Depression and All Its Might

Everybody feels depression at some time or another. We all get a little down in our spirit now and then. A little depression is normal, right? No one is 100% happy, 100% of the time. Some people call it the blues. Some folks just refer to it as being down. True enough, we all feel down in the dumps from time to time; the problem is some people fall into the pit of depression and can’t find a way out. Sometimes, we cannot find our way to the surface of that deep blue. Some people are pulled under by a current that won’t let go.

 

A photo by Clem Onojeghuo. unsplash.com/photos/-YMhg0KYgVc
Photo by Clem Onojeghuo from Pexels

 

That Sinking Feeling

I’m not going by things I’ve heard. I’ve been severely depressed before. I’ve never been suicidal, but let me tell you, there have been days when it really didn’t matter if I woke up or not. I just didn’t care. Did I want to die? Nah. I would never want to leave my friends and family. My son and my granddaughter need me. If there’s one thing I know, I know my folks love me. That man loves me. He needs me.

During the time I was married, though, when the days of hell melded together, I just didn’t care. I knew that on any given day, I would likely be blamed for something. I knew that it was likely I would be belittled or made to feel inadequate in some way or another. I knew that regardless of how clean the house was, he’d find a speck of lint (because he made a point of looking for things like that). I knew that he’d head upstairs to check if the underside of the toilet lid was clean. I knew if there was a single cup in the sink, he’d stand there with his coat on and wash it because he “couldn’t stand mess”. Overall, I knew nothing I ever did would be good enough.

When It Finally Sets In

For me, deep, deep depression set in on three different occasions in my 50 years. As I said before, the first time was while I was married. The depression I experienced back then was the result of being battered mentally and emotionally. Eventually, I got professional help. I had to. To be honest, initially, I sought help for my son because I could see him spiraling out of control. I was kinda blind to what was going on in my own mind, but I knew my child needed help.

Almost from the beginning, the sessions that I had meant for my son turned into joint ones because the counselor recognized the mental and emotional beating I was taking. He actually told me that in the beginning, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to help me because I was so damaged. He thought he would have to refer me to a more experienced counselor. I was a complete mess. Like I’ve said a million times before, I didn’t realize that I was in shambles because I thought the hell I was in was normal.

Anyway, the next time I found myself down under was after the divorce. Sure enough, I had been freed from that hell, but the dissolution of my marriage also meant that for the first time in nearly 20 years, I was on my own. I found myself floating in the middle of the ocean with nothing but a life raft. Yes, my family and friends were all around me and refused to let me fall or fail, but depression can put a stranglehold on you that can’t be readily pried loose. It had me and it was suffocating me. All I wanted to do was sleep. Honestly, that’s all I did. I slept. I ate. I gained weight. I cried uncontrollably. I repeated those things day after day. The difference with that bout of depression, though, was that I was able to pull myself out. I know I would have benefited from the help of my counselor, but he was 250 miles away in Dallas, but thankfully, I was able to pull myself out.

My latest battle with depression is going on right now. It still pains me to say my nephew died. My entire world shifted on December 9, 2017. Many people who knew us have said that on that day, Margarett’s son died, but that he was my baby. He was. I was nowhere near being okay when one of my closest cousins died on January 14, 2018.

This time around, though, the depression is different. I know I won’t need professional help (although I wouldn’t hesitate to get it if I felt I needed it) this time around because I’m shrouded more in grief than anything. I’m still so stunned, I haven’t reached the point that I’ve entered the grieving stages. I’m not even at the first stage of the process which is denial because the truth is, it’s still not real to me. In my mind, neither of them are dead in the sense that I will never see them again. They’re just gone. I know that makes no sense, but neither of them is dead to me.

I know the reality will set in at some point, but as of this writing, it hasn’t. Nope, there’s nothing wrong with me — folks grieve differently and this is just my reality. I’m okay. I just need to process this stuff in my own way.

Help

 

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Photo credit: Photo by John-Mark Smith from Pexels

If you’re depressed, get help. If that means reaching out to your folks, CALL THEM! I know what it is to be too embarrassed to tell your story, but trust me when I tell you, your folks are there for you.

 

IF YOU ARE IN NEED OF CRISIS COUNSELING, CALL THE NATIONAL SUICIDE PREVENTION HOTLINE AT 1.800.273.8255. Call those folks TODAY!

 

 

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Today

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Photo Credit: Town of Gilbert, AZ

Later today, I will speak on a panel regarding the 19 years I was a victim of domestic abuse. Thanks to Project Celebration, I will sit speak to health care providers and students at LSU Health in an effort to help.

Today’s focus is on helping healthcare workers better recognize domestic abuse victims. It can be hard to see the abuse under all those layers of shame, fear, and sometimes, guilt. I hid all that carnage well. The people who saw me nearly every day had not the slightest clue that I was being abused.

I was blessed to land at Presbyterian Dallas on July 21, 2009, after that aneurysm. I was blessed to be treated by the best neurosurgeon in the world, Dr. Jeremy Denning, and a magnificent staff who knew I hadn’t landed there by some weird chance. I had been relatively healthy and while an aneurysm can strike anyone at any time, they somehow knew that I had landed there because of the things that were pushing against me.

They kept asking me if I had been under a lot of stress. I kept telling them that I hadn’t because after fighting a man who was so self-absorbed for nearly 16 years at that time, it had become “normal” for me to be in some sort of stupid battle with him every day. It was never-ending.

I’m honored to have been chosen to share my story today because just the thought of knowing that there are other women out there who are being gnashed mentally and emotionally destroys my soul.

Words hurt

True enough, we can see the scars of those who are battered physically. It’s the scars to those who are ravaged mentally and emotionally, though, that we must look for. I hope to shed some light.

Which One?

She was probably sitting right next to you yesterday at church.

 

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Photo credit: http://www.pexels.com

 

She just might be the lady standing in front of you in the grocery store.

 

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Photo credit: http://www.pexels.com

 

Maybe it’s the guy in the next cubicle.

 

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Photo credit: http://www.pexels.com

 

Perhaps it’s the older man who greets you every day with a gentle nod.

 

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Photo credit: http://www.pexels.com

 

It could be a relative.

It could be the friend of a friend.

It could be you. It was me.

 

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Photo credit: Trease Shine Hinton

 

What Do Victims Look Like?

Abused people look like, well, people. They’re black, white, yellow, brown, and every color in between. They have blond hair, black hair, red hair, and every other color in between. They are short, tall, and some are in between. Look in the mirror — it could be you.

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Photo credit: http://www.pexels.com

 

What Do Abusers Look Like?

See above.

Who Are Domestic Violence/Abuse Victims?

They’re people. They’re male and female. They are not from any one particular ethnic group. They’re not from one specific part of the country. They are not confined to a particular career sector. A victim can come from any sector of life. They come from every geographical area of the world. They are your friends. It could be you.

Who Are Abusers?

See above.

Some Numbers. Some Facts.

  • 1 in 4 women (24.3%) and 1 in 7 men (13.8%) aged 18 and older in the United States have been the victim of severe physical violence by an intimate partner in their lifetime.
  • On average, 24 people per minute are victims of rape, physical violence or stalking by an intimate partner in the United States — more than 12 million women and men over the course of a year.
  • Nearly half of all women and men in the United States have experienced psychological aggression by an intimate partner in their lifetime (48.4% and 48.8%, respectively).
  • Most female victims of intimate partner violence were previously victimized by the same offender, including 77% of females ages 18 to 24, 76% of females ages 25 to 34, and 81% of females ages 35 to 49.
  • n a nationwide survey, 9.4% of high school students report being hit, slapped, or physically hurt on purpose by their boyfriend or girlfriend in the 12 months prior to the survey.
  • 43% of dating college women report experiencing violent and abusive dating behaviors including physical, sexual, tech, verbal or controlling abuse.

Read more about the statistics here at The National Domestic Violence website.

Your Sister’s Keeper. Your Brother’s Keeper.

It is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. If you’ve turned a blind eye to this atrocity until now, vow to get involved and help bring about change. Acknowledging that there is a  problem is such a huge step in bringing about that change.

Someone somewhere needs your help. Don’t turn away.

National Resources:

The National Domestic Violence Hotline — 1.800.799.7233 | 18007873224 (TTY)

Shelter  –  www.domesticshelters.org

Local Resources:

Project Celebration — Shreveport, LA

Louisiana Coalition Against Domestic Violence

 

Again

When I received the barrage of notifications from all the news outlets that alert me to breaking stories that there’d been a shooting at a school in San Bernardino Monday morning, I cringed. Just like I always do when I hear of these things, I stopped and prayed that there were no deaths, no injuries. When details began to emerge and we initially learned that two people had died, almost instinctively, I knew domestic violence was involved. I just knew it. Even though it had taken place at an elementary school, I just knew.

What we’ve learned is that the shooter, 53-year old Cedric Anderson, walked into his estranged wife’s classroom and shot her. We’re told that he didn’t say a word when he shot 53-year old Karen Smith. He reportedly had a criminal past. Some of the women in his past had applied for restraining orders. This man was clearly dangerous. He had been charged with crimes against public peace in 2013. That charge was either dismissed or not prosecuted.

Then on April 10, 2017, he chose to take the life of the woman he proclaimed to love. Within minutes, he took his own life. An innocent little boy also died as the result of this man’s actions. Another boy is in the hospital recovering from the injuries he sustained during the chaotic madness. There was a total of 15 children in that classroom, but I think it’s safe to say that not one person in the entire school on Monday will ever be the same.

This story is an example of the ultimate filth of domestic violence. This couple had only been married a few months, but she saw fit to leave him. She did what many women do — she left. It’s clear, though, that leaving wasn’t enough. I don’t know yet if she had a restraining order on record against him or not; I don’t know that it would have mattered. The school said he had been allowed in because he was her spouse so if one had been in place, I’m sure someone would have at the very least tried to stop him.

Just Another Tragedy?

I hope no one considers this to be just another tragedy. It’s not. Karen’s family is preparing for her funeral. She was only 53 years so I’m sure she had not done all the things she wanted to do in this life. Domestic violence doesn’t care about your wishes.

We, as survivors, have to tell our stories because there’s a woman out there who needs to see and know that what she’s going through is NOT normal. She needs to understand that love does not hurt. She won’t fully get that fact if we, the women and men who have made it through that living hell, don’t share just how we did it.

You, as a domestic violence/abuse prevention advocate, are responsible for reaching out to any person you know or suspect is being abused. There are signs. Most abuse victims hide their situation like it’s a treasure. It’s no treasure. It’s fear. It’s shame. It’s embarrassment.

If YOU are being abused, get help. Are you questioning whether what’s going on is really abuse? Take a look at this. You deserve better. There is a better life out there. You can escape. I almost lost my life on July 21, 2009. I was 41 years old. Not from physical abuse, but from the stress and strain that had become so overwhelming that my brain started to bleed. I have a close friend who suffered a heart attack because of the mental and emotional abuse she suffered. She was not yet 40.

The wounds sustained in domestic violence/abuse cases are both visible and invisible, but both kinds run deep. Understand that in the case of mental, emotional, verbal, and financial abuse, the wounds are not visible, but in cases of physical abuse, almost all of them — visible and invisible — are present.

Do your part in preventing this crap. We don’t need anymore Karen Smiths. We don’t want another Cedric Anderson to assume the role of creator and judge. Help those that are suffering. Help yourself.

Kiss for a Cause

Most everyone knows that I’m a Mary Kay business owner. It is hard, hard work because it requires your unconditional presence. Most people see photos of professionally dressed women, with meticulously applied makeup, driving beautiful pink Cadillacs or those gorgeous black BMWs, but there’s a part of Mary Kay that few know about. That part of this amazing company is such a huge part of the reason I will always be a part of what can only be called a movement

My calling is to help other women who find themselves trapped in abusive relationships. I didn’t realize this was my purpose in life until I suffered and lived through a brain hemorrhage due to domestic abuse that should have taken my life. On that day in 2009, it became apparent to me that I had been spared in order to help others. People don’t usually survive aneurysms. They don’t. That day, I vowed to God that I would tell my story whenever possible and that I would focus on reaching women who would otherwise not know they aren’t alone. I asked Him to show me how to do that and that is when the shift of my blog posts began. Up until that time, most of my posts only alluded to my abusive situation but was primarily focused on my son and his adventures in sports.

I had already “tried” selling Mary Kay before, but I had never really put in the effort. I had not taken the time to think about the impact that I could have on women through selling lipstick and teaching about skin care. I will never forget the day that I had been fasting in an effort to hear God more clearly as I had been asking him for a job. It was early evening and the woman who was my Mary Kay director at the time called and gave me a scripture to read. She didn’t carry on a long conversation; she just gave me the scripture to read and hung up. I went back to praying after I hung up with her and I said to God, aloud, “I need a job, Lord. You know I need a job. Please show me what You want me to do.” Just as clearly as I hear my fingers tapping on this keyboard right now, I heard him say, “You have a job, Trease. Work your business.” Most of you know I’m full of the foolishness most of the time, so when I heard that, I looked around to see who was in the room with me. There was no visible being there, but His spirit covered the room.

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Mary Kay is not just about making a woman pretty on the outside. Oh, don’t get me wrong, that is one of the most amazing parts of my job — making a woman so beautiful, she’s startled when she looks in that mirror, but mine is to bring out her greatest potential. That means showing her that she can do and be anything she wants whether that’s accomplished by looking like a million bucks because of a new lipstick or through starting her own business. Mary Kay is on of the staunchest allies you will find in the fight against domestic violence. It is also one of the greatest advocates in the fight against breast cancer.

Awareness Month
Photo Credit: http://www.pef.org

This month, I will be using every option at my disposal to shine an additional light on these two causes and to bring in donations. In that light, in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness and Domestic Violence Awareness, please consider hosting a virtual Kiss for a Cause party or place an order at my website. I will donate $1 for every lipstick or lip gloss sold to the Mary Kay Foundation or the organization of your choice. Just place your order at http://www.marykay.com/thinton2145 and I will handle the rest. If you’re lead to host a party, email me at thinton2145@marykay.com. Blessings are yours to receive.

Weary, Resting, and All That Stuff

The old saying is, “There is no rest for the weary.” My mom used to say, “You can’t get nowhere and sit down, you got to keep goin’.” Whichever way the idea is conveyed, it’s true. You have to keep it moving.

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Since I graduated college back in December 1988, I have been running. Sometimes it’s been full-throttle, sometimes I’ve been running in place. There hasn’t been a time, though, when I wasn’t moving in some manner. Well, there was that time when I was on bedrest after my aneurysm, but that really doesn’t count because that was kinda forced, but I digress. Life gets hard. It gets so hard at times that you may just want to stick your head in the sand. You might want to find the nearest cave and hide out. You can’t. Let me tell you what I mean.

Resting, but not Stopping

From the day I exchanged vows with William on October 23, 1993, to the day the gavel struck on April 5, 2013, signifying the dissolution of those 19 years of hell, I ran full speed. I don’t mean that in any sense other than the way I’m saying it — the abuse began almost immediately, but it was incredibly subtle. Since I was blessed to survive that thing, I’m able to look back and see all the red flags that were flapping in the wind like crazy. I’m sure there are people out there who still don’t know how ridiculous it is to ask, “Why didn’t you just leave?”, so I’ll go ahead and give you my blanket answer: it wasn’t time.

Anyway, there has never been a time when I wasn’t taking care of someONE or something. I never, however, took the time to take care of myself. I was tired, I was weary, and I was definitely worn.

By the time he came in and told me he wanted the divorce, there was so little of me left. I was a shell of the woman I had been at one time. I had never stopped pushing for my son, though. I didn’t stop pushing for my mother. I didn’t care a lot about myself, but I never stopped pushing for them.

Your Push

Wherever you find yourself in your journey, just remember to take time for yourself. Take time to care for yourself, but never stop pushing. Life can be beautiful. It’s supposed to be beautiful. I encourage you to gather the strength you need, if for no one but yourself, to keep stepping toward your freedom. Living in an abusive situation is never, ever okay. You deserve better.