suicide.

According to an article in USA Today, the military’s Court of Appeals appears perplexed about whether it makes sense to prosecute soldiers who make an attempt to end their own lives. The uncomfortable subject matter reared its ugly head during an appeal filed by attorneys for a Marine private who was court-martialed after slitting his own wrists.

From the article: Underpinning the case is the question of why the military criminalizes attempted suicide when it does not treat successful suicide as a crime.

“If (the marine) had succeeded, like 3,000 service members have in the past decade, he would have been treated like his service was honorable, his family would have received a letter of condolence from the president and his death would have been considered in the line of duty. Because he failed, he was prosecuted,” noted Navy Lt. Michael Hanzel, the military lawyer representing [the appellant].

Suicides among active-duty troops have soared in recent years, from less than 200 in 2005 to 309 in 2009, and a spike this year has put 2012 on track to set a new record high.

As someone who struggles daily with a mental illness, this story caught my attention for a number of reasons, including my own dismal military performance.

I received an honorable discharge from the United States Air Force, but it’s hard for me to think of anything “honorable” about it. Like me, this young Marine was never in a combat situation, making it all the more difficult for most people to understand — nevermind legitimize — his claim of post-traumatic stress disorder.

According to the article: “Mental health experts say criminalizing attempted suicide will undermine the Pentagon’s efforts to prevent troops from taking their own lives. Those laws might make troops reluctant to come forward, seek help and be candid with mental health counselors if they fear potential prosecution.”

So, we are left with a situation that clearly mirrors the foundations of Joseph Heller’s classic novel, Catch-22.

Essentially, the Catch 22 argument is one that predicates an outcome upon a contradictory set of rules. For example, if you are sane enough to seek discharge from the military because of a mental impairment, then you are not mentally impaired. You can only be mentally impaired if you are in complete denial that you are mentally impaired. Thus, you cannot say that you are mentally impaired and must remain in the military.

It’s actually understandable why the military is wrestling with this case. It’s damn hard to know the difference if someone is simply using the guise of a mental impairment to escape the otherwise uncomfortable bounds of their own consequences. I say this as someone who has made a serious suicide attempt.

I mean the kind of suicide attempt when you don’t write a note. You don’t make a call. There is no drama. There is just cold, dark, insufferable pain that you desperately want to end.

It happens. It’s not convenient or a light subject but it cannot be ignored without consequence.

Today, I am doing everything possible to avoid ever being in that situation again. But how much harder would that be if I knew I could be criminally prosecuted for my admission?

If you are so inclined, you can click on this link to sign an online petition to urge the military to stop prosecuting U.S. service members who attempt suicide.

As always, thank you for reading.

Balance and perception a.k.a. ‘Shit happens’

September 8, 2012January 25, 2024 ~ Randy Seaver ~ 8 Comments