May is Mental Health Month

Ecomap

"Ecomaps are tools to visualize connections and the flow of resources or energy involved in such relationships. Although often used as a clinical tool, I wanted to apply the exercise to my own life so I can better understand the places and people that impact my life. It is easy for me to feel isolated, and the exercise helped me realize I’m more connected than I realized."

Objects of Connection

Pictures, drawings, videos, and/or descriptions of the “Objects of Connection” we have received from people during difficult times.

A friend knit the squirrel and gave it to me, not knowing that I was feeling down. It lifted my spirits immediately! And, whenever my anxiety starts rising, I hold/look at the squirrel and I can't help but smile.

A ratty sweater, which I asked my dad to bring for me during my first hospitalization. Its condition hasn't changed much since I first got it as a hand-me-down as a child; looking back I'm not sure why it was given to me in such condition, but even now as an adult, it's still oversized, and has always been a comfort item I wear around the house when I really need to.

A pair of tweezers, which I asked my dad to bring for me during my first hospitalization. He visited me almost every day, during the two-and-a-half weeks I was there, and I felt a strong need to keep doing at least some of my normal grooming so that, even if being in the hospital was about focusing on what mattered most, I still kept some semblance of dignity when he came to see me. When he asked, I told him I didn't want my younger siblings to see me until I was ready to come home.

This is a small stuffed animal that my roommate gifted me when he learned I would be admitted to the hospital. It was a small, but significant gesture of kindness during a time of immense despair and shame. I brought this guy to the hospital and he was a comforting reminder that people cared about me, despite what my brain was telling me at the time.

A mix CD that I wasn’t able to listen to until I got home from the hospital (due to hospital restrictions).

Sisterhood of the Flying Pig

the names have been changed to protect the privacy of the author.

M, P, and I have known each other for the better part of 30 years. We have seen each other through plenty of life’s tribulations: divorce, the death of J (who was part of and sometimes leader of the Sisterhood), cancer, our mental illnesses, and more. But we have also seen each other through life’s beautiful moments: M’s daughters growing up, finding life partners, and having children of their own; my sister getting her second master’s degree during the height of the pandemic; and P finding peace after her divorce. We don’t talk on the phone very often, but we communicate through social media, postal mail, and other ways. We live far enough apart that we are a plane ride away from each other. So, every couple of years we plan a gathering of the Sisterhood and we take turns visiting each other. Our bond is so strong that when we get together, you would think we each other last week.

How did we become known as The Sisterhood of the Flying Pig?

About fifteen years ago or so, M’s daughter designed a logo for M, P, J, and I of a flying pig farting rainbows and stars. Of course, we laughed and loved it right away. M got the design tattooed on her arm first. Then, M, J, and I sat with P as she got hers tattooed on her hip. P’s pig is wearing a queen’s crown. The artist working on P’s tattoo was surprised that P fell asleep during the session as this was P’s first tattoo! Since I always say that I will arrive with my bells on (and I do), my pig has a cow bell around its neck (we all need more cow bells in our lives).

The second to last time we got together was a year and a half after the COVID-19 pandemic had begun and J had just died less than a year before. This trip was a healing one for us as we had lost a best friend and fourth Musketeer. The trip was full of tears, but it was also full of laughter. We still can’t figure out how we did not hear the fire alarm in the house nor the fire trucks as they arrived, while we were sitting on the back porch. We only realized that something was going on when I saw a strange man looking out the kitchen window! Ginger (P’s dog) never barked either! Thankfully, there was no fire, just a lot of smoke, and we were all ok. As to why there was smoke and the aftermath, that’s a story for another time. However, we still get a good laugh about it.

At the end of the trip, M and I traveled to our respective states. When M arrived at the airport at home, her husband was waiting for her with a sign. The sign had our design on it with the words “The Sisterhood of the Flying Pig: The Time is Now”. And the name has stuck.

We have a very strong bond and love each other dearly. We have supported each other through thick and thin. We are friends. More importantly, we are family.  

Restrictions to Connection while Hospitalized

As patients on a psych unit, we weren't allowed any physical contact. During my most recent hospital stay, I connected with a fellow patient who was also around my age (mid-20's). When she was discharged, we both wanted to hug goodbye but we weren't allowed, so we did a big air hug in the middle of the hall. I've shared that story a lot, and when people say, "what about a handshake? Maybe that would have been allowed?" I answer, "I hadn't thought of it at the time, and I'm glad I didn't. A handshake is so impersonal, and that rule was so stupid - the nurses and psych techs still pinched my elbow 'affectionately' and then acted indignant when I said I didn't want them to. Two patients who want to comfort each other with a hug can't do that - we're not allowed to mutual-consent contact - but the staff can do whatever they want? No. I want them to see how stupid their rules are. They can deal with any discomfort they feel about the absurdity of what options they've left us.