Calling me ADD and ADHD says more about you than me.

It’s not ADD that I have, it’s me thinking about stuff that is always more interesting than the things people are saying around me.

I don’t have a disorder. You are boring and I don’t value what you say. Don’t project your social failures upon me.

Be accountable for having the personality of a wilty leaf of kale desiccating unnoticed and unwanted on the yogurt-streaked steel wall of the dumpster behind the Halls of Vegan Valhalla in Oxnard, California, which is an insult very specific and rich in detail and is exactly the type of thing I’m thinking of instead of listening to you.

Reprinted by kind permission of Steve’s Thoughtcrimes.

The Fairy Tale of Codependency

The idea of “codependence” is interesting. It’s a weighted conclusion usually argued by the person with the most to lose in terms of emotional support. A relationship is strained, boundaries are attempted, motivations are guessed at, and still, one person can walk away much easier than the other (in many cases, not an absolute).

I feel it’s a disservice to peers to perpetuate a diagnosis of “codependence” where none exists, and it’s a detriment to a peer’s recovery and wellness mistakenly believing so when “codependence” does not exist.

Being told a lost relationship was codependent is often suggested by friends and providers as a “make the person feel better” mechanism to explain away more unilateral dependency. This is like pushing chocolate chip cookies filled with ex-lax. No matter how delicious the cookies, you can only fool the person for a very limited time and invariably you’re left with an extremely uncomfortable mess to clean up.

Kindly reprinted from Steve’s Thoughtcrimes.

I was ready to kill myself yesterday. Thanks for noticing.

The magnitude of my depressed mood, if described in qualitative terms of stickiness, is akin to the sweat-saturated diseased nethers of a Shanghai rickshaw driver in mid-August. Wait. I can do better. The magnitude of my depressed mood, if described in qualitative terms of itchiness, is akin to the sweat-saturated diseased nethers of a Shanghai rickshaw driver in mid-August. Hold up. That still isn’t a solid enough comparisson. Give me another go. The magnitude of my depressed mood, if described in qualitative terms of pan-nausea sinus-scorching face-melting (think of skin dripping off the face, like that Sado-Nazi at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark) omnipresent stench, is akin to the sweat-saturated diseased nethers of a Shanghai rickshaw driver in early-July and not mid-August. That does it there. Nailed it.

I’m full-on depressed.

Now established, my depressive mood is akin to that exotic Asian aroma in stenchy magnitude. Very sciencey. My depression . . . It’s everywhere, and try as I might and calling to arms every mindfulness tool, every coping strategy, and every DBT skill in my trusty depression-annihilating arsenal, I cannot escape this depression. It’s exhausting, it’s depleting, and it’s unavoidable. Mightily scouring my WRAP for any scrap of “something that worked the last time I was this depressed” insight, I found it most useful . . . as tinder in my backyard fire pit last evening. What a useless stack of collated dried pulp. The only good thing about my formerly six-meter-thick WRAP, compiled over the last eight years, is a vast forest of trees covering all of eastern Idaho died so I could compose that valueless “living document” meant to be an archival tome authored by me in order to keep me alive based on my lived experience. It’s worthlessness is almost comical, but isn’t, because I just watched Jim Jeffries on YouTube and that dude is comical. Find his two part presentation on our Second Amendment (Jim is Australian). His observations as an objective non-patriot is beyond insightful, unlike my WRAP which is now ash. If ever I compose a new WRAP, I’m just going to torch an entire national forest and cut out the middleman.

So I made it through to today, Sunday, December 8, 2019. How I just happen to still be here I’ll share with you later if I survive until the end of this article. If not, it’ll be my last and greatest unpublished folk tale. Belay that. I’ve got a smashing unfinished article about Becky’s screechy, pouty, cloaked-sexuality friend who is a peer and who claims no accountability for her symptomatic behavior. It’s all tied up in an My Chem analogy that is exceptionally clever. So, if I survive to the end of this article, I’ll consider finally topping that article off. For now, let me share that the Rolling Stones are not very good and I don’t like them and that’s my choice so, Coddled the Hutt, lay off and attempt adult maturity.

Before moving into a patchwork of circumstance and happenstance that brought me to pecking away at the keyboard, I’d like everyone to take a quick training course in “Own Your Emotions.”

How’s that sound? I’ll be sharing bits and pieces of stories and names might surface. I’m also dealing with the bitterness borne of bipolar symptoms. You know, those artificial emotions. There’s no intent to hurt feelings, and even though some Brown University healy-touchy purveyor of logically nebulous nonsense assures me I’m wrong, without any intent on my part I’m only able to lament inadvertent ouchiness felt. Bits and pieces, and, magic from my hands. Name the song. Point being, we all have our own sensitivities and this is my story.

Disclaimer down. Sigh. We live in a “World of Reaction.”

I’ve been staring at the screen for . . . 20 minutes? I’ve been in a holding pattern for a while trying to pull on just one thread to make my past few weeks unravel into a narrative. Indecisiveness, inability to organize thoughts, even some confussion. T’is uncharacteristic for me to feel so befuddled and . . .

Hey! I wrote a note to Amanda this morning whilst still in the midst of doing a Little Dutchboy on my tears. It’s the perfect framework for expository, emotive, and symptomatic throughput. I’m either clever or lazy, and since I need one in the win column, I’m jacking this in as clever.

My Sunday Morning Message to Amanda

Today, I’m making a choice which way my life goes. It’s been close to a week since we last spoke. I have called twice and neither times have you returned my call. This has been bad for my health.

I hope your communucation silence is because you decided to do as you intended, and that you are healing.

Other speculations have kept me awake. With missing my family, Thanksgiving alone, and SAD, my health is plummeting. In addition, no one has called me or checked on me all week. My dad messaged a couple times, only to check on furnace repair. My furnace froze up.

Absolutely literally, I could have been dead for a week and no one would have noticed. Maybe Turquoise Lodge, but only a quick call to ask if I was coming in. However, they’ve never checked on a missed Laugh It Off gig before, not that I can recall.

I was prepared to kill myself yesterday. I thought “Well, it’s proven. My passion for helping others, it’s not been equitable exhange of support. And that’s had to be okay.” And mostly it is. Remember Chris losing his nut in the middle of group, saying something along the lines of “It’s not comfortable when you talk about you having problems. We count on you to be our rock, Steve.” With comments of that variety, it’s an easy move to feel “I’m only a tool to fix others.” But that’s selfish. I get depressed and I get selfish. Artifical thoughts and feelings. Chris has a good point, I’ve been letting people down. A lot. Inlcuding you.

It’s so cliche. The “I’m a burden, I’m a drag, I ask too much, I should be stronger, people are better off without me” thoughts prevailed. And then, the serenity. There’s the serenity, that resignation and calm knowing I can be gone and that’s okay. It’s always the finest moment where debating myself isn’t necessary. It was 4PM yesterday when I chose to kill myself.

Yesterday, I sat in the parking lot of the Eastside Shelter, ready to take Happy and Roey in so they could have a good home. I sat and waited too long. The place closed. Good thing? I asked a young mother if she would like the rabbits. She spoke only Spanish and I scared her. Dude, I must have looked like Nancy Pelosi’s head on Donald Trump’s body.

It’s hard to ask for help. Asking for help shows I’m unpforessional. I saw this at MHRAC. As soon as I went into that CPTSD tailspin, David Ley was right. I’m despicable and didn’t think things through and cmopose myself. It wasn’t that he couldn’t see the CPTSD symptoms I was having. He justly needed me to pull it together if I wanted to be on MHRAC. Nancy Konenberg the same. She said it was a peronal problem with Paula that I shouldn’t bring to MHRAC. I never know when to ask for help and it’s hard. There’s appropiriate times and inappropriate times and I always trip over the latter.

I want to call you, but you don’t need me to disturb your healing. I’ve never been selfish. It’s hard to ask for help. Still, with you gone, I thought someone might make the effort. This is coming for weeks now, thumb in dike, pressure building. I told a few memebers I spent all of Tuesday group fighting off weeping. Chris was there which thankfully reminded me I had a duty to keep things composed. It felt good saying it out loud but it made it harder yesterday because I couldn’t tell someone out loud again.

And I can’t reach out to warmline and that sucks so bad. I told you I got done with mental health court and emaiiled Mary and she said they didn’t want me “best of luck in all you do.” So . . . I guess I don’t …

Do you know the only conversations I had all week were at group (which was very hard to concentrate hence not much meaningful contact with people) and on Facebook mainly to get a solid social media presence for you and Megan. STS needs to continue. It’s a good idea although I’m not pulling my weight enough.

God, Facebook. One last ditch effort. I can’t be one of those facebook people who say “I need five friends to reply and comment or I’m done.” It would ruin STS and I need to leave something behind

One last try. I posted songs from Youtube instead.

I’m Not Okay – MCR cover

Help! – The Beatles

Adam’s Song – blink 182

Lost Like This – Oingo Boingo

English Beat – Click Click

Numb – Linkin Park

You Know My Name – Chris Cornell

Fragile Thing – Big Country

All Apologies – Nirvana

Not Enough Time – INXS

I sat and asked God, “Let just one person notice. Just one. I can’t ask social media in any other way. Please. Just one.”

One person did ask. And only one. And not from behavioral health. A random ska friend in England. And I’m alive today.

No one from behavioral health noticed. Not. A. One. What is God telling me?

It’s Sunday the 8th. I can’t call you because I can’t take the rejection. I won’t call you. So, I need to decide

Do I move on without you? Do I sit here obsessing? What is best for my health? What will keep me alive? Do I want to be?

I’ve prayed. Let’s see how this goes.

As an afterthought, I can see people in behavioral health saying, “Why didn’t he reach out? I would have been right there. He knows it’s temporary. He’s been so strong. Why didn’t he say something?”

I did say something. I did reach out. For weeks. I haven’t had strength for weeks. I really did and I felt so guilty for doing it.

There is a good question I can ask. You’ve been gone three weeks. No one asked how I was doing with you gone. No one invited me for Thanksgiving. It’s been one week without a phone call or text. From anyone. My phone log is spam. One week since I talked to you.

If people cared, why am I alone?

I prayed. I asked God, “Please, just let one person hear me. I’ve tried. Just one person.”

There was one person and only one person.

Mathew Wright, a man I never met, God sent him.

Mathew understood me asking for help through songs. It’s just like what Clare used to do to express herslf to me when words failed. Did I get the idea while praying?

So, I’m alive. Me and the dumb rabbits.

I miss you.

I was ready to kill myself yesterday. I prayed for one person to notice. One person did. Mathew Wright, a man I never met, two thirds of a continent and an ocean away.

Ahhhhhhhh-ha!!!!!!!! You see what I did there? Set up and pay off. “I was ready to kill myself yesterday. Thanks for noticing.”

You thought it was pained sarcasm. You thought it was a guiltfest. Not so! I’m not filled to the gills with Disney Princess Joy right now. I do feel more in touch with my head and the ground. From 33 years of life experience, the worst has passed.

It’s a happy ending, lads and lasses. Dude, this would actually make a really great screenplay.

I’ve saved the best images for last, screen captures straight off Facebook. Check it. Here are the few texts Mathew sent me. I could tell immediately he heard me. Immediately.

Was I ready to die? Yep. Did I know how I was going to do it? Yep. Was I able to draw upon 20 years of acquired life skills to hold on until today? Yep. Did Mathew’s kindness really help keep me breathing? Yep.

Was Mathew’s Facebook comment the one and only? Yep. He’s exactly how many people I needed to hear me.

Thanks for noticing, Mathew. Thank you for the bottom of my bottomless heart.


A few final words I’ll share. I was close to being done. It wasn’t due to anything explicitly external. While there are always truths running through my thoughts during a symptomatic crisis, the truths and thoughts are badly distorted by a malfunctioning brain. And the organ on the fritz loves to lie to me when in a depressive episode. My brain can be such an asshole sometimes.

I haven’t shared as intimate of article in some time, I think all the way back to the Paula Burton/MHRAC/APD thing. Without question, there will be some irrate words about “You shouldn’t say everything. Learn to edit!” Okay, I appreciate your words. I counter with “Why?

When I launched this site the idea was triple-purposed. First, I wanted an in-the-moment archive of my recovery journey, a reposistory of where my mind and emotions are and quite often when I’m at my worst. Although my WRAP is now ash in my rabbits’ poop box, having the immediacy of somewhere to jot it down for later is prime source material for my WRAP. Much of what I torched I can restore from old articles on Thoughtcrimes.

The second purpose will answer the question “But why make your mental illness public at all?” C’mon. What do I do every chance I get? Like many peers, I openly share my story to help others understand what it’s like to live with bipolar, schizoaffective disorder, and CPTSD. Both for peers and Muggles. Edited material published here is a lie.

And the final purpose… I love to write, the world is fun to take part in, and I like to comment on the wacky little rock and the biotic infestation on the surface. And, as a comic, it’s an easy place to jot down potential material.

Okay, this is a must-do addendum. My very good friend Mat Tibble came by to visit because he was concerned for my wellness and safety, last Tuesday. Mat and I met inpatient at Kamp Kaseman in 2012. We’re always here for each other.

The thing is, he’s got a new squeeze in his life and he was busting to tell me about her. Recall, my dirty rotten liar of a brain had me thinking in “I’m a burden, I can’t get Mat depressed like me, toughen up” terms. So I slapped on “The Mask” and supported Mateo the way he would me. I know, I know. Oxygen mask in a crashing plane analogy. I made things worse for myself. Whatever. It’s who I am.

Of course, all of this is meaningless if I don’t survive until the end of this arti . . . spoiler alert. I survive until the end of the article.

Reprinted with kind permission of Steve’s Thoughtcrimes and Stand Up To Stigmabpeer support groups.

Spirituality vs. Psychosis Perception

If a psychic/medium or spiritual person hears voices they are invited to shows and people reveres them. They are held to such high regards. “Can you please tell me what the voices are telling you about me?”. “Pastor, what is the holy spirit telling you?, “friend, what message has God sent you?”

If someone is diagnosed with psychosis they are seen as “scary, evil, monsters, creepy” although they too hear voices and see things that aren’t there, just like the psychics/mediums or spiritual people.

Why does society accept one but looks down on the other?. Is it because one identifies as spiritual and the other as a medical condition?. Is it because a person with a diagnose may not have full control of their experience?. They both have very similar experiences and yet society values one over the other.

Opinion: Behavioral health services for New Mexico peers FIRST

As an involved mental health peer & who has served advisory and leadership roles
in the New Mexico community for 10 years, I question currently proposed immigration policy and its impact on our peer services.

New Mexico is a “Border State” and a large influx of undocumented immigrants will greatly strain already negligently supported programs in the state. It is reasobable to project this influx will endure funding stretched beyond a social Hooke’s constant and generate longer waiting periods for the limited number of providers in New Mexico.

A typical waiting period for an outpatient behavioral health appointment is three to six months. Our homeless population is underserved with an ever growing population – obviously, housing needs are a HUGE issues for our community. Inpatient stays are revolving doors because inpatient treatment is about immediate stablization and not sustained outpatient success in recovery and wellness.

Why? Funding. Or more specifically, lack of funding. New Mexico doesn’t have a lot of money. Providing every behavioral health service needed for our community takes money. We don’t have enough.

This is an entirely unpopular platform and I’ve been called “heartless”, “racist”, “anti-immigrant”, “white supremicist” (my ancestry makes me one quarter Chinese and one quarter Tahitian – first generation born in America), and a number of other rhetorical barbs designed to shame me for my strong beliefs on social services in New Mexico.

This is an unpopular platform – I openly own this – and I have zero qualms sharing my belief.

With underserved peers and families who are citizens of the United States of America, our citizens’ behavioral health needs must come first. These peers are our priority and our responsibility. When our peers’ behavioral health needs are fully provided, only then should we consider offering services to a significant foreign immigrant population.

We have such a limited amount of funds. I can name a half dozen essential services in Albuquerque who turn away peers because of being underfunded. This is completely wrong.

In an ideal world we could afford to welcome all needful people to benefit from our services. Sadly, doing so would divert services away from our citizens and our peers already underserved. Our peers are our prioirty. This is the reality. Humanitarian support must be offered to our peers at home to ensure all their behavioral health needs are fulfilled.

It’s an unpopular platform and someone has to say it.

Kindly reprinted from Steve’s Thoughtcrimes.

So, Mainstream Media, do you feel fair & balanced, do you feel you’re reporting truth (if not fact), do you hold yourself above perpetrating and perpetuating mental health stigmas? My buddy Mr. Bovee and I are calling “Bullshit!”

The proto-missus and I watched Silver Linings Playbook a few nights back. It was her first viewing, my fifteen billionth. It is a favorite movie of mine for a very single reason:

The character Bradley Cooper plays and the character Jennifer Lawrence plays portray those living with bipolar disorder in a positive light, and showing that for peers recovery and self-discovery go hand in hand.

A major studio motion picture where the central characters are not only folks with mental health diagnoses, they are also not violent and scary and dangerous… check the left armpit of my ex-wife for icicles and her heart for slippery black ice (ha!) because I think Hell just froze over.

“The opinions of the misanthropical rest upon this very partial basis, that they adopt the bad faith of a few as evidence of the worthlessness of all.”

– Christian Nestell Bovee

Reprinted with kind permission of Steve’s Thoughtcrimes.
Originally published October 27, 2017.

Things you really shouldn’t say to someone experiencing the symptoms of major depression

This is another one of those articles I compose that could benefit from some gentle softening, but I’m not going to. This is important, and a feather is not the blunt tool required for a proper illustration.

Here’s the rub. To the Muggle Layperson, the following list of…

Common Things That People Say to Peers Who are Experiencing Major Depression Symptoms

…may seem reasonable, supportive and common sense. To the Peer, these time-honored polished turds are as useful as a magnetic colon in a shrapnel factory in helping us feel any better. No feathers here tonight, ladies and gents!

Here’s the thing about major depression. It’s a disease.

Let me try to explain. People with farsightedness would not choose to have farsightedness. People with leukemia would not choose to have leukemia. People with ulceratic colitis would not choose to have ulceratic colitis. People with major depression would not choose to have major depression. Making any sense? I hope so.

I suppose the guiding principle when reading this list is:

There is a Huge Difference Between “SADNESS” and “DEPRESSION.”

What is this difference? Fair enough. Here’s the difference.

Sadness is a natural reaction that’s the result of something traumatic happening eliciting a real emotional response, such as your favorite cat passing away or Pineapple Fanta being discontinued.
Depression is a result of a malfunctioning organ (The Brain) that only looks like sadness in behavior and is not the same in cause.

Peers, this list will be far too familiar. Muggles, please remember that no one chooses to have major depression. The list will make a lot more sense that way, and it’ll shed some light on why these aren’t the best things to say to someone experiencing major depression, no matter how pure the intent.

I mean, c’mon. Who would choose to have major depression? I’d much rather choose to have a magnetic colon in the shovel & rake aisle of Home Depot.

Just get over it.

Have you tried thinking happy thoughts?

You’re always so negative.

Stop overreacting.

Did you take your meds today?

If you’d get out of bed and do something you’d feel better.

When was the last time you took a shower?

Drama! Drama! Drama!

You aren’t eating enough.

You’re eating too much.

If everyone else can get over their depression, why can’t you?

Do you want to talk about it? You’ll feel better if you talk to someone about it.

You’re strong. You’ll be fine.

Can you try to be normal?

Hey, life sucks. Deal with it.

I sometimes feel you like being depressed.

I know when I’m catching a cold and do something proactive about it. It’s the same for depression. (an executive board member at NAMI Albuquerque shared this bit of wisdom with me when I sat on the board)

Why don’t you just grow up already?

You look horrible!

It’s your choice to be depressed.

Happiness is a choice.

You’re not going to have any friends left if you don’t snap out of it.

I’m sure you’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep.

Are you sure your meds are working right?

Aren’t you sick of listening to yourself?

I give up! You’re impossible to talk to!


You’ve got everything so good, so what do you have to feel sad about?

Look, there are a lot of people who are a lot worse off than you.

What do you have to feel depressed about?

You are what you think. Think you’re happy and you’ll be happy.

It’s all in your head.

Geez, lighten up already!

Aren’t you feel better yet?

Take a really long shower. That always cheers me up.

You need to get out more.

It’s a beautiful day! Why don’t you go out in the sunshine?

Everyone gets depressed sometime.

You should get off those meds. They’re just making it worse.


You’re responsible for your own emotions.

We’ve all got our cross to bear.

Talking to you is pointless because you won’t listen.

Your psychiatrist isn’t doing you any favors.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

Big surprise, you’re depressed again. Aren’t you always?

I’m sure you’ll get some good poetry out of all of your suffering.

Get over it!

You want to know why you’re so depressed? Because you only think about yourself.

Have you tried some herbal tea with honey?

What you really need is something truly shitty to happen in your life and then you’ll finally have some perspective.

Just pull yourself together.

Depression is your way of punishing and pushing away everyone who cares about you. (Everyone, I’d like you to meet my ex-wife Susan)

Cheer up!

Thanks a lot, you’re making me feel all depressed now, too!

You are such a buzzkill!

Get out in the fresh air and out of your bedroom.

Happy is as happy does!

Go dancing, go for a walk, go to a concert, go jogging, go to a movie, go to the bookstore, go for a hike, go for a drive, go to the grocery store and buy your favorite food… it’ll make you feel better.

You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. (You catch more flies with the shit you’re spewing out of your mouth than the decomposing body of a beached humpback whale… what’s your point?)

No one said life is fair.

You’re worthless. (Lovingly shared with me by the ex-wife Susan)

You are so selfish.

Can’t you understand I’m just trying to help you?

I’m sure if you wait it out you’ll feel better soon.

Ug, I’ve heard this all before.

Can you focus on something else?

Would you like to listen to someone who whines all the time?

What do you have to worry about?

That is so a non-issue.

Your so-called problems aren’t that big of a deal.

Get a hobby.

Dude, get a grip!

Dude, have a chill pill!

Dude, just get over it!

Dude, it’s not all that bad!

Dude, everyone goes through this!

Dude, you’ll be fine!

Dude, don’t worry so much!

It’s not as bad as you think.

Can you try a little harder?

Can you even remember the last time you were happy?

You’re making it up.

You need a boyfriend.

You need a girlfriend.

Just pull yourself together.

You think you have problems.

Get out and volunteer for something, that way you won’t have time to feel sorry for yourself.

What makes you happy? Do that.

It’s official! You’ll never be able to hold down a job! (Another gem from my lovely ex-wife Susan)

Everyone has a little mental illness.

Shit or get off the pot.

When was the last time you took a vacation?

Tell yourself affirming things about yourself and soon you’ll start believing them.

It’s your own fault you’re depressed.


Depression is how God is punishing you for all your sinning. (I had a pastor tell me this one time… I don’t think I like the God he prays to…)

Here comes the Tickle Monster!

You brought this on yourself.

You have absolutely no reason I can see for feeling this way.

I’m really disappointed. I thought you were stronger than this. (the lovely ex-wife Susan again)

You can do anything you want once you set your mind to it.

Once you start feeling better you’ll see how ridiculous you’re being.

Why should I care? You never listen to me when I’m depressed.

You’ve been taking pills for ages. Aren’t you supposed to be cured by now? (Saint Susan, the ex-wife)

You’re too young to think you have real problems already.

You’re the only one you’re hurting.

It’s always your problems first and everyone else second.

Get off your arse and doing something!

It’s no wonder your girlfriend left you!

Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger! (such a bad bad bad thing to even suggest to someone with depression)

Why don’t you laugh anymore?

Smiling uses less muscles than frowning.

I only loved you when you were successful. (And once more to the Saint Susan barrel of nonsense)

You want to be this way, don’t you?

Everyone has a shitty day every now and then.

Are you sure this isn’t just PMS?

You don’t look depressed to me.

Hey, buck up! It’s not as bad as you think!

Just don’t think about it so much.

Blah blah blah blah blah… cry me a river.

Dear Abby is getting sick of your flood of letters.

You don’t like being depressed? Then change it.

Really? You look fine!

Okay, attention-whore. Just calm down.

Hey, I know exactly what you’re going through. I was really super depressed for about a week after my cat died.

…and the Gold Medal goes to…

Have you tried not being depressed?

Sorry… that’s a knee-jerk reaction to composing this turbulent and trying list over the last hour. Let me share an alternative image that expresses the same sentiment.

Thanks for visiting! Hope you learned a little about the Peer Experience without getting too torqued about the delivery system. And I hope Peers were able to get a chuckle of recognition out of this. You all totally rock out with your socks out!

Reprinted with kind permission from Steve Bringe at Posted on Categories UncategorizedLeave a comment on Things you really shouldn’t say to someone experiencing the symptoms of major depression

Introducing the newest Stand Up To Stigma education program!!!

All of us at Stand Up To Stigma are thrilled to share that we are adding a new education program to our line-up.

I’m Not My Symptoms

We encourage our peer presenters to talk about their mental health symptoms, and talking about our unique symptoms is built in to each of our education programs. However, it is very easy to mistake a peer as the sum total of their symptoms, and this is often the case when we field questions from community audiences or even when we hold presentations and support groups inpatient for other peers.

The misconception that peers are their symptoms is prevalent enough that we’ve chosen to take this stigma on directly. And there it is. Our newest education program. I’m Not My Symptomsfrom SUTS.

We begin training for this new program in January. To be included in the training or for more information, please email