PLEASE READ. WILL NOT HURT TO AND FORWARD.Kids Are Putting Drano, Tin Foil, And A Little Water In Plastic

PLEASE READ. WILL NOT HURT TO AND FORWARD. Kids are putting Drano, tin foil, and a little water in plastic drink bottles and capping it up - leaving it on lawns, in mail boxes, in gardens, on driveways etc. just waiting for you to pick it up intending to put it in the rubbish, but you’ll never make it!!!

If the bottle is picked up, and the bottle is shaken even just a little - in about 30 seconds or less it builds up enough gas which then explodes with enough force to remove some your extremities. The liquid that comes out is boiling hot as well. Don’t pick up any plastic bottles that may be lying in your yards or in the gutter, etc. Pay attention to this. A plastic bottle with a cap. A little Drano. A little water. A small piece of foil. Disturb it by moving it; and BOOM!! No fingers left and other serious effects to your face, eyes, etc. Please ensure that everyone that may not have email access are also informed of this. 

Snopes confirms.

Can we talk about psych wards for a sec?

Can we talk about how they’re not padded cells and straight jackets like in the movies? That they’re not full of people screaming? That they’re not this cold gray hell? Wanna know what it’s really like?

It’s wearing PJs all day and nobody giving a fuck about what you look like. It’s encouraging your new friends to get better, that they’re life is worth living and that they’re valued. It’s making friends in a day or two. It’s realizing you’ve got more in common with people than you thought. It’s watching stupid movies when the staff decides we can have a little bit of movie time that night before lights out. Talking in group, not about the scary, soulless monsters in our heads but talking about how to conquer them. We laugh. We joke. We draw and play with playdoh. Celebrate when the cafeteria sends muffins with breakfast instead of gross hospital eggs or boring cereal. The mixed feelings when someone leaves because you’ll miss them but we all hug good bye and wish them luck because they’re okay. They’re okay now. We’ll miss them but dear god you’re so proud when you get to see someone walk out with their bag of belongings and their family. We remember what it’s like to live. Sure we meet with doctors and one on one therapists and discuss safety plans, but it’s not a scary thing. Let me tell you this, when I spent 5 days in a ward summer of 2016 I was terrified. I got there and went straight to my room once they assigned me a place, made my bed with the blankets provided, got a book from the Game Room and hid under the covers and read. I think I still was wearing my hospital issued socks. I knew nothing about my roommates, only their names from the notecards above the door. When they came in for lights out they smiled and introduced themselves and asked why I was here. They saw my shocked face because I didn’t expect anyone to ask me “what’s your story?” Just didn’t see it coming. They told me theirs so I told mine. I became friends with everyone else there. They were all so sweet. Probably not what you’d expect to hear about a bunch of suicidal, depressed, anxious, bipolar, etc. kids but hey, we’re not our fucking illnesses. We all went through hell and we all walked out again, maybe with scars and bad memories, but we came out strong.

We’re just kids. We complained about the food and made each other cheesy motivational posters for their rooms when they got discharged. We painted each other’s nails and reminded everyone of their strengths. We talked about what we’d do once we were home, the unanimous decision was to shower and finally shave our legs since there were no razors allowed on our ward, and eat some real food and go on Tumblr or Instagram or something.

We’re just kids. Honestly, we’re like you. If you find out someone spent time doing inpatient stuff because of their mental illness, don’t you dare judge them for it. Don’t think they’re crazy or psycho. That’s not what we are. What we are are kids who needed to go away for a bit and escape the world in a safe environment. Where people got it. Where they understood. Where we couldn’t hurt ourselves and got a fighting chance to recover.

Destroy the stigma around inpatient treatment. Change the mindset surrounding mental illness.

Keep fighting folks

Someone: I hate you

Me: No one hates me more than myself

Favorite color

Everyone have a favorite color. My mother is purple, my father is navy, my brother is blue, and my sister is yellow.

Mine’s a bit unusual. Weird even. It’s not white or blue, not green or red, not brown or grey. Some say that it’s not even a color.

The color of my parents’ eyes when they see me. The color of the voices that haunt me in my dreams. The color of the ink I used to write my bio. The color of my grades. The color of my 7 year-old self's eyes if they could see me now.

The color of failure. My favorite color. Disappointment.

Remember when you were picked for teams as a child, and there was always that last child who would be staring at the floor knowing they were going to be last?

That child knew the pain that came from humiliation and loneliness better than they ever should have. Remember that child who spent every lunch time alone in a bathroom stall, or completely changing who they were, to feel accepted into any group they could find?

That child grew up thinking it was normal to be whispered about all day, normal to be pushed into lockers, and normal for people to never be able to love them, and accept them for the way they were.

That child spent the rest of their life trying to heal others, trying to give them love.

And all it did, was leave them empty.

That child was me, and still is. I am now the adult with a broken heart, the adult unsure of finding someone who will love them again. When you have lived your entire life being told you are not good enough, you start to believe it. When you are always that friend willing to go above and beyond for your friend’s happiness, yet they could not care less about you when you are down, you start to believe that’s normal. That child was me, that child will always be me, and I will always have a heart too big for those that don’t deserve it.

a. a. milne || insp.