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±·²¹³Ù³ó²¹²Ô’s comments from the Get to Know Nathan Daniels group.

I Didn’t Stand a Chance

Losing someone you love is one of the most difficult things a human being will experience. Death and grief aren’t easy things to deal with at any age. However, I believe adults are better equipped and prepared for it, and younger children tend to adapt easier than teenagers.

I was seventeen when I suffered a string of death that wiped out half my family. Now, I want to share some hard lessons I learned about battling through death and grief.

When my parents died, I’d already survived a variety of abuse at the hands of my father and sister. I endured a vicious divorce � lives threatened � holes punched in walls, and my father became an official stalker. I had been uprooted from my home and friends, to suffer social isolation for years on the other side of the country.

It was there, that my insomnia and propensity for self-abuse would escalate to new heights. It was there, where the seeds of severe social anxiety and agoraphobia, already planted in my sister’s long-ago bedroom, would begin to blossom. My psyche was damaged at a young age, and I wasn’t equipped to deal with the loss of my best friend.

Too Much Pain

If you stub your toe, it hurts. If you spill boiling water on yourself, it hurts like hell. Now, if you get your hand severed in some kind of accident, chances are you won’t feel a thing. Our minds can only register so much pain, before they’ll employ certain mechanisms to protect us from it.

We might pass out, or go into shock. Either way, our brains won’t allow us to feel the full extent of such agony. I’ll venture to say that’s a good thing, but if you’re not careful, your mind can apply similar devices to extreme emotional suffering. I don’t have to venture here � that’s not a good thing!

The hard truth is we’re supposed to suffer when someone we love dies. That’s human, and forcing yourself to go through it is detrimental to your mental health. I didn’t know that when I was seventeen years old, and nobody filled me in. I found out on my own that grief is a stubborn, tricky thing with infinite patience.

The Death Coach is Coming

I was twelve when they diagnosed my mother with breast cancer and seventeen when she died, after fighting bravely for five long years. My mom was my best friend, at times she was my only friend. I didn’t think anyone else on the planet ever really loved me, and my heart found the idea of letting her go impossible to accept.

In 1993, I knew it was coming. My mother’s brain � ravaged by the spreading cancer, didn’t even recognize me anymore. Everyone around her knew she was on borrowed time. I started smoking marijuana, finding solace in sedation, as my life darkened under the shadow of the grim reapers scythe.

From my article for The Good Men Project
Click here to read in its entirety...

LIVING WITH AGORAPHOBIA


What does Agoraphobia feel like?

Imagine standing in front of a door that you needed to pass through. Now� picture a blazing inferno or a psychopath with a shotgun and an itchy trigger finger on the other side. Imagine, what you’d feel, physically, knowing you still had to go through that door. You’d feel terror, desperation, and panic. You’d experience an accelerated heart rate, shaking, sweating, nausea, dizziness, shortness of breath� perhaps even paralysis or loss of consciousness.

Would you be able to reach for the knob? Would you be able to go through that door?

I face this fear on a daily basis. I even beat it more often than not, with teeth clenched and shaking legs, I’m usually able to make it through that door and function, even if it is on a limited basis —even if I do need a hood over my head, sunglasses, and possibly earplugs.

Now if you can accept the fact that Miss Bassinger, Dr. Freud, and I aren’t mentally weak imbeciles and our physical symptoms are real regardless of what’s actually on the other side of the metaphorical door, then you can grasp the reality of living with Agoraphobia.

If someone really charged through a doorway with foreboding danger on the other side, depending on the circumstances, they’d probably be considered a hero� brave and strong. Chances are, most people will never have to face that kind of terror. With severe Agoraphobia, I have to summon that same exact intestinal fortitude on a daily basis.

It’s a hard way to live.

Unfortunately, most people in my world look down upon me for suffering with this affliction and view me as weak and pathetic. Many think it’s a “fake� disorder and I’m just “lazy.� This stigma and lack of understanding from society in general, needs to change.

The exhaustion from trying to justify and explain the things you’re feeling, combined with the hopelessness of not having the reality accepted, can lead to crippling loneliness and social isolation. These are the most horrible aspects of living with mental illness, because they are completely unnecessary and inflicted upon us from external sources� sometimes by our own friends and family.

I find comfort in reminding myself that the ignorance is, “all in their heads.� Perhaps they’ll, “snap out of it.�

From my article for, The Good Men Project
Click here to read in its entirety:

TRIGGER WARNING for descriptions of self harm.


"In spite of the myth—that people who self-harm are looking for attention—the truth is, most people who engage in self-abuse go to great lengths to keep this behavior secret. This needs to change, and I want to examine my own history with self-mutilation and attempt to explain why I cut myself.

This misunderstood coping skill is a common symptom of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and Borderline Personality Disorder, and it’s associated with many other anxiety and personality disorders as well. There is also a connection between self-injury and suffering great loss, like the death of a close relative, and survivors of abuse, especially when the abuse occurs during childhood.

Personally, I live with several debilitating psychological disorders, including Borderline Personality Disorder and Chronic PTSD. I also suffered extensive and ongoing child abuse…molested by my older sister, verbally abused by my father, and later exposed to years of social isolation.

In my late teen years, an unfortunate series of deaths wiped out half my family in the span of three months. This suffrage of loss and grief caused an implosion of immeasurable agony that consumed my own will to live. Clearly, I can associate with almost every possible cause associated with self-abusive tendencies.

This need has been part of my life for thirty years, but it wasn’t until I almost died, just over two years ago, that I took a good look at my lifelong relationship with razor blades, sewing needles, and boiling water. Obviously, I couldn’t figure these things out when I was seven or eight-years old but, in retrospect, that’s when it all started"....

From my article for, "The Good Men Project."
CLICK TO READ -

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If you've written, or read, a great book... this is the place to share it, and tell us all about it. Don't forget to add any books you've written to the group's bookshelf too.

Also...

I'm always looking for good non-fiction books that deal with; mental illness, abuse, suicide, etc. to add to the library page on my website...

This is the place to share your own poetry, or any prose you love.

AGORAPHOBE
By Nathan C. Daniels

My terror rises, as I pace.
My last attempt —Complete disgrace.
I know my horror’s out of place.
But still, my heart begins to race.

Sweat beads form upon my head.
An overwhelming sense of dread.
My mind is hanging by a thread.
Should I give up —Go back to bed?

My hands and legs begin to shake.
I don’t know how much I can take.
Perhaps, this is a huge mistake.
Maybe I should take a break.

Another step, and I feel ill.
My vision blurs, so I stand still.
I’m stricken by an icy chill.
I should have taken one more pill.

Once outside, exposed and bare.
I feel my neighbors start to stare.
My mental illness —So unfair.
Three more steps, I’m almost there.

I must keep moving —Must not fail.
Body trembling —Face is pale.
Why’s my sanity so frail?
All this� Just to check my mail!

HIS LAST POEM
By Nathan C. Daniels

I’m crying, but trying, to not picture dying�
but failing, left and right.
Not working! Thoughts lurking! I’m twitching and jerking!
I won’t survive this night!

Arms flailing! I’m failing! I picture impaling,
my heart with this pen that I hold!
I’ll give in. I can’t win. I don’t care if it’s sin!
My thoughts say it’s time to be bold.

Take the pills. Not one spills. I shiver with chills.
They all thought my illness was fake.
Now I’m crying, while dying. The whispers were lying�
I think I just made a mistake!

LETTER TO A MOLESTER
By Nathan C. Daniels

Just this once, you used to say, but that was just a lie.
You stole my innocence, and made your little brother cry.

Not just when you touched my skin� throughout my whole existence.
Nightmares! Flashbacks! Memories� pursued with great persistence.

You would bring me to the basement, in the quiet of the night.
I know you were a victim too. That doesn’t make it right.

It was wrong, our uncle touched you once —outside by grandma’s shed.
He shared a sickness with you, sis, and then you helped it spread!

It wasn’t good enough to touch� you made me touch you back!
You forced my face between your legs, while writhing on your back.

Once was traumatizing, but this would last throughout a year!
You filled a dwindling childhood with painful, shameful fear!

I’d go to school on Mondays with a wounded pubic bone.
Surrounded by a hundred kids� you made me feel alone!

A six-year old, should never feel the things you had me feeling.
It wasn’t just that year, you took —Decades you were stealing!

I did try, to forget it all, once that nightmare passed.
I’m glad I didn’t know back then, how long the pain would last.

You fucked my life up really bad —Without so much as trying.
I’ve cut myself! I’ve gone insane —I’ve envisioned myself dying!

From fear, to shame, to hatred, that I carried for too long�
To numbness, and insanity, before I could be strong!

For thirty years, I’ve struggled with insatiable confusion,
To finally, after all this time, achieve some restitution.
�
Now, that I’m no longer numb, and I have found relief�
Now, that I’ve survived abuse, and loss, and death, and grief�

I’m finally letting go of all the hate and shame you made!
I’ve learned to reach out, for a pen, a lot more than a blade.

I will never say I love you� and I cannot wish you well,
But, I released my hatred too, and now I’m free from Hell!

You molested me, big sister, and now I’m writing so you know�
My wounds have finally healed inside, but getting here was slow.

One more thing I want to share —It’s important, that you see�
The sickness that you tried to spread� I let it end with me!

CUTTER
By Nathan C. Daniels

As night time drapes it's cloak around me
My fears come true, they finally found me
Here come my demons, now, to hound me
I fetch my blade, its kiss will ground me

The demons wish to cloud my vision
My razor moves with quick precision
Although it's not a wise decision
I part my flesh with this incision

My demons halt inside my head
Distracted by the blood I shed
They scream at me, they want me dead
I spill some more, it's warm and red

They make a last attempt to bite
And then they slowly fade from sight
I'm told that cutting isn't right
But, I survived another night

BREAKDOWN
By Nathan C. Daniels

I hear and see what is not there.
I pound my fists and pull my hair.

I talk too loud to trump the noises
—chaotic, screaming, inner voices!

I seldom eat and never sleep.
I rarely laugh. I always weep.

I bite my knuckles —scream in silence.
I cut myself to quell the violence!

Pace my basement late at night
with phantom ghosts, who try to bite.

I punch myself. I spin around.
Grunt and gasp —I’m on the ground!

Hug my knees and cry some more,
my face, against the concrete floor.

I hear the whisper —bang my head.
I truly wish that I were dead!

Shadows dance and come to life.
I cut again —my bloodstained knife.

It never ends, and I am weary.
My downward spiral’s dark and dreary!

Endless tears —my eyesight’s blurry.
My world is pain, and threats, and worry.

I must escape my tortured brain.
It hurts so much to be insane!

I picture dangling from a rope.
I disappear like all my hope.

Open veins for blood to shed.
Take lots of pills and go to bed!

I’ll find a ledge of lethal height.
Plummet fast to set things right.

Drown myself� for restitution?
Gunshot? Fire? Electrocution?!

All these thoughts are always calling,
I still breathe� but I’m just stalling.

My struggle makes my madness stronger,
I’ll survive tonight� but how much longer?

This is the place to introduce yourself, and write anything you like about... you, your life, or whatever's on your mind at the moment.

First and foremost, I consider myself a very loving father and husband, who holds his family in the highest regard and strives, every day, to be the best man he can be for them, but... it isn't always easy.

I am a male survivor of childhood sexual abuse that started when I was six years old, and lasted the better part of a year.

Beginning when I was twelve, I endured two years of social isolation� removed from school and relocated to the other side of the country. I lived with my grandmother in a forgotten, dirt-road town, where I was the only person younger than thirty.

When I was seventeen, a series of death took my grandfather, mother, and father in the span of three grief-stricken months. I found myself orphaned, homeless, and suicidal� I took up residence in my late father’s car.

Against all odds, I survived, but continued to struggle with severe mental illness, self-abuse, and suicidal tendencies.

I eventually lost myself in a ten-year, emotionally abusive relationship built on co-dependency, with a woman who nurtured my progressive psychological issues (in fairness� that worked both ways).

After the inevitable demise of that phantom relationship, I met Hailey, and fell in love for the first time in my life. Ours is an impossible to believe story, which proves true love really can overcome any obstacle.

We’ve been together for nearly a decade now, and have a six-year old son together.

I’ve explored many professions and interests throughout my life. Among other things, I’ve been a Kung-Fu instructor, warehouse manager, tattoo artist, personal trainer, truck driver, and door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman.

My life-long obsessions with martial arts, bodybuilding, and professional wrestling, led me to be a semi-finalist in the WWE’s (WWF, at that time) first season of “Tough Enough.�

Throughout my entire adult life, I’ve gone through dangerously progressive cycles of, first, high functionality and success, then, downward spirals into abysmal madness and suicidal tendencies.

This has happened four times now, and I came closer and closer to death each time. Just over two years ago, I was in the hospital for the second time, because of my complex mental illness.

I had cut myself hundreds of times, burned myself, broken my own bones, and lost seventy pounds of muscle tissue through self-starvation.

I separated myself from my family, briefly, in an effort to protect them from my madness as I endured blackouts, audio and visual hallucinations, and imminent doom.

They wouldn’t let me go!

Miraculously, I survived the fourth cycle by finally allowing myself to accept and embrace the powerful love of my family, and seeking closure for a lifetime of pain and suffering through a year of honest and emotionally intense writing.

This has given me an incredible sense of self-awareness and, most importantly, was a key factor in overcoming suicide after struggling blindly with my demons for twenty years.

I have Chronic Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, severe Social Anxiety Disorder, Agoraphobia, and I’m prone to extreme bouts of insomnia and self-abuse.

I am a loving person, excellent father, supportive partner, hard-working writer, and an advocate for mental health. I’m dedicated to sharing my unique story with the world with perfect honesty and full disclosure, no matter how unflattering much of it is.

I want people suffering with issues like mine to read my words, whether in a poem, my book, or an article I’ve written� know they’re not alone in their daily struggles, and glimpse hope� that they too will survive!

I also want people, who have never experienced emotional trauma or mental illness, to read my writing and open their eyes to the harsh reality of psychological disorders, and I want those who love someone with these ailments, but can’t relate, to read and increase their understanding� potentially opening new lines of communication.

I accept that I will live with mental illness for the rest of my life, but I pledge to do it well and keep my continuing recovery and quality of life in a perpetual state of improvement.

I will balance my life between caring for my beautiful family and using my writing to raise awareness for, and fight the stigma associated with abuse, mental illness, and suicide.

Thank you for reading, and please feel free to introduce yourself and share a little here too.

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