Nomenclature

Recently, the National Parks announced that the name of Clingman's Dome would be officially changed to its Cherokee name.  Most of the signage and news articles refer to it as "Kuwohi (formerly Clingman's Dome)".  That's a good method of helping people adjust to the change.  I like that it nods to the name most of us know the peak as, while reminding us of the new/old name.  

It was hardly the first time a geographical feature reverted to a native name.  A mountain in Alaska was named Mt McKinley from 1917 to 2015.  Its native name, Denali, was reinstated by Barack Obama, for most of the same reasons and to much of the same objections.  

*One of the first things Donald Trump did upon starting his second term as POTUS was change Denali back to Mt McKinley.  (Most of his first term was spent trying to undo Obama's work, so I assume this is just more of the same.)  With an executive order, not a Nomenclature Committee. 

He also decided our southern shore sits on the Gulf of America.  It's been the Gulf of Mexico for at least 400 years.  The gulf is not the exclusive property of the USA and no other nation agreed to this change.  Judging by my Facebook feed, I'm not the only one who finds this laughable.  But I digress.*

Changing or giving an official name to a geological feature is not an action taken lightly.  Nomenclature is important.  There is a long and exhaustive procedure involved.  I'm okay with properly made changes.  That said, I am like most humans in that the names I've always known them as will remain in my brain.  

The Powers That Be can change the official name.  But this conversation will happen:  "I saw a bear up on Kuwohi."  "Where?"  "You know, Clingman's Dome."   As long as everyone involved knows what you mean, I don't see an issue.  

Introspection

 He was born in the summer of his 27th year...  

It's a classic lyric, but it really isn't so far from my truth.  I was in my late twenties when finally prescribed fluoxetine.  

Oh, there were times as a child that I acted out.  What I learned from that was: I was unimportant, if not an outright burden. Everything was my fault.  I started writing stories as a coping method, even if I may not have realized it at the time.  And I always loved to learn.  Used to sit in the front hall reading encyclopedias.  

As an adult, I did explore specific issues, if they were pointed out in a kindly manner and if my inner seas were relatively calm. I took a few little vacations in the psych ward.  I even asked about medication because I saw how well the others in my group therapy did with it, but my request was dismissed.  I did not ask again.

As I said, I was past the quarter-century mark when yet another episode occurred.  This time the doctor suggested medication.  Prozac was fairly new at the time, and controversial, but it was a godsend for me. I tell people it saved my life.

Pop Culture has gotten better with its presentation of the mentally ill - we're no longer just comic relief or bad guys - but they still seem to get wrong the struggle.  Commercials for antidepressants make it look like you pop a pill and instantly everything is fixed.  A show's very special episode handles the situation in an hour or less.  That ain't how it works. 

Even if a pill could instantly repair chemical imbalances and emotional damage, there's the outer world to consider.  To make another reference, there's an exchange in one of the Harry Potter books that makes my point:  "You were the one who told me to stand up to people!"  "Yes, but not to us."  

Finally, I could consistently apply the coping methods I'd picked up over the years and learn more.  But the patterns remained.  My family still spoke to me as they always had.  I went to college for an associate's degree, but my previous work history was, shall we say, spotty.  The longest I had kept a job was a couple years and I'd been fired often.  So I was still washing dishes and ringing up groceries. 

But I was growing out of my despair.  I learned to separate what I felt from what I knew.  I went low (or no) contact with those who refused to respect my journey and the woman I was becoming.  I embraced myself.  

Now I'm on Disability, but I'm still writing and you can even buy two of my books on Amazon.  Nine out of ten of my personalities manage to keep that tenth one caged.  (Yes, I know that's inaccurate and maybe insensitive to people with actual multiples.  But I find humor opens communication.)  

But I wake up dreading the day ahead.  Once I get up and moving, that passes, but it's a rough way to start every day.   I have bad dreams. My feelings are easily hurt.  I'm not cured.  The commercials are fibbing.  The very special episodes are oversimplifying.  

Now that I'm gotten all this off my chest, maybe I can sleep.  It's almost dawn.  Thanks for reading.