Please pardon my lack of eloquence in this post. It is now 6:55 as I sit here to begin writing, and my brain was sufficiently fried by, I'm guessing, 3:17 this afternoon. But let's carry on.
My spark has been reignited. I am reinvigorated to go out and tell my story and advocate for consumers and collaborate with professionals and hold up high the hope that I know exists. I believe that through my writing, and through my continued efforts to keep myself stable and sane, I can make a difference in this world. Maybe not for the whole world, but in at least one starfish's world. (That will make sense in a minute, promise.)
Last night, I said farewell to major player in the mental health community and a dear friend. On paper, Kristina was the CEO and president of Mental Health America in Wisconsin. She is a graduate from Arizona State University with a masters degree in Social Work. She was the winner of the 2010 "Women Putting their Stamp on Metro Milwaukee" Award for growing leadership. But those titles and degrees and awards do not do even begin to do justice to who she actually is.
I want to say it was last July. Maybe August. It is all a little fuzzy. You see, I was a bit troubled, to put it mildly. I was teetering on the edge of sanity, precariously balanced and growing weaker from avoiding falling over. Then Dad gave me a business card, telling me that he was friends with a woman who had a past similar to mine, someone I may feel comfortable talking to. And I cried. I said no. "I don't need help." "I don't want to talk to her." But I reluctantly called the number and even more reluctantly met this stranger at Alterra for a "casual" cup of coffee.
Kristina spoke with a confidence and clarity about her own mental illness in a way that both shocked and calmed me. She didn't look like she could have anything in common with a disaster such as myself. The things she told me paused my racing mind as I wondered in disbelief how someone so successful could have once been in the position I was in. But that bewilderment also planted a tranquil seed that someday I might have a hopeful story to share with someone who's inches away from rock bottom.
Kristina was there for my ups and downs that followed in the months after our first meeting. She led me to resources in the community. She called me when she heard through the grapevine that I wasn't doing well. She invited me to MHA to get experience in the non-profit world. She treated me to lunch when I graduated from my peer support class. Kristina is a friend, but she is also a role model that encourages me through example to not be held down by past or by my illness. I am sad to see her go, but I know that she will be happy with her new soon-to-be husband and life in Arizona. Arizona is lucky to have her.
Back to that starfish comment I made at the beginning of the post. Did you forget about that? At Kristina's farewell dinner last night, someone shared a little story that, in my experience, perfectly captures how she approached the challenges she faced following her passion. It goes a little something like this:
A man is walking along the ocean and
sees a beach on which thousands and thousands
of starfish have washed ashore. Further along
he sees a young woman, walking slowly and
stooping often, picking up one starfish after
another and tossing each one gently into the
ocean.
“Why are you throwing starfish into the
ocean?,” he asks.
“Because the sun is up and the tide is going out
and if I don’t throw them further in they will
die.”
“But don’t you realize there are miles
and miles of beach and starfish all along it!
You can’t possibly save them all, you can’t even
save one-tenth of them. In fact, even if you
work all day, your efforts won’t make any
difference at all.”
The young woman listened calmly and then bent
down to pick up another starfish and threw it
into the sea. “It made a difference to that one.”
A little bit sappy? Absolutely. But it damn near brought tears to my eyes last night when I thought of myself as one of those starfish Kristina saved. Emotions were still running high as we drove home, and I thought about it a little more. What if every starfish Kristina threw back for a second chance did the same for one more? Or two more? Or ten more? Let's have her legacy live on, not simply through photographs and stories, but by carrying on her mission.
And that is what energized me to bring back my passion of mental illness awareness to the forefront. I don't know how yet, any ideas are welcomed. But somehow, I am going to join that army of starfish throwers.
This leaves me in a pickle. I don't know what to write about partly because I have lost most of my readers. So whatever I do next either has to be entirely therapeutic for me, knowing that the best I will get is a few people who will accidentally click on my link thinking that it is something super cool about the volcano in Ecuador, Antisana.
