Alcoholism, Suicide, Mindfulness, and Hope

In this episode, Bill and I discuss the following:

  • Alcoholism and addiction
  • AA
  • Suicide attempts
  • Relationships
  • Emotional trauma
  • Mindfulness
  • Community
  • Hope

Please reach out to Tim at or visit or Please consider making a contribution to To Know We are Not Alone here.

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I Need Your Help…

Friends, those of us who fight the battle in our brains day in and day out are indeed more courageous than anyone else knows! Even if no one else admires you just for surviving, I DO because I know what it takes. Keep fighting! You are not alone!

In the spirit of courage, I’m putting out this request despite the knot in my stomach about doing so…

Advocating for those who suffer with mental illness is my passion. It is my hope someday to support myself fully by doing just that. For now, I am dedicating one full day of the work week to growing To Know We Are Not Alone. But I need your help…Promoting something costs money and taking a day each week off of work also costs money, in a different sense. Please partner with me to help spread the word that those who suffer with mental illness (and their supporters!) are NOT ALONE. Thank you for any help you can offer! ~Tim

Click here if you can help.

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Interview with Joe: Parenting; Self-harm; Suicide; and Hope

Joe and I discuss his experience raising a child (actually children but we focus on just one) with a mental illness…As a teenager, Joe’s son began to self-harm and self-medicate. Once Joe and his wife discovered what was really going on, a long journey of personal growth in understanding how to help his son began. Through multiple suicide attempts, hospitalizations, and massive road blocks, eventually both Joe and his son found a way forward.

Please listen and share with anyone who might need some encouragement. Listen on any device here.



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Resilient AF

Those of us with mental illnesses often get called weak. Or needy. Or difficult. And to someone with a normal brain, we probably are those things, and worse.

What they don’t see is how many times we’ve been knocked down and gotten back up.

How many times we couldn’t bear to get out of bed but did anyway.

How many times we have been forced to hide our disease so we don’t get fired or lose a relationship.

How often we feel as anxious as if a dozen poisonous snakes were trapped in our clothing, but we still do what’s expected of us. Or try to.

How obsessed we have been FOR THE LAST DECADE about something we know is silly, yet it ruins days and weeks and years at a time.

How our depression can make the act of picking up a pencil feel like we are competing in a weightlifting championship without training.

No one else may see it, but that’s what we are: RESILIENT. We have more literal and figurative scars than a locker room of football players, yet to this point, not one of those daily injuries has been able to declare victory.

We keep getting out of bed for one more day; we keep being misunderstood one more time without becoming hermits; we keep messing up at our jobs and in our families because we have a second full-time (terrible) job inside of our heads, and we keep fighting to do better tomorrow.

We may never get any recognition from the outside world, but I am here to tell you, we are RESILIENT AF.

I am now posting more regularly on Facebook because distribution is so much easier. If you’re on FB, like my TKWANA page:

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Reinvented Podcast: Invterview with Drew M.

Finally, I have mustered the energy to reinvent my podcast in interview format. From now on, you can expect less of me blabbing at you and more of real, ordinary people’s stories. I hope you enjoy.

Also, I have migrated to Facebook for the most part. If you’re on FB, “like” my TKWANA page:


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Mental Illness and Physical Pain: When the Brain Destroys the Body

My body is a clunker! And a great deal of the reason is that mental illness and physical pain are inextricably intertwined. Unlike most other illnesses, which are contained in one part of the body, mental illness sabotages the whole organism, much like the flu.

When I was about thirteen or fourteen, maybe even younger, I was at the dentist. He noticed that my canine teeth (the sharp ones that would look like fangs if they were longer) were completely flat. He was stunned that at my young age, I had already done that much damage to my teeth. His first question, asked almost in a joking tone, was, “Are you stressed out or something?” I sheepishly nodded “yes,” and he almost chuckled and asked, “What does a guy your age have to be stressed about?!” I wanted to say, “Everything in the whole world!” but by then I had learned that my obsessive brain made me weird, and so rather than answer him, I just nodded and gave him a you’re-right-my-life-is-blissful smile.

Grinding my teeth was only the first physical symptom of mental illness and physical pain joining forces in my body. Throughout high school, every doctor or PE teacher who has ever tested my flexibility (that sounds naughty if you have a brain like mine) has concluded the same thing: “Wow, Tim, you’re really tight!” As a kid taking the Presidential Fitness Test, I never thought anything of this consistent observation. It just seemed to be the way I was.

Then, two years ago, I developed severe tendenitis in my elbows. I tried to ignore it for awhile, but eventually I reached out to pick up my phone, and the twinge of pain was more than I could stand, so I dropped it. This seemed like a good time to call a doctor, which I did, and before long, I had my first doses of cortisone in each elbow. Over time, I would have 5 more between the two elbows. Oh, and one surgery with another soon to follow. I would put some good money that my tightness and my elbows were/are symptoms of my brain’s problems. My body simply shouldn’t be breaking down like this at my age.

There are plenty more examples where mental illness and physical pain intersect, such as my chronically bad back and persistent headaches, but the last one I want to mention is a horrible way that the brain harms the body in a very literal and deliberate sense: self-harm. On the inside of my upper left bicep – the most tender part – there are 8 prominent scars, slightly raised, looking like organized rows in a garden.

On my inner right forearm there are countless smaller and less conspicuous similar scars. That night the inner pain wasn’t quite so all consuming and I didn’t feel the need to be as aggressive in my pain seeking. I both cut and burned that time, but none of the scars show unless you look quite closely.

And on my inner right thigh, there are two red marks that have taken over a year to fade to skin color. Those are my most recent episodes of self-harm, brought on when someone I considered a friend reached out to tell me that she had unfriended me on Facebook because what I said was too negative for her. Already nearing desperation, I broke. I got my knife and lighter and decided to see how hot I could make the knife and how long I could touch it to my skin.

The first examples are about the unconscious harm our brains do to our bodies, while the self-harm examples demonstrate that sometimes our brains come out of hiding and demand that we do ourselves harm. It’s quite literally insane that anyone could get twisted up enough to start hurting himself. No one does it for fun. People do it because, in an odd way that no one could understand unless they had done themselves harm, it alleviates the horror of that particular moment. Imagine the despair of a brain seeking to inflict harm on the body that houses it, like a car that flattens its own tire.

Mental illness doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t follow the rules of logic or normalcy, and that’s why many people call us “crazy.” For those who suffer from any form of bodily harm at the mercy of your brain, I wish for you the ability to love your broken self. I hope you will see that broken people are the best part of being on this earth. We are the ones who are forced to do what some others will never learn to do: love ourselves, forgive ourselves, and accept ourselves.

And for those of you who are trying your best to support us but get tired of our incessant aches and pains, do your best to put yourself in our shoes. Imagine having a stroke. Suddenly the right side of your body is worthless. But neither you nor any of your friends think you’re faking it because it can be seen on an X-ray. The only difference is you’ll have to trust us and the doctors who diagnose us that there really is something very wrong in our brains. Our bodily symptoms are no different than stroke symptoms: the brain turning on the body.

And for all of you, please know that you are never alone. I am here for you, always available on this page or at And I hope that if you don’t already have them, you will find friends who speak the language of mental illness.

And supporters, you, too, can email me. And I urge you, too, to find friends who have a similar situation as your own. You need grace and kindness for yourselves as well. This is very hard; no one fully understands it.

We are all driving through a 5-mile, pitch-black tunnel without working headlights. The least we can do is to pile in the same car and face our fate together.
I write this blog because I want people to feel encouraged that they are not alone. Please share it with someone who might need to read it. Thanks!

Want to know when there’s something new here? Sign up for the blog below. Tim also has a Facebook community called To Know We Are Not Alone and frankly, so if you’re on Facebook, join us there, too. [jetpack_subscription_form title=”” subscribe_text=”” subscribe_button=”Sign Me Up”]

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Mental Illness and Exhaustion: Give Yourself a Break

Mental illness and exhaustion: Friends that seem like conjoined twins.

My friend texted to say she’d had a rough trip with her family. “Lots of stressors and I forgot my Xanax,” she said. By the time she texted, she was hiding in the bathroom, running the shower so people would think she was just taking a long shower, and sobbing.

Which got me thinking about mental illness and exhaustion, something virtually every mentally ill person I know deals with.

Any psychologist will warn you about stressors in your environment. My psychiatrist even tells me that she could make literally anyone psychotic if she were allowed to put them under certain kinds of stress. As she is a 5’2”, kind-as-can-be female, I don’t get too concerned when she celebrates this fact.

Everyone has stressors, and everyone can be pushed over the edge; it’s just that those of us with a mental illness are a good bit less capable of dealing with mental/emotional/psychological ones. And at least for me, here’s why: I already have about 80% of my capacity for stress happening inside of my brain at all times.

Whether it’s depression or anxiety or OCD or bi-polar disorder, if our illness(es) are up and running, we already feel like a normal person probably would after their most stressful week at work: Boss in a terrible mood, layoffs on the horizon, huge projects coming due, 70 hours, and missed three of your kids’ events to boot.

After all that, even a normal person would probably be pretty unhappy to find out that s/he had Friday night dinner guests coming over. But they could probably take a deep breath, muster up the last vestiges of energy they had, and smile when the guests arrived.

Now, maybe, we’re on a level playing field: you with your long week and me with my brain that never stops questioningaskingwonderingwhatifing, are both running on fumes, but if we hit the lights green and put the car in neutral as we’re going downhill, we can make it to the gas station. Maybe. If we’re lucky. If things go well, we might even enjoy the evening.

But we’re on exhausted and not at our best. If someone says the wrong thing; if your kid spills a drink; if your spouse uses that tone with you; or a million other “ifs,” we’re going to have to use the last of our energy to keep from performing professional wrestling moves on our dining room table. Actually, we’ll probably become angrily quiet and use the bathroom seven times until these intruders finally leave and we can go to bed or yell at our innocent families or pets.

I offer this not as an excuse but as an explanation from someone who has been both people in the above scenario. In my younger days, before my depression became overwhelming enough that it might well end my life if I ignore it, I could work a 70 hour week and still hang out with friends on a Friday night. Without even planning to slash their tires on my way out. I could even stomach a couple of busy weeks in a row with a not-very-restful weekend in between. Looking back, it seems like I had a puppy’s energy level in those days. I dealt with OCD back then, but it was well-medicated and fairly calm. I was pretty “normal.”

Not anymore, though. Between my OCD and my often-crippling depression, I feel like I’ve had a long week when I wake up after ten hours of sleep. If the kids are loud, or in bad moods, I’m pretending I need to use the bathroom for half an hour at a time just to attempt a reset. Which almost never works. Depression makes me feel completely sapped of energy, much like you would on the worst day of a bad cold. Technically, I probably could do the tasks that need doing, but just standing up from a chair feels like tasks 1-34. Then the guilt sets in that I can’t just suck it up and do what everyone else is able to do. And now I’m at war with two demons: the energy-drain of mental illness AND the guilt of being a human being who wants and wishes to do more.

I wish I could tell you that I’ve found a medical solution for this problem regarding our constant exhaustion. Maybe someday. But for now I offer two small things: First, you are not alone. If I can tell you anything from doing this work for awhile it’s that exhaustion is one of the most common symptoms of mental illness. I promise that you are not alone in this feeling. Second, give yourself grace. Any healing that might happen has to start there. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with providing for yourself the kind of care you need. Imagine if your body was lifting weights all day, every day, and even when you slept. You’d expect it to be exhausted. And that’s what your brain is actually doing.

To sum up: You’re very tired, and so am I. Others may not see why, but we can see why in ourselves and in others. So give yourself grace, and when you’re up for it, let someone else know they are not alone in their pain.


BEFORE YOU GO: Friends, in my consistently inconsistent fashion, I have finally gotten started with the page I began working on about six months ago. I’m as excited about it as anything I’ve ever done because it takes my story out of the center of this blog and puts yours there instead. Please head over to and listen to one or two of the stories there. THEN email me and let me know you would like to add yours. I’ll send you instructions. It can be anonymous if you want. I can even mask your voice a bit through the magic of technology. So don’t be shy! ALSO, NO MATTER WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY, YOUR STORY WOULD HELP SOMEONE. It doesn’t have to be jaw-dropping. The more ordinary the better. I just want people to know they have company in this world. I want there to be hundreds of 15-30 minute stories there eventually. All you need is a smart phone and a quiet place to record. I can edit out all of your mess-ups so you can just talk and not worry. Please, please consider joining in the effort and email me at:


Articles for further reading:

From The Mighty

From the Mental Illness Alphabet


I write this blog because I want people to feel encouraged that they are not alone. Please share it with someone who might need to read it. Thanks!

Want to know when there’s something new here? Sign up for the blog below. Tim also has a Facebook community called To Know We Are Not Alone and frankly, so if you’re on Facebook, join us there, too. [jetpack_subscription_form title=”” subscribe_text=”” subscribe_button=”Sign Me Up”]

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Mental Illness and Addiction: Changing the Narrative

I’m finishing up a popular memoir called Hillbilly Elegy, by J.D. Vance, and while the book isn’t about mental illness and addiction, per se, Vance’s story of unlikely success grows out of his disgust toward his mother’s endless addictions to both men and drugs. Over the course of Vance’s 31 year life, his mother has been married five times and her drug habits have gradually devolved to the point of entering rehab for heroin use.

The mental illness in Vance’s family is undiagnosed, mostly because “hillbillys” are highly unlikely to talk to a therapist about their problems. But as a child, Vance’s mother seemed most negatively impacted by her own parents’ screaming matches and her father’s alcoholism. While her two siblings stood up to the chaos without losing a sense of self, Vance’s mom would cower on the floor and cover her ears, much like she would do when yet another man left her. One could certainly diagnose PTSD and inevitably, there would be other valid mental and emotional disabilities to be medicated or counseled. So, while I know I’m painting with a broad brush, for the purposes of what I want to say here, I’m going to simplify matters and say that in Vance’s life, in my life, and in so many other lives, mental illness and addiction go hand in hand and are culturally regarded in very much the same way.

Toward the end of the book, Vance does an informal survey of his extended family about why his mom’s struggles ruined her. He primarily wanted the opinion of his mom’s two siblings. Both of them take the attitude toward their sister that typifies what I perceive to be our national attitude toward both mental illness and addiction: “Yes, these are real ‘diseases,’ but the cure for them is primarily to quit whining and get your life together. The struggle is probably real, but the cure is willpower.”

Some examples:

1. The Atlanta Falcons recently hired a new Offensive Coordinator who lost his last job because of multiple alcohol related incidents, including showing up to his head coaching job drunk. On TV, a sports commentator’s jaw was nearly on the floor with disbelief that anyone would hire this man. But if alcoholism is a disease, shouldn’t the attitude be different – something more like, “I’m thrilled that this man is back on his feet and is doing what he needs to to stay healthy.” If he had come to work and passed out from not tending to his diabetes, would anyone guffaw that he could get another job after such irresponsibility?

2. A friend of mine suffers from crippling depression; she hasn’t worked in years. Her very gracious brother supports her financially, but he also incessantly tells her she needs to exercise and volunteer. Those are, in fact, very good suggestions. However, they are coming from a place that misunderstands the hurdles that have to be jumped to get to the gym or to sign up to volunteer. This is a woman who has a PhD, who adopted a child as a single mother, and who has held many high-powered jobs over a forty year career. She didn’t become lazy all of a sudden. Something changed in her brain, and getting to the gym for her can be like asking someone who’s petrified of heights to jump out of a plane – unless there’s someone strapped to their back, they ain’t jumping out of that plane.

I can hear the objections to my points through the internet waves. Or maybe it’s just that I have those same objections buried in my own brain from a lifetime of training. They are saying to me: “Tim, you’re letting people off too easy. Are you saying that we have no power over mental illness and addiction? Are you saying we can all excuse our bad behavior because we’re “just wired this way”? Are you saying we should let people come to work drunk and hold their hair back while they puke in the trashcan during an important meeting? To which I say, “Of course not! Alcoholics should wear their hair in a bun.”

But really, I am not saying that. People, even those with mental illness and addiction problems, have a responsibility to manage their conditions. Our treatments for these ailments are embarrassingly rudimentary, but people who suffer still need to seek treatment until they’ve run out of options (and many do, sadly). What I’m addressing here isn’t so much how some boss should handle an employee’s first absence due to depression or anxiety. I’m more interested in the systemic attitude that I hear from Vance’s aunt and uncle about their sister…as well as from many of my own family and friends. Essentially, they say this, “We grew up in the same house/school/town/neighborhood; we made it and succeeded; what’s YOUR problem?”

That is the misguided attitude that has to change.

It’s the same attitude you see in rich, white people toward inner city black kids who “aren’t taking advantages of their opportunities.” At first glance, it seems like a brash, arrogant attitude. But in reality, I think it is a fearful and defensive one. We all want to believe that our successes are because of our own merit – that anyone could do what we have done but we wanted it more, had a better work ethic, or slayed a few more dragons by their bravery. It’s scary and unsettling to think that our success of which we are so proud might have a good bit less to do with our own acts of will than we think. So we call others, those who do not have what we have, weak, broken, or even depraved. That allows us to remain the “good guy” who has it all together by the strength of her own will.

Another way of putting it: Michael Jordan isn’t just tall and athletic; he was also wired for endless hours in the gym and for intense competition. I could have the same exact physique as him or I could have the same intensity or the same competitive spirit, but unless I had all of them combined, I could never be as good as he was. But if I looked just like him and had the same athleticism, inevitably people would say I had wasted my talent. If I’m not wired for all those hours in the gym, though, and like to read instead, does that make me a wasted, would-be Michael Jordan? I think that’s far too simplistic. It’s the same with mental illness and addiction. What looks one way might be something starkly different.

Maybe I’m only making this argument because I’m a forty-year-old, privileged, white man who is trying to start over. Maybe I just don’t want to believe that I failed and that it’s my fault. Maybe the masses are right about me and every other addict and mentally ill person: Sure we have a real illness on our hands, but if we were strong enough people, we’d fight our way out of the messes we find ourselves in. Are all of us just weaker – sure to be destroyed evolutionary principles that cause the fittest, not the weakest, to survive: Slowly, we’ll annihilate ourselves by suicide, overdoses, and a lack of desire to pass on genes. Is that what’s happening here?

I’ll leave that to you to answer, but I ask you to think twice the next time you think that someone needs to just get her act together. People say we need to walk a mile in each other’s shoes, but I don’t think that would do the trick. What we really need is to actually walk a mile in that person’s DNA – to think their thoughts, to feel their fears, to be haunted by their traumas, and, of course, to have their experiences. This might enable us to offer more grace to others, not only who are haunted by mental illness and addiction, but also our plain old, every day brothers, sisters, friends, and family.

For further reading:

A good piece about attitudes toward addiction:
And one about attitudes toward mental illness:

I write this blog because I want people to feel encouraged that they are not alone. Please share it with someone who might need to read it. Thanks!

Want to know when there’s something new here? Sign up for the blog below. Tim also has a Facebook community called To Know We Are Not Alone and frankly, so if you’re on Facebook, join us there, too. [jetpack_subscription_form title=”” subscribe_text=”” subscribe_button=”Sign Me Up”]

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