I'D LIKE TO BE A PEN PAL FROM SCOTLAND by Anna Heath

Dear Dede,

Hello, my name is Anna and I am a 35-year-old young woman from Scotland here in the UK. I saw your Facebook post on Mental Health Bloggers and also clicked through to your website. Your pen pal project looks great to me and I would like to begin to be a pen pal for someone. 

A bit about me: It’s hard to know where to start, but Mason Lantern's mum (on the Pen Pal page) has introduced him really nicely so I thought I’d return the favor. I live in a little village in Scotland with my mum, but I’m no stranger to big cities, having lived in London, Edinburgh and in Lima, the capital of Peru as well. I think I am friendly, open, non-judgmental and caring. I used to work as a translator (Spanish to English technical documents) here in Scotland, but that came to an end in March 2016. I became more and more anxious while working as a translator, due to the shouting from my employer, repeated forced overtime, and other unfortunate circumstances, and after five months in the office, my extreme anxiety about it was tipped into psychosis. I was so unfamiliar with the true meaning of this word before it happened to me, because, as your readers will be aware, as a society and in schools, this possibility is not spoken about. And it’s such a scary-sounding word.

Since then, I have suffered from anxiety and depression and gone along to a therapeutic garden project we have in Edinburgh called Redhall Walled Garden, for trainees with experience of mental health problems, who work in the garden for four and a half hours per day. Then last year I was lucky enough to go and stay for six months at Lothlorien Therapeutic Community, a live-in community for people of all ages with mental health problems. More gardening, cooking, and cycling through the beautiful countryside there. That’s where I really managed to come to terms with my illness and circumstances and to feel more in charge of my life, and that’s where I also began to act as a support for others going through similar experiences.

My hobbies now include playing guitar, quilting, bread-making, and hopefully some more gardening here in the village. I have plenty of positive things to be getting on with, and not every day is easy for me, but I would be very happy if I could reach out and share a bit of happiness with a new pen pal. 

Dear Anna,

Thank you for your email. It’s so good to hear your story about your experience with serious mental illness (SMI), about your success, and about Scotland’s continuity of mental illness care. I hope your story encourages the development of similar programs in the US. To be a pen pal, simply check out the Pen Pal page here on the blog. You’ll find names, photos, and mailing addresses there. You can write to one or more as you choose.

Good Luck, Anna. You’re an inspiration. Stay safe. Stay well. 

NOTE TO READERS: If you know an SMI prisoner who would like to receive mail, please send me a brief description, a photo if you have one, and a mailing address. Email it to me at dede@soonerthantomorrow.com. Or message me with your information on Facebook. I’ll add that person to the Pen Pal page. SMI prisoners need to hear from us — more than ever — in the midst of this COVID-19 pandemic.

THE OTHER ME by Donna Nance

The other me is an optimist, 
Always up for something new. 
The other me has a list of dreams that, somehow, 
She’ll make come true. 

The other me writes silly stories 
For someone, or no one, to read. 
The other me loves being creative, 
Always a project up her sleeve. 

The other me sees into hearts  
And knows just how they feel. 
The other me has the gift of saying 
Calming words that heal. 

The other me, in adversity, 
Is as strong as a mother bear. 
The other me is hopeful  
And still believes in prayer. 

She looks just like me, she's just my age 
And her hair is just as gray. 
But her eyes, they sparkle, and she’s quick to smile. 
Wish I could be that way. 

The me, that I am, finds it difficult 
To concentrate on much. 
The me, that I am, no longer has a 
Passion for crafts and such. 

The me, that I am, has worries  
No mother should ever own. 
The me, that I am, often feels  
Hopeless and alone.  

The me, that I am, can't always find 
The soothing words that she would. 
The me, that I am, often doesn’t have 
The patience that I should. 

The me, that I am, is heartbroken 
That it all seems so unfair. 
The me, that I am, is angry 
And incapable of prayer.

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of her 
Out of the corner of my eye. 
She beckons me to join her, 
If only for a while. 

And, if I can pull myself together 
For a brief repose, 
We might do some gardening, take a walk  
Or catch a movie, I suppose. 

We like to share a rocking chair 
And a book out in the sun, 
And she’s nice to have around to 
Share in a bit of fun. 

From time to time she whispers   
Encouragement in my ear. 
And, if I can’t, she’ll be the one 
Who says a little prayer. 

She doesn’t stick around long, 
She comes and goes…and then... 
Sometimes I start to worry 
That I won’t see her again. 

I hope she doesn't forget me. 
I know I’ll never forget her.

My son is 37-years old. Even as a child, he was a worrier and anxious, but had a lot of friends and easily got good grades. He was the kid who didn't drink and who would drive the other kids home. He went away to college in 2001 and, in 2004, had a breakdown, dropped out, and came home. He was diagnosed with Bipolar 2, anxiety, and severe depression. He’d started self-medicating with beer and pot and cigarettes, which he used to hate. Luckily, no hard drugs had been involved.

To make a really long story a bit shorter, over the years his SMI has progressed. He’s been in the ER (51/50's) numerous times (which he often talks his way out of), and has been hospitalized three times. He’s taken a variety of medications — none of which seemed to work that well, especially, when he was drinking, smoking, and not compliant taking them. He said, “I don’t want to kill myself. I just want to be dead.”

Over a year ago, after an extremely bad episode when he was hospitalized, we made the hard decision to not allow our son to come home. Since then, he’s been in five different places — always a "great" opportunity until he gets tired of the venue or gets kicked out. Although he’d been sober for quite a while and was going to AA, he went off his meds last summer and got worse than ever. He was rail thin, let his hair grow really long, and didn’t shave or bathe. His eyes looked wild and his behavior was scary. Every time we talked to him, he ranted and screamed and blamed us and, in the same breath, would cry for us to let him come home. He said, “I’ll show you how much I’ve changed since I’ve been sober.”

My son is back on meds, but is still extremely depressed and lonely and wants to come home. We know it won't work and that we're doing the right thing, but it doesn't feel very good. He’s in "the system," and getting SS disability, but not going to therapy consistently. We’ve been to NAMI meetings and classes.

Mental illness changes the whole family. We’re both 64 and tired, emotionally and physically. Even though our son isn’t with us 24/7 anymore, his illness consumes us. I used to have hobbies and other interests that I would still like to do, but rarely have the energy.

In the 16 years since he was diagnosed, my son’s had a blood clot in his lung (he also has a clotting disorder). I’ve been through breast cancer (chemo and radiation), and had a tumor on my spinal cord removed followed by a lot of physical therapy. My 90 year-old mother-in-law moved in with us for six months before she passed, and I had to liquidate her estate. I worried about another son with the clotting disorder, my husband lost his younger brother, and, now, I'm helping take care of my 90-year-old parents. We're wondering when the golden years kick in.

I wrote this poem a couple of years ago. Thanks for reading it.

TRAVIS & ME - OUR JUNE PRISON VISIT by Dede Ranahan

On Sunday, I visited Travis. I didn’t see him in May because our visiting day fell on Mother’s Day which I spent with family. He walked into the visiting area and, at first, I didn’t recognize him. His hair’s been shaved short — for summer — and he’s growing a beard. He looked great. I told him, “I really like your haircut. And your beard.”

We hugged and Travis said, “I finished reading your book.” (His mother, Kathy, sent him a copy.) Then he said the most perfect thing, “I love Pat. I love all his Facebook posts. He’s so funny. And smart. I think he’ll be an influencer for our generation. I copied the list of his favorite books. I’m going to read all of them.”

Travis’s eyes filled with tears as he spoke. My eyes filled with tears as I listened. Travis was clearly moved. “I totally get him,” he said. “I like him so much.” More tears.

I’m getting such heart-felt reactions to Sooner Than Tomorrow. In reviews, in emails, in cards and letters. Many have commented about Pat and his sense of humor. But, hearing about him from Travis, in person, with tears in his eyes, was mind-blowing for me.

I reached for his hand. “Thank you,” I said.

“I wasn’t sure what to expect when I began reading your book. And then I couldn’t put it down. You’re such a good writer.”

Travis is reading other books, too. He’s taking a college health class during the summer. “It’s really interesting. I’ve read the first three chapters. It’s about physical health, mental health, emotional health — about keeping everything in balance. I’m ready for these college classes. I wasn’t ready for them before I was sent to prison. My self-esteem is much better now. I know I can study and learn.”

Travis was also pumped about a basketball tournament he took part in on Saturday. His team (“We were the ‘crazy’ team. All of us have psych issues.”) beat five other “normal” teams. “We were champions for the day. We never played together before and we just clicked. Sports are important to me. I ran 10 miles (around the prison yard) for the soldiers who died on D-Day. To honor them. I’m in the best shape of my life.”

I asked Travis if there had been any more discussion about transferring him to a prison closer to his family in Southern California. He said, “They’re not going to move me right now. My psychiatrist and my psychologist are going to take me off lithium. It’s affecting my thyroid. Then I won’t be taking any medications. They want to watch me and see how I react. We’re all hoping I can function okay without meds.”

Travis likes his medical team. He thinks they’re competent. He thinks they care about him. “They like me,” he said. “I tell them about my feelings and my emotions. Not every client is open with them and they appreciate that I am.”

“I’m growing,” Travis continued. “I’m making the most out of my time in prison. I’m working out. I’m reading. I’m writing songs for our church service. I’m a better person than I was.”

“Travis, it sounds like you’re focusing on the positive aspects of being here. Do you think other inmates do that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to judge anyone else. Probably not everyone does. There are fights and other bad stuff happens. Being here is forcing me to know how to interact with others. It’s not always easy living with my cellie, but I’m learning about relationships. I was kind of a recluse before I came here. I managed a motel in the mountains and I spent a lot of time by myself.”

It feels like our conversations are evolving. Travis asked me questions, too. “How are you doing, Dede?” (good) “How’s your mom?” (good) “How’s The Jazz?” (good) “What books are you reading?” (Mama’s Last Hug by Frans De Waal, I Miss You When I Blink by Mary Laura Philpott, Another Rubber Chicken Dinner by Bev Chinello)

Visiting hours ended. It was time to leave. “Have a good month, Travis. I’ll see you in July.”

I always turn to wave at Travis as I walk away. He’s always waiting. And he waves back.

Travis & me - before his haircut.

http://www.bit.ly/soonerthantomorrow

MY POINT IS, SPEAK OUT ALWAYS by Pamela Armstrong

Sometimes people amaze me. As a social worker and drug counselor, I find that most people are kind, but every now and then, I run into people who are clueless and sometimes down right cruel.

There is one man in my building who has been homeless twice and who is dying and who is a born again Christian. He hates the homeless with a passion. There is another resident here who told me he wished that all of the homeless would die. There have been three tent cities across the street from me. They were quiet. They picked up their rubbish and all three were made to move. Folks, I am sure it was because of the complaints of many of the seniors who live in my building and are on food stamps and section 8 housing. We are all here because this is senior affordable housing.

Now, I have also run into two other homeless people who have put the homeless down. One man had been an addict for 20 years and got clean and sober, and finally got into housing. He said, “I’m sick to death of addicts. I am sick of these homeless bums.” Wow, I thought.

Then I worked with a nurse who didn’t become one until later life. For 20 years, she had to rely on food stamps to feed her kids, and other public resources. Then she married a very rich doctor and, all of a sudden, she grew intolerant of poor people and those with mental illnesses. At the time, I was so depressed and I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I was being subjected to terrible verbal abuse from my mom while helping her through her illnesses. The nurse’s daughter's life was a mess. She, too, was crippled with on and off depression and severe mood swings. The doctors told this nurse that her daughter had bipolar, but she didn’t believe them, and neither did her daughter. She didn’t want her daughter to take meds. So, I guess suffering was okay for both of them.

This same nurse told everyone I was just a weak person. Three people in the office bullied me and all were social workers. This really got to me so I retired early and this contributed to my nervous breakdown. I was furious for many years. Well, up until three years ago. I was furious over every single thing. I’m not sure how I got to the place I am, today, but I think it has to do with my own suffering. And seeing so much suffering in my clients, in the homeless, and in the world. For some reason, since I was in elementary school and growing up in the South, where black people were treated like scum, I got it pretty early. Now, I have learned to count my blessings and I have great support from both of my sons who live in Seattle.

My point is, speak out always. Don’t be afraid to say you have a mental illness, and write your politicians. My motto in life is, if not us, who? I try to lay down my anger as quick as I can, but note it took me a long time. Take as long as you need. Frankly, I use my anger, now, to motivate me into action. Yes, some things still make me furious.

Pamela

A LETTER TO SHARE OR TO COPY AND PASTE by Dede Ranahan

TO ALL 2020 PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATES:

I often hear discussions about mental health awareness, but don't hear discussions about serious mental illness (SMI). 
With SMI, (schizophrenia, schizoaffective disorder, bipolar disorder, depression, OCD), some people do not recover and cannot work or live independently. Some are so sick they don't realize they're sick (anosognosia), don't respond to treatment (if they get it), and end up incarcerated, homeless, missing, suicidal or dead.

The SMI population represents roughly 5% (10million) of the mentally ill in the US. And ten times as many people with SMI are incarcerated as are hospitalized. These individuals don't get the attention they deserve and consistently fall to the bottom of the proverbial heap.

If it "takes a village to raise a child," it takes a country to help a "child" with SMI -- parity in mental health care, IMD exclusion repeal (beds), HIPAA reform, housing, hospitalization instead of incarceration, brain disease research, supported education, and on and on. So far, our country is not stepping up. A serious mental illness system does not exist.

The presidential candidate I'll support will have the courage and insight to raise SMI issues and to create a plan to deal with them on a national scale. 

What is your plan for SMI? (Not mental health. Not drug addiction.) I would like to read about it on your website. Thank you for your prioritization of SMI issues.

If you agree, please share widely. Or copy and paste.

#seriousmentalillness #SMI #schizophrenia #schizoaffectivedisorder#bipolardisorder #depression #OCD #parityinmentalhealthcare #IMDrepeal#HIPAAreform #braindiseaseresearch #treatmentnotincarceration#soonerthantomorrow

http//www.bit.ly/soonerthantomorrow

SAMPLE SMI LETTER TO 2020 PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATES by Dede Ranahan

5/9/19

Presidential Candidate (NAME)
Email or address

Dear 2020 Presidential Candidate (NAME):

I often hear discussions about mental health awareness, but I don’t hear discussions about serious mental illness (SMI). Many of us, in the SMI community, fear that most focus is given to mental health conditions where people are resilient, can recover, can go to work, and live independently. I appreciate the goal to give hope to these individuals. The story, however, is much broader.

With SMI (schizophrenia, schizo-affective disorder, bipolar disorder, clinical depression, OCD) some people do not recover, and cannot work or live independently. Some are so sick they don’t realize they’re sick (anosognosia), don’t respond to treatment (if they get it), and end up incarcerated, homeless, missing, suicidal or dead. The SMI population represents 4-5% (10 million) of the mentally ill in the United States. And ten times as many people with SMI are incarcerated as are hospitalized. For whatever reasons, these individuals don’t get the attention they deserve and consistently fall to the bottom of the proverbial heap.

My son, Patrick, was one of these individuals.

If it “takes a village to raise a child,” it takes a country to help a “child” with SMI — parity in mental health care, IMD (Institutes of Mental Disease) Exclusion repeal (beds) , HIPAA (Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act) reform, housing, hospitalization instead of incarceration, brain disease research, supported education, and on and on.

So far, our country is not stepping up. A serious mental illness system does not exist.

The presidential candidate I’ll vote for will have the courage and insight to raise SMI issues and to create a plan/policy to deal with them on a national scale. What is your plan/policy for SMI? I would like to read about it on your website.

Thank you for your prioritization of SMI issues.

Sincerely,
Dede Ranahan

www.soonerthantomorrow.com
A Safe Place to Talk About Mental Illness in Our Families
dede@soonerthantomorrow.com
Author - Sooner Than Tomorrow — A Mother’s Diary About Mental Illness, Family, and Everyday Life
(Available online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble)

ADDRESSES: See yesterday’s post for addresses/email for 2020 presidential candidates.

2020 PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE CONTACT INFORMATION by Dede Ranahan

I’m researching 2020 presidential contact information. My intent is to write/email each candidate to ask, “What is your national plan or policy regarding the care and treatment of individuals who live with serious mental illnesses (SMI) such as bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, schizo-affective disorder, clinical depression, OCD, etc.?”

I collected the following information from campaign websites. Not all offer contact information. Some offer info@theirnames. It’s not clear if these email addresses go to staff or if they actually reach the nominee. John Delaney, Amy Klobuchar, Beto O’Rourke, Bernie Sanders, and Andrew Yang offer PO Box addresses.

If you have contact information for any of these candidates that I didn’t include, please send that information to me and I’ll update this list.

At the moment, SMI has not been mentioned in presidential town halls. Questions are asked about drug/alcohol programs but not about care/treatment for the seriously mentally ill. We have to introduce this topic into the presidential town halls, debates, and the 2020 campaigns. If SMI is not included in election discourse, what chance is there that it will be a priority in national programs going forward?

Tomorrow, I’ll post a sample letter that I’ll be sending to all the people on this list. Feel free to copy or to help draft your own message. Let’s flood 2020 presidential candidates with letters about what’s important to us — national attention to SMI issues.

REPUBLICAN CANDIDATES

Donald Trump
https://www.donaldjtrump.com/contact/

John Weld
info@weld2020.org

DEMOCRAT CANDIDATES

Michael Bennet
info@michaelbennet.com

Joe Biden - go.joebiden.com

Cory Booker - booker.sente.gov

Steve Bullock
https://act.ourbigskyvalues.org/page/s/contact-us

Pete Buttigieg
info@peteforamerica.com

Julian Castro
info@julianforthefuture.com

Bill de Blasio

John Delaney
info@johndelaney.com
PO Box 70835
Bethesda, MD 20813

Tulsi Gabbard
https://www.tulsi2020.com/contact

Kristen Gillibrand - gillibrand.senate.gov

Mike Gravel
https://www.mikegravel.org/contact/

Kamala Harris
info@kamalaharris.org

John Hickenlooper
info@hickenlooper.com

Jay Inslee
https://www.jayinslee.com/contact

Amy Klobuchar (Has a plan for drug/alcohol addiction and mental health. SMI?
info@amyklobuchar.com
Amy for America
PO Box 18360
Minneapolis, MN 55418

Seth Moulton

Beto O’Rourke
PO Box 3628
El Paso, Texas

Tim Ryan
1126 Longworth HOB
Washington D.C. 20515

Bernie Sanders
PO Box 391
Burlington, Vt. 05402

Eric Swalwell
info@ericswalwell.com

Elizabeth Warren
https://elizabethwarren.com

Andrew Yang
Friends of Andrew Yang
PO Box 214
Midtown Station
New York, NY 10018

-

HAPPY PIC

A bend in the river…

Hope you have a good weekend everybody!

WE HAVE FAILED JOEY AND MANY OTHERS LIKE HIM by Rebecca Distel Reinig

Continued from 4/24/19

Looking at Joey’s pictures, now, I cannot stop crying. He was such a happy little boy at home, away from those who tormented him at school. I’m convinced the traumatic experiences he had at the hands of other kids and teachers, contributed to the crisis and hell he is in today. If only I had a re-do. I would have been more assertive and demanding when Joey was bullied at school, when he cried every day and begged me to let him stay home.

I used to complain and whine to the school over incidents regarding him being teased and bullied but, looking back, I needed to do more, and I feel so guilty for that. His 6th grade IEP in school even diagnosed him as severely depressed and in the high risk category. Now, I feel I owe to him the opportunity to find peace, success, and happiness in life — things he’s had very little of.

The hardest part is accepting my roll in all this along with the feeling that others in his life — like teachers, counselors, police, social workers, the justice system — all need to accept their responsibility for failing him as well. My son is paying the ultimate price for being born different from the norm. It’s not his fault. We all have failed Joseph, and many others like him, and I’m so frustrated because I cannot figure out what to do to help him.

Drugging until compliant is not the answer. I’m not saying “no” to all drugs used — just that they’re abused by the system because its easier that way. The drugs administered to my son weren’t meant to be used long-term, nor in the combinations used. Some of the combos were on the very dangerous spectrum of drug interactions. When I confronted the doctor at the jail about it, he informed me that he knew what he was doing and asked, “Where did you get your info?” I told him, “From the FDA's drug interaction website.” Some drugs cause pancreatitis, which my son contracted four months after leaving jail, and it almost killed him. He spent six months hospitalized, is still suffering from necrotizing pancreatitis, and has spent a major part of the last three years in hospitals because of it.

Doctors should know this, yet administer these drugs anyway. I was told by Joseph's case manager at his insurance , “I’m not authorizing a surgery requested to remove dead tissue from Joey’s pancreas because he has, maybe, a year left to live, and no surgery will stop that.” That was over two years ago and Joey finally had the surgery eight months ago. That’s how long it took fighting to get the surgery approved.

As late as last week, I had to ask the doctor at Patton Mental Hospital (Patton State Hospital is in San Bernardino, CA. It’s an old "insane asylum" built in the mid 1800s) to look into the Zyprexa Joey was prescribed because I was concerned it contributed to pancreatitis. The doctor had no clue and, within two days, she stopped prescribing it.

You must be thinking I am bitter and angry, and I guess I am. In all areas of my son's life, I feel he was short-changed and that all of us, who could have helped my son, have failed him miserably.

I AM ASHLEY. I DEFINE ME by Ashley Doonan and Cathie Curtis

Cathie Curtis writes, “My daughter finally succumbed to her personal struggle with mental illness and took her life four months ago at age 26. As parents we cannot let go of our children and need to find comfort in knowing that their lives will forever matter.” Cathie shares a few of Ashley’s reflections written shortly before she passed:

I entered college severely anorexic. I wasn’t really alive. But I also was so eager to learn. In high school I loved Hemingway, Steinbeck, and Sartre. I’ve always been a high achiever.

Frequently, I wonder what I’d be achieving if I wasn’t ridden with this illness. Eventually, I overcame it. I had three research assistantships. For my MA, I received a full tuition scholarship. I was presenting at national conferences. But there were dark days. Tomorrow is the anniversary of my first sexual assault. I tried to scrub myself clean with no avail. I went to my professor’s office the next day and cried. But I had so much support. It’s a feeling that I can’t describe.

I moved halfway across the country for a doctoral degree. From day one, I was physically ill. I have never seen as many emergency rooms and hospital beds in the entirety of my life. I had a subdural hematoma. My brain was bleeding. I had severe withdrawals that compromised my health. I’ve had three spontaneous seizures. But I went above and beyond to prioritize my education.

However, my institution didn’t see it that way. They ignored the fact that every research assistant under a specific professor is problematic. I lost it all during the time that I was gaining control of my life. It’s messy and not logistical by any means.

I am here because I respect and value my co-chairs and dissertation committee. I respect and value Northwestern for my acceptance. Last night, I realized that both of my professors had already submitted letters of recommendation and I almost cried. I emailed them my sentiments. These are the things that keep me going in academia when I feel like everything is falling apart. These educators are incredible to say the least.

I value education. Perhaps I’m a bit compulsive in nature. But I am ALIVE. I look at that picture of a girl on her high school graduation day that could hardly fake a smile. Sometimes, I still do that because I know that my ambitions have not exceeded my talents and I will exhibit that explicitly.

I conquered something that almost killed me and lost everything I worked for.

But there are still sunflowers. And I still open my blinds to let the sun in. Yes, it’s degrading. But I force a smile and remember that I have always given 100%, and that helps me sleep at night.

Growth is painful. Change is painful. But nothing is as painful as staying stuck where you do not belong. I grew amidst a time when I was losing everything I worked for. And no, it is not okay.

I cried because it does things to you to always come second.

More from Ashley that her mother, Cathie, recently found on her cellphone:

I seldom use this platform anymore so it’s all the more difficult to be vulnerable, but I’ve discovered this wonderful organization called “Project I Define Me.” If you know me, you know that I’m committed to destigmatization and promoting awareness surrounding mental health. Recently, I have overcome some of the most difficult things in my life and I’m proud to be where I am today. I want to empower and inspire others to do the same. Person-first language is so important and during this ongoing journey I’ve really learned how grossly misunderstood mental health is. I am more than a label or a diagnosis — I am a daughter, friend, sister, girlfriend, and PhD student. I am Ashley, and I’m here to tell you that I define me.

Cathie and Ashley. Ashley wrote: “ Unequivocally grateful for Cathie Curtis - who gave me life not once but countless times.”

Cathie writes: “ During some of Ashley’s most difficult moments when we were apart, I would tell her to close her eyes and feel me hugging her. Now, this is what I do. Knowing someone is in heaven gives us peace, but it doesn’t lessen the incredible void of human touch.”