Lindsay Clancy Sympathy

I made the mistake of going on Instagram to make my opinions known concerning Lindsay Clancy. I got an onslaught of hateful, ignorant comments from complete strangers. I don't think these responses actually came from a human being, or at least, I hope not. I hope these comments came from a bot or a troll. I now recognize Instagram and Facebook are both poor platforms to address my opinions, especially because this particular case is producing strong emotions in me.

I want to address two mainstream responses to this case, and then share my unique response. First, we have many conservatives appalled that a mother would kill her children. They quickly label her a monster, some even suggesting she didn't even have PPD. They offer her no grace, wishing to see her rot in jail. Then you have suffering feminist and exhausted mothers who see themselves in Lindsay. They dress in pink, lining the street by the courthouse, to show their support.

Then there's me. I don't have children, so obviously I have no experience with PPD. However, I do have experience in medically induced psychosis. Due to being diagnosed with a mental illness in 2000, I have witnessed firsthand the horrors connected to being misdiagnosed and placed on habit forming and dangerous drugs. I understand that the pharmaceutical industry is protected from most litigation or culpability because the patient is deemed as sick in the head.

I suppose the main reason I have such sympathy toward Lindsay, despite her brutally murdering her 3 children, is I can understand that she actually WASN'T in control of her actions. As someone who has experienced a psychotic break, I recognize something malfunctioned. I know this because, once I come back to reality, I have no idea why I said or acted in the way I did. I actually have specific moments when I blacked out. I don't remember doing or saying anything, and suddenly I find myself in the emergency room and then shuttled off to a psych ward.

I suppose I can understand why many people still think Lindsay should suffer in jail. However, I don't agree with them in the slightest. She has been suffering. She wanted to be a good mom, she wanted help, she trusted the doctors, she had a severe negative reaction to the medications, and now she has to live paralyzed with the realization that she murdered her three children. She has suffered enough. It's a tragic ending.

Or is it? I hope this brutal case causes society to investigate the current pseudoscience we call psychiatry. I pray Kevin Reddington finds the words to convict the culpable doctors who failed this exhausted mother. I pray I can heal from my trauma, knowing there are others who were betrayed by the system that should have protected us.

I have a small caveat. It took a very long time, but I have found the proper medications for my body. I am not anti-pharmaceuticals. I understand that the science is questionable, but there are people who need help regulating their moods. However, these people need to be observed and accessed before they are placed on habit forming drugs. Most people just need to address the stressor and avoid chemicals that alter the brain. Unfortunately, the standard of care is to just give the patient a drug.

My first entrance into a psychiatric ward is an enigma for me. My doctor (who I don't even remember meeting) prescribed a medication that made me gain 30 pounds in less than a month. This should have been an obvious sign that my body was rejecting the poison! Instead it was labeled a side effect of the medication. The side effect was deemed acceptable because it could possibly heal my "mental illness". The doctor didn't do much investigating. If he or she investigated further, they would have recognized that I was malnourished, dehydrated, staying up late, and dealing with obvious hardships right before I was admitted. If those stressors would have been analyzed, I might not be addicted to these "curative" medications. 

There is an industry pushing these medications for profit, and these pill pushers aren't being held responsible for the hurt they are causing. Lawyers can simply cry: "Well, she stopped taking her meds or she has a chemical imbalance, so our company can't be blamed for any erratic behavior." Afterall, these medications come with a pamphlet about all the possible side effects, so we are covered. Well, I'm sorry, but the pamphlet says the drugs can cause homicidal ideation. Those are the facts in this case.

My AI Thoughts

    As a self-proclaimed artist, I suppose I need a stance on AI art. Many people, artist or not, are critical of AI mimicking human art. As a lover of writing, film, and theatre, I don't necessarily fear AI. I am currently consuming various forms of AI art, specifically AI music mashups and science fiction short films. I will state the unpopular truth: these films and songs are beautifully artistic. These storylines, their ascetics, and their messages aren't lost simply because an artificial intelligence fashioned them.

    I am firmly implanted in an artistic community due to my personal love of all art forms. I understand why my friends are crying out against plagiarism. I understand the argument that real art can only be produced by humans who understand the human condition. I understand why professional artists fear AI replacing them and stealing their livelihood. With all those understandings, I still respect the current technological age. This technological tool is fascinating, and I'm intrigued. I have both watched and listened to AI art that surprisingly caused deep human emotions within myself.

    There is another reason I don't jump on the "artists against AI" bandwagon. I acknowledge that most AI art is far more advanced than my own art, which challenges me. It can be humbling knowing a computer created a more compelling story than anything I have ever written. I just refuse to accept that this beautiful art is less worthy due to the method of its creation.

At times, I feel like I'm back in middle school arguing with my math teacher. 

"Why can't I just use a calculator on my quiz?"

"Because you won't be carrying a calculator with you all day."

How wrong that bit of intellectual pride became, thanks to our iPhone.

   I see AI as a powerful tool, which some artists will fight while other artists embrace. After personally witnessing high tier AI art, I'm not yet ready to claim it's not real art. I want to embrace this time and acknowledge the possibilities. I am open to consider why AI art might be uncomfortable for the invested human artist, perhaps even dangerous. However, at this point in time, I recognize AI art is a beautiful enigma that has me curious and hopeful.

Remembering the Game

Growing up, most people knew me as the show choir/theatre kid. That was my role in high school. That is how I’m featured in my senior high school yearbook.

Then as I pursued college, I embraced theatre more boldly by changing my major from Professional Writing to Theatre. I flourished in this environment. After graduating, I was given multiple opportunities to showcase my talent for all things theatre. I’m beyond grateful for those opportunities and feel some grief that my current situation makes it difficult to participate in theatrical endeavors.

Nevertheless, my current situation has given me the chance to return to one of my first loves—basketball. Not only do I have access to a nice court with my YMCA; I have the same drive and competitive nature that hasn’t lessened with age. I don’t know what comes over me when I get on the court. I don’t know why I get emotionally charged when I watch a Fever game. I suppose my love for the game never died.

I’m not delusional. I know my limitations. I know I’m in my forties. I know I’ll never be a part of a competitive team. These limitations aren’t stopping me from trying my best to land that shot or improve my dribble. I know I’m out of practice and sloppy at times. It doesn’t phase me. I’ve always loved the game since I first picked up a ball. I remember my middle school coach investing in me. I remember getting cut from the freshman team because according to the coaches, “I just wasn’t tall enough”. I have vivid memories of working hard to prove to others that I had a unique edge simply because I was obsessed with the game. My life could have gone completely differently, if I had just chosen to work harder and tried out as a sophomore. I decided differently and found a loving, welcoming community in music and theatre.

I suppose now that God has once again pulled me back to my hometown (despite my protest), I can heal this longstanding brokenness. I can come back to the court and prove to myself that, despite my old age and short stature, I can still work to improve my game and remember how powerful and heavenly it feels to play.

I'm Back

It's been almost two year since my last post. I haven't abandoned my blog. Most of my reflections have just felt too personal to post on a public landscape. I also recognize that blogging is losing its platform popularity. Most people are posting and engaging with reels to communicate online. I still have a writer's soul, so I will inevitably return to this long-standing blog to occasionally update whoever choices to read it.

My mother passed away on July 14, 2024. It was a beautiful event for me. I knew she wasn't doing well, and I asked God that she could at least make it to her birthday. She passed on her birthday, which gave me peace about it. She had a tumultuous life due to her illness, and I always wished her peace. I was able to speak at her funeral, which had a large attendance for someone who had trouble socializing with people. The warmest part of the whole experience happened the day after her funeral.

I started my job at a nursing home. When my mom could no longer live at home, she was transferred to a nursing home. Seeing her in such a facility made me long to work in such an environment. Working at my job serves as a constant reminder of the love I have for my mother. I want to be a person who cares for people in their most vulnerable and dark days. Mom, thank you for the inspiration.

Working in a nursing home didn’t come without sacrifice. Nursing homes are miraculous places, but it is hard to see residents in their last years with failing bodies and minds. Beyond facing these hardships, I'm currently unable to participate in theatre. This reality feels both confusing and disruptive. Theatre felt like something that would always be there. God sent me to Taylor University, giving me an ideal campus and community to nurture my love for this art. It is a real sacrifice.

I share all this, not to bemoan my current circumstance. I love my job. I love everything about it. I am living my best life. Sometimes to experience something heavenly, you must sacrifice something that is very dear to you. It hurts. There's no sugar coating it. I am still writing plays. I’m still watching any play I can. I suppose it is unfair to accuse God of robbing me of my love for theatre. He still acknowledges my desire and will satisfy it when required.

I suppose the only other thing to share has been a reality for a few years now. I haven’t been attending church. This reality might shock many of my friends who know me as the girl who is obsessed with everything spiritual. I was known for obsessively attending church, prayer meetings, Bible studies, and anything Jesus related. I was radical in many of my thoughts. In fact, I don’t doubt some of my friends thought I was too radical—maybe even weird. What changed? I don’t really know. I had some betrayal in my life that derailed me. My mental illness made me susceptible to false thinking so it’s hard to attend church, which can be an emotional tornado at times. I don’t trust religious leaders. I wouldn't recognize red flags if the community was a cult. I suppose I’m facing a deluge of reasons, so I simply avoid visiting a church to protect myself. I’m thankful my relationship with Jesus is more solid than ever. My nursing home is my current church for now, teaching me about the character of God.

That’s all for now. Thanks for reading.

Basketball

When I started playing basketball in middle school, I became suddenly obsessed and competitive. I really don’t know where the desire and determination originated. It became  a life long companion when I felt lost.

Unfortunately, I cared more about my performance than I did about my teammates. My developing brain didn’t comprehend that I was hurting the team dynamics because I was stuck in my own head. I don’t remember having coaches who encouraged team work. Instead they focused on drills and exercises, which granted skills and improved athleticism with little comradery. 

Additionally, I had an awkward stage in middle school. My elementary friends simply abandon me as I crossed into my early teen years. As a lost child, I could have used coaches who recognized my insecurities masked behind my athletic showmanship.

Basketball has continued to be my therapy. I can be on a court, away from it all, and feel like my true self. Even if I stepped away from the court and lost my aim, I loved returning to find it again.

I am overjoyed that female basketball is gaining more notoriety due to Caitlin Clark’s discipline and character. I never really liked watching men’s basketball on TV. The game is different depending on what gender takes the court. I find myself entranced in woman’s basketball. I actually want to watch the games leading to the playoffs, know the stats of the players, and watch how the game changes over the next few years.