Our stories told

[lindseygrace11]

i think it's good to tell our stories of survival. It keeps it real in our minds. These are real problems with a real solution... just like we are real people... go ahead and post your story here. This section is safe and monitored.

[lindseygrace11]

Why is this important to me?

I was asked why the BBC is such a big deal to me- why I try so hard. In order to explain that, you must know who I am.

My name is Lindsey Joseheim. I was born Lindsey Grace Morris to a loving teaching mother and strict but blessed marine father. I am a twin with my brother Keegan Swanson Asher Morris II and we are the youngest of four with our older brothers Geoffary (Geof) and Jaxon (Jack). I was married May of 2009 to my loving and wonderful husband Christofer (CJ) and we have three kids, our mischievous eldest son Holden James (Jaymie) and our beautiful twins, our son Berlin Asher and our daughter Brooks Casey (BC). We also have one dog, a chow named Cash and two cats named Raye and Kato who love to get into things. All of these details about me make who I am now, but it’s what is in the past that makes who I am as well.

My mother died when I was seven years old due to a rare disease called Gaucher’s disease. Few people die from the type and strain of this disease that she had, but my mother was one of the few. This illness caused my mother a lot of pain including thinning bones, fatigue, liver issues, and constant nosebleeds. It was odd always living in a state of fear but I vividly remember my father’s grace as he cared for my mother with the utmost concern. I had never seen that amount of love in my father and did not see it again until my children were born. When my mother passed, my father sort of lost himself. He was not really actively involved in the lives of me or my siblings—even though I was always the favorite—and we were raised more by our communities than my father (the whole “it takes a village…” thing was never more clear).

When I began high school, my life was shaken up yet again. My older brothers decided to move out west, leaving Swanson and I to live with our still yet cold father and to, in essence, raise ourselves. I began a party lifestyle to escape my life at home and quickly got involved in all the “right” crowds. I was the kid that everyone knew at the parties and in the halls, but no one knew my life. After a year and a half of this lifestyle—drunken tangents, arguments with my father and brother, multiple accidental overdoses on narcotics and stimulants and the like, my father placed me in a rehab facility for the summer. It was the worst feeling ever- like hitting rock bottom after falling from a plane with no parachute—and I remember feeling like hating my father and brother for their concern. I mistook their concern and their love and desire for my wellbeing as judgment and anger and in a fit of rage I, after my outpatient therapy and what not, decided to take my own life.

It was a warm summer night when I overdosed purposely with the intentions of ending my own life and it was just a couple hours later when my brother, Geof, who had come home to visit me found me in our bathroom floor. They rushed me to the hospital and the nurse who was working my case at the time said that if the paramedic had put on the brakes one more time or my brother had knocked on the door two more times or anything like that then I wouldn’t have made it. For some reason, none of this information fazed me and I was still outraged that they had intervened in my plans. After all, no one knew what I was feeling. No one knew how I hurt.

My brother Geof decided to move back home to live with Swanson, my father and I after this while Jack still lived out west in their apartment. Geof was always there for me when I needed him; the only problem was that I didn’t want him there. My image of self and life was so skewed that I misinterpreted all of their attempts to save me as little subtle hints to my demise. While still going to school like everything was fine, making good grades, playing sports, and all that encompassed being a well rounded student, I was secretly living this life of internal suffering. Looking back now, it all sounds so dramatic, but at the time—it was hell. One day, determined to end it all, I brought a blade home from my work and locked myself in our garage where I was determined I would end everything. Geof, yet again, came to my rescue, but in a different way.

My father was intent on Geof quitting smoking to the point where Geof had been sneaking into our garage to smoke. When Geof entered he saw me huddled in the corner with a blade and a pack of cigarettes and we both couldn’t help but laugh. He sat beside me and talked with me for well over five hours until my father came home and yelled as us both for smoking—which we both shrugged off with laughter. We talked about life and love and our mother and father and it was in that moment where I was broken in a way. It took a lot of healing after that—don’t get me wrong—and it is still an ongoing process, but in that moment, on that gross garage floor with my brother, a red rebel flag lighter, a kitchen knife and a pack of cigarettes, I learned that hope and healing are possible and that you should never have to go through anything alone.

Love is real. Love is here. You don’t have to make this walk alone. We’re here for you and we’re not going anywhere. Rescue is possible!

~Raise Awareness.Raise Hope

[cjrefuge]

well said Lindsey :-)
well, i'm her husband and we decided together to start this... so why let her have all the fun?


Why is this important to me?

The Black Band Campaign has been a way of life for me for the past 4 years. After Ragan approached me saying “I have a great idea!” I’ve been sold. My name is Christofer or just CJ and I’m married to my loving and gorgeous wife. I’m a youth minister, a father of 3, a cat owner twice over, a dog man, a hiker and avid outdoor enthusiast, a vegetarian and a member of the Black Band Campaign… but my life hasn’t always been this great.

When I was born, I was born a twin into an already huge family. My mother and father were told that they couldn’t have kids, so they adopted a few. Then Heather and I were born. After us came Sydney (Sid) and then William (Aardvark). We were a huge family of 8 kids being raised by a loving pair of parents. My mother was a teacher and my father a pastor, but I was anything from religious or well learned. I started young, smoking when I was 14 because it was the cool thing to do. By the time I started high school, I was the party kid, the class clown, the one with the juvenile delinquent record and the angry parents. My parents asked me why I couldn’t be more like Joe (my oldest brother) and why I had to act out like they treated me so badly. They never did, but I was convinced they were the devil parents from hell. By the time I hit junior year, I had already tried just about every drug there was, drank just about every liquor available and harassed just about every girl in our school. I was on a one-way path to destruction before some awesome friends of mine stepped in.

It was around this time though where my mental states soon began to decline and my mother, being the loving human being that she is, enrolled me into a rehab facility where I was treated for my multiple disorders. My father, not understanding my issues, wasn’t really a part of this section of my healing life. The rehab facility taught me a lot about who I am, but not really about healing. I believe that they are great for certain people, but not for me. It was my friends and family who saved me and I am grateful every day for this moment in my life.

In the middle of my senior year, a friend of mine sat me down and asked me these exact words: DO YOU WANT TO DIE? I have never thought about it really, but the words that came out of my mouth were: YES I DO. It was a long winter that year as I coped with feeling estranged from friends and family as it first hit me that I was depressed. Depression became real to me as the scars on my arms became more and more apparent. I was left with a decision one day after a friend of mine committed suicide: die as well and not allow their story to be told through me, or suck it up, learn to live, and live enough for the both of us.

I chose the latter… it was the hardest decision I’ve ever made and I continually deal with and fight with depression, but after a long and seemingly treacherous healing process with loving friends and family by my side, I can stand and say that I am alive—and that’s what it’s all about.

You’re never alone and the end is worth the fight. Just keep your head up and I know you will survive. You’re strong- stronger than you know. You haven’t made it all this way just to give up the fight. There’s more to this- there’s more to life. Just keep your head up and I’ll help you to the light…
This is war. This is a revolution. This is love. This is hope. This is real. This is here.

~Raise Awareness.Raise Hope.