In 2009, I discovered, with the help of a friend, that I could write. It started out as a hobby, but eventually became a powerful coping skill for me during my many bouts of depression.
Recently, there was a concern about a poem I had written called "The Gun," (now taken down), which called into question my ability to work as a nurse. Another employee, who remains unidentified, reported to my boss that I was suicidal. Following this report, I was called into my boss's office to talk about the report, and also was required to meet with an EAP counselor to clear me for work.
First let me say that I appreciate the thought and concern behind the gesture of telling someone. I work in psych, and I walk among suicidal patients every single day. I know the symptoms. I know the signs. People are my job. It's what I do, and I love it, because I understand where they are coming from. I value life, and I've lost a few patients, who continue to be painful reminders that I should indeed strive to stay alive.
However, DeviantArt was my safe place. It is one of the few places I could go to just be me. Words are my constant love affair. I marvel at their strength and power, and their ability to be as loud as a thunderstorm, or as peaceful as a quiet breeze.
This place no longer feels safe for me, not with attentions from a silent bystander.
I'll keep this account open until my membership ends, but I will no longer be posting from it.
Thank you for making me welcome here. Acceptance is a small, quiet room, it's been said. DeviantArt, though a large, worldwide community, has indeed been my small, quiet room. God bless you, and take care.