December 10th

C.R. Murphree is an educator, Young Adult Novelist, and an advocate and speaker for Mental Health, he is passionate about helping people with depression and anxiety by sharing my own insights and experiences. He is a first time blogger and his post are written from the heart. You can follow his blog at:

Thoughts and Writings on Mental Health

“My uncle’s dying wish – he wanted me on his lap. He was in the electric chair.”

-Rodney Dangerfield

My dad called me on the phone. It was the first time I’d spoken to him in six months. “I need to ask you something,” he said. His voice always made my heart rate go up.

“What’s that?” I asked. I did not want to talk to him.

He got to the point, which was his way, never any meaningful conversation. “I’m thinking about taking myself off of dialysis. I’ll be dead in a week. What do you think I should do?”

My dad has always had health problems, at least most of the time I knew him. When I was in tenth grade, he had bypass surgery. When I got home from boot camp at nineteen, he was getting his kidneys out. He had high blood pressure, high cholesterol, alcoholism…

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Soap Sticks…#125


Vintage sepia toned image of a very old donkey. Lying in the sand stock photography

Soap Sticks…
The dark russet of her hair, wiry, tickled the legs and her boney back made sore the tiny bottoms of my sparsely clothed butt. She was a tough ole girl still walk slow, proud of herself when we climbed on her back, you would swear the old mule would strut. Silver hair replaced the brown around her eyes and mouth, in her prime she pulled heavy plows and wagons, Soap Sticks was a genuine southern mule. She woke at four O’clock every morning with a braying that echoed off the bluffs above our home. Like a barnyard rooster, it was her way of telling everyone to wake up.

Her world in those days was filled with sunshine and all the oats that she wanted to eat, her long ears had finally gone dead, her sight week. Soap Sticks was wise, her senses distinct and she roamed familiar pastures by instinct. She inhabited brooks in the pastures nibbled on whatever the land would yield. Her love for children never changed, when I came next to her she would instantly kneel to the ground making it possible for her little girl to climb upon her back.

Climbing on her back leaving the pasture I would hold to her rough mane, she took me through the fields of cotton, corn and sugar cane where she would stop for me to break off a sweet piece of the sugar cane. She would go down into the brooks deep enough to let the water tickle my feet. On any given day, she would be the one that made the decision to give me these special treats. Unafraid, I knew that she would never bring any harm to me, when she tired of the ride she would slowly take me back to the farm where I would put her back into the pasture.

It was a brisk fall day that my daddy came into our kitchen to say that Old Soap Sticks had gone very far away. “Where” I screamed, he told me that she had suffered all night, she was very old and that about four O’clock she just closed her eyes and went to her final sleep. Daddy buried her in the pasture by the little brook she loved so much, close to the clear sweet water. I said a prayer over the tall mound where she would lay forever, I did not cry, as it was not our way.

I knew that Soap Sticks would not be old or alone, she would roam green pastures and drink from bubbling brooks, at last, she was truly home. She could now hear birds sing and see other animals around her. I do not know how old I will be before I go into that final sleep, but I know when I do Old Soap Sticks would come running, kneeling down to carry me to my final home.

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Living for Today…#124

Enjoy miracle alive life love magic help nature. Enjoy miracle alive life live love magic help nature typography art paint healthy health appreciation faith hope royalty free stock photography

      Concern builds today as we struggle to live within the now while anticipating tomorrow…the future. Such is life, the perception that we could change yesterday, the making sense of living in the now, and the imagination of what will come tomorrow? It is all beyond reality, a parable of abstract dreams from which we wake to find that yesterday will not return; today is the only time within our grasp and tomorrow is only a promise that may or may not come.


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Mental Health and Education

Another outstanding post from C.R. Murphree, Special Education, Mental Health advocate, Young Adult Author. Thank you Chuck. E.

Thoughts and Writings on Mental Health

The summer of 2004 I received a call from my best friend to pick him up from the hospital. He had been in the psychiatric unit for about a week for suicidal ideation. When I arrived he hugged me, had a smile on his face, and then wanted to show me around. I was surprised that I could come into where he was staying. I was introduced to a couple of staff members and a patient that he had gotten to know. I don’t remember her name, but I do remember her blond hair, pale round face, rectangle glasses, and how exhausted she looked. Her slumped shoulders, dark circles under her eyes, and defeated posture has been stained in my mind ever since. And she was a teacher. 

At the time, I wasn’t an educator. So, with my ignorance I remember thinking, “What is a teacher doing in the psychiatric…

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Old Homeplace Barn
Old Homeplace Barn


On a warm summer day, an old soul returned to a place where a part of it remained for years. Waiting while misplaced pieces of it floated through life on waves of tears. Many gathered on this day all had the same ancestral blood flowing through their veins. Some came out of respect, the unbroken circle came for gain.  These mortals had tried to keep the old soul away from this final commemoration. They did not care about its many years of painful isolation.

Death had not fractured the unbroken circle, gone unchanged for years. The return of this old soul brought to the cloistered flock panic and fear.  Disregarded, invisible with no right to be heard, unwanted at birth, then cast out on a painful journey at an incredible cost. To penetrate the unbroken circle was a battle that would forever be lost. The old soul believed it was a time to grieve, a time to pray. A time to remember when an innocent soul was simply forgotten, tossed away.  On soft breezes, those that gathered

could be heard with a pretense of moans. Their voices echoed memorials where truth was silenced the real story hidden, inside of the unbroken circle forbidden. The old soul stared down at a mound of dirt waiting for love that the grave could not offer, while the unbroken circle gathered and divided the coffers.

A loving soul had returned to where a part of it remained for years. It gathered up the pieces of its heart and wiped away the tears. The shattered old soul had returned on that warm summer day. To grieve the loss of never hearing “I love you” or feeling a gentle touch. It needed to tell the unbroken circle when one is unloved their lives are crushed.

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What Depression Feels Like To Me

Another Reblog on Mental Health from C.R. Murphree he teaches Special Education, is an advocate on Student Rights, speaker on Mental Health and he is a Young Adult Novelist.

Thoughts and Writings on Mental Health

I call depression my “Dark Little Friend” or “My Dark Little Bastard” depending on how bad it happens to be at that moment. I think I had to name it for it to be real. Naming it helped me accept it and become friends with it. To me, depression is like a moist fog that clogs my brain. It makes all thought disoriented and my feelings become hard to navigate. Depression is going to bed feeling good and then waking up at two in the morning feeling like your head is sewn to the pillow. When I come to the realization that my dark little friend has arrived and the hours, days, or weeks to come will be filled with self-doubt, a sense of being a worthless piece of shit, and insomnia, I want to withdraw in a deep hole or take a long walk in the woods and hide…

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Music in Your Heart…#122

Image result for music imagery

Music in your Heart…

Expand your senses no one can take away your right to choose, believe in yourself. Wake up your emotions, live on the edge for a while; rid yourself of life’s clutter, let your imagination soar. Let no secret voices guide your life, no clandestine decisions stop you from saying the right words; without a loving spirit, the unique music within your heart will never be heard. Make your own imprint on life, leave a legacy for the coming generations; give yourself permission to set lofty goals and solid expectations. Listen to the music in your heart.