This is not an elephant.

I wanted to show the world my new prized possession but I didn't know how.
Look, I have a new elephant painting! 
Look at my new elephant painting by Danny O'Connor. 
Look at my new elephant painting by Danny O'Connor gifted to me by Sandy.

No. Those statements mean nothing.
This elephant print deserves the justice and explanation that it's worth. So, I will tell you.

And of course, like most things that are important to me, it all started with a book.

A few years ago I picked up the book Hopeless by Colleen Hoover at Target. It was in a section of "If you loved this, then try this!" and I forget what it was a suggestion off of, but it caught my eye.

That book changed my life in so many positive ways.

It wasn't long before I found other fans of Colleen Hoover and became part of an amazing community. Then in no time at all I caught up on all of her books and joined everyone else in impatiently waiting for her brain to purge more words onto paper. Her brain is so, so beautiful.

Authors can do wonders. They can change people's lives in so many ways.
Colleen Hoover isn't just an author with a beautiful brain but she is also this real, down to Earth human being with an impeccable sense of humor and a huge heart. The people that gathered in this Colleen community were also amazing people with huge hearts.

Colleen wrote a book called Confess that came out earlier this year. I read the story, which centered around an artist who painted beautiful works of art based on anonymous confessions that he receives.

Oh good, you read a book.
No, there is never simplicity in reading a book. 1st because I have PTSD and books help me escape my mind and 2nd because this particular book was read at a particularly hard time in my life. I was newly pregnant with my 2nd child and we had a 6 week scan the day before we left for a road trip family vacation. That 6 week scan did not show what we had hoped it would show but instead it showed an underdeveloped embryo. The baby's growth along with blood work made there be a pretty good chance that I had developed a blighted ovum - meaning the baby would not continue to develop.

I would have to wait a week to go back and have another scan. I would go on vacation for a week and spend my days not knowing if the child inside me was thriving or dying.

Getting lost in Confess was one of the only ways I could stop my brain from obsessively wondering what my baby's fate would be. I won't get into all the reasons why I loved this book because I want to keep it spoiler free, but that book kept me sane in moments that I couldn't stand to be awake.

Colleen paired up with a real artist to depict the paintings that she talked about in the book. He brought the character of Owen to life. Throughout the book are beautiful images of Danny's work (as Owen).

I never ordered any of the art from the book - but I did continuously check on an elephant painting print that Danny had in his store because elephants mean so much to me.
Elephants have PTSD like I do... elephants appear big and powerful on the outside even though they are broken and sad on the inside from loss and trauma.

The way Danny captured the elephant in his painting actually shows that - in that one eye that is shown. I can see that elephant's pain and the truth in that one eye.

A few months ago when I was having a particularly hard time with my PTSD I started to focus on getting ready for my son to enter into our family. The blighted ovum was a false alarm and he started to grow beautifully after our vacation. I started to have to decide to part with some of my previously most prized possessions.
Instead of selling the things I loved, I decided to just make sure they went to good homes. So I jumped on my Colleen Hoover community and posted these things only asking for a reimbursement of shipping and handling since I was increasingly low on money (especially with my mental health going downward and losing the ability to work as much as I used to).

That's how I met Sandy. She has the most beautiful soul and a gorgeous smile. We started to chat back and forth and it didn't take long before I knew that she was my person. The person who would be gifted my many prized possessions of special John Green signed items that I had and adored and wasn't even really sure that I could part with.

When I found her, I knew she needed them more than I did. She needed to admire their beauty. I knew she appreciated them the same way I did. So I sent them to her, sometimes sending a bonus print or item. I was happy they had a new home and that I had a new friend that I could chat with until the late hours of the night about books and how they healed our hearts and busied our minds.

Sandy is a big fan of Danny's work and has many amazing Danny art pieces hanging in her special corner of her house that is filled with things that bring her joy. One time when we were talking about how amazing Colleen and Danny were - I think I very briefly mentioned about the elephant print I wanted when she asked if I had any of his art.

Weeks later, she purchased that print for me and sent it to me as a thank you. A thank you that wasn't needed in any way, but appreciated in every way. A thank you that represented a bond that stretched over states and generations. A friendship indirectly created by Colleen.

So, now the elephant hangs in that one special spot, next to my bed - above my night stand. There had only ever been one other print that had hung there for the last 12  years and there was no doubt in my mind that it needed to be replaced once that elephant showed up on my doorstep.

It's not an elephant.
It's a representation of all that is good and whole in this world.
It's Colleen and her heart, it's Danny and his depiction of the world - pouring his heart on to a canvas, it's Sandy and our bond and friendship that came out of nowhere and everywhere all at once.

It's my place in the world.

Visit Danny's website and his Facebook page
If you weren't convinced that Colleen is awesome already, check out her amazing charity The Bookworm Box
Order a copy of Confess
Check out all of Colleen's other amazing books!

I love you Bliches!

Fun fact: My blog is named after a line in Colleen Hoover's novel Ugly Love :)

This is all for you, don't wanna hide the truth.

When I was younger and didn't quite yet know that I suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) I used to lay awake in bed at night and dream up ways of showing people what was happening in my mind. I would replay my day and I would go up to the people who had misunderstood me or gotten angry at me and I would touch my finger tips to the side of their head and I would make them see what I saw, feel what I felt.

I would watch their face twist with horror and I would watch them fall to the ground wrapping themselves in a ball and begging me to take it away.

And then they would know.
And then they would stop being frustrated with me for being different.
And then I wouldn't feel so alone.
Maybe then it wouldn't be so scary to live in my head like I did because people would understand a small bit of what I was constantly going through.
Maybe they would be more kind and gentle with me.
Maybe they would speak softer.
Maybe they would ask if I needed a hug if I looked afraid.

I spent years going through this nightly routine of thinking of ways to show people.
It's been almost an entire lifetime wishing I had that special secret power. The routine eventually stopped but the wishing hadn't. I still spend entire days thinking of how I can show it. Of gathering resources and feverishly writing my thoughts out to be read and reread and understood.

I don't think it matters.
Not to the people who it's intended for.
It's intended for the ones who don't understand but I'm not sure how far it reaches.
It's not understood. Something is missing.

It's not lack of resources. I sometimes spend my days sharing them with those closest to me.
It's not lack of explanation. I will talk and explain until I'm literally blue in the face.
It's not lack of accessibility. I make my blogs public.

I am but one person.
I can't make a difference, why am I even trying.
Nothing changes.
My mental health problems turn into (or already are) disabilities. People don't leave their houses. They don't explain themselves. Why would they? This world is full of people with their faces pointed towards the sky. Not very many bad things happen up there besides occasional bad weather.

My dad has cancer.
Cholangiocarcinoma. It's a cancer of the bile duct and it typically presents and resides in the liver.
It's really rare and the cause was unknown. It wasn't anything he did. He didn't cause it.
Well, I mean, he exists, so I guess he is partially to blame for it.
When he got diagnosed my mom was overwhelmed so I started to go along to all of his appointments. Besides listening to doctors explain his case and the cancer and all of the treatment options and drugs, I did research. Any time I needed to understand something further, I asked a question or I looked things up. When I couldn't find an answer or needed validation I would ask his doctor. "Let me make sure I'm understanding you correctly,..." and then I would say what needed to be said for clarification. When I got home, I would write it all out in both ways that any medical people would understand and in complete layman's terms and then directly state whether it was good or bad and how it affects him. People helped in any way they could. No one really knew what it was like to have cancer, but they knew it wasn't easy. They knew it was life threatening and required treatment and care and kindness and prayers. People were gentle and helpful and encouraging and sympathetic.

What I did, wasn't that hard. He is my dad, it was affecting him and the entire family and anyone that loves him was concerned and wanted more information on what he was going through and how to understand it and what they could do for them.

Why, are we as a society, completely unable to view mental health in the same way?
My PTSD brain, is completely physically different and altered. I didn't do that. You can't blame me.
And my postpartum problems... would you blame my kids? My choice to have kids? Did I do it to myself? Is it a choice?
I'm not asking anyone to be an expert on it. On me. Not in the same way I became well versed in Cholangiocarcinoma and the various treatments that my dad went through.
Do I hope for that level of effort and understanding? I used to. I used to want a "person". After much debate and years of trying, I think I'm giving up on that one for now. It always ends in distance and frustration. Why sit with your ear to the ground when you can easily go back to pointing your face at the sky?
I'm also not asking for people to feel sorry for me in the same way they felt sorry for my dad and his cancer. I'm simply asking for a small ounce of kindness and gentleness and care. Maybe it will try to counter balance all of the shame and guilt and self hate.

I know, I know. "This is ridiculous, people DIE from cancer. How can you compare the two?!"
As of 2013 suicide is the second leading cause of postpartum death.
Google search postpartum suicide. It's not a selfish way out, it's a side effect of this maternal mental health problem that people don't think is important enough to properly voice.

Do I want to die?
I want to raise my kids. I want to know they are safe and loved and that no one else is replacing me in a mother type roll that could really never compare to the extent in which I love my kids.
I do understand the ones who don't want to live anymore. I sometimes whisper it within my own head. "I get it..."

And that makes me feel more alone than I have ever been.
Why am I even wasting my time on this? I am only one voice.

I might only have one match, but I can make an explosion.