Undone - One Step Backwards

“Bills, money, cars, repairs, house, home, kids, Halloween, Christmas, stop it, leaves, cold, work, second job, hair, getting out, working out, be quiet, eating, groceries, tired, not allowed to sleep, keep going, don’t stop, laundry, dishes, homework, snow, tires, shut up, doctor, dentist, get moving, too much to do…, I said stop it, get control, hospital, manic, depressed, mood stabilisers, anti-depressants, side effects, police, suicide…”

The thoughts were racing through my head, swirling on repeat and speaking over each other without pause. I was in the shower, a little late in the morning but trying to get ready to accomplish the day’s tasks when I realised I couldn’t shut down the thoughts. Trying harder I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my brain to stop, to slow down and to let me think rationally.

“You can’t do anything right.” The thought began as the rest of the words, the rest of the stress of everyday life continued to yell in the background.

“Get a grip!”*“Loser!”*“You do nothing all day… you can’t even control your own thoughts, your own emotions!”*“You can’t stay stable, you will always have to watch out for highs and lows and dysfunction.”

The negative thoughts came faster, reminding me of what a failure I was and I always have been. Soon I was arguing with myself… as a negative thought screamed internally at me I yelled loudly right back. I know, at this point I sound full of crazy, right? Well surprisingly, arguing with my own mind didn’t work and I found myself having trouble breathing. It was too hot, I was still in the shower and my chest felt heavy trying to breathe. Yanking the shower door open I stumbled out and into the bathroom, wrapping the towel around me awkwardly and moving into the bedroom. My head was now pounding, the thoughts still blaring as I struggled to catch my breath.

“Too hot. Stop panicking. Knock it off. Focus. Stop. It’s just a panic attack.” I reminded myself as I gripped my now aching chest while I struggled to get it under control. My heart was now pounding relentlessly in my chest and everything that could pop into my head did. Fear, crowding, anxiety - all of it was crashing down on me and I felt like I was going completely insane. Remembering some of the things I’ve learned I focused on the breathing, the feel of the air as it entered and exited my body… counting as I inhaled and exhaled, trying to keep my mind from speaking to me. I grabbed my cheat sheet (Yes I have a cheat sheet for panicking!) and looked down at it, picking several simple things off the list that I could do in the moment.

Finally I got my breathing under control, barely. I lifted my head and realised I was lying face down on my bed in a pile of laundry, my face soaked with tears. Gripping my dripping wet hair I wanted to scream and I wanted it to stop; I wanted my brain to simply shut off for five minutes. Continuing with the tools I had available to me, I eventually came out of it; my body aching and tired but under control again.

This particular panic attack happened just this morning and I’ll admit I’m still a little shaken up over it. For me, it isn’t necessarily the difficulty breathing or the physical pain that bothers me as much as it is the complete lack of control – my inability to always stop it before it gets out of control like that.

It’s also why I feel that sometimes being in recovery and treatment with a mental illness can sometimes be even more draining than going untreated. Because every panic attack, every bump in the road, every single time there is a slight shift and you feel a little happier, a little too angry, or a little too weepy you have to watch it. You have to be aware of the miniscule changes to your emotions and the way you react, you have to analyse every mood you are in and every choice you make. Others do it too, they watch you closely and at the slightest sign they question you worriedly – ‘You’re playful today, are you sure you’re not manic?’ or ‘You have a mood disorder, can I trust your opinion and that it isn’t just your emotions making that decision?’ And then… occasionally it still sneaks up on and you feel like you have accomplished nothing in the months of stability. One outburst leaves you feeling completely naked and vulnerable, useless and stuck in a cycle of hopelessness. You wonder if it will be like this forever, if the guilt and the shame that you can’t get it under control will always be with you. And you just want to be normal.

I’m in recovery from a mental illness, but panic attacks and emotional dysregulation still happen from time to time.  I’m safe, and I’ve got support – I know what to do now… but it doesn’t make it any easier when you feel like you have worked so hard to be level and all it took was waking up one morning for the sea to begin churning, throwing you overboard and letting the waves carry you wherever they may.

I’m sharing this because it’s easy to forget. It’s easy to see someone and know that they have struggled but not to see the internal battles that they still face to stay somewhat stable. It’s easy to look past their eyes and the fatigue and think that it means that the fight is over. It’s easy to get down on yourself if you are that person that is still struggling. Everyone has bad days… but it doesn’t mean we are weak or failing or succumbing to our illness again if we have to struggle, if we ask for help or if we simply need to take a breather. 

Read more »

Journey to the Cliff

A couple of months ago I was sitting in a therapy group with a bunch of people with assorted diagnoses. It was during a break, a few minutes where we could grab water or use the facilities that somehow the casual conversation turned serious and one of the group members spoke up, ‘I don’t understand how anyone could get to the point of suicide, how they can get that low and depressed that suicide becomes their only option.’ I didn’t speak up. Nobody did. There was a room full of people who had all been hospitalised at some point for one type of mental illness or another and not one person continued the conversation, all of us letting it drop off uncomfortably, changing the topic as quickly as possible.

At the time, the woman and her lack of understanding didn’t upset me and while I don’t know that I could have changed her outlook on it, I do regret not using it as an opportunity to educate her on what it was like for me personally to reach that low point in my life. In two weeks (and a day) it will be one year since I last tried to end my life by suicide, and it is something that has been on my mind for the last few days – particularly the idea that while I have been open, and I have spoken about it quite a bit, I’m not sure that I’ve gone into why I became suicidal or how I reached a point where I was so low that I couldn’t convince myself to live.

November 6th, 2014 I made my way to the waterfall around the corner from my house and attempted to jump to the jagged rocks below, a razor blade cutting into my wrist as I let go of the wall. Two police officers manage

d to grab me as I let go, heaving me back over the
wall and to the ground, saving my life. Deciding to jump from the cliff, to end my life and to ensure my success with a backup plan was not something that I came up with that morning – it was not something that I woke up with and simply decided, ‘hey, today’s the perfect day for a suicide attempt!’

For months leading up to my final decision the thoughts had been invading my mind – and it wasn’t the first time I had come close. I was off meds for the bipolar disorder, isolated, alone, depressed, and feeling invalidated – worthless. I was working part-time but fairly steadily and every day that I went to work I put a smile on my face and I dealt with customers and the public the same way I always had – the only difference being that I was now running on autopilot. I was robotic on the outside. I spoke to the kids if they spoke to me. My husband and I were fighting over several things at the time and if we weren’t, I continued on auto. Days where I was not working, I sat on my couch in the living room, not really doing anything but the basics, and even then I couldn’t always complete the simple things. I was severely depressed, which lead to a lack of energy, which lead to further depression, which lead to a lack of ambition, which lead to further depression, which lead to feeling of disgust, hatred and inadequacy. It was an endless cycle that with each round became darker and darker.

I remember it being early October, the leaves just beginning to change as I sat on the stairs by my front door, still in pajamas as I watched the kids leave for school; the bus pick them up at the end of the driveway and I simply sat there, unable to get up, to move to do anything. Tears sprang to my eyes and before long I was crying uncontrollably and for the first time in a long time I felt that I couldn’t go on. I couldn’t keep doing life.

I was completely crippled with anxiety – whenever I had to go anywhere or do anything, make a decision of any kind, I would have panic attacks and experienced heightened and uncontrollable fear. I couldn’t use the phone and I certainly wouldn’t go out of my way to try and build friendships or a support system within the community that I was brand new to. My thinking became distorted early on; every move that anyone made became a mode for them to control me, to isolate me further. I looked around me and saw that my family was happy – the only people who I regularly interacted with and I wondered what was wrong with me. Why couldn’t I be happy, why didn’t I have energy, why was I so worthless, why should I keep pulling them down with me? How could I go on, when every day was a struggle – when panic attacks controlled my life, when I felt that the world would go on if I could just escape it.

And so, on that day in early October I began to fantasize about dying; but I still continued to live. I still went through life robotically, working and running the kids around, and fighting with my husband. I experienced extreme anxiety that would grip me at all times of the day or night, disrupting my sleep patterns and causing a sense of paranoia to begin. The depression got deeper – everyone around me was happy, making plans for fall and then Christmas; life was happening and I was being dragged along unwillingly. And then I crashed. A fight with my husband was my snapping point. I left home. I was angry and bitter and most of all in extreme emotional pain. It hurt immensely to see everyone around me smiling and laughing and living the way that I felt I would never be able to do. The pain became physical, making me sick and weighing me down. I slept in my car in a parking lot one night, texting my husband and telling him that I was done, I couldn’t do this anymore – I meant life. 

The next morning I went home, I couldn’t do it – I was terrified not of dying, but of failing. I got changed and went to work that day. When I left work I again didn’t go home, my husband knew I wasn’t well, he and I texted – him trying to get me to go somewhere safe (home, the hospital, anywhere that I was with people and wouldn’t hurt myself). I refused. He called the police. I tried to sleep in my car that night when I finally couldn’t stay awake any longer – I was already determined that I couldn’t keep living, but again – I was terrified that I would fail and that I would be taken away, locked up in a mental institution for life. I had a razor blade in my hand and I had already taken a few pills I shouldn’t have taken when the police banged on the window. We had a short conversation and despite my worrisome text messages to my husband, they let me go as long as I went either to a woman’s shelter or a hotel. I chose the hotel, staying there all night, awake – my paranoia now out in full strength as I envisioned them circling the lot, keeping an eye on me. I believed that they were out to stop me and that my husband and others wanted to control me, keep me trapped and isolated when all I wanted to do was end the pain and the suffering I was experiencing.

The next day was November 6^th and I was set on my path, completely convinced that it was the only way that things were going to get better. It wasn’t an instant decision. It was something I had thought about and envisioned for weeks and could only see the positives of, that I was convinced was the absolute and only way to end the pain I felt. When I arrived at the waterfall, I felt peace and comfort and I was resolute. I was ready.

I can’t speak for others, but I can speak for myself when I say that suicide is not a selfish decision, not something that is decided on a whim and taken lightly by the person in crisis. For me it was something that I agonised over, fighting as long as I could before giving in and letting the decision happen. It was terrifying and sad, peaceful and confusing, angry and frustrating coming to my low point. I envisioned it and chastised myself, tried to listen to logic and find reasons to live but heard only twisted truths and outright lies, my own mind working against me. It was a long and exhausting path and by the time I looked down at the water and the rocks, I simply just wanted it all to end.

Talk truth, listen openly, reach out, give hope, and find reason. It sounds easy enough, but those are the things I needed in the days, weeks and months leading to my decision, and yet I could not find them anywhere.

I don’t have a problem with people who don’t understand; but it’s just one more reason why I’ve felt the need to share my story, my feelings and my experiences. It's about stopping stigma, breeding empathy and understanding, and learning to give hope. It's about giving even one person something to grasp onto when they are in the throes of despair, sinking and about to give up. 

Life gets better... sometimes it takes time. Hold on, keep your head above water, and grasp someone's hand. You are worth it.

Read more »

Mind Over Matter

Mind over matter. It’s an excellent mantra for when you need to get through certain aspects of life, lift your spirits or convince yourself that something is or isn’t right. But for me, it’s more than that and it’s one of those phrases that can even be dangerous when taken out of context.

It’s not a secret that I sometimes wish that I was ‘normal’. That I didn’t suffer with uncontrollable mood swings riddled with extreme highs and scary lows, or a personality disorder that can make me turn from a happy elf, singing and dancing, into the Wicked Witch of the West within an instant. And throughout most of my late teen years and early adult life, I have lived out the phrase – mind over matter – I wasn’t sick, I wasn’t crazy and I wasn’t abnormal in the least. If I worked harder, changed myself into what everyone else was and wanted me to be, and kept quiet, kept telling myself that it wasn’t who I was; it would all go away.

But that’s not how life works.                         

Sometimes you have the power to completely change things… and sometimes you need a little help, a little love and a little acceptance to overcome those obstacles. Sometimes you need to be open and honest and experience life the way it is – not the way you want it to be. Sometimes you need to accept your limits and work within them.

I’ve tried using the mind over matter method – refusing treatments, medications, and therapy because I thought I could convince myself to get better – I could change what was, simply by thinking it. Doing so almost killed me, but even still, it’s easy to slip back to that mantra, to let it convince me that I can do it all alone. But it’s also devastating when you can’t; when you believe you have failed and are a loser and are worthless and that you can’t even be ‘normal’.

So much of the stigma behind mental illness – especially mood/personality disorders – is because we have been taught this lie that we should be able to overcome everything. We should be able to pick ourselves up and move on, that depression or anxiety or mania are all controllable and those that can’t get a grip on it themselves are simply weak.

But we are not weak. We fight every single day to remain level – to find the therapy and the treatment plan that works for us – to not get caught up in the mind over matter attitude, and seek out help. We fight behind closed doors and with whispered words because mental illness is still taboo – can still cost people their jobs, their friends, and their lives. And then we are told to fight it harder, to stop being mopey or sad or manic… they roll their eyes behind our backs and call us overdramatic, overemotional or plainly exaggerated. We see the look in your eye that says ‘just knock it off already!’ and we wonder what is wrong with us, why we can’t just be like everybody else.

Most days I want to be the way that everyone else appears to be… until I remember that each and every person out there has their own battles that they are fighting. I only know as much about them, as they let me in to glimpse at their lives… and people only know me through what I allow them to see. Once I remember that, it’s easier to accept what I am – what I’m working towards and the challenges that I have already faced. It becomes part of me, open to expression and honesty and willingness to share, to not let my experiences hinder me – only help me. It reminds me that sometimes, in some areas of life – using your mind to change your circumstances can work. It also reminds me that sometimes there is nothing wrong with needing a little help, to use your mind to seek advice and treatment and support.

I’m level right now – in a recovery phase of bipolar disorder/borderline personality disorder – and as much as I tried, it was not because I simply convinced myself that I was stable. It’s hard work, dedication, tons of support and a lot of trial and error that have brought me to this place… my mind: it’s here, it helps – it reminds me why I need to keep going – but it didn’t magically change my circumstances, and it won’t magically heal me. But I can work towards healing, fight the stigma that comes along with the illness and change who I am, in time and with patience, with love and with support, with success and with setbacks; I will be stronger. 

Read more »

Hope and Life and Thanksgiving

This weekend was Thanksgiving weekend up here in Canada; a time when most families will gather together, eat turkey and stuffing and veggies and potatoes, tell each other what they are thankful for, and simply enjoy being in the presence of friends and family. This year though, our family celebrated the holiday a little differently than we usually would. Instead of gathering all together and in one place - we were spread out. There was a high-school football game, a casual dinner, a cozy meal at a restaurant, a little bit of work, some friends over for a birthday celebration (and chili!) and an adventure with cousins and family we haven't seen in ages at a nearby resort - we even had the opportunity to go hiking and outdoor swimming! Other family was missed this year, and though we saw them a couple of weeks ago for some birthday celebrations, we won't be seeing them again for at least a few more weeks. 

And that's okay.

Because it doesn't stop my heart from being grateful, from knowing what is important to me in this life - family and friends and the people who care. 

Last year I wasn't in a place where I could be thankful. Where I could appreciate those around me, the small moments that make everyday special. I believed that I was unloved and unwanted, worthless and better off dead. I was independent and stubborn and so very much in need of help, of love, and of support. I wasn't able to see what was directly in front of me, I wasn't able to care, and I wasn't able to know that I wasn't healthy. 

Last year I was in a pretty deep depression. Family came around and we celebrated a traditional thanksgiving; with turkey and pie and people. I laughed, and smiled and pretended I was grounded; pretended I had it all together and that nothing was wrong. It wasn't a secret I was unhappy, but we didn't talk about it either. We didn't know how to get help, who to turn to, or the extent of what would happen less than a month later - the decisions I would make. 

And that is the main reason that I am thankful this year. Because my story hasn't ended - because for some reason I wasn't able to complete my mission, I wasn't able to end my life. And now I've found my voice, something that I have learned is powerful, and needed, and valuable. Because I'm not the only one who couldn't speak out, who put a smile on her face and pretended that she was fine when in reality she was sinking. I am grateful because I can encourage you right now to speak up, to give a voice to mental health, depression, anxiety, or mood disorders; I can encourage you to end the stigma. Mental illness is lonely, and although I heard the words "you aren't alone", I didn't see the others, I couldn't put a face to the illness or words to the thoughts that were constantly rumbling around in my mind, I couldn't find the support I so desperately needed. I felt invisible, confused and afraid.

This Thanksgiving I want to pass on what I'm grateful for - my voice, my family, my friends and the support system I've started to build. The police who stopped me from plunging to my death, and those at the hospital who were trained to deal with me in crisis. I'm also grateful to those I've met along the way - those of you who have shared your stories with me, let me know I truly am not alone, who let me put a face to 'not alone'. I'm grateful for small moments and learning experiences - therapy and new ways to cope with what I couldn't deal with before. Most of all, I'm thankful for hope, because it's there, in everything else I've seen and done this year, every relationship I've re-built and every challenge I've faced - I have found the hope I desperately needed. And the best part is, it's there for everyone... things can and will get better, you are not alone and you are worth it! 

Happy Thanksgiving, from Me and My Family, to You!

Read more »

Fighting Stigma - Among Professionals

Hospital. Lock Down. Acute Care Facility. Psychiatrist. Social Worker. DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy). CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy). Counselor. Peer Support. Groups. WRAP. Community Support. Family Physician. Medications. Mood Stabilizers. Anti-Depressants. Anti-Psychotics. Mental Health. Stigma.

It’s difficult to describe how much time someone with a Mental Health condition spends in a constant battle, trying to remain stable while at the same time navigating the system and the medical community. For me, once I entered the system I found myself exhausted and confused simply from the terminology, the options for treatment and the cold and detached way that the health professionals treated me. I didn’t always understand what they were talking about and why they wouldn’t speak directly to me, at times not even informing me that they had diagnosed me with something new.

Every step of my journey has been filled with online searches, books and personal conversation with others who have experienced the mental health world and I have overcome many anxieties to become a strong self-advocate. But it isn’t always enough.

Recently I’ve been struggling. For once it isn’t with my moods, or either of my diagnoses and life has slowly become somewhat level for the time being. It isn’t perfect, and it still takes effort to keep it this way, to stay floating somewhere between happy and sad, manic and depressed. It takes conscious decisions and daily reminders that feelings are simply feelings and I can let them pass without becoming clingy or rage-consumed. But I am doing it. With support, and love and daily tracking, and effort and a plan in place with my doctor, I am remaining on track.

Perhaps this is the problem though. I’m on track and I am clear and functional and determined. And as I said, recently I’ve been struggling because of this. Because our health care system isn’t designed to really help those who struggle with mental health. Because the social workers and psychiatrists put such a huge focus onto medication and getting patients in and out of the acute care hospitals as quickly as possible. Because to get support you have to fight for it. Because the six to eight sessions they provide you with a therapist isn’t going to get deep and address the issues or the trauma that have contributed to your illness. Because being happy automatically tells the group leaders that you are manic and being sad because of life circumstances automatically means you are depressed and unstable. Because diet and exercise are not put into perspective, are not treated as things that can legitimately affect/worsen/improve an underlying condition. Because they don’t see you. They see a disease. An illness. An incurable mess whose only hope is pills and therapy to cope.

I’ve hesitated in writing about this.

Recently I was removed from a group that was being run by our hospital, a therapy group designed for those with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), but also useful for Bipolar Disorder. When I questioned not why I was removed from the group but how it was done, I was met with a series of answers that only further confused me. At first I was told I was doing well in the group but it wasn’t the right group for me, and then the leaders who refused to intervene stated that my moods were unstable and my medication journey was not being properly addressed. To say I was shocked and confused is an understatement. But I did not react – using skills learned in this and other groups, I took what they told me and thought it over, discussed it with my husband. When I was confident that this was not right, I took it back to the social worker who initially informed me of the decision as well as the Team Lead. Because I’ve never challenged the system before, I brought a support person with me to meet with them. It didn’t go well. I was fine. I was confident and determined and focused. I had legitimate concerns that I wanted addressed and I was the ideal self-advocate, asking questions and trying to see from their perspective.

What I received as a result was disappointing at best. I left the office at the hospital feeling not only invalidated but completely doubting of myself. During the meeting I experienced a social worker who outright lied to cover her own behind and both of the professionals present put everything back to me – first they accused me of being manic, and then depressed, and then simply unstable. When I asked for an example they used only my history (before serious treatment began) and were unable to focus on anything but my medications. For just a few minutes I almost began to agree. I was unstable. I needed them to make me stable. I couldn’t possibly know my own body or my own moods or illnesses – my journals, my witnesses, my months of stability and examples of change – none of it mattered.

Honestly, I understand their point of view. I understand that there are patients (I have been one) who cannot tell what level really feels like, who will lie to convince medical professionals – or themselves – that they are okay. It happens. But there are many paths to recovery. Mental Health for me has been about more trial and error than exact science. Different combinations of pills and therapies, group supports and personal counselors, self-discovery and a change in lifestyle have all contributed to getting me to the place I am now. There will be many more things that I will try and some of those things will help me, while others will have no effect or may even hinder me.

In my situation the medical professionals who were supposed to be working with me were in the wrong. In the place where I had fought to receive treatment, waited on lists to get in, signed a contract for a full year of treatment and then put every effort into my recovery; I was invalidated and made to feel small, like a crazy person without a cause. And this is why I’m writing about it here. Because I may have struggles that are very real, and I might have two incredibly hard diagnosis’ to live with and gain control over, but I am still a human. I deserved to be treated like a person and not a disorder and I will fight to make that happen, because while I am in a place where I can finally self-advocate, there are so many more people who can’t. People who are in a deep, possibly dark place with reliance on the system to treat them individually. People who are surrounded by judgement and terrified of the very real stigma that still exists surrounding mental health. People who simply can’t yet.

I can keep talking. I can keep fighting and I will not let my diagnosis define me – to family, friends or professionals.

Read more »