I have mental illness. I am mentally ill. Both those statements are true about me, and they are jarring to read. The words mental illness conjures up stereotypes of raving lunatics, dangerous and scary. The sad truth is there is so much stigma and ignorance about mental illness. My mental illness is bipolar disorder and I know that many people don’t understand what it is and how it affects me and those around me. It is fear of the unknown that fosters the stigma that persists in spite of the education and information available to us. Most just don’t care to know about it. They live in the dark when it comes to mental illness and are oblivious to the suffering and needs of those who have mental illness.
I am not just a label, I am a person with gifts and dreams, heartaches and joys; I am someone made in the image of God. I have value and mental illness changes nothing about that. I am not dangerous. I am not a drain on society. I am able to do many of the same things others do because of those who have made it their life’s work to help, both through therapy and medications. I can be stable and productive as can most others with mental illness. But the stigma persists.
I’ve been told that I just need to stop thinking like I do. I just need to pray more or read my bible more. I just need to get a grip on things. I just need to snap out of it. The list goes on. If I could make the bipolar disorder go away, I would in a heartbeat. But my brain is different than other brains; CAT scans have shown this to be so. I cannot help it and neither can others who have a mental illness. I do pray, I do read my bible, I do try to pull myself up by my bootstraps, yet I still have mental illness.
I don’t think God is saying I don’t do enough, that if I just tried a little harder I’d be miraculously healed. I think he wants me to just trust him for what I need to live life fully as I am. There are paraplegics, diabetics, the blind and deaf, the list goes on, who are trusting God to be there for them, and they are thankful in spite of their difficulties. I seek the same. And if the stigma never ends, I know there is complete acceptance with him and with those who love me.
I write these things because I hope that by being open here, I will give a face to mental illness for the sake of others. Maybe in a small way I will have lessened some of the stigma. It’s worth the risk to me. And I will trust God that my life will not have been in vain, that the bipolar disorder will not define me as a person, but rather foster compassion and acceptance for those who need it. Stigma be damned.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
God's Acceptance
One of the most painful things that can happen to us is rejection. It’s a stab in the heart, and depending on how close the relationship, it can be like a knife twisting, inflicting much damage and pain. I have been on the receiving end of rejection more times that I care to talk about. Each time, I felt the pain of the loss of relationship and love. It just hurt.
For whatever reasons, I sometimes do not measure up, or I do or say something that makes me undesirable afterward. Sometimes, I’ve not known the reason for rejection and that hurts in its own unique way. While rejection from those I want to forge a relationship with is hurtful, it’s not near as much pain as when I’ve entrusted my heart. I have a somewhat checkered past and am careful with whom I reveal details. I have lived to regret sharing some things because it led to rejection. Not always outright, but in more subtle ways: the cooling down of friendship intimacy, less communication and canceling of plans. It’s happened, and the pain is severe.
I think we’ve all experienced rejection and its pain. Everyone has been at both ends of rejection. It goes along with being human. We fail each other; we withdraw for a variety of reasons and in doing so, hurt people. The fact is as long as we open our hearts to other people, we are open to rejection. As the old adage goes, it’s not wise to put all your eggs in one basket, but it seems we often do so, sometimes to our great sorrow.
There is only one with whom I’ve been able to share all and not risk rejection. That one is God. His amazing acceptance has healed much from lost friendships and acquaintances. As much as I have fallen short, he has always extended the hand of grace, of love and whole hearted acceptance. He created me, who else is able to so completely understand my failings and shortcomings. Who else sees my longings and pain with eyes that probe deep within the heart and soul? I was fashioned for relationship, with other people and with him. When others fail, I can run to his open arms and find solace there.
God awaits all who seek true love. Love that does not fail, that does not reject when we don’t measure up. Love that compels an openness and authenticity that although is frightening at first, leads to a wholeness that restores joy at being freed to be who we are, made in his image. Rejection will touch all of us, but God’s love that never fails heals all wounds. All our eggs can safely go in his basket.
For whatever reasons, I sometimes do not measure up, or I do or say something that makes me undesirable afterward. Sometimes, I’ve not known the reason for rejection and that hurts in its own unique way. While rejection from those I want to forge a relationship with is hurtful, it’s not near as much pain as when I’ve entrusted my heart. I have a somewhat checkered past and am careful with whom I reveal details. I have lived to regret sharing some things because it led to rejection. Not always outright, but in more subtle ways: the cooling down of friendship intimacy, less communication and canceling of plans. It’s happened, and the pain is severe.
I think we’ve all experienced rejection and its pain. Everyone has been at both ends of rejection. It goes along with being human. We fail each other; we withdraw for a variety of reasons and in doing so, hurt people. The fact is as long as we open our hearts to other people, we are open to rejection. As the old adage goes, it’s not wise to put all your eggs in one basket, but it seems we often do so, sometimes to our great sorrow.
There is only one with whom I’ve been able to share all and not risk rejection. That one is God. His amazing acceptance has healed much from lost friendships and acquaintances. As much as I have fallen short, he has always extended the hand of grace, of love and whole hearted acceptance. He created me, who else is able to so completely understand my failings and shortcomings. Who else sees my longings and pain with eyes that probe deep within the heart and soul? I was fashioned for relationship, with other people and with him. When others fail, I can run to his open arms and find solace there.
God awaits all who seek true love. Love that does not fail, that does not reject when we don’t measure up. Love that compels an openness and authenticity that although is frightening at first, leads to a wholeness that restores joy at being freed to be who we are, made in his image. Rejection will touch all of us, but God’s love that never fails heals all wounds. All our eggs can safely go in his basket.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Relational Love
Relationships can be so messy. People fall in and out of love, riding the wave of passions and promises, sometimes keeping them, sometimes breaking them. Marriages, friendships, parents and children, coworkers, neighbors, relationships wax and all too often wane, never neatly and rarely do they do so without someone being hurt. It seems to be the way of people who form attachments, appearing inevitable, but that’s cold comfort to those who have been hurt.
How we view relationships and their stability or instability depends a lot on experience, often those from childhood. I won’t go into statistics or speculations about broken marriages and influences on developing children. I’m not really qualified to speak to it. I can only speak to the string of broken relationships I have had down through the years. Some I thought would never end because love seemed a sure thing, but where are those people now? Some I ended, having used a person up and just moved on. No apologies, just walked away.
What harm I have caused in my life, a tornado damaging all in its path. I have much to grieve and regret. But regardless of which end I was on, I suffered loss, and that is how it is for all of us. Whether we are left, or whether we do the leaving, there is loss. Even in relationships that really do need to end, abusive, extramarital, unhealthily codependent, there is still loss; loss of peace of mind, of hopes and dreams, of futures, of self image and sense of worth. Loss hurts.
To be honest, I’m not really sure why I am writing this. As far as I know, relationships in my life are intact, though some have been altered in the past year and that has affected me. Perhaps that is what has prompted this particular piece. I feel deeply for those I love. I don’t make statements of love lightly anymore. What I had called love for a long time was infatuation, sexual attraction, or need, none of which has a thing to do with love.
The simple truth is, I did not know what love was until I experienced the love of God. Faithfulness, concern, affection, constant, and endless are just a few attributes I only paid lip service to in my human definition of love. My expression had more to do with convenience and need, knowing I could always end a relationship that was no longer easy to maintain. Working to make something flourish was foreign. But that is exactly what God’s love does. In the light of his love, my own seems infantile because it is.
What relationships need is an infusion of the love of God that is beyond words, yet the bible does attempt to describe it in 1 Corinthians 13:
“Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.”
This is longer than what I usually post, but for some reason I needed to say it. Maybe the simple message is that with God's kind of love, relationships can endure, and the pain of loss will no longer be suffered. Though it won't necessarily be easy, in fact, it will be work, all it takes is prayer and the love we need, God's love, is ours.
How we view relationships and their stability or instability depends a lot on experience, often those from childhood. I won’t go into statistics or speculations about broken marriages and influences on developing children. I’m not really qualified to speak to it. I can only speak to the string of broken relationships I have had down through the years. Some I thought would never end because love seemed a sure thing, but where are those people now? Some I ended, having used a person up and just moved on. No apologies, just walked away.
What harm I have caused in my life, a tornado damaging all in its path. I have much to grieve and regret. But regardless of which end I was on, I suffered loss, and that is how it is for all of us. Whether we are left, or whether we do the leaving, there is loss. Even in relationships that really do need to end, abusive, extramarital, unhealthily codependent, there is still loss; loss of peace of mind, of hopes and dreams, of futures, of self image and sense of worth. Loss hurts.
To be honest, I’m not really sure why I am writing this. As far as I know, relationships in my life are intact, though some have been altered in the past year and that has affected me. Perhaps that is what has prompted this particular piece. I feel deeply for those I love. I don’t make statements of love lightly anymore. What I had called love for a long time was infatuation, sexual attraction, or need, none of which has a thing to do with love.
The simple truth is, I did not know what love was until I experienced the love of God. Faithfulness, concern, affection, constant, and endless are just a few attributes I only paid lip service to in my human definition of love. My expression had more to do with convenience and need, knowing I could always end a relationship that was no longer easy to maintain. Working to make something flourish was foreign. But that is exactly what God’s love does. In the light of his love, my own seems infantile because it is.
What relationships need is an infusion of the love of God that is beyond words, yet the bible does attempt to describe it in 1 Corinthians 13:
“Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.”
This is longer than what I usually post, but for some reason I needed to say it. Maybe the simple message is that with God's kind of love, relationships can endure, and the pain of loss will no longer be suffered. Though it won't necessarily be easy, in fact, it will be work, all it takes is prayer and the love we need, God's love, is ours.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Simple Gifts, Boundless Blessings
Sometimes, it’s the small things that bless me the most. Oh, I have had some biggies this past year and I rejoiced greatly over them. But it’s wrong to overlook the simpler gifts God gives us. How easy it is to regard the very things we consider ordinary as just the way things are.
I went to the grocery store yesterday and bought everything on my list. But as I was paying for it, it never occurred to me to thank God that I had access to so much food, as well as the means to purchase it. Most of the world does not have such abundance, and even in our own country, there are many who would love to buy say, fresh fruit, and cannot because it’s too expensive.
I brought it all home and put it in a cold refrigerator, in an air conditioned house, filled with every kind of convenience. Did I think to thank God? No, the thought never crossed my mind. I have a good education, a great job that pays reasonably well, the means to buy most clothing and shoes I want, along with many other desires, above and beyond the basic needs of life. Yet, I thoughtlessly take them as commonplace things I acquire through my own efforts.
If I stop and truly think about it, the majority of people in the world do not even have access to the things we consider as ordinary, let alone the means to buy them. My middle class income and possessions are beyond their wildest dreams. My house is a small two bedroom “cracker box” house built 50 years ago. Certainly humble, but it’s a house, while thousands upon thousands of refugees do not even have tents. I turn on lights, I can shower daily and have all the clean water I want, I have transportation with a new car, things that the majority of people in the world can barely imagine.
My mother has prayed the same prayer of grace before eating for more years than I have lived: “Gracious heavenly Father, we thank you for this food. Teach us to be ever mindful of all the good things that come from your hands, and let us always have grateful hearts. In your name we pray, amen.” It is a simple prayer, but it is a prayer of thanksgiving that is certainly sweet to God’s ears.
I pray that I, too, will be taught to be mindful of all the good things, the simple things that God has blessed me with. And I pray for forgiveness that I have taken all I’ve been given for granted. The words from an old Shaker hymn sums it up: “Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free, 'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be…” Where we ought to be is in the place of continual gratitude. I’m going to find my way there and hopefully stay there.
I went to the grocery store yesterday and bought everything on my list. But as I was paying for it, it never occurred to me to thank God that I had access to so much food, as well as the means to purchase it. Most of the world does not have such abundance, and even in our own country, there are many who would love to buy say, fresh fruit, and cannot because it’s too expensive.
I brought it all home and put it in a cold refrigerator, in an air conditioned house, filled with every kind of convenience. Did I think to thank God? No, the thought never crossed my mind. I have a good education, a great job that pays reasonably well, the means to buy most clothing and shoes I want, along with many other desires, above and beyond the basic needs of life. Yet, I thoughtlessly take them as commonplace things I acquire through my own efforts.
If I stop and truly think about it, the majority of people in the world do not even have access to the things we consider as ordinary, let alone the means to buy them. My middle class income and possessions are beyond their wildest dreams. My house is a small two bedroom “cracker box” house built 50 years ago. Certainly humble, but it’s a house, while thousands upon thousands of refugees do not even have tents. I turn on lights, I can shower daily and have all the clean water I want, I have transportation with a new car, things that the majority of people in the world can barely imagine.
My mother has prayed the same prayer of grace before eating for more years than I have lived: “Gracious heavenly Father, we thank you for this food. Teach us to be ever mindful of all the good things that come from your hands, and let us always have grateful hearts. In your name we pray, amen.” It is a simple prayer, but it is a prayer of thanksgiving that is certainly sweet to God’s ears.
I pray that I, too, will be taught to be mindful of all the good things, the simple things that God has blessed me with. And I pray for forgiveness that I have taken all I’ve been given for granted. The words from an old Shaker hymn sums it up: “Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free, 'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be…” Where we ought to be is in the place of continual gratitude. I’m going to find my way there and hopefully stay there.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The Promise of Peace
I sit here fighting fatigue, ready to call it quits. I’ve had only three hours of sleep in the past twenty-seven, and I feel it. In fact, writing this is proving to be a difficult challenge, but I’m doing it anyway, hoping that something worthwhile will magically spring forth.
King David experienced extreme fatigue also from the efforts to survive the murderous actions of Saul as he pursued David for years. On the run, David endured deprivations, assaults, treachery, and rejections. God had promised David the kingdom of Israel, yet here he was an outcast running for his life. The promise of God seemed to be a hopeless dream. So, too, the promises of God for today sometimes seem to be out of our reach for any number of reasons.
Number one on my list for promises in this life is peace; peace of mind and of heart. That is what I desire more than anything, yet it seems to be lacking at times. I have often wondered why it comes and goes without external pressures and events. I could blame it all on the bipolar disorder, and that may be true sometimes. But I think there are others reasons why I sometimes have anxious feelings, even panic.
All too often, my thought life is the real culprit. I start dwelling on fears, real and imagined and peace flies out the window. I worry about events that may not even have a basis in reality, fretting over projected tragedies. My son is in the Army and my greatest fear is his dying at the hands of those who hate him and what he represents. It violently tears away any peace of mind I might have had up to that point. I worry about what might happen to my husband or friends and family. I latch onto unfounded fears and lose the peace of God instantly, and if I continue thinking along those lines, I become agitated and emotionally distraught. All because I began to doubt that God is always there, and regardless of what might happen or not, his promise of peace that passes all understanding is temporarily lost.
Is because he has failed to keep his promise to me? No, nothing has changed on his end. It’s there, I know because I have experienced it many times. It’s just that I step away from it and what I want the most in life slips from my grasp. Peace that abides no matter what life throws at me. Peace that remains if the worst really should happen. Peace that keeps my heart and mind through all things, and peace I can share as I live in it and with it, even in the fog of fatigue.
David did become king. God kept his promise. Peace is mine, though at times I might lose its wonderful presence. This I pray, that the peace of God, the promise he gives, would guard hearts and minds even in the most stressful circumstances. It’s a promise God keeps, this deep down I truly know.
King David experienced extreme fatigue also from the efforts to survive the murderous actions of Saul as he pursued David for years. On the run, David endured deprivations, assaults, treachery, and rejections. God had promised David the kingdom of Israel, yet here he was an outcast running for his life. The promise of God seemed to be a hopeless dream. So, too, the promises of God for today sometimes seem to be out of our reach for any number of reasons.
Number one on my list for promises in this life is peace; peace of mind and of heart. That is what I desire more than anything, yet it seems to be lacking at times. I have often wondered why it comes and goes without external pressures and events. I could blame it all on the bipolar disorder, and that may be true sometimes. But I think there are others reasons why I sometimes have anxious feelings, even panic.
All too often, my thought life is the real culprit. I start dwelling on fears, real and imagined and peace flies out the window. I worry about events that may not even have a basis in reality, fretting over projected tragedies. My son is in the Army and my greatest fear is his dying at the hands of those who hate him and what he represents. It violently tears away any peace of mind I might have had up to that point. I worry about what might happen to my husband or friends and family. I latch onto unfounded fears and lose the peace of God instantly, and if I continue thinking along those lines, I become agitated and emotionally distraught. All because I began to doubt that God is always there, and regardless of what might happen or not, his promise of peace that passes all understanding is temporarily lost.
Is because he has failed to keep his promise to me? No, nothing has changed on his end. It’s there, I know because I have experienced it many times. It’s just that I step away from it and what I want the most in life slips from my grasp. Peace that abides no matter what life throws at me. Peace that remains if the worst really should happen. Peace that keeps my heart and mind through all things, and peace I can share as I live in it and with it, even in the fog of fatigue.
David did become king. God kept his promise. Peace is mine, though at times I might lose its wonderful presence. This I pray, that the peace of God, the promise he gives, would guard hearts and minds even in the most stressful circumstances. It’s a promise God keeps, this deep down I truly know.
Friday, August 7, 2009
The High Price of Shame
I’m not sure there is anything that tears at the heart and soul like shame. According to the bible, the first thing Adam and Eve felt after eating the forbidden fruit was shame. In other words, it has always been a part of the human condition and it is one of the most terrible of emotions, one that has the power to destroy those who live with it.
I’ve heard it said that feelings are neutral, it’s how we express or not express them that matters. But I have to say shame is definitely an exception. It slowly consumes joy and peace, distorts the personality, and cuts us off from others, and ultimately, God. Shame drives us to hide because we fear rejection and judgment. It is a devastating pain that aches deep within the mind. The terrible truth is suicides have been attempted or successfully committed because of the despair of shame.
I have lived in the grip of shame at times. For years I lived with regret and shame over past sins, ones that I believed were worse than those of others. Somehow, my actions, thoughts and words were unforgivable. And even when I finally understood I was forgiven, the shame lingered on, eating away at my peace of mind like a cancer. I only had brief respites from the anguish that is shame. Just when I felt I had shaken off its chains, I would be shackled again by some sort of trigger, reminding me of a checkered past I am powerless to change.
This was not God’s intent when he created within us a conscience. And the most treasured all written moral codes, the Ten Commandments, was never intended to cause shame. The intent was to prevent shame by laying down the ground rules that, when followed, causes us to live in peace with all, including God. But we fail and in doing so, either seek forgiveness or hide in shame. God’s amazing grace is showered in the former, and grieves over the latter.
I still wrestle with shame on occasion. For me, it’s a conditioned response from years of unfortunate practice. It’s like a heavy, mildewed overcoat that I will slip into now and then. I’ll wear it around inhaling the vile odor, but leave it on because I feel I deserve it because of my past. Jesus came to take the coat off me, and really has done so, it’s just that I dig around for it and when I find it, I put it back on. He hasn’t failed me at all. He did remove it, but it’s still around so I can make a choice: trust God’s forgiveness or live tormented by false shame. Slowly, I am learning to trust. The coat just doesn’t fit anymore.
I’ve heard it said that feelings are neutral, it’s how we express or not express them that matters. But I have to say shame is definitely an exception. It slowly consumes joy and peace, distorts the personality, and cuts us off from others, and ultimately, God. Shame drives us to hide because we fear rejection and judgment. It is a devastating pain that aches deep within the mind. The terrible truth is suicides have been attempted or successfully committed because of the despair of shame.
I have lived in the grip of shame at times. For years I lived with regret and shame over past sins, ones that I believed were worse than those of others. Somehow, my actions, thoughts and words were unforgivable. And even when I finally understood I was forgiven, the shame lingered on, eating away at my peace of mind like a cancer. I only had brief respites from the anguish that is shame. Just when I felt I had shaken off its chains, I would be shackled again by some sort of trigger, reminding me of a checkered past I am powerless to change.
This was not God’s intent when he created within us a conscience. And the most treasured all written moral codes, the Ten Commandments, was never intended to cause shame. The intent was to prevent shame by laying down the ground rules that, when followed, causes us to live in peace with all, including God. But we fail and in doing so, either seek forgiveness or hide in shame. God’s amazing grace is showered in the former, and grieves over the latter.
I still wrestle with shame on occasion. For me, it’s a conditioned response from years of unfortunate practice. It’s like a heavy, mildewed overcoat that I will slip into now and then. I’ll wear it around inhaling the vile odor, but leave it on because I feel I deserve it because of my past. Jesus came to take the coat off me, and really has done so, it’s just that I dig around for it and when I find it, I put it back on. He hasn’t failed me at all. He did remove it, but it’s still around so I can make a choice: trust God’s forgiveness or live tormented by false shame. Slowly, I am learning to trust. The coat just doesn’t fit anymore.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Diary of a Mad Woman
I don’t normally write in a diary entry fashion, but today I will because the past two weeks have been hellish for me. Manic then depressed, back and forth. Panic, anxiety, it’s been a horrid time and I frankly have come close to just giving up on ever being stable again. A hopelessness that was becoming stronger as each day passed. In spite of the medications I take, I was getting very little sleep.
I finally had a meltdown at work and got extremely angry at a coworker for a minor incident. I left work early and was given permission to take off a day for my mental health. I had hoped to regroup, but I was still anxious and like a powder keg that could explode if not handled carefully. I snapped at a patron and was generally miserable. I called my psychiatrist and she decided to make a change in dosage of a particular medication I take that she felt was triggering the mania and the subsequent downward spiral that happens after an episode. Fortunately, this change appears to be working because I am feeling more stable, just in time for my son’s week at home.
I have been unable to go to church the whole time because I simply would not be able to lie and say I was fine when asked, and I do not wish for the general members to know I am bipolar. What would I say, “I feel hopeless and crazy”? So, I have just been in my survival mindset. It’s all I have been able to do.
Although many times I cannot pray for myself when I get into a place like this, I did. It’s probably the main reason why I kept putting one foot in front of the other, when all I wanted to do was simply give up; that and the faithful prayers of those who knew how much I was struggling. It seems when I am at my lowest, God feels nowhere to be found. Yet, he is a constant presence in my life. I accept this by faith because I have been keenly aware of him at other times. By faith, I believe I have not been abandoned. If I did, the urge to give up would become unbearable and I would act on it. I have before, just without success. But I believe that failure was God’s intervention as well.
I still do not understand mental illness in my life. The why goes unanswered—for now. Like Job, I am humbled by God and his incredible vastness. But it’s mind boggling that the Creator even considers me. Though I may in the dark for now, I know I am loved beyond all capacity to receive. Maybe it isn’t hopeless after all.
I finally had a meltdown at work and got extremely angry at a coworker for a minor incident. I left work early and was given permission to take off a day for my mental health. I had hoped to regroup, but I was still anxious and like a powder keg that could explode if not handled carefully. I snapped at a patron and was generally miserable. I called my psychiatrist and she decided to make a change in dosage of a particular medication I take that she felt was triggering the mania and the subsequent downward spiral that happens after an episode. Fortunately, this change appears to be working because I am feeling more stable, just in time for my son’s week at home.
I have been unable to go to church the whole time because I simply would not be able to lie and say I was fine when asked, and I do not wish for the general members to know I am bipolar. What would I say, “I feel hopeless and crazy”? So, I have just been in my survival mindset. It’s all I have been able to do.
Although many times I cannot pray for myself when I get into a place like this, I did. It’s probably the main reason why I kept putting one foot in front of the other, when all I wanted to do was simply give up; that and the faithful prayers of those who knew how much I was struggling. It seems when I am at my lowest, God feels nowhere to be found. Yet, he is a constant presence in my life. I accept this by faith because I have been keenly aware of him at other times. By faith, I believe I have not been abandoned. If I did, the urge to give up would become unbearable and I would act on it. I have before, just without success. But I believe that failure was God’s intervention as well.
I still do not understand mental illness in my life. The why goes unanswered—for now. Like Job, I am humbled by God and his incredible vastness. But it’s mind boggling that the Creator even considers me. Though I may in the dark for now, I know I am loved beyond all capacity to receive. Maybe it isn’t hopeless after all.
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