5 days ago I was admitted into the hospital and put on suicide watch. 5 days of around the clock treatment for a severe depressive episode. But there is good news to come out of this past week. Very good news, and I want to share it and tell this story because I think there are a couple of important messages that someone, somewhere, can take away from this.
The really good news, the piece that gives me a great sense of relief, is that we are 99% sure of what triggered this episode. Last week, I was prescribed a mood stabilizer that works in tandem with my antidepressant to give a boost to my mood that the antidepressant alone isn’t able to do. The mood stabilizer is pretty fast acting, meaning that you see results in a matter of days instead of weeks. It was working, and I was feeling better, but it had a side effect that I decided was too much for me to deal with. So, I decided to stop the medication cold turkey with no medical guidance. And I cratered. I fell hard…really, really hard. I woke up Monday in such a low place that the only thought that could filter into my brain and take root was ending my life. I just wanted everything – everything – to end. Before this episode happened, I’d been in intensive group therapy for a few weeks. I thank God for the therapist that leads the group I was in. She noticed something different in me that morning and took me aside at lunch time to ask some questions. Rather than clam up as I normally would, I spilled my heart out. I’ve thought about it, and I believe God stepped in in that moment and gave me a little nudge. Something deep inside me felt a desire to open up when she offered me her support, her strength. That woman listened to me share every horrible thought I was thinking, listened to me outline my very specific, detailed plan on how I’d end my life and didn’t bat an eye. She listened and she understood. And then she looked me in the face, handed me a box of tissues, and told me, “It’s going to be okay. I am going to help you get better. We are going to do it together.” And, guys, for the first time ever upon hearing someone say those words to me, I believed. I believed her. I gave her my trust and together we walked over to the inpatient facility and she checked me in. After 2 days of re-starting the mood stabilizer, I was feeling much better. My head was clearer and I was calm. As much as being in the hospital sucks, there is good to be had in it. You are watched, cared for, your meds are on a strict schedule, group sessions are every few hours, and you can take a break. It’s like a rest stop on the highway of life. Yes, you are treated somewhat like a child. Yes, you are watched like a hawk. Yes, you are stripped of everything you own except for a few changes of clothes, books/magazines, and some toiletries. But, these things are bearable. And what I gained was what I needed more than anything. I was given space and time to not worry about the outside world but, instead, to focus on me and my health. I had sessions with another therapist that I will forever remember while I was in there. Between him and my group session leader, they saved my life. We talked, he listened. He asked questions that made me think in ways I’ve never done before. And what came out of it all is that I have spent my life molding myself, refining myself, modifying myself to every situation, and to every person in my world, based on what I think they expect from me. This isn’t a new idea. I’ve written about it before. But J helped me really see what I was doing, and we talked about how I can change it. He helped me understand that it is absolutely vital that I change this behavior because until now, I haven’t been living my life for me. I’ve been living it for everyone around me. He helped me see that each time I encounter a situation, a conversation, a decision, an interaction….everything...I do a quick read of the other person or people involved and make a judgement about what I think they want. And then I modify my response accordingly. The most important thing he helped me realize is that every time I do this, I feel a little more de-valued inside. And that feeling of not being valued breeds resentment. And then anger at myself….which leads to depression. He had a number of theories as to why I do this, but really, the “why” doesn’t matter. Bottom line is that I’ve conditioned myself over the last 35 years or so to be whatever the people around me want me to be – or more accurately, whatever I PERCEIVE people want me to be – to the point that when asked what it is that I want, I go blank. Now that I fully understand how dangerous this thinking and behavior is, and how much it damages every single relationship I have in my life, I can actively work on changing it. I have an action plan and I have a path forward. I was cautioned, and my family was cautioned, that it will take adjustment and will most likely feel “weird” for a while, as I learn to stop modifying myself to the environment, and listen to what my head and heart tell me I want. And once I determine what I want, I have to work on being assertive about it. Not in a rude way. Not in a bitchy way. Just in a way where I own my feelings, opinions, wants, and desires and don’t be apologetic for them. God, I have so much more I want to talk about. So much I learned that are just mind-blowing concepts to me. And I will talk about them at some point. When it’s the right time. Once I’ve had a chance to study them, understand them, and embrace them for myself. As I do this and become confident in myself and my journey, I will share it. Because, I DO think I was meant to share my struggles with the world. So many people ask “why me?” when facing mental health issues, and I’ll admit, I’ve done that a time or two. But deep down, I know…I believe…God is using me, and perhaps this blog, to help others. So, the lessons I’ve learned from this past week are huge. One…never, NEVER, stop medication without talking to your doctor. I’ve poo-poo’ed that advice all my life, but it.has.merit. It can screw you up so badly, so much so that if you’re not careful, it could cost you your life. Don’t let it come to that. Don’t do what I did. I was so very lucky. And two…at the end of the day, all I have is me. It would be wonderful if I actually knew that person. And even better, if I loved that person. I can’t continue to live like I think everyone else wants me to live. I have to live for me. The way I choose and what fulfills me. I’m on the right path, finally, to doing that. It’s not going to be easy. I am not so naïve as to think that the rough patches are behind me and it’s all downhill from here. But I do have more self-awareness than ever before, and that is a very good thing. When I got home this afternoon….blessed, wonderful HOME….I sat down to re-configure my phone (long story short, it was wiped and restored to manufacturer settings while in the hospital) and I was looking at ringtones. A song title caught my eye, and I listened. And now, I’m leaving it here for you: “Courage is…” by The Strange Familiar Take all my vicious words And turn them into something good Take all my preconceptions And let the truth be understood Take all my prized possessions Leave only what I need Take all my pieces of doubt And let me be what’s underneath Courage is when you’re afraid, But to keep on moving anyway Courage is when you’re in pain, But you keep on living anyway We all have excuses why Living in fear something in us dies Like a bird with broken wings It’s not how high he flies, But the song he sings Courage is when you’re afraid, But you keep on moving anyway Courage is when you’re in pain, But you keep on living anyway, You keep on living anyway It’s not how many times you’ve been knocked down It’s how many times you get back up Courage is when you’ve lost your way, But you find your strength anyway Courage is when you’re afraid, But you keep on moving anyway Courage is when you’re in pain, But you keep on living anyway, You keep on living anyway You keep on moving anyway You keep on giving anyway You keep on loving anyway
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This is a hard post to write, but in keeping with the original purpose of this blog, I am sharing it in the hopes it may help someone, somewhere, in some small way. A few weeks ago I was headed for a nervous breakdown and having some really harmful thoughts. I moved my psychiatrist appointment up and told her what was going on. Based on that appointment and her evaluation, she had me check into a partial hospitalization program.
So, here I am again. I have a heaviness on me that is hard to explain. The first couple of days in the program, the therapist asked me a very simple question. “What do you want?” I sat there in complete silence and just looked at her. How could I not be able to answer such an easy question? Her next question was even harder to answer. “Who are you?” Again, all I could offer was silence. The fact is, I don’t know who I really am, or what it is I want. And it is terrifying. This past week and a half have been some of the hardest days I’ve endured in a really long time. My new diagnosis from the hospital psychiatrist is a tad different from my original diagnosis. Major Depressive Disorder Severe/Recurrent and Generalized Anxiety Order. Also PTSD, which is new. One of my very first memories is from an extremely traumatic event, and after we discussed it awhile in program, I now realize that much of the anxiety and fears I struggle with may be linked to that. I’ve also discovered that I really have a lot of anger inside. Today we explored that anger, and oh boy, did the room get an earful. The great thing about this place is that nobody there knows you. Nobody is judging you. And they are objective listeners because of that. With the urging of the counselor, I unleashed, and some of it were things I vaguely knew I had issues with, but I’ve never really trotted them out so I can exam them like I’m doing now. There’s something to be said for feeling free to cry, yell, and curse knowing nobody is judging you and nobody is thinking “Oh my, this isn’t like her” or “She needs to watch it” or even “Where is this coming from, she doesn’t even know what pain is.” Realistically, I am nearly 40 years old and I’ve spent my entire life trying to be what I thought everyone in my life expected me to be. And in the course of that, I’ve never gotten to know the real me. I am having to go back to the real basics to figure out what I like, don’t like, etc. and even more importantly, I am having to learn that it is OK to not have the world’s approval of what those things may be. One might think this is a really simple thing to do, but it’s not. It’s just NOT. The desire to please and do what is “correct” is so ingrained in me that it has prevented me from even stopping to think if what I’m doing is pleasing to me. I can’t differentiate whether the pleasure I get is from knowing that I’ve pleased [fill in the blank] or if it’s pleasing to the true me. It all just makes my head hurt, and causes me to want to curl up in the dark and cry myself out. What I’m hanging onto is the fact that I’m doing this now. I’m starting a journey that I probably should have been on since my childhood. I’m taking care of me, but not in a superficial way. I’m doing the work, taking the steps, to dig deep and hopefully, finally, take some steps to really fight my mental illness and find the real me. I’ve been told by my therapist that the road is going to be long and painful. But, I guess it’s better late than never, right? I’ve heard of facing your fears, but what happens when you are suddenly and unexpectedly faced with the possibility of a dream actually becoming reality? I would imagine most people would be excited, energized, motivated. I felt all three of those emotions for a grand total of about 7-8 minutes, before being overwhelmed with different feelings entirely. After I’d had time to read and re-read the email I received with the exciting news, the “OMG, this is fantastic!” moment passed and instead became an “OMG, I actually have to follow through with this now!” moment. Enter panic attack.
I’ve been processing what all of this means for a week now. I’m excited, yes. But, oh boy, do I feel a sense of…pressure?...to finish my project so I can see what may become of it. The good news is that I made good progress on it last night and tonight, as well. It’s a relief to be writing again, even though I’m still farther away from the finish than I’d like. My cousin (also a writer and all around pretty damn awesome person) told me she became convinced that I was a writer when she found out I was at a roadblock with my book because I was mad at one of my characters. A lot of people don’t get that, but she did. She understood. And we just smiled at each other with complete appreciation for this kind of struggle. I’ve been pretty frustrated by my writer’s block. It wasn’t just with my book, but with this blog, too. I have so much inside me that is yearning to come out, but every time I sit down at my laptop, my fingers can’t move. The words won’t come. Until tonight. It’s a terrible feeling wanting to express yourself and not being able to. Whether it be writing, painting, singing, dance, makeup…whatever it is that a person uses to convey what is in their soul…when you’re unable to, it’s so lonely. So, now here I am. I have a solid reason to continue my writing. I’m terrified of finishing the book, putting it out there, and nobody wanting any part of it. I’ve been trying to push those thoughts to the side and focus on finishing it for me. Because it’s inside me and needs to come out. Whatever happens afterwards, happens. I can’t let the fear of that unknown stop me from doing what I feel so deeply inside to do. …that it was football season, already. Actually, I wish for that every day. I long for football-filled weekends (and Monday nights when it’s the Cowboys). …it had thundered and stormed. The slight spitting we received didn’t adequately match my mood.
…the grocery store cashier didn’t stop to comment on every item she scanned. Really, lady, there’s friendly and then there’s just annoying. …I never, ever, EVER, see the movie I’Robot on my TV screen again. …my dogs would stop treating the trash can like their own personal archeological dig site. …doctors’ offices would just once run on time. What is the point of making an appointment if you’re not going to keep it? …I could decide if I’m hot or cold. …the rest of my house would decorate itself. …the kitchen would clean itself. …my car would wash itself. …Ya seein’ a theme here? …my middle dog, Max, wouldn’t snore. He’s louder than a human and keeps me up. …Facebook would quit jumbling my timeline up. …I didn’t require three, count them THREE, medications just to get a decent night’s sleep. I feel like a druggie. …I hadn’t had to answer the question, “How old are you?” half a dozen times. If age doesn’t really matter, why is it such a friggin’ important question to so many people? …I could totally meet Superfruit ‘cuz they are my new obsession. Seriously, I live on their YouTube channel. Darkness rolls in, an unwelcome guest,
Blocking all light and purity from view, I stand, back straight, afraid of the test, Knowing the wrong answer will keep me from you. The past is the past, I speak the words as a whisper, Stopped here and now, never to return, But doubts crowd my mind, followed by a shiver, As the voice in the night tells me of ways I will burn. Regret unfurls its heavy cape above me, Settling on my shoulders, those so tired and so weak, Guilt and shame for everything I’m lacking, Are tongues of flames licking merrily at my feet. So much fear of my past, of the one who’s a blur, The spirit from yesterday, a soul unclean, Still more of the reflection that stares back from the mirror, So much pain held inside, so much fury unseen. A simple question in need of answering, Is all that separates, is all that’s between, Do I answer yes to another day of fighting, Or throw the white flag, curled up in defeat? I’ve had it. I’m overflowing with an anger that goes deeper than I’ve ever felt. I’m pissed off, livid, fed up, and so FUCKING TIRED OF IT ALL.
I live in a body that seems to be broken all the time, and I live inside a mind that is just as fucked up. What I’m feeling right now almost has no words….but I’m pretty good at words, so I’m going to give it a try. It’s been established that I have Major Depressive Disorder. I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I have Body Dysmorphic Disorder, and I’m fairly certain I also have a touch of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Those are my mental struggles. The list of physical things I’ve either had in the past or are currently battling is exhaustive. Let me just tell you about the latest one. Roughly 2 years ago, I started having a terrible pain in my left abdomen area – right where my left ovary used to be. I went to my gyno first, who couldn’t find anything. I was referred to a gastro dr. who put me through a series of tests and exams that were just a freakin’ hoot, let me tell ya. All that came out normal. So I was then referred to an urologist, who was just as bloody unsuccessful at finding the culprit. During these MONTHS of being bounced around every specialist in the mextroplex, the pain was getting more intense, and I continued to be treated like I was just making the whole thing up. Finally, FINALLY, my urologist had an epiphany and referred me to yet another specialist…an urogynocologist (sp?) who was actually able to diagnose me. It was called Pelvic Floor Tension Myalgia. Go ahead and Google that shit, and I’m here to tell you it is JUST as unpleasant as it sounds….and the treatment is worse. In a nutshell, my pelvic floor, specifically on the left side, was in a tight muscle spasm and would not relax. My dr. said it was probably brought on by stress and joked that I was so tense that I even got that area in a tizzy. Hilarious. All of that history to tell you that the past 3 months or so have brought me full circle to where I’ve had a constant aching in THAT AREA again, along with sharp stabbing pains today. So, I got to spend my evening at the freakin’ urgent care clinic explaining all my history, being tested for a UTI, being injected in the ass with pain killers and steroids, and thrown some prescriptions to get me by until I get to go to the torture doctor again. So yeah, I’m really mad about my body going into rebellion again….all in large part because of the stress I’m going through with work and my backstabbing mind doing a rollercoaster ride with my mental and emotional wellness. Fuck you, body! And fuck you mental illness! I read an article last night about the latest case in Belgium where a 24 year old woman has petitioned to be euthanized because of her debilitating depression, and her plea has been granted (Belgium is the 2nd country behind The Netherlands to legalize euthanization (sp again?) to those who suffer in constant agony, mental or physical. And you know what? I somewhat envy her. She has a way out of the madness. I mentioned work stress, and guys, I’m about to break. I have interviewed outside the company, and actually received an offer for an amazing job. I was ready to take it…on the GD verge of it….when they dropped the bomb that the company would be moving to a new building in a few months that would be over an hour’s drive EACH WAY for me. Bye-bye, job. It was a lovely thought. Back to the drawing board. Yes, I still have a job. It’s in a different group now, which is largely fine. But there is a certain aspect of it that I was dreading, and sure enough, 2 days in, it’s reared its head in a Mother F’ing load of “glory”. I do not have the temper, patience, or desire to put up with it. I came home today in a rage, in pain, and pretty much screaming about everything. It’s a good thing the kiddos are with their aunt and uncle’s having a good ‘ole time this week, because I would not want their ears listening to what I had to say. Not long after I arrived home from the doctor’s office, I had another bomb dropped on me, that I straight up do NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT OR HOW TO EVEN PROCESS. I just looked at my husband in dumbfounded disbelief and immediately started crying. It’s too much. LIFE IS TOO FUCKING MUCH. I think my head is going to just straight up short circuit, and I actually welcome it. I am to the point that I ACTUALLY WELCOME HAVING A PSYCHOTIC BREAK. To just lose my mind and not even know where I am or WHO I am anymore would be a blessed relief. Yeah, I’m there. I am fucking there. So, I guess I had the words, after all. True, a huge percentage of them are curse words, but it’s what I’m feeling. What I’m thinking. Who I AM right now. So, if I have to deal with it? So does everyone else. |
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July 2019
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