For World Mental Health Day, On Finding Acceptance and Serenity

When I first started blogging, I didn't have a clue what I was doing. I knew I had a story to tell, but then, doesn't everyone? I was frustrated and mad at the system, confused about diagnosis, and labels. I was trying to build my life back, one step at a time, one word at a time.

I knew the following: I was diagnosed as "Manic Depressive" (later Bipolar) when I was 23. I never believed it. I refused to believe it, despite the fact I saw psychiatrists and took psychiatric medication. I had a total of nine psychology courses in my life, three as an undergraduate, six as a graduate student. I knew about these things, what to look for, symptoms, how to apply therapy. I had various therapists and tried such therapies as CBT, Jungian, Freudian, Eriksonian, Gesalt, Group therapy, Women's only Group therapy, Art, Music, Dance and Writing therapy. I've done Primal Screams. I've been hypnotised. I've spent hours on the couch, analyzing everything from my first memory, my dreams, even my orgasms. I've taken close to 50 different psych meds, and endured ECT all to try to "get well". And in the end, after almost 27 years of this, I've realized one thing. I cannot change until I want to.

It's like the old joke, "How many Psychiatrists does it take to change a lightbulb?"
The answer is telling- "None. The lightbulb has to want to change."

I stopped drinking when I was tired of being sick and tired all the time. Tired of my head hurting, my mouth feeling like it was enveloped in cotton. Tired of sneaking drinks, drinking to oblivion on weekends. I realized I had to stop when I was taking eye openers, and shaking so hard I could not hold my morning cup of coffee. Once I made up my mind to stop, the rest was relatively easy; at least on paper. I stopped drinking and worked the steps. That WAS hard. The first year was incredibly hard. I craved it. But I was afraid where my last drink took me, and on this September 26 I collected my 15 year coin. What got me through? Substituting Diet Peach Snapple, for every time I wanted to drink, and hanging out at the local 24 Club.

My 24 Club has long been shut a few years ago due to the economy, and I've never been able to find a home group since. But I stayed sober. I wanted it. Freedom from depression and bipolar has been more tenuous, more allusive.

One of the things I've noticed, is there doesn't seem to be the stigma with Alcoholism as there is with Mental Health issues. Maybe some of it is due to shows like A & E's wonderful "Intervention." People who abuse alcohol and illegal drugs are tangible to people. When you get clean and sober, your life changes. To this day, I can recall how wonderful my first glass of orange juice tasted without vodka in it. It was the greatest thing I ever drank.

But knowing there is something wrong with your brain-that's a hard thing to deal with and accept. You can change a bad behavior, but when your behavior is caused by something you cannot control- your brain- that is enough to make anyone scared worse than a Halloween story. Having a brain not working scares people. To know that things we cannot understand, Serotonin levels, DNA, can cause such things, can destroy you. A parent may not accept that their child isn't perfect. A spouse can't understand a mood swing, and know it's something they can't control, that they weren't responsible for. The person experiencing these mood swings is also scared and frustrated by their feelings. Knowing it's something wrong with your brain, can make you feel helpless. If you have a problem with your eyes, you see a doctor and get a pair of glasses. If you have problems with your teeth, you see a dentist. If you have problems with your brain, who do you see? Is this failing your fault, or is it something that is not in your control?

In my case, I felt it was my fault, something I felt I could just keep trying to work on and eventually I would win. I didn't tell anyone I had this, never put it down on any job applications, never discussed it with my friends. When I was diagnosed, my doctor told my parents I would never lead a successful life, and he urged them to place me in a state institution, because "there was no cure." I wouldn't be able to hold down anything but the most menial job. I would never marry, never have children. With one broad stroke of the pen, he destroyed my dreams of finishing a PhD, and doomed me for many years of self imposed celibacy, or me dating men who would abuse me because I didn't think I deserved a guy who would actually love me. I felt less than human.

Then I met someone who instead of being ashamed of the Bipolar word, was thrilled he had it. He would introduce himself to everyone with his name, and say "I'm bipolar" after that. It shocked me. How can you be proud of something that will eat you up and spit you out as a shell of what you once were? How can you be happy you were given a living death sentence?

He didn't see it like that. He saw it as something to be proud of. To him, being diagnosed was like his Eureka! moment, he came out openly, and was proud. He told me, I was in the closet, I needed to first, admit I was bipolar, and then-tell people I was. If I had no problem going into an AA meeting and saying "Hi, my name is Susan, and I'm an alcoholic", shouldn't I do the same with "Hi, I'm Susan, and I'm Bipolar?"

I couldn't do it. To me, it was a badge of shame, a Scarlet B I wore on my chest. After this person and I were no longer friends, I did realize something, as I started to write to heal from that relationship. My brain was not my fault. After all it's a bunch of gray matter and if the wiring was different, it wasn't anything I did. I had to work around it. I started to be proactive in this recovery, just like I had done all those years ago when I stopped drinking. I started questioning every script, researching every med on the internet. Did I need this med? Did I need such a huge dose? Another thing I noticed as I began to read other people's blogs, is how different people were than me. I read so many blogs by people in their twenties and thirties who weren't struggling. They accepted the diagnosis, what they were struggling with were meds and therapy. They were at a place in their life, where I wasn't at yet. It made me happy, gave me hope. People getting married, raising children, all who had the same label as me. People who were living bits and pieces of the life I wanted to have. I gathered strength from them, and decided I would write about my life, so people would understand what it's like to be in my head, but also to spare anyone the heart ache, the anguish, and physical problems I've had in my journey to wellness.

Wellness. We all take different roads to get there, but hopefully we all get there in the end. I think I've gotten there. Maybe I would have gotten there quicker, had we had social media back in the 80s and 90s. In the long run, it doesn't really matter.  I've gotten to Serenity, something I never thought I would get to in my lifetime. I still haven't gotten to Acceptance. Some days I can accept this diagnosis, other days, I question it, still struggling. I take every day one day at a time. I may have bad days, and stumble, but all in all, I'm getting better. To me, that is the most important thing.   One day at a time, I am getting better.

Loneliness and Loss

Last week, a friend of mine left. He had stayed with Holly and I for a fortnight, staying with me while I detoxed off Tramadol. I was feeling very very depressed, and did not trust myself to be alone. So, in the manner of Lincoln's friends when he was in the same state, my friend stayed with me.

I moved into a new apartment back in March, a much nicer apartment than my old one. Handicapped. I could no longer use the stairs in my apartment, so I had to move to a new one on the ground floor. It's been a very positive thing, I am actually able to get out and about so much easier. My mobility has been improving in leaps and bounds. I'm walking better. I'm actually optimistic.

Until this last week. I really enjoyed having my friend over, I wasn't alone. We shared dinner every night, and I found myself taking great pleasure in cooking simple meals for him, talking at dinner. Doing the dishes together. Listening to music together.Helping with the daily cleaning.  Knowing that if I took a nap, he would play with the kitty with her favorite toy, "Da Bird." It was nice. We were totally in sync with each other. And for the first time in my whole adult life, I felt like we were family; something I'm sad to say I never even felt in my marriage.

He had to leave, eventually to take care of his own things, and he left last Saturday. I cried buckets on the 200 mile drive back home, listening to old "Dragnet" radio shows on my iPod. The pouring rain made me feel better, I was crying buckets, the heavens were throwing down rain so hard I almost saw animals walking down I-95 in pairs.

What I've noticed since Monday, on my mood chart, is that my mood is getting worse. I'm crying more than normal. I thought perhaps it was because of my period, but no, that ended and I'm still crying. My thoughts are going blacker and blacker. I'm sleeping more, and eating too many carbohydrates. Then, one night, listening to the radio, I had my Eureka! moment.

I've either fallen in love ( something I haven't done in almost ten years), or I like having someone around in my fortress of solitude. I can be alone, but I don't feel lonely. When he left, I felt lonely. What's wrong with this equation?

Human beings are meant to be social. As much as I say I would love to live in a cabin in the woods somewhere in New Hampshire, Vermont or Maine, away from the Madding crowd and civilization with just me and two cats and a dog-I realize I as a human being, need human stimulation. I can listen to talk radio while I am awake, or books on tape, and talk back to them, but it's not the same as having someone to talk to in person. I enjoy cooking meals for myself, but to cook a meal for a friend; go through the ritual of eating, pouring juice in wine glasses, and talking about totally banal things, was heaven. I haven't had this simple pleasure in years. While I had company, my mood was on an even keel, I was happy. I was feeling physically sick, but knowing there was another human soul with me was nice. Someone that even would kiss the cat and my stuffed pandas goodnight, and then kiss me.

So knowing my moods were tied to my friend, I'm making more of an effort to get out each day and talk to my neighbors. There are a lot of elderly widows in my apartment complex, they aren't lonely, but they are alone. Like me. Not lonely,  but alone. So I went out of my comfort zone, cooked a pumpkin pie, with fresh cream, made a big pot of coffee, and invited two of my neighbors over for coffee and conversation. It was nice. The upshot is, on Thursday, when I charted my mood- it was the highest since Sunday. A simple act of baking, and sharing, and I felt better. I don't mind being alone. I relish it. But as for loneliness, I think I will be having more of these coffee clatches more often.

Holly with her stuffed panda

For Mad Hatter's Day

I want to thank Frank Blankenship over at Lunatic Fringe for this. I didn't know about Mad Hatter's Day and wanted to share this with my readers. Thank you Frank! 

Today is Mad Hatter Day. I stumbled across the following explanatory bit of information at Ari Rapkin’s website. His birthday is the day following Mad Hatter Day.

MadHatterDay is a holiday in October. It fills the need for a second crazy day in the year, almost exactly half a year from April Fools’ Day. The real spirit of MadHatterDay is turnabout: The nonsense we usually have to pretend is sane can be called madness for one day in the year; the superficially crazy things that really make sense can be called sane on MadHatterDay.

I guess…

I looked into this matter because a performer is entertaining at an establishment this evening in my locality, and crediting the reason with being it’s Mad Hatter Day.

MadHatterDay is 10/6. The date was chosen from the illustrations by John Tenniel in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, wherein the Mad Hatter is always seen wearing a hat bearing a slip of paper with the notation “In this style 10/6″. We take this as inspiration to behave in the style of the Mad Hatter on 10/6 (which is October 6 here, although in Britain MadHatterDay occurs on June 10…but I digress…) Some astute observers have noted that the paper in the Mad Hatter’s Hat was really an order to make a hat in the style shown, to cost ten shillings sixpence. However, it is well known that Time Is Money, and therefore Money Is Time, and therefore 10/6 may as well be the sixth of October.

Alices Adventures go on and on, don’t they? Nonsense prevails.

MadHatterDay began in Boulder, CO, in 1986, among some computer folk who had nothing better to do. It was immediately recognized as valuable because they caused less damage than if they’d been doing their jobs. It was announced that first year on computer networks. In 1987 it gained minor local recognition. In 1988, it was first recognized as an official holiday by an area business, and also received its first national press coverage by news services (who are always desperate for an unlikely story). It is almost certain that the national election also gave MadHatterDay a good boost in 1988.

Good things generally come in threes, don’t they?

Frank's entire article can be seen here.  I think this is a good thing, but my cat wanted to put in her two cents as I was getting ready to send this. So I will leave with her idea. 

On Macs, Apple and Cats

Steve Jobs is dead. The man who was the genius behind Apple, and gave me the best computers I ever had, a Preforma 575 bought in 1995, an iBook laptop bought ten years later, and a MacBook Pro bought in 2010. I own an iPhone and two ipods. I have an Apple sticker on my car's rear view window. I even managed to get my mother, father, sister, friends and even the Ex to join the cult of Mac.

Something about Macs that are just- well, cuter and nicer than Windows platform. More friendly. Even cats like them more than Windows. Holly loves her Mac.

Thank you Mr. Jobs and Apple for making the best computers on the market, and giving both me and my cat countless happy hours on them. Since your computers aren't waterproof, I will log off now, so my tears don't get in the keyboard.

Meet My Friend Miki Baker- The Award Winning Therapy Dog

Miki Baker, the therapy dog

I love dogs. I know it sounds silly, everyone thinks I'm a cat person but someday I would love to have a dog in my life.

Until then, I have to content myself knowing a very special dog, Miki Baker, the therapy dog. Miki is a three year old Pomeranian and his human is Trish Baker, someone I am honored to call my friend.

Miki is one of this year's winners of the AKC Humane Fund Awards for Canine Excellence. Miki won the Therapy Dog contest.

This is from an article in today's (NJ) Home News. I hope Miki will warm your heart, as he has done mine. Miki is also on Facebook, under Miki Baker, the Parti-Pomerian, ready to friend.

"We're thrilled," said Tricia Baker, who, along with her husband, Kurt, and their 18 year old daughter, Katelyn, founded AIR (Attitudes in Reverse), a grass-roots group designed to raise awareness about mental illness and educate the public about the stigma attached to the illness. 


"Miki is a great dog and has helped us through a terrible tie when our son, Kenny, who suffered from anxiety disorder and depression, completed suicide on May 19, 2009, when he was 19", Baker said. "Miki has been an integral part of our journey and continues to be a champion for the cause."

Miki and her human, Trish (courtesy of the (NJ) Home News 

Baker explained that as a result of her son's illness, the family came to realize there was a lack of understanding about mental illness. 


"We saw how his death was treated so much differently than the deaths of other students in the school,", she said. "When Kenny passed away, less than 10 people from the school came to the wake and funeral because the belief was that people who complete suicide are only looking for attention, and that's not true. It's an illness. There's also the old thinking that if you talk about suicide, other people are going to go out and complete suicide. That is not how it is."


"If someone completes suicide, if the death is not discussed and those kids that are struggling don't get the help they need, there could be possibly another suicide. That's how the contagion happens. It's not because you talk about suicide, and someone with a healthy brain is going to go out and complete suicide. When we saw how his illness and death were treated, we knew as a family that we needed to change things. We needed to do something to help other kids' depression."


So the family founded AIR. The organization's slogan is "Mental illness is like air. Just because you don't see it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. It's all around us."


Baker said the family, along with Miki, attends community events and makes presentations in schools in hopes of getting the word out. 


"Our main goal is to reach kids to help educate them so they can get help and seek treatment if they need it", Baker said. "We want them to know what to do if their friends are struggling. We also want to change the way society looks at mental illness." The entire article can be seen here.

More Miki. Such a cutie!

Mental Disorders as Illustrated by Winnie the Pooh and his Friends

This is sort of a dark and  satirical  take on mental disorders by Winnie the Pooh and Friends .  

The creator of these gifs is Matthew Wilkinson and you can view his web site here. Thank you Matthew! 
ETA: Click on pictures to animate.

Lost

I'm sitting in my psychiatrist's office. It's on the clock, in her waiting room are another four clients and one irate rep from Big Pharma, with lots of samples of Cymbalta. I have about 5 min plus another min or two to pay and re-schedule. It's going to go very fast.

She looks at me. I'm trying to care about my appearance- I noticed she's referred to me as "disheveled" in the past. I've taken care to wash and blow dry my hair, and put on make up. Put on new clothes. The friend who is staying with me this week says I look "Beautiful". The doctor clearly disagrees, she's writing furiously on her writing pad.

She wants me on medication. It will be a year, since last November when I went cold turkey off all my meds. She feels with diagnosis, I should be on something. She wants Prozac. I don't want Prozac. I was on Prozac when it first came out, after a couple of months, I developed something strange- I felt like there were bugs under my skin. I went off it cold turkey, and on to Zoloft and Paxil.

I remember when Prozac first came out. Dr. L- was all over this, thinking this drug would cure me, cure everyone. His copy of Newsweek was worn, he treated it like his bible. Prozac was all over the place, everyone was taking it, even people that didn't have depression. I even knew a man from work who named his cat "Prozac".

So when I told the doctor one night, I couldn't stop scratching and felt there were bugs crawling over me, he couldn't find that in the side effects. Eventually this side effect did make it into the list, but not then. All I knew is that this drug wasn't like a magic wand, it was making me worse. This was the first drug that failed me. Over the next two decades there would be many, many more.

My doc wants me on Prozac and Abilify. She has called my GP and my kidney doctor to make sure I can take it. She thinks Abilify will help, and the Prozac- why don't you take it, maybe it will work this time. If it doesn't, stop it immediately.

I don't want to be on psych drugs. The swelling in my feet is going down. I'm moving around better. A friend who is staying with me has me walking every night this week except the night it was raining. The last time we saw each other I could only walk with a walker. Now, I am walking, leaning gently against him for balance, with a semi like drunken gait. It's not where I want to be, but it is better than it was even a month ago. Baby steps. Recovery goes in baby steps.

I made dinner one night, broiled chicken, broccoli, and noodles. It was nice cooking for someone, I enjoy cooking simple, plain meals. My friend tells me I look healthier- my skin has a glow in it that it didn't have earlier this year, and I'm not in pain every moment. No, my pain has been ebbing over the last fortnight, it's not as bad as it was. I'm sleeping again, only it's hyper sleep- 16-18 hours each day.

Despite the company, I feel lost. I'm being pulled from two different directions- all over the medications. Over my life. What I am doing with my life. Do I go back to school for a PhD or another Masters? I think I am too old and don't want to go into Student Loans. Can I find a writing job when all over newspapers and magazines are laying off writers. Can I even work if I am sleeping too much and feeling terrible from the kidney, bladder and high blood pressure meds?

I don't know. I just know I want to contribute something back to society. That would be the best therapeutic answer to everything and make me feel whole again.

On Cartman and Chronic Pain

I haven't been able to sleep in over 24 hours. It's not a big deal, but for one thing. I'm in pain. Real pain. And other than crying into my pillow so my neighbor above me or on either sides can't hear me, I have no relief. I can't take anything other than Tylenol (which doesn't work for me) or Tramadol. I'm trying to get through the pain without taking one of those.

I never really had pain before. Yes, I get monthly cramps that are so bad I wish I had been born a guy- but that fades after a couple of days. I had real bad tooth pain a few years back before I got my first (and only) root canal. I've had back problems my entire life from being too endowed by Mother Nature. But to be entirely honest, if a doc asked me to put my pain right now on a scale of 1-10, and I could take away teeth pain and put that on a separate scale- I've only gone to the 10th one time in my life- for about 3 weeks non stop. That was when I had tardive dyskinesia from Haldol poisoning back in the Spring of 08 and couldn't move any of my muscles in my body. I still remember a nurse in the nursing home I was put in temporarily telling me the only other patients that scream like that are the burn victims. That was a ten. I've never experienced labor, but according to the nurses I have met labor pains pale on the pain scale that severe burn victims go through. Who knows. If I ever have a child, I can figure out where that pain lies.

Tonight my pain is about a six on my scale. It's driving me up the wall. I can't sleep. I'm in an ice cold sweat, questioning whether or not to get up and change the sheets. I figure no, I would just sweat through them again. The pain is in my kidneys, and my bladder. My legs and feet are so swollen with edema, I cannot move them. They are elephantine, the doctor guesstimates between them I am carrying around 25 pounds of excess water. (I actually have pictures I took with my phone, but I don't want to post them lest someone looses their lunch). My GP tells me to keep my legs elevated, and wrapped in "T.E.D" socks to help the edema go down. It's been almost two months now, I've cut out all salt from my diet, gone on a renal diet and still, I cannot move my legs. My feet look like planks of wood with little stumps for toes.

One of the side effects from my kidney failure last year and subsequent dialysis is dry skin. Not just dry skin, we're talking alligator dry. Sahara desert dry. I slather on Aloe lotions, Cocoa Butter lotions, every day. And it still itches, I want to scratch. I can't. If I do, it flakes off, like some type of horrible dandruff. So I just keep moisturizing and wearing black when I go out so you can't see how greased up I am. Let's face it. I'm at the point where I'm ready to take a page from Cartman and put all this stuff in the bathtub and just soak in it.

Chickenpox
Get More: SOUTH
PARKmore...

Cartman bathing in Calamine lotion, and a few Terrance and Philip fart jokes. Because the world needs fart jokes.

I'm learning to live with the pain every day and just try to work around it. It's hard. I don't want to let it destroy me.

How do you deal with chronic pain?

To Med or not To Med

That's the question. The rub is- what is the correct answer?

Dave Stein in his blog posted that question yesterday. I've been thinking about this long and hard, and I've come up with the conclusion.

It depends on the individual. But this individual says no.

See, I'm not a doctor, I'm not trained in pharmacology. All I can tell you is I've taken almost 40 different psychiatric drugs in my lifetime. None of them worked - some did what they were supposed to and pooped out after about 3 months or so. Some of them gave me bad side effects after a couple of days. Some of them made me exorcist sick. A few gave me side effects like weight gain (up to 100 pounds) made my hair fall out, gave me stomach problems and GERD. These side effects were nothing compared to kidney failure, and nearly dying from tardive dyskinesia from Haldol. ECT made me loose my photographic memory- made me loose most of my memories and I lost my career because of it.

I will admit- the first year or two- the drug cocktail I was on made me feel better. Or maybe it didn't, but acted like a placebo to my brain. The doses got stronger and all of a sudden it just wasn't one drug I was on (lithium) but the doc said, add Prozac. I didn't tolerate Prozac that lead to six months on Zoloft and then a change to Paxil after another six months. Then all the other medications were tried with the lithium. After six years with one doctor, I got a new one- who changed out the lithium for Depakote. That's when the weight issues came in. I went from 105 pounds to over 200. Depakote was stopped, back to lithium. And so and on so on. And my weight over the years cycled from a low at 140 (which was 30-35 pounds overweight) to at one time a whopping 210 at my heaviest. (To give you an idea, I am five feet and one sixteenth of an inch tall, and should weigh between 100-110 lbs).

Every time i would complain about a side effect, doctors gave me pills for the side effects. Stomach issues- I was told to take Maalox or Pepto. I got to carrying around Maalox tablets with me at all times. I couldn't sleep, I was given something to make me sleep. I couldn't wake up, I was given a pill for that. I was given Meredia for diet pills. My hair fell out on three different occasions- I was given slips to buy wigs and scripts for Rogaine. I became anemic- I had to take iron pills. Then my white blood count started going haywire, until it's been hovering right at a number just below the number for leukemia. I started to hear voices, I was given a pill for that. I've been up to 11 different meds at one time- not all psychiatric.

And let's put this on the table, before I was "diagnosed" the only health issues i had  besides the normal childhood illnesses, were painful menstrual cramps.

Today I am currently on Clonidine, Amlodipine, Bethanechol, Colace, Lasix. I take Tramadol for pain. I'm not on any psych drugs, much to my mother's chagrin, because of the kidney failure. I suffer from agoraphobia- brought on from the drugs I suspect. I've never had that. I have edema in my legs and feet, and cannot walk without a walker.  I totally cannot think for myself, I have to make lists of everything to do. I have a little bit of my memory back, it took over 8 years after the ECT to get any of it back. I cannot tolerate heat, my apartment stays at 62 year round. Any higher and I get sick from heat. In the winter I would keep the thermostat lower but my landlord says I have to keep it at 62 or the pipes will freeze. My ideal climate would be in the North Pole in an ice house, year round.

I know on the internet, for every one person that is pro meds, there is another that is anti meds. Like I said, I am not a physician. What I will say, as I look at my life, I rue the day I ever took my first psychiatric pill.  In hindsight, I would have been sufficed best by talk therapy.

What I wish is that the doctors I saw had listened to me when I complained about side effects to my medication. I wish they knew about weaning off one drug before starting another. Instead they told me to go off cold turkey from one med, try another, and were never with me when I was adjusting  to one while going off another. I learned to live in the bathroom for days- never knowing if I had to put which end on the toilet. I had shakes worse than the shakes I got from drinking.

If you are taking any meds, and have side effects call your doctor immediately. Don't let them marginalize any side effects. Any and all side effects should be brought up. Don't let a doctor condescend to you. Look up your prescriptions on the internet. Read all you can and talk to your doctor about the drug(s) he or she wants to put you on. Question everything.

I'm taking the high road here. I cannot tell you to med or not to med. All I can do is tell you, in hindsight, they didn't work for me, they made me sick and gave me side effects that were horrible. I wouldn't do it again. But if you are reading this and feel the meds are saving your life, good. But please, please, the minute they start making you feel wonky and sick, call the doc immediately. If your doctor doesn't listen to you, get another doctor. Your life is important, and loosing your life from meds or from their side effects stinks. Arming yourself with knowledge can and will save your life.

And in the end, that's all you have. Your life and your health. When your health is gone, so is your life. Take that tip from me. I celebrated my birthday last week, my biggest fear is I won't celebrate next year's one.

Remembering 9-11

For the husband who told his wife I love you one last time before his plane went down in a field, for the wife who stopped in the stairs to call her husband to say I will love you forever, for the mothers and fathers who kissed their kids goodbye the morning they died, for the policemen who rushed in with the firemen to help get others out only to die themselves, for the soldiers who fought back and lost their lives. today, tomorrow, ten years from now, we will remember.