Rainy's Goodale School Asheville Fundraiser page

07/24/2025

You have seen them. Some
Are very young like this one. You shake your head, you might be afraid. You might want to help but don’t know where to start. Donate to monarch. They have experts to treat this.

https://www.facebook.com/share/r/19NDKcAiMf/?mibextid=wwXIfr

07/14/2025

These folks are our family. It’s time to address the problem. Donate to monarch nc.org today

07/11/2025

Ernest Hemingway once wrote: The hardest lesson I have had to learn as an adult is the relentless need to keep going, no matter how broken I feel inside.

This truth is raw, unfiltered, and painfully universal. Life doesn’t stop when we are exhausted, when our hearts are shattered, or when our spirits feel threadbare. It keeps moving—unyielding, indifferent—demanding that we keep pace. There is no pause button for grief, no intermission for healing, no moment where the world gently steps aside and allows us to mend. Life expects us to carry our burdens in silence, to push forward despite the weight of all we carry inside.

The cruelest part? No one really prepares us for this. As children, we are fed stories of resilience wrapped in neat, hopeful endings—tales where pain has purpose and every storm clears to reveal a bright horizon. But adulthood strips away those comforting illusions. It teaches us that survival is rarely poetic. More often than not, it’s about showing up when you’d rather disappear, smiling through pain no one sees, and carrying on despite feeling like you're unraveling from the inside out.

And yet, somehow, we persevere. That’s the quiet miracle of being human. Even when life is relentless, even when hope feels distant, we keep moving. We stumble, we break, we fall to our knees—but we get up. And in doing so, we uncover a strength we never knew we had. We learn to comfort ourselves in the ways we wish others would. We become the voice of reassurance we once searched for. Slowly, we realize that resilience isn’t always about grand acts of bravery; sometimes, it’s just a whisper—“Keep going.”

Yes, it’s exhausting. Yes, it’s unfair. And yes, there are days when the weight of it all feels unbearable. But every small step forward is proof that we haven’t given up. That we are still fighting, still holding on, still refusing to let the darkness consume us. That quiet defiance—choosing to exist, to try, to hope—is the bravest thing we can do.

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What’s the hardest lesson you’ve had to learn as an adult, and how has it shaped you?

READ MORE: https://www.lazylifeinc.com/a-dog-who-happily-played-in-the-fountain/

Text Credit: Coach Mantas

Summer begins with the joy of having a fully stocked freezer but ends in sticky unhappiness due to climate change issues.

07/03/2025

Patterns don’t stop unless we find them help! Donate to monarch nc.org today.

06/30/2025

06/25/2025

I’ve learned not to hold people hostage to who they used to be. We all carry versions of ourselves that no longer fit—the mistakes we made, the things we didn’t know, the pain we caused when we didn’t yet understand our own.

I’ve seen how easily someone can be reduced to their worst moment, how quickly a past version becomes the only version others choose to remember. But the truth is, people outgrow their old skin. They stumble, they learn, and if life allows, they try to do better. We all have chapters we wish we could rewrite. That doesn’t mean we haven’t earned the right to start a new one.

I’ve watched friends become softer, more patient. I’ve seen people who once lived in chaos become anchors for others. Growth isn’t always loud or dramatic—it’s often quiet, steady, unglamorous. But it’s real. And when we dismiss someone for who they were, we miss out on who they’ve worked so hard to become.

No one should be permanently defined by a version of themselves they’ve already outgrown. We’re all in motion, figuring things out, trying again. And if we can give that grace to ourselves, we should be willing to offer it to others too.

Credit—real vibes

02/17/2025

“It is impossible for people to engage in real mental health recovery and substance use recovery if they don't have a safe place to live.”
—Tracy Hayes, CEO, Vaya Health

Libby McCraw of Partners Health Management, Tracy Hayes of Vaya Health, Rob Robinson of Alliance Health, and Dave Peterson of Trillium Health Resources served on a panel at the N.C. State Consumer and Family Advisory Committee (SCFAC) meeting on Wednesday. SCFAC advises NC DHHS, the legislature, and managed care organizations about North Carolina's mental health, developmental disability, substance use recovery, and traumatic brain injury service array.

I serve on Vaya’s CFAC and drove to Durham in part to attend the SCFAC meeting. Tracy was asked by Chair Brandon Wilson about the Healthy Opportunities Pilot operating in parts of North Carolina, and Tracy’s deeply insightful response about poverty—which is almost always overlooked in these conversations—and mental health and substance use recovery is worth excerpting more fully:

I could talk about the Healthy Opportunities (Pilot) all day, and we need it expanded statewide. We need more money in the social determinants of health. I’ll go on my soapbox for a little bit: I will just tell you the biggest thing that is impacting people's mental health and why we are seeing more demand for services—and higher acuity—is poverty. It is poverty.

Poverty and housing—people don't have safe places to live. They don't have security in the places they live. They don't know if their landlord is going to raise their rent next month to a place that's not affordable. I've had direct conversations with DSS directors because we've seen higher rates of kids going into DSS custody. So I'm talking to a DSS director in one of my 32 counties, and I said, “Why do you think this is? What do you think is driving it?”

Poverty. People are making economic decisions about housing that they would not have made if they had other options. They're making decisions about having to work two jobs while leaving their child with somebody who maybe they wouldn't have chosen to leave their child with. So all of these things are having huge impacts on families.

Healthy Opportunities has given us some additional funding for housing. … (Due to Hurricane Helene) Buncombe County alone lost over 9,300 residential units. Buncombe did not have 9,300 residential units to lose.

Housing is an incredible challenge. At Vaya, we believe in housing first. It is impossible for people to engage in real mental health recovery and substance use recovery if they don't have a safe place to live. That's not an unreasonable ask. …

The beauty of the Healthy Opportunities Pilot is that—for the first time—it is allowing us to spend Medicaid dollars on things that are not direct healthcare, but things that impact healthcare. And there’s very clear data that you can reduce healthcare costs if you address some of these drivers of health on the front end.

02/13/2025

Dear Devin,
I wish I would have known. Known the weight you were carrying. Known the boy with the beautiful smile was falling. You were the all-American kid. High school quarterback, and prom king. Beloved friend and son. You were also addicted to Adderall. I never realized you were addicted to anything but life. You were a leader. Had excellent grades, and scholarships, and were an ambassador for college. But most importantly, you were loved by all that met you. You would walk in a room and be that guy everyone needed. Whether they just needed to talk, or needed a shoulder to cry on, you were him. Or if someone just wanted to toss the football around, you were first in line. You were so busy being what everyone else needed, that you never asked anyone for help. You thought you could fix everything. After all, what harm could "the study drug" do? So many college kids take it, why not you? When you came home from college last year, your mood changed. The boy with the beautiful smile was gone. You were always angry. Your grades dropped, and a once vibrant life was a hollow shell . We assumed that you were burned out from school and needed a break. You just needed time with family, and some home cooking. It was the first real time you showed signs of depression, bipolar disorder, and other unusual behaviors; all were a result of taking Adderall. We didn't know it then, and wish we could go back. How we wish we could go back, Devin. It never crossed our minds that you were doing a drug. You never told us you had a problem. I know now, Devin that you were doing what you had always done, and were trying to fix it. It wasn't until you were already having suicidal thoughts, and you almost ended your life, that you told us . I remember so clearly, the day you first asked for help. You had come home, and told us you had been at the deer camp, and couldn't understand why you felt so hopeless. Why you were feeling like you wanted to end your life. You even had a rope in the tree. It wasn't until you checked your phone, and saw we were looking for you, that you realized what you were doing. You came home. You said you could never put us through that, and didn't want to die. You wanted help. That's when we finally understood the gravity of the problem, but were still dumb to the drug. Adderall became real. It began to remove it's mask, and started revealing it's hideous face. It infiltrated our lives. We took you, and had you evaluated at the hospital. You stayed for three days. You started therapy, and set guidelines and goals. You and your brother Vic were going to church twice a week. I know you were studying the Bible. I know you were clean. I saw that beautiful smile again, that I hadn't seen in a long time. I didn't know then. I had no idea the depth of your addiction. I wish Adderall didn't exist, Devin. I wish I'd known then, that 3 out of every 100 people that take Adderall have a breakdown of the central nervous system. I wish, Devin, that on Tuesday, January 17th, we were planning a hunting trip, and not your funeral. Things were going so well. You were working out with your Dad everyday. I now know the dopamine in your body was gone. You could no longer create happy thoughts on your own, so training at the gym helped. We were so happy. Then you started hunting again. You couldn't believe you had abandoned something you enjoyed so much. You didn't understand why. But now we know, Devin. Adderall had come in. It had greedily taken away everything that had made you who you were. I texted you at Christmas to tell you I couldn't believe you had conquered this battle, that most never do. I was so proud of the man you were becoming. You were doing incredible. You were joining the Army. Had all the paperwork together. You wanted to finish studying in the medical field, and wanted to join the med techs in the Army. We were ecstatic. What incredible opportunity, to help others, and have accountability.The Army would have structure. Continued drug testing, and you would have access to counseling, if needed. But at the beginning of 2017, you changed. Once again, the drug invaded our lives. When you said you were sick with a stomach virus, we thought nothing of it. We gave you the weekend to rest. It was Vic who came to get me at work that Tuesday, Devin. We had been trying to get in touch with you. We had gone about our daily routines. Never could we have imagined in our worst nightmares what happened Monday, January 16th. You had gone hunting. Cooked food. Signed in to the deer camp. And then, my beautiful, sweet Devin, you shot yourself. It was your Dad who found you the next day. He sat with you for half an hour, before he called anyone. It had been a planned hunting trip. Something you loved. I now know, anytime you relaxed the horrible feelings came back for you. Your central nervous system had irreparable damage because of the Adderall. . When I found out my son was dead I wanted to scream from the top of the roof that it was an accident. It was not you that did it. You promised us. And I know it wasn't planned, Devin. Whatever came to you that Monday, as you sat among the Mississippi trees, was the effects of a substance, not Devin Michael Harper. Adderall did this. We so love you, Devin, and know God will use you to heal others. The twenty-three years we were blessed to have you, were the best of our lives. We will continue the fight. We will honor you, and tell your story to everyone who will listen. You did not die in vain. Our love travels up to you, every minute, of every day. The boy with the beautiful smile, is smiling again~
God has a beautiful Angel,
Love Mom and Dad

Devin truly needed to be hospitalized. To know this drug circulates colleges, is absolutely horrifying. Even more alarming, is the ease at which it is taken As Devin's parents, we feel compelled to share our story. Adderall works by mimicking high dopamine levels in the brain. Dopamine, the body's "feel good" chemical creates a rewarding effect. Although naturally occurring in the brain, drugs like Adderall mimics unnaturally high levels of it. Adderall is a central nerve stimulant. In some (like Devin), it causes a "crash" of the central nervous system. It is a Schedule II drug, which means it has a high potential for abuse. Almost 16 million prescriptions for stimulants like Adderall are written annually. IN 2012, 116,000 PEOPLE WERE ADMITTED TO REHAB FOR AMPHETAMINES LIKE ADDERALL. COLLEGE STUDENTS ARE 2X AS LIKELY TO ABUSE ADDERALL THAN THEIR PEERS WHO AREN'T IN COLLEGE. We will forever miss our son, and will not have one day that we don't think of him. We don't want anyone else to go through this nightmare. Please educate yourself. This is very real, and happening far more often than we realize.

Please Like and follow Devin Harper's page
This desperately needs to be shared on every high school and college campus we can get it on.

02/09/2025

Donate to monarchnc.org to help those with addiction. It’s a disease.