About
Band Back Together is a group weblog that provides educational resources as well as a safe, moderated, supportive environment to share stories of survival. Through the power of real stories written by real people, we can work together to destigmatize mental illness, abuse, rape, baby loss and other traumas so that we may learn, grow, and heal.
On Band Back Together, we put a face to things not normally discussed. We are the face of depression. We are the face of baby loss. We are the face of mental illness. We are the face of abuse. We are the face of rape. We are the face of SURVIVORS and we are proud to be here. We wear our scars proudly, like battle wounds because everything we’ve survived has made us who we are today: better, stronger, and smarter.
It’s time to pull our skeletons out of the closet and make them dance the tango.
We will no longer let our secrets fester inside. We will no longer live in the dark.
All are welcome.
State of the Band Address: The I Am Me Project
Howdy The Band!
Hope everything is nifty on your end. Here? Things are quiet ’round these here parts and while I’d like to HOPE that the silence is due to the fact that our writers are all doing amazingly; sitting on a white sandy beach, watching the tide roll in, day after blissful day, not a care in the world. Just listening to that tide crashing into the shore.
But I fear I am incorrect – see, when *I* get quiet? It means that there is something very VERY serious going on; something SO serious that I’m totally unable to process it without being quiet and still.
It’s been quite awhile since we’ve done a State of the Band address, so I figured it was time for us to check in with YOU, The Band. How are things? I am so laughably far off base with my white sandy beach fantasy?
There’s no time like the present to let it all out. I know I’m about to – I’ve got about a gazillion ninety posts percolating in my brain, just WAITING to be let out. And yeah, sure I have a therapist I see on a weekly basis, but personally, I prefer a blank box urging me to use my words. BY FAR (for me), there is no better therapy than using my words to write something, then taking a long, aimless country road drive.
So I urge you to use your words and tell us how you’re doing. Your trials and tribulations. Things that make you feel defeated and things that make you feel ebullient.
See, I’ve been running this show for nearly 6 (SIX!!) years, and I’ve the luxury of reading your stories for as long. I’ve the perspective to see that what once was, at best, slippery pile of uncertainty to the elegant library of stories that I’d known it would.
But there are still ever-increasing scads of people – survivors looking for themselves in your words, for people like you to find a connection with. Looking to see themselves in your words. This system only works if you can share a bit of yourself, let us in, and help us see what your world looks like.
I know I’ve seen many requests for stories written by Adult Children of Narcissistic Parents (ACONs), baby loss, miscarriage, and a TON for mental illness.
I’m going to provide you some writing prompts, but please, don’t limit yourselves by these topics:
What makes you feel defeated?
What demons are rattling your closet?
What demons have you beaten?
What have you survived?
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What are some topics that you’d like explored in greater detail, The Band? What type of posts would help YOU through the hard times?
If’n you DON’T feel comfortable asking for a particular topic in the comments, don’t hesitate to email me: becky.harks@gmail.com
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This August, we are officially bringing back the I Am Me Project that was started back in 2011.
The premise is simple: define yourself. Can be easy as simple declarative sentences or as challenging as eye opening revelations. This is an ongoing project here at The Band and we’ve found this can be an incredibly healing premise. I do hope you’ll join us.
What makes you, well, YOU?
How are we alike?
How are we different?
How are you unique?
I’m personally challenging myself to rewrite my own – my initial submission is here.
Pretty much everything in my life has changed, so I’ll be interested (and slightly scared) to complete my I Am Me Project post.
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Do you have free time? No, seriously. OKAY so maybe “free time” is a quote-unquote.
Rather than ask that, I’m asking for those of you who can eke out a few hours a day/week to help keep The Band running. Off the top of my (very addled) head, I know that we need…
A photo editor
Someone(s) to run our Pinterest account
Someone(s) to run our G+ page
People to help brainstorm new ideas for The Band
— among a great many others.
Please, OH PLEASE, let me know if’n you can make some time to help us out!
That would be SO freaking Full of the Awesome. Even the littlest bit of time would be SUPER rad!
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Don’t know if you know this, The Band, but we also have social media accounts! (I will warn you that some of them, naturally, have been quietly moldering away) I’d be more enthusiastic but even my brand of paper towel has its’ own Twitter feed.
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To all of our lurkers out there, we’d LOVE to meet you! Stop by and leave us a comment just saying “howdy!” and, if you’re brave (which ALL of you are), we’d love a post or three from you!
Time to step out of the shadows. No more hiding in the darkness. C’mon out – the light you see around you? It’s a healing one.
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I do apologize for my prolonged absence and I promise to STOP going radio silent when shit gets real.
Wishing white sandy beaches for us all,
Love always,
Becky Sherrick Harks
The More Things Change, The More They Stay The Same
We left home for the ER around 7:45 Tuesday evening. I packed a bag for Princess- a few changes of clothes (no drawstrings, hoods, scarves, belts or jewelry), a few books, some toiletries (not her hair pick, no bar soap). I brought my knitting and a magazine to read.
By now I know the answers the nurses and doctors need to hear. I rattled off the history of the previous visits and hospitalizations. I identified her current and previous medications, by name, dosage and treatment schedule. The terminology is almost second nature now- she is not in active crisis, but is unable to ensure that she is fully capable of maintaining her own safety at home.
The bipolar tendencies were first diagnosed in September, and her brother’s mood disorder (the ever popular “NOS,” which in layman’s terms means “your kid’s brand of crazy doesn’t fit the current DSM definition”) was diagnosed about 20 months ago. There is no diagnosed history from parents or previous generations.
Note that I don’t say there is no mental illness in the parents or previous generations; I firmly believe that there has to be something on both sides that we just don’t have on paper. I can’t accept that I ended up with two children with such significant mood disorders just by the luck of the draw.
The transport to the psychiatric hospital came at 7:30 on Wednesday. We were ready to leave. 24 hours of hospital food and sleeping on a the chair that pulls out to a cot took its toll. I survived the 35 minute drive, as I followed the ambulance, without significant incident. The blowout I got during that same drive in September remained in the back of my mind. We got her checked in without any snags. A couple of the nurses recognized her name when the paperwork was handed to them. They checked her bag, noting that everything was acceptable (I learn from experience). She hugged me goodbye and asked if I was coming to visit every day. I promised that we would try to visit, and would call if we could not be there in person.
No one cried.
I feel numb and empty.
The experts tell me what to do, I do those things, and yet we are not able to help her. I have come to believe that she needs a specialized school situation, one which provides the cognitive behavioral therapy that she needs to combat the irrational thoughts before they become emotional actions. The medication is not enough.
But the specialized school will require many, many hoops to be jumped through. I am in the process of the educational evaluation that has the potential to put her in this type of school without me needing to go bankrupt. But I am scared to admit to my husband or my parents or my friends or the current school that the special school is what I really want for Princess. They fear a stigma, or an inability to re-assimilate to the life we’d planned for her (e.g., attendance at the private school at which her dad is the band director). I fear that the adjustment to a new group of students and a new school will be more anxiety-provoking than returning to her current situation, although she reverts to the harmful behaviors when she is back at school for more than a few weeks.
The more I research and the more I learn, the less I really know about any of this.
Rest In Peace, Grandmother
I feel like I’m losing everyone I ever loved.
Who could be next?
My mother and I don’t understand.
Now, it’s my grandmother.
Nana.
I’m 10, and in New York.
My grandmother (on my mom’s side), lived in Florida. She lived a long life. I don’t know how old Nana was, but my mom is almost 50.
My mom is a nurse, and she would always check on Nana, over the phone.
One day, she received a phone call – a bad one. Nana had been sent to the Emergency Room, and was sick. My mom was stressing out the entire day, trying to find out what happened.
That night, my grandmother passed away.
My grandfather (on my mom’s side) had already passed away years ago.
In the morning, my mom told me Nana was dead, so I didn’t go to school. She later explained how she had died.
I don’t get life. Everything is falling from my feet. I want her back. I want everything back. I’m scared of what will come next.
By-WeWillBand