Infidelity – The Chaos and The Confidence – Part 2

A double life.

Secrets, shame, hidden feelings, self-loathing, and guilt.

Strength, smiles, openness, bravery, courage, and love.

This was me. Over the past decade, I have lived with a splitting within my mind: a damaged processor, a flaky connection, and a screen that turns on and off – illuminating selective aspects of my life – depending on the situation, day, or even hour.

For a long time, I didn’t know what was wrong with me or why I couldn’t maintain a stable mindset, a normal functioning, and a mature response system within my life.

I couldn’t control the sides, the split, or the damage that I sometimes caused towards myself and others… though I desperately tried.

The more I struggled against the symptoms – the depression, the shame, the anxiety, and the general unease – the more they affected me, nearly destroying my world with the unpredictable outbursts, angered reactions, and crippling devastation that I experienced. My emotions ran wild and though I chased after them, I could never catch up – never hold them in for long enough to sort them out, validate them, or set them free.

I felt trapped in my body, my head, and my life. I wanted out.

I felt like a fraud. A liar. A damaged, defective, and inferior human.

And yet… the other side of me argued. Constantly lifting me. Masking me. Get up. Get out. Show up. Do your best… because you ARE the best. Stronger, different, more capable. Better.

Not like them at all.

To put it mildly… my head has remained in a constant state of chaos and confusion, for as long as I can remember. A minefield that nobody could possibly navigate without a map and a guide… not even me.

For the past (almost) year, I’ve been working on writing that map.

Honesty and Authenticity.

They sound like honourable goals… fairly easy… calm… freeing.

But it’s probably the most difficult thing I’ve ever chosen to do for myself.

Because for years, I’ve lived with lies. Splitting. Confusion. Indecision. A façade. A mask. Carefully constructed webs of shallow secrets, smiles, and deeper self-hate.

When I was a little girl, I took it to heart when I was told to ‘knock off the tears’ and ‘stop crying about it’. And that mantra carried with me throughout several layers of trauma, abuse, betrayal, and poor decisions. Though I could never fully grasp it enough to believe it would work… I tried to be strong, brave, and better. I hid the tears until I couldn’t. I masked the pain until it burst out. I worked endlessly to do better and be more, until I fell down in exhaustion, collapsing beneath the weight of my own personal expectations.

Gradually I broke… while still trying to hold it all together.

I lied to myself. I believed myself. I confused myself. And I let other people help me do it too.

This year I started to peel back the layers of me… to find the little person inside. The little girl buried beneath the loudness of the world around her. The one that believed that she had to maintain the protective shell around her, no matter how much it cracked or split. For years I tried to mend the breaks with tiny bits of sticky tape – tried to fit the pieces back together like a broken puzzle – only to find that another section was cracking on the other side, as I tried my best to fix this one.

Last February, when I uncovered the truth of my husband’s infidelity… my very first reaction was relief.

I wasn’t crazy after all.

And very quickly, the shell around me burst apart where I had tried to mend it throughout the years, until there was nothing but vulnerability, and a very raw and painful look at my life. But while it should have been easy to see that some of the things I had believed were lies, and some were truth… it was absolute chaos and confusion as I tried to sort it all out.

Honesty and authenticity has not been an easy leg of the journey and I have often been left after examining an aspect of my life, completely terrified and unsure of myself. I have been left feeling alone, ashamed, vulnerable, and lost... as though sharing my grief with even myself was breaking some sort of life rule.

But with each layer that I pull back, with each layer that I sort out and attempt to untangle the lies from the truth, and the pain from the healing, and the trauma from the blame – I feel a merging happening inside of myself. The sides of me that caused the chaos and the constant war in my head are learning to get along. To see that they were never on opposite sides at all, both trying to protect, to save, and to hide from the damage - some of which I created, and some of which was placed onto me. 

Last month I talked about the damage that I’ve experienced in my life, and the impact that I have felt as a result of infidelity in my marriage.  This has been a massive layer for me to not only peel back and examine, but to also assign appropriate relevance within my life. And it’s been a layer that has been riddled with outside opinions, harsh judgement, twisted facts, reactive emotions, and wanting to flee from it all… wanting to revert back to the shell at times. Pick up the pieces. Tape them back together and hide away from not just the world, but myself. Chaos. Confusion.

And then…

Confidence.

Not a false confidence… one that feeds the ego and says ‘I’m right, and you’re wrong’. And not the confidence that has you feeling like a million bucks in a new outfit with perfect hair and makeup and matching shoes.

No, this is a deeper confidence that can’t always be seen. It’s peace-driven, though it is a rocky journey to get there. It;s knowledge that as the web of lies that I believed slowly unravels, that I am able to look at them with new eyes… seeing beneath the words and the actions. Beneath symptoms and pain and grief. Beneath the instinct to solely place blame, though also knowing that it is okay to accept and to advocate for myself and the pain that infidelity has caused, and the direction it has at times steered my story. 

I can see the vulnerable girl beneath the shell taking a step away from the crumbling ruins and stepping into the world alone. Ready to meet others like her who are striving for the same reality. The ones who are also filled with pain and joy, tears and laughter, webs of chaos turned into honesty and authenticity. The ones ready to embrace the past as the beginning of their story, and the now as the good stuff – where the vague glimpses from earlier chapters are revealed in a raw truth that is unparalleled, and the future heading into an entirely new and beautiful, truly authentic direction.

Each day I step further from the shell of chaos that once protected and yet also harmed me. Each day I struggle with the things that I myself have done in reaction and protection, and those things that have been done to me. And each day I not only peel back the layers of deceit in my head, but I also fill my soul with new layers of truth and understanding.

And now, I’m working on stepping out further. Taking another look around me and examining the places where I still see chaos and confusion, and where I need to head towards confidence. I talk openly and without shame, knowing that I have faced the harshest judgement from myself. My story is no longer a secret that I keep hidden deep within; instead I am free from the burden and the weight of carrying the chaos alone. And most importantly, I am working on opening my heart to others… to hearing their story and seeing their journey where they themselves are at. To seeing their actions and looking beneath the surface… to hearing their words and authentically starting to walk alongside them in whatever place they are at.

Everyone has a story. A reason. A why. Everyone has something (or several things) that has significantly impacted their lives (good or bad!) and now that I can be truly confident in my own story, and the place I am currently walking in my life; now I can sit and listen more clearly.

Infidelity within my life has caused significant damage to me mentally… it created a chaos that I couldn’t grasp or control or even recognize. But from the chaos, I have journeyed to find the confidence. A place of openness, truth, authenticity, realism, and comprehension that is beyond what I could have deciphered even one year short year ago. I’m not perfect in my healing. Some days are harder than others. And some days, yes, the pain is still excruciating and at times overwhelming.

But for the first time in years, I walk out the door each day with my head held high, my chest light, and my heart eager to feel, empathize, and understand with a new depth. Each day, more layers of chaos get carefully peeled back and I am able to not only share my story with others, but I am able to hear and reach out, and walk alongside those others as they share their own raw reality, or muddle their own way through chaos in their lives.

"Out of pain and problems have come the sweetest songs, the most poignant poems, the most gripping stories." -- Billy Graham

This year, I will embrace and without apology share my story while I peel back the layers as I work through them. I will welcome opportunities for growth and sharing both in my personal journey and as I sit with friends and family. Because shared pain is perhaps at times, the most beautiful mentor.

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Infidelity - The Damage - Part 1

• ‘Stop blaming me and get over it.’
• ‘You made the choices you made.’
• ‘I am not responsible for the way that you feel.’
• ‘There is no correlation between what you experienced in the past, and the way that you are now.’

Four years ago I began writing this blog as an outlet… a way to express the nature of the battle that I was facing in my head. A battle with mental illness and depression, suicide attempts and instability, anxiety and overall confusion… at least that’s what I shared with the world.

But the reality - the whole picture was always much different for me.

Sure, mental illness was a symptom that I began to fight with vigor… determined not to let situational depression, chemical imbalances, and the whole genetic pre-disposition thing get me down. I believed that I could fight mental illness and win. I still believe that, but with a much broader perspective, knowing that there is far more to it than controlling the outward symptoms.

Recently I’ve been experiencing another rough patch. It’s not nearly as bad as I’ve been in the past and I’m much better at managing it these days… at least for the most part. But a few weeks ago as I doubted my strength to get through this darkest period, I spoke with a friend whose words were beyond powerful as she texted me.

Read Psalm 88 – darkness is my closest friend.

It’s okay to feel the way you are sister!

You have been so mistreated – disrespected – unloved.

I wanted to believe her words so badly that night. But as I laid awake in bed, unable to sleep… I turned my head back to the bible and read the verses… several times. Going online I read several sources as they picked apart the words and I tried to understand the meaning behind it. And as dark and heart-wrenchingly sad as this Psalm is, in the end I found comfort in that fact alone. It’s dark. It’s sad. It’s okay. Even biblical writers felt completely alone.

The rest of her words hit me harder than the Psalm. It’s okay to feel the way you are sister! – In the past I have often been told that its okay to feel sad, or to feel pain, or to be angry. But those feelings must be temporary… fleeting. In the end there is always an expectation that those feelings won’t last long enough to make anyone else uncomfortable, or to move me into the status of ‘playing the victim’. It’s okay to feel those things, as long as I’m not speaking about why I feel those things… just that I do, because if I tell the whole truth, then I’m somehow crazy, dramatic, vindictive, or looking for attention.

The next words she gave me were such a relief as I felt the pain and the darkness, that at first I didn’t really know how to react. You have been so mistreated – disrespected – unloved. – Again, I’ve heard similar words in the past, but never without a clause attached. You were mistreated BUT you deserved it because you did this. Sure he mistreated you, but you’re no saint either. - To see the words solidly appear across my screen without a hesitation, a clause, or an exception took my breath away.

Ten months ago, I opened up a folder from my husband’s satchel. Out of the folder fell a small bundle of papers… a chart of sorts. When they quite literally landed on my lap, I froze momentarily as the words appeared in front of my eyes. Names. Dates. Descriptions of incidents. Affairs. Too many to count; some of them unfamiliar, strangers; and others too familiar - former friends, acquaintances, and coworkers of his.

Now, to be fair. I already knew about a couple of the incidents… one nine years ago, another five years ago, and one just two years before finding his list. I also know, that throughout my life, I have developed faults of my own, as well as unhealthy coping mechanisms to deal with the difficult parts of life. I also accept that I chose to continue to fight for my marriage, remaining two feet in and ready to heal and move forward… believing that we were on the same page at the time.

Now, from my experience, I know that there are generally two trains of thought that go along with this decision: The first, is that because I chose to stay, I am a fool who brought it on myself. The second is that I must have done something wrong to force him into someone else’s arms… after all, I’m the one with the self-disclosed mental illness.

And those two trains of thought are why I’m choosing to share this now, after all of this time.

I’ve been with my husband for nearly nineteen years now (coming up next week - December 20 - would be our fifteenth wedding anniversary). Around eighteen years ago, I now know that my husband had his first affair, dating all the way back to a friend from high school. Depending on how you’re reading this, it might sound like I’m bitter or angry. But the reality is, that I’m sad… for both of them, as well as for myself.

Because you see, I knew about it… or at least I suspected that there was something... and I even questioned it. And while I truly believe that my husband never set out to harm me through his actions; self-preservation won out and I was told from the beginning that I was imagining things, that I was making too big of a deal out of nothing, and simply that the signs that I saw were in my head. He kept what actually happened a secret until this year… so did she… and I truly believed that I had spent 18 years imagining things until I saw her name on that list.

Eighteen years passed… similar patterns became a part of our life. I questioned what I saw happening before my eyes, and I was nearly driven into complete madness. I became the crazy-lady.

I was mentally ill, depressed and full of rage that was never acknowledged nor allowed. Emotionally, I felt unable to function properly, believing that my head was simply not normal, messed up, or wired wrong.

When I whispered to a friend after I confirmed the first affair that I knew about… nine years ago… I was told to spice up our sex-life. I was told that I was holding onto too much anger. I was told that he ‘seemed remorseful’ and that I was ‘too unstable’. Over the years I reached out to several people... seeking help, guidance, and at times simply a friend that I could talk to. The answers always seemed to ring with the same tone though:

• ‘Let it go’.
• ‘Don’t talk about it’.

The last several years, my own responses became wild. I was unstable. I was angry. I was ashamed. I was trying so hard to do everything right… and yet everything kept falling apart. Three years ago, I wrote a blog-post about my behaviour and the way that it hurt those around me, pushing people away, volatile, harsh, and unpredictable.

Today, I take responsibility for my behaviour, but I also want to hold up a sign and say STOP… my response was unacceptable, damaging, and frightening for those closest to me… but why was nobody around me asking me what happened? What hurts? Why are you in so much pain that you are lashing out in this way?

This is the stigma that needs to end the most.

We talk about ending stigma surrounding mental illness on a regular basis. Depression and anxiety, bipolar, even borderline personality disorder is becoming an okay topic to discuss… as long as we are discussing the disorders themselves and not the experiences that have led to these imbalances in our heads.

I want to clarify for a moment, that I do not blame my husband for my mental illness or even for my choices to stay in the relationship as long as I have… blame is suffocating and harmful, not at all conducive to healing. However, I am learning that our experiences do shape us and mould us into who we become and those experiences NEED to be shared, spoken about, and brought out of the darkness - so that we are not struggling alone.

So often, we don’t want to discuss those horrible things that make people squirm. We don’t want to see them cast their eyes downwards, or walk away, or tell us we’ve had enough time and should be over the pain. Never heard, the pain eats us, until it manifests in other ways. Addiction. Mental illness. Suicide. These are not the problem. These are the symptoms. And until we’re comfortable talking about the physical and/or sexual abuse that little Mikey faced as a child, we’ll never really be able to help him get out of the cycle of addiction or understand why he wants to escape the pain in the first place. If we never get comfortable speaking about the pain of infidelity, betrayal, and emotional and mental manipulation, we will never understand why Suzie decided to just give up and slice her wrists open… believing that she isn’t worth the effort, and that her pain is not that bad... and of course her fault for choosing to stay. And if we never talk about the constant bullying, and the shitty home life that little Billy lives with, we’ll never be able to fully empathize with his never-ending cycle of in-and-out from the psych ward and his inability to function within society.

This year, I made a commitment to speak openly and with authenticity about the struggles that I face… and up until now, I’ve been lying to you.

Because up until now, I took on the entirety of blame and the excuses… I hid the nitty-gritty, mostly out of fear. I didn’t want to embarrass my husband or ruin his life (I still don’t.), and I didn’t want to hurt those who hurt me, or seem like I was using the past as blame for our current situation. I didn't want the truth to get out as much as anyone else; I already felt like I had to hide my face.

I was conditioned to believe that I didn’t have the right to share my story out of guilt, shame, embarrassment, and fear.

Today I walk a very different journey than ten months ago. Working to heal myself has been my priority, but it looks different now that my shell has crumbled and I see a bigger image around me.

Infidelity, and the betrayal that surrounded it within my life, and on my particular journey… played a major role in my mental health issues, both my actions and my reactions… and while I’m working on changing the familiar brain patterns; to an extent, it still does affect me, and it probably will for a while. And that’s not just okay… it’s normal.  

Ten months ago. I was afraid to say that. I believed that I always had to add in a stipulation. ‘Infidelity affected me… but only because I _________.’ or 'Infidelity affected me, but it was my fault for choosing to stay.'

Today I’m ending the stigma. I’m not wallowing in self-pity, and I’m not living in the past or in blame. Today I am reaching out to tell you that you are not alone. It’s okay to talk about it. It’s okay to cry about it. It’s okay to not understand it at all, and to feel alone and terrified and confused. It’s okay to not talk about it, but it’s also okay to reach out. To let someone in. It's okay to not trust yourself. It's okay to feel confused. It's okay to feel nothing at all. It's okay to take your time. 

Today I’m talking about the damage that infidelity caused in my life... and I will continue to talk about the recovery process along my journey. 

Because life is messy. It's never linear. And it's rarely simple.

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As the Shell Crumbles

Somewhere right around eleven years ago, I experienced a trauma that shook me to my core. It wasn’t the first major trauma that I’ve faced in my life… but it is the one that I can distinctively pinpoint as the start of my decline into serious mental illness. It was one trauma too much… the straw that broke the camel’s back. In the months that followed this trauma, a few minor breakdowns occurred and I tried my best to hold myself together. A new fear had formed, planting itself deep in my life and I tried with everything inside of me to hold it down and keep going, despite the cracks I could feel growing ever deeper in my mind, my heart, and my soul.

At twenty-three years old, I didn’t have the stability or support to acknowledge, let alone face any of this trauma… I didn’t even know that it was trauma. And I certainly didn’t know that working at a job, with direct ties to the trauma I had faced, was continually re-traumatizing me with every shift that I worked.

For the next year, life was busy… too busy. Already a mom of three, I would learn soon that I was pregnant once again. Money was tight, and our house was stressful. Along with financial concerns came the pain… hip and back pain that was beyond what I had experienced with any of my previous pregnancies had left me unable to work and on medical leave. Partial placenta previa had affirmed my decision to take time off of work, and left an additional fear on our shoulders as we waited for the all-clear – the knowledge that the placenta was no longer in the way of my cervix and a continuing risk factor for me.

Over the same year, our daughter who was two at the time; was facing an entirely different trial – her kidneys wreaking havoc on her little body. Trying to control her condition was not working, and as summer hit, we were booked into Sick Kids Hospital for her to undergo a fairly major surgery. Thankfully, everything went according to plan, and a few weeks later, our little girl was back… happy and playing and finally well.

I didn’t know that within two weeks of our daughter’s surgery I would face another health concern myself. Still only barely seven months pregnant; I woke up one morning in the worst physical pain, I’ve ever experienced and had my husband take me to the hospital. At first, my symptoms led them to believe that my appendix had ruptured… but an ultrasound soon disproved that theory and showed them instead that it was my gallbladder. Gall stones trapped in my bile duct were yet one more reason to worry, and the pain as my son consistently kicked the inflamed regions was excruciating. Off and on throughout August and most of September… I faced repeated incidences of the same symptoms. The stones usually dislodging and giving me a few days of peace before another flare up.

Finally in September, I arrived at the hospital; sick, tired, and in pain. Speaking calmly but firmly I told the doctor that they needed to take either the baby out, the gallbladder out, or both. I wasn’t leaving without something being done. Labour was induced that afternoon; and after only a minor allergic reaction to an IV antibiotic, my fourth and last child was quickly born.

Ten years ago this past September, our family was completed. A decade. 

And while I found joy in the small moments, that trauma that I experienced the year before had begun a chain-reaction in my life beyond what I, or anyone else could have predicted. 

I once had a wise person tell me not to think in days, or months, or years when it comes to periods in my life. (Okay, she told me this way more than once!) Instead, she advised me to think in decades… a concept that I tried to process and work with, but until recently had been unable to commit to.

But as this past year has floated on past me; it is a thought that has continually come back up.

Up until this past year, I could look back at my life and speak about the trauma that I have consistently faced with a straight face, a few tears, and an acknowledgement that parts of my life hadn’t been rosy. I honestly believed that I had worked through a lot more of what has happened, than what I have.

In a previous post, I mentioned that this past nine months or so, have been the most difficult months I’ve ever experienced.

For a long time, I’ve tried to right the situation.

Nine months. It seems like an incredibly long time to struggle with life – to experience depression and anger and a loss of focus, drive, and hope. Nine months seems like a long time to work on trying to change your life while you continue to hit brick walls. Nine months seems like a decent time frame to get it back together following another traumatic revelation, learn to smile, and actually push through the trauma and reach the other side… wherever that other side might be.

A couple of months ago I was trying to understand why I hadn’t gone anywhere in my recovery… instead I felt like I was spinning further and further out of control.

Over the past two to three months, I have had to learn that nine months was not an adequate time frame for my personal journey towards full healing, to even begin.

It seems kind of crazy. I’ve known about mental health for a long time… and I have experienced fluctuations, ‘aha!’ moments, and triggers. I’ve walked the walk, and I’ve done the work to learn and re-learn how mental illness has affected me, and the ways in which to not only manage it, but to treat it. The past four years, have been an intense and ongoing battle inside my head as I have worked towards acceptance and healing… as I have forced myself into behaving in different manners, and trying to understand where the uncontainable emotions come from.

Almost three months ago I was lying in bed broken. I literally could not move, let alone think straight.

I didn’t know if I had any fight left inside of me. I didn’t know why I was the way I was… and I hated myself. I wanted to run away… I almost did. A grown woman, looking to run away from everything… including her family and the life that she had consistently fought to build.

I’ve taken a lot of time over the past three months – a needed time of quiet… at first I believed I needed to force my brain back into functionality… to return to where it had been, so I could quite simply get back to living life.

But each step I’ve taken in that direction, has reminded me that it’s not possible.

Eleven years since the trauma that began to crack me down the middle… and I finally feel as though I’ve been truly broken - a truly odd feeling for someone who thought she was so much further along in her journey. For the first time ever, I can see the shell of what I was, in pieces on the ground all around me… a small and fragile centre huddled up and exposed where the shell used to shine. For a decade I’ve tried to mend the cracks and pick up pieces and rebuild the puzzle. I wanted the shell. I wanted the normalcy. I wanted the lies.

For the first time I see the real me.

And though my shell is broken – unfixable – the inside is there in one piece, naked and humiliated, and scarred, and terrified to come into the light, terrified of the world seeing the small and fragile person within.

It took a decade plus a year.

Nine months was nothing. Nine months was the final breaking away… the changes that I had made through my work on myself, the mental illness, and the way I lived my life… forcing the final breaking apart.

I’ve frequently spoke of my journey – and that’s the funny thing about being on a journey… you never know what’s around the next bend. What new revelation, breakdown, or stall will occur as you observe the world both around and within you.

And life is like that… built up out of moments – both good and bad – each pattern of events unique… each person’s journey incomparable to another’s – although the similarities able to connect us.

So often, we look at one event - or a short period of our lives, where it's been rough... or where we've been out of control and unable to manage. Sometimes it's a period, where life has seemed to pass us by, as we have just floated through - struggling just to hold on to some semblance of sanity. I've been there. I've done that. 

Now I'm taking a few steps back... looking at the big picture. Letting the shell crumble. Allowing the vulnerability to shine through and make way for true growth. It's the hardest thing I've ever done. It's also the most valuable.

For the first time in a very long time, I can look back over eleven years and let out the breath that had been suffocating me. I can breathe clearly now... my head beginning to make sense again. The calm that I generally feel as I look awkwardly around me different, scary, and unfamiliar... but nice.

I still struggle. But the picture looks better now... open... real... complete in it's in-completion.

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The Hardest Confession

By the time that I post this publicly, it will be four weeks and four days.

Like an addict trying to escape my prison, I count up the days it’s been since the thoughts took over my head… only my drug of choice isn’t chemical, herbal, or liquid. It isn’t gambling, sex, or pornography… it isn’t even really an addiction at all – or at least it’s not one that’s recognized, let alone spoken publicly about.

But like an addict, I also wait with my breath held in… watching myself, analyzing my thoughts, wondering when they will overtake me again. I’m constantly on edge, watching triggers, and making sure that I’m careful not to put myself into a situation where I’ll fall back down again.

Even though, for now, I feel strong… I’m doing my part, and putting things in order again… resetting my life one more time.

But four weeks and four days ago, I still had suicide listed as a viable option for my life… a way out of the pain and turmoil that I felt completely trapped inside of.

Four weeks and four days ago, I was not quite actively suicidal but I was close… and I thought about suicide almost daily, the thought always with me, no matter how stable I became or how wrong I knew it was. It’s been that way for at least ten years, and probably a lot longer than that… a daily battle, each and every morning waking up and feeling that presence with me – the voice that reminded me it was always an option, a way out of the chaos that has seemed to plague my life.

At least that’s how I saw it.

On my wrist sits a tattoo of a semi-colon, within a locket. For those unfamiliar with the semi-colon tattoo, the gist is this; an author uses a semi-colon within a sentence when they could have stopped but chose to continue instead. In life, we don’t have to stop the sentence… we can choose to keep going. I got this tattoo three years ago now, at a time in my life where I was still drowning daily in suicidal thoughts and intentions. At that point in time; it wasn’t a matter of if I was going to kill myself, but when.

It didn’t seem to matter how much work I did or who I spoke with, or even how ‘up’ my life appeared to be headed. I knew that suicide was wrong, and I knew it would hurt those that I loved… but the allure of an end to the pain was always glistening there in the back of my head, a way out… an escape – I was exhausted from trying to stay stable, and a part of me simply wanted to die.

A little over two years ago, I had my last admittance to the psych ward at our local hospital… a major milestone in the maintenance aspect of my mental health, and I am proud of the fact that I have for the most part managed the symptoms of my health to keep me home and able to pull myself out of any ‘dips’ that I’ve had. There were days, where a hospital stay would have most likely been the correct course of action, and which I fought… thankfully able to still level out following those backwards steps.

I’ve learned to manage those thoughts… the bursts within my head that remind me, that soothe me, and that trouble me. I’ve learned to keep them quiet or when they really get strong, transform them into a form of anger, directed at people who I love, to push them far away from me. But still, those thoughts were always there and hiding just below the surface… an end, an escape, a plan.

Four weeks and four days, seems like a short time – a blip in the continuum of my life – a period of little relevance.

Until it’s put into context – a bright yellow bar on the darkened graph of my life, where it hasn’t ever existed before.

Four weeks and four days is worth celebrating.

But it’s also worth talking about, because I know that it was talking, that helped me quench those thoughts and remind me of who and what I am. It was the people who checked in, who chatted, who failed to judge, and who saw through my anger and my frustration and my exhaustion. It was the people who cheered with me when I said, I’m okay… I’m actually okay today… and who checked in the next day anyways, open to hearing the truth – whether it was good or bad, or whether they agreed with me or not. It was the people who encouraged me to speak fully and honestly and who allowed my experience to be real and heard and valid. It was those who heard the words, made the time, and who stuck with their words to stay by my side. It was the voice I was given by friends, family, and even acquaintances.

It was the ability to confess without fear, or stigma, or shame attached.

Four weeks and four days is a lifetime… it’s a lifeline.

Talking about mental illness – especially the unspeakable thoughts of suicide, self-harm, and an inability to ever feel free from the chains of whatever disorder has been diagnosed – is hard. And as much as I talk about it… I still find myself whispering at times, wondering ‘can I tell this person?’ knowing that I might one day say too much, to the wrong people.

And so, as long as stigma exists, as long as fear of judgement exists; I know that it will continue to be hard to talk about openly – to discuss over coffee, or in public spaces, or with people who ask ‘how are you doing?’

So for now, I’ll continue to share my story. I’ll continue to let you in on the bits and pieces of me – one step at a time, one dark confession at a time. Because I know I’m not alone… and I know I’m not the only one who struggles. Because I know, I can offer that ear for someone else who is too afraid to speak out, or too unsure of how to say it. I’m hear… I’m listening.

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Thoughts From the Psych Ward

Humiliation. Shame. Failure. Fear. Anger. Self-loathing...

Stop.

I know how I want to feel right now... I know how I think I should feel. My mind says I'm a fraud and that I have taken 10 steps backwards after only a single shaky step forward.

How else do you explain the backslide into depression, the disturbed sleep cycles and routine turned to chaos, and the suicidal threats that landed me back in the Psych ward 3 days ago? It's the  same thoughts and the same stigma that tell me I'm a loser, I'll never  be normal, and I'm nobody... Just simply mentally ill.

But those thoughts only see what they want to see. They don't take into account the fact that I'm here because being here and alive is better than risking my safety and my heartbeat doing something stupid. It doesn't take into account the co-operation and the will to re-stabilise that I have had to find. It doesn't take into account the sheer exhaustion and the simple need to rest (with a little help to make it happen). It doesn't take into account the lifelong battle I've been involved in and the fact that even though I wanted to quit... I haven't. Part of me wanted to die... But I let help get to me, fighting an inner war the entire time.

So even though I'm currently sitting in a hospital room, waiting on doctors and sleep and new meds to level me out; I will not feel ashamed or embarrassed or unworthy. I will feel strength from those who love me, determination to win this battle, and hope for a better tomorrow... One day - one moment - at a time.

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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!

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If You're Happy And You Know It... You Could Be Manic

Me: Talking about the great day I had.

Other Person: "Are you all right?"

Me: Yeah, why?

Other Person: "Nothing... you just seem a little... happy..."

I had a good day. In fact I had a good weekend, a good week, and overall a good month. Things are good, and I'm stable and I'm happy. I have made significant changes in my life with nutrition and exercise, and I have been following through with counselling and care and working towards a better mental well-being.

Over all, I'm different.

I'm not necessarily all better, or fully recovered. But I can't help but notice the difference in myself. I have energy and am happy, easy going and slower to anger. I am willingly participating in things that we are doing as a family that last year at this time seemed to be more of a chore for me. In general I'm quite open about my mental health and the problems I have faced. I understand and admit that I have two diagnosis' that can be quite scary and that can easily sneak back up into my life. But I also can't let that control me; and I'm allowed to be okay.

I also understand that if I seem happy you might automatically think I'm (hypo) manic, or if I get a little down and slightly sad you may worry I'm in the early stages of depression. If I get angry or upset over something, your immediate reaction might be to attribute it to my borderline personality disorder and not a legitimate reason. I get it. I really do. For most of my life, the reasoning behind those assumptions was sound. I often was manic, or depressed or completely out of control emotionally. 

But also understand that I'm learning. It's a whole new world to me now that I better understand my brain and my emotions. If you are concerned about me, please, do talk to me, ask me if I'm alright. But also trust that I am probably working extremely hard and monitoring myself closer than you ever could. I'm willing to talk about it, and I'm willing to listen. You might see some things, some signal in my behaviour that I will miss and I am open to you telling me about what you are seeing. Chance are though, that I can already tell you why I'm not manic... that I'm sleeping well and am able to focus. I can tell you that I'm not angry and frustrated and full of a nervous energy, nor am I paranoid, delusional or disassociating. All of the mentioned are key signs that something (aka me) is up.

Thank you for caring. I appreciate your concern, I really do. It is amazing that so many people are recognising mental health of those around them and are open to speaking up about it. Keep doing it. Don't shut down the conversation, don't stop asking questions and being concerned for those that you know are suffering or are in recovery. When your loved ones are stable and in a good place, sit down with them and have a real discussion on what their key signs and triggers are, what early warning signs to look out for. If you are concerned and they are open to conversation, let them know. Do it lovingly, do it honestly, and let them know you care, you want to be there and you want to help them. It will mean more to them than you will ever know, that they will feel loved and cared for - even when they resist it.

During the above conversation, I could have been manic. I could have flown into a rage and not been able to even focus on what they were saying. I could have been left alone with no one to point out how happy I am, and how different it is for me. I could have been manic. I could have been in the early stages of a long battle of ups and downs which could have thrown my world upside down. If that was the case, a simple conversation could have had me see that I was going too far up and needed to see the doctor, adjust a med, or get extra counselling. A simple conversation could have saved time, hassle, and possibly even my life. I wasn't manic, but the next time someone sees something that I don't, I could be.

Keep the conversation going. 

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The Truth

The truth is:

I'm just a girl.

The truth is:

I struggle with Mental Illness.

The truth is:

I'm fighting back.

The truth is:

I'm not alone.

It's absolutely amazing what the mind can convince you of. Once I let my mind convince me that I wasn't worth it, that I was just a nobody who was undeserving of love and compassion and understanding. I was in the darkness and couldn't see the light... not only that, but I didn't even believe there was a light. 

Some of the things that I am learning seem so simple, such basic principles that you must wonder how I didn't 'get it', how I didn't understand. I'm learning to accept who I am... mental illness and all. I'm also learning that I am worth fighting for, worth loving, and worth living for. I'm also learning that it isn't easy, but it is possible. I might be different. I might experience emotional roller coasters that are at an intensity that I can't even explain and that most people couldn't fathom. But I am worth it and I'm not the only one. 

The inside of my mind is a battlefield between truth and lies, reality and deception. Logic thinking becomes skewed, the truth twisted into an ugly mess of lies that are so convincing that you not only believe them - you live them. 

In the past, my mind has convinced me that I'm not worth it. That I should kill myself and end my misery, because life isn't worth it. There is nothing worth fighting for. It has convinced me that it is alright to mutilate my own body, to pull my hair and bang my head against the wall; to cut my arms and legs and hips and shoulders with a sharpened razor to simply feel something other than the emotional mess inside my brain. It convinced me that it was what I needed to do to cope. It convinced me that I should leave my husband and that my marriage was over, that my kids were better off without me and that I was no good at anything. 

My mind hasn't always been on my side. And that's why I fight against myself. That's why I need to constantly remind myself of the truth and work hard to appear 'normal' on the outside. Inside my mind is chaos. 

The truth is:

I might always struggle with Mental Illness.

The truth is:

I'm fighting back and I'm winning.

The truth is:

I'm not alone and the only way to help others understand and to reach out to others who are suffering, is to talk about it, write about it and be transparent. 

The truth is:

I've given up on caring about the stigma and the fear that stops us from talking. 

The truth is:
As much as I'm not alone, neither are you!

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Finding My Voice

Every morning I look in the mirror. What I see is no surprise. I see a woman – a mom, a wife, a person. I don’t see a disease, a label or the stigma associated with my illness. I’m just an ordinary girl.

To those who know me, my illness is no surprise. I don’t usually go announcing it to every person that I come into contact with, but if it comes up in conversation – there is no secret. I will talk about the fact that I have bipolar disorder. I will share events that have happened in my life with others if it’s relevant or if I believe it will help in some way. In most cases I don’t mind telling people.

And yet… there is still a part of me that is hesitant to let people in, to let them see my labels, my weakness. Even here, I write this blog and I don’t share it with friends and family because I’m terrified that it’s all they will see. I don’t want the diagnosis to become my name, my identifying feature. I don’t want to experience more of the stigma that surrounds a person with a mental illness and separates us from the rest of the so-called ‘normal’ world.

And yet… I wonder. I wonder why I can’t be as open about it, wear it proudly like a badge of honor – look what I have survived, what I face every day. I wonder why it’s still such a stigma. Why those who suffer with mental illness are still shunned and silenced. Nobody wants to talk about it. Nobody wants to hear about it.

But I do want to talk about it. And I do want to hear about it from others.

I want people to know that the struggle is real. That those big one-time events or breakdowns are not isolated incidents, not shameful failings by a person to keep it all together. They are only a small part of the daily pain, ups, downs, and general struggle that some of us live with. I believe that I need to start speaking out, that a part of my own healing will come from letting everyone in, from finding my voice and not being afraid to use it.

And so here I am, and for the first time I’m going to share this blog, this post and let the world in and although it’s terrifying… it’s also freeing.

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