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Each warm line has slightly different policies and a different flavor, as does every warm line operator, so there can often be a sense of risk in picking up the phone to call an anonymous person. Luckily, it is a phone call so you aren’t tied into anything. You don’t have to give your real name, and at any point you can end the call if it isn’t working for you. To be honest, I have even called and hung up immediately if I didn’t like the sound of the operator’s voice and I have never used “Chaya” when asked my name.
from Facebook http://ift.tt/1oZksPc
Thank you Jenny Westberg for this post.
STATEMENT 2: “[T]he relative contributions of shared and distinct factors in the development and perpetuation of [other conditions which ARE deemed 'mental disorders'] remain insufficiently understood.”
Also on the same page:
“[these] disorder are”
“physical health psychosocial functioning” (missing comma)
What an embarrassment. If you were writing what’s meant to be an authoritative text, wouldn’t you proofread it? Or have someone else proofread it? Or give it a cursory once-over? At least the DSM-IV didn’t read like a kindergartner’s blog. Obviously they don’t believe what they’re saying enough to care about getting it right – NOT a good quality in people who can give you a lifelong label…or lock you up.
Page 329, by the way. And I wasn’t even trying.
I want life to make sense all the time, in all ways.
I want everything to be honest and synthesized, direct and revealed.
I want life to scream and not to whisper
out of my soul
even though whispers soothe me more than screams
I need time to work up to things.
I’m not a great person, I realize.
I channel a great muse from time to time,
but as a person I’m mediocre, bordering on inferior.
I don’t want to have to negotiate my life,
and I don’t feel I should have to.
I want it handed to me.
I don’t go out and get it,
I let it come to me.
And then I don’t scream in glorious gratitude,
I just whisper, “Thank you,”
I just get by
I hardly go beyond that.
I’m just one of the masses,
I’m just another partially screwed up person,
with a dash of angel
and a scoop of vanilla
not even on the rocks
but sometimes with Tobasco, on lucky days.
I dream as much and as little as anyone,
I squeeze between the cracks.
There’s hardly room for me in this world,
but when I find a crack,
I squeeze myself into it if I can.
I’m no heroine, no great person.
I’m really not.
And moreover I don’t want to be.
I want to be average.
Average height, average weight,
I’ll take an extra point above the mean in intelligence,
because I get off on that
because I’m a mental masturbator
and that’s the only thing I really live for:
being one point above the mode in smarts (not even very much).
Beyond that I’m just another brick in the wall,
leaf on the tree,
dent in the cement,
and learning to be okay with that,