Beautifully Broken

I used to believe that I was defective, incapable of obtaining and keeping the same things that supposedly normal people liked to flaunt as though that was the definition of success. By all measurements to western society… I was a failure… broken marriage, broken mind, struggling finances, lack of motivation at times, and a death wish.

Broken.

It’s such a powerful word with a strong sense of permanence. If something is broken, it might get fixed, but it will never be good, whole, or worthy of feeling new; and that was how I felt. Even when life began to make sense again, when God provided, my marriage flourished, our kids grew strong and healthy, and my mind became more stable; I kept this image of broken in my head – I might be glued together for now, but how long would that glue hold strong?

As a result of this fear in me that the fix was only temporary, I learned to hang on to things that mattered to me. I learned to manipulate situations and I learned to fight dirty. I became the angry, bitter woman that lived inside my heart, always fearing the worst and always waiting for disaster to strike. I acted on impulses and emotions, on feelings of justified anger and deserved pain. I loved my family, but anybody else who threatened to break any piece of my already broken life apart was destroyed in my rage… relationships trampled on, people pushed away and broken down, things left behind and ruined.

Over the years, life continued on. Cycles repeated. Treatment ensued. Problems were either worked on, or set aside to be worked on at an appropriate time. Sometimes I fell down along the pathway to recovery, the puzzle that I had been working to piece together for my life shattering as I fell backwards. It was a fragile thing. This thought, this stubborn belief that develops in life that convinced me that broken is bad.

I didn’t realise that the worst was yet to come.

In just over a month it will be three years since I hit a major turning point in my life. November 6, 2014 I tried to take my own life, and in reality, I should have died that day. On that cold and rainy Thursday morning, I felt the most broken that I ever had, and while it was neither my first nor my last suicidal day, it was the day that I truly began to look into the mirror and see the brokenness displayed.

I was broken.

Today, I woke up after a hard and messy day yesterday that bled into a hard and messy morning this morning, and the only word that I could think of was broken. I felt that familiar pang – the reminder that no matter how much work I do, or how far up the path I go, I will always slide backwards, the puzzle will never be solved… I will never be whole.

I felt that familiar nagging, the one that’s always in the back of my head, the one that’s asking me to let go of the hard work and the recovery and make poor choices, the one that wants me to sabotage not only myself, but those who try to intervene. I felt it and I began to embrace it.

And then I looked at the jigsaw puzzle my mom gave me for my birthday last week. I looked at the bottle of puzzle glue sitting on top of the box and I envisioned my spirit, mind, and body as a puzzle – pieces scattered everyone. I pictured myself putting the pieces carefully together and building a stronger me – one that won’t bend or break or fall, loading the glue on in layers to prevent cracking or breaking ever again. I pictured my soul as a complete picture, everything in line and making sense… everything normal. And then I framed this puzzle in my head, a beautiful wooden frame with a piece of glass keeping it together. The image worked. It made sense, everything added up and in line.

And then I pictured the future. I saw a new piece coming into my life and wondered where it would go if I already had everything together, clear cut and organised. How could I add new experiences on, new knowledge, work, recovery, new friends, or even life events when I had already completed the puzzle? I couldn’t.

And then in my head, I saw the puzzle fall to the floor, breaking apart and ready to be built again, ready to add in the newly discovered pieces. As the pieces scattered all around me, they suddenly took on new meaning, new life as I put them together on a different angle, took out some of the stuff holding me down, and put in the new pieces that I’ve picked up along the journey. As I did it, a new picture began to emerge... a new vision of whole, complete and normal.

Today I feel broken.

But it isn’t that I feel unworthy, ugly, scarred, or useless. Today I feel broken because today I am learning new things and adding new experiences into my puzzle. I am learning from the past, and l am looking to the future, unsure of what may come, but ready to build and add and discover. New relationships are being forged daily and old relationships being repaired or let go... new life events, new mistakes, new beginnings... new puzzle.

Today, broken is not a permanent feeling – it is not a failing to succeed or hold it all together or to always make the right decisions. Today, broken is my strength. Today, broken is beautiful.

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Labels, Labels, Everywhere

Woman. Mother. Wife.

Bipolar. Borderline. Psychotic. Unstable.

Balanced. Stable. Healthy.

Unhinged. Wired. Manic. Crazy.

Happy. Sad. Up. Down. Chaotic.

Overwhelmed. Exhausted. Scarred. Incapable.

Me.  As I am.

It's amazing how many different words float around in my head on a daily basis - contradicting thoughts, emotions, and definitions. It isn't that I try to label myself. It isn't that I want to label myself. It just is what it is.

The fear wells up in my head on a daily basis - the thought that I'm sick and that I'm not complete - the idea that I'm missing an essential piece of who I am.

I want to define myself - I want to know exactly who I am.

But the problem with that... is that I truly don't know from moment to moment what that will look like or even why I crave it.

But I do.

Maybe it's the thought that I will always be unwell, that I will always have the threat of another breakdown looming over my head. Much like an alcoholic will always be an alcoholic - I will always have Bipolar Disorder, I will always have a history of being unstable. Medications can help to keep me level. Counselling and recovery programs can help me get to the root cause of my problems, they can help me analyse my behavior and show me what I do and why I do it. But as it gets easier to address my issues and even easier to recognize my own faults, triggers, fears, and episodes - it also makes it more constant... giving me an awareness unlike anything I have ever known before.

And I look around me and I see people - everyone with their own label that I can see them trying to overcome and I wonder if I will simply replace one label - one problem - with another.

And I see online - articles about identifying the Borderline in your life - telling spouses, family, and friends of those with the disease about the horrible things that a person with a Borderline personality will do. I see the other side of the argument... pages and articles written by those with Borderline, Bipolar, Depression, Anxiety, PTSD, OCD or any number of Disorders begging those in our lives to understand - to love us anyways... to be patient and kind and loving... we don't want to be this way.

And then I flip through more social media. And I see the meme's... the ones that say that you can change your life - you can be whoever you want to be - you are stronger than anything - only you can make yourself happy - only you can love yourself - only you can define yourself.

And that's the thing - there's truth to all of it. A little bit in each. But it isn't as simple as that either.

I give myself labels every day.... some days I feed off of a word - a diagnosis. Some days I spew that word out, that label with hatred - swearing that I am more than that. Some days I just feel resigned to it. I am this. I am that. I am good. I am bad. I am sick. I am healthy. It is my fault. It isn't my fault. Some days I just wish it was clear.... I wish that labels could be stuck to our foreheads when we wander outside - so everyone could see what we ourselves feel like - so that everyone could see that every person out there has something that they are insecure about - something that they doubt - some way that they see themselves or feel about themselves.

Some days I wish it were like that - but only with positive things.

Photographer. Friend. Child of God.

Strong. Overcomer. Courageous.

Authentic. Honest. Friend.

And I wonder - why can't it be. Why can't we wear our labels proudly? Some days we are not going to feel positive, but maybe - maybe if we remember the positives a little more often, they'll shine through a little stronger - overpower the negative a little bit more. Maybe then our beauty will be the first thing we identify by and the first thing that someone else sees.

Maybe instead of the woman who tried to kill herself and that struggles with Depression and Bipolar and Borderline Personality... I will be the woman who is kind and thoughtful and empathetic and strong and courageous.

Some days I will fail at this. Some days, my own labels will overpower everything else and creep up on me and define me. But on the days where I am able - on the days I can say with pride - "my diagnosis doesn't define me" those days I will shine. Those days I will help erase stigma. Those days I will help another find hope. Those days will strengthen me. Those days will be the ones to propel me to keep going - to continue fighting - to continue talking.

Those are the good days. Those are what I want to define me in the end.

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Victory Through the Struggles

It’s not euphoria or hypersensitivity or the darkness of a deep depression. The spikes are no longer as severe as a freshly sharpened pencil, now more rounded, curved and easier to pass over. The waves have not disappeared – there is still sadness and happiness, anger and excitement. But they are easier to steer… they are no longer run-away trains, reaching the tipping point and about to spill off of the tracks.

Level. Stable. Manageable. In control. It’s almost terrifying – a great unknown and after another depressive episode, it is an entirely new world to feel this way. It hasn’t been easy to reach this place and there have been some detours along the way. But right now, in this moment – my mental disorders are not winning.

Recently, I spent a week in the hospital. I was at a low point and drove myself there; I fought through what felt like interrogations and some criticisms, and I was admitted so that I was in a safe place where I could be monitored and so that my medications could be adjusted again.

I did not want to be there.

But I was… and it was a massive victory.

Taking myself into the hospital was not easy… I felt like a failure and like a fraud. I was low but I was highly functional. I was depressed but few people knew about it. I was struggling but I felt like I should be okay. I was angry because it was such a short journey from managing my triggers and being able to work through my emotional surges, to feeling as though I had fallen down a rabbit hole and knowing the world had morphed into a much darker place.

Again, I did not want to be there. I did not want to admit my weakness. Throughout the days leading up to and during my stay, it was often a fight within myself… a heated and intense battle for control… for my life.

But it was also a testament to the changes I have made, the way I have grown within my diagnosis, and my ability to identify with and help myself. It was days of reaching out and seeking help from trusted sources. It was days of self-care while doing things that bring me joy, it was using the resources that I have collected and learned to use, almost as though they have become second nature from the practice and continuous learning that I have done. It was keeping to my routines and it was remaining functional while recognising that I was falling, and doing something that I had never done before. It was stopping when I knew that I was in danger and taking myself in before I was past the point of no return, before I was able to fall further, before I tried to end the suffering or before the police were called. It was calm and without the drama of past experiences. It was me never letting go of the reigns and steering myself to the help that I knew that I needed. It was being aware of and able to hang on to one single spark of light and let it spread as I stayed safe, quickly illuminating the darkness and letting me recover faster and easier than I ever have before.

It was a success.

I was hospitalised, but I don’t regret it. I will continue to grow. I will continue to strive to remain level. I will continue to hang on to those sparks of light when the darkness begins to close in on me. I will continue to learn and remain aware of myself, my triggers, my weaknesses, and my spikes. I will get the help I need, when I need it. I will embrace stability – even when it frightens me.

I will continue to share my story. I will continue to be open and honest, to let everyone know about the struggles and the victories. I will continue to talk and to listen. I will continue to grow stronger and I will keep going. I will continue to be a success. I will continue to change the game, and I will win.

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World Suicide Prevention Day 2016

** Trigger Warning **

She looked into the mirror - her eyes were blank... hollow, her heart was heavy, and her hope was lost. She was tired of struggling and of fighting... She was simply exhausted and had lost her ability to cling to life.

She had heard it all and she hated the words, their voices of encouragement, and their stories of recovery; it wasn't worth anything... she couldn't feel anything. Once the pull of death's comfort, peace, and ease had infiltrated her mind - there was no going back... No other way out... Nothing could change her decision.

She sat in the tub, filled to the brim with water and with a hair dryer in her hand: she crouched in the darkest corner of her room with the razor at her wrist: she sat on the patio with the pills poured out into her hand. Once death had claimed her mind, it was far too easy to know what came next, to follow through.

She didn't expect the moments of clarity that would take her breath away... It would be a few seconds at most as remnants of light blasted through the darkness - pieces of conversations surrounding recovery and hope and life, bits of memories filled with love and joy, reminders of hands reaching out - showing grace, friendship, support, and acceptance.

It was only a few moments and then the light vanished, the darkness and despair returning to cage her mind, filling the space, consuming everything except for one tiny speck... A glimmer... A sparkle.

Maybe, just maybe those moments of clarity were enough and still shaking she takes one last chance. She drives herself to the emergency room or she picks up the phone to call a trusted friend, a hotline, or emergency services.

She will be questionned - it will feel like an interrogation on why she is in crisis and she will have to repeat her story and her history to every person who walks into her room or tries to help her. She will fade to darkness and wish she hadn't made the choice to open up and let them in.

But that speck. Gradually it will grow a little bit brighter and so she doesn't fight them. She decides to stay, to muster any ounce of strength that she can find, to fight for that light one last time.

At her weakest point in life, she has become the strongest she has ever been. She faces anger, shame, guilt, and humiliation... She is stripped of her clothes, her freedom, and her choices. Still she sees that sparkle hanging there and she chases it, speaking up - revealing truth and suffering, voids and failures, grief and loss.

And as she does - that light, that bright speck, it becomes a star which gradually reveals the other stars, and suddenly the sun is shining and the world, her world, is brighter again; illuminating even the darkest places in her mind.

Once she is stable, she holds onto the light like a security blanket. It shimmers and flexes, fades and boldens as she mives forward, one small step at a time. She chooses to continue to speak about her experiences. She speaks and she listens, she accepts and she prays, and she helps and she seeks help. She becomes the glimmer in another person's darkness while she gains more sparkles to hold onto herself, in case the darkness ever threatens to return.

September 10, 2016 is World Suicide Prevention Day. Find your speck of light - it is never too late to find hope in the darkness as long as we never fall silent in our pain and our light, in our support of friends and family, and in sharing our own experiences.

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A Million Little Lists

I read a lot of posts online that go something like this:

• 5 Things to never say to someone with Bipolar Disorder
• 10 Things every Borderline person needs
• 15 Ways mental health is misunderstood
• 20 Things to do for someone in crisis
• 100 Things you need to know about _____

There are thousands of posts like that out there and many of them have been accurate for me upon reading them. But many of them haven't. The reasoning isn't complicated or difficult to understand; just like anything else in life it depends on individual circumstances, reactions, and thought processes. 

Thankfully, I'm an individual... unfortunately this also means that my behaviours have often times developed based on my history and personal life circumstances - these things combined with my genetic make-up and brain chemistry make everything that I experience, think, and react to unique to me. It is something that makes mental health different than any other kind of medicine - it makes what physically should be a simple diagnosis, complicated and unpredictable. It's something that could have any number of results, with hundreds of factors to always consider.

So I won't write you a list today - I won't tell you a million and one little things that you can do to help me when I'm in crisis or angry or manic. I won't tell you that this is what all people who are diagnosed with bipolar or borderline personality disorder want you to know, and I won't tell you what to say or not to say to your loved ones. 

What I will say is this: I am loud and vocal. I have gotten to the point where I can (usually) speak openly about my illness and what I want and/or need from friends, family, and professionals. I know my own cues and I know my own emotional states; I also know that I am my own best advocate. I want people to understand and I want the stigma surrounding mental illness to end. I can also say that there are times when I am well, times when I know that I make the most sense and can verbalise my experiences much easier than when I am sick - and I know that those times are vital to my health, because those times are times my loved ones are able to listen, are able to hear me out, are able to put together some of the pieces and know what I as an individual need (or don't need) from them. 

Lists, like anything, can be useful tools - I use them all of the time. They are especially useful when you or a loved one are suffering and it is impossible to express the things that are needed in the moment. Education - learning about an illness or a diagnosis can make the world of difference in understanding and in recovery. But as helpful as they can be, they are tools that need to be worked in, personalised and made to suit an individual. Know yourself, and get to know your loved ones... let's end the stigma - the things we put on ourselves and the things that others put on us. I am not defined by an illness that can't always be perfectly, statically, consistently, defined itself.  So I won't worry about the million little lists that I've read that tell me what I ought to know and what you ought to know and what a future being mentally ill entails. I will live with hope - I will live with a recovery centred approach - I will live with the individuality that I was born with, and I will keep talking and fighting through the struggles. I will be strong, I will stumble, I will laugh, I will cry, I will do what works for me, and I will simply be the uniquely created human that I am. 

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My Illness Made Me Do It

Depression/anxiety/mania made me do it.

I’ve always hated this expression… the thought that any state of being could make decisions on behalf of me, this excuse that I am somehow not responsible for my actions simply because I am unwell. Perhaps it’s because I feel that it opens a door – if I can blame the mental illness for my behaviours, then so can everyone else; it only feeds the stigma. Or perhaps it’s because I haven’t always been comfortable sharing about my mental health problems, or because I didn’t want to admit to myself that I had these disorders that truly did take over at times. Whatever the reasons have been in the past for disliking the phrase, I still try to avoid using it whenever possible.

The problem is that while I refuse to allow my illness to completely gain control of me again, it has in the past taken over any rational or logical thought processes. I didn’t know how to manage and cope with my unstable thoughts and emotions – I didn’t even know what was wrong with me. Being bipolar means that at times the depression or the mania becomes natural, they are ingrained in me and part of who I feel I am at the moment – sometimes it’s difficult to separate the harmful thoughts from the level ones, the logic from the negative voice. It can be impossible to equate the person I become with the person that I am – it can be similar to having a split mind, the behaviour different depending on my emotional state.

But I still hate using this excuse, this reasoning that “the disorder made me do it”. Because the truth is, I am not my disorder. Yes, I have an illness… but I am capable of managing symptoms and seeking help. I am capable of fighting through the clouds of darkness and recognising the energy and chaos of (hypo)mania. I am capable and I am strong. I am able to speak and write and identify what is wrong and use the skills and tools that I have gained to keep myself grounded and present. I can keep the rest of my health in check to make it easier – my physical well-being, my spiritual relationship, and my social and supportive surroundings. I can make choices that might not heal the illness but that can certainly put me on the right path and give me hope to cling to when I begin to fall. I can focus not on my limitations and the things that I have done and experienced in the past, but on hope and recovery.

Sometimes I might still need help. Sometimes I might still falter and make poor decisions. Sometimes I might not always feel strong. Sometimes I might feel like this cycle is never ending. Sometimes I might not feel in control and I might need guidance and support and love to get back to a healthy place.

But I will not let the illness win and I will not be a victim of my own mind… I will stand my ground – not alone but with friends and family to back me up – and I will fight to stay healthy. I will keep hoping and praying and talking and writing, because I know that I am worth more than being a pawn to the emotional kidnapper inside my head.

I can choose right now to focus on the illness. I can focus on the things I have felt and the way it takes over who I am and changes the way I think, feel, and act. Or I can focus on recovery… on learning and growing and grasping onto the beauty in every day. It’s never easy… life rarely is, but it is worth it and every day that I struggle, I see the tiny changes - the way I am propelled further forward in my journey than ever.

Recovery isn’t simple… it will be different for everyone. But for me, it’s about letting go of the idea, the stigma that tells me that I am only my illness and that I can’t ever fully control my thoughts, feelings, or actions. It is about taking back control, learning to see and preparing in advance for sudden curves in the road, and taking the past and using the experience to bridge gaps in the journey. Recovery is about taking back the wheel, loading up the backseat with tools and support, and taking life on as it comes at me. Sometimes it will be easy, but I will never give up.  

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Beauty-Hunter

"There's no point in living."

"I have no reason to keep going."

"I can't fight the darkness."

I can only imagine the confusion and fear in my husband, friends, and family's minds as they heard me speak those words - words that were far more than simple sentences, that reached deep into my aching heart and had become the core of how I felt. They were my truth and my pain, they were an overwhelming need to let go and finally be free of the depression and the anxiety that held me captive.

At the time, I couldn't think of anything else... I couldn't feel anything else. It hurt deep inside me and it was beyond exhausting to live each day, to try and force myself to take another step forward when all I wanted was for it all to go away... I wanted to disappear.

In my world, there was nothing left - the happiness, the beauty, the joy, the wonder... it wasn't just hiding, it was completely non-existent.

During my darkest periods of depression there was nothing positive within my grasp - anything that I touched seemed to wither and fade until the only thing that I could see or feel were excruciating reasons on why I needed to end it all. My brain took the things I had previously loved and convinced me that they either weren't good any longer, or they were better off without me poisoning them. My thinking was skewed and didn't make sense to those around me... I was too tired to try to fight the thoughts any longer.

Yesterday morning I woke up at my usual early hour and my husband and I went chasing the sunrise. It was an adventure to find the perfect spot to see the sun as it reached up over the horizon and began to shine down on the world around me. It was beautiful and bright and colorful. It was a new day and it reminded me of every time I've had to crawl out of the darkness, of every day I almost didn't make it through the night... only to emerge into the brilliance of life around me.

It's why I don't sit still as much any longer - it's why I have turned into more of an explorer, my eyes opened wider than ever as I see the beauty that exists all around me. My hobbies, my joy and my love have all returned again and i have chosen to focus much of my awareness on all of the things that I have always loved - but at times have been blinded to. I want to focus on the beautiful world around me - the small things, the positives, and the happy moments.

I know that for me it won't always be easy to see - I know the way that my mind can warp what I currently see as beautiful and twist them into muted colours and monotony, convincing me it isn't that beautiful any longer. I also know that it's all the more reason to keep on searching, to keep finding that beauty that is both within and surrounding me. It's why and how I can focus on the fight to stay healthy and well, to keep myself from sinknig back into the never-ending night... it's a reminder that tomorrow can be brighter, beautiful and joyful. It is hope.

I've lived much of my life in deep depression, a cycle that kept repeating and might try to repeat again. Beauty-hunting is just another tool to fend off the darkness for one more day, to cling to when the lights go out, and a reminder of the days to come.

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Fractured - Damaged - Broken

I always knew that I was different. As a small child I was highly emotional and as I moved into my teenage years I often spent time locked inside my head, wondering what was wrong with me to make me feel and act the way that I did. For most of my young life I looked somewhat normal from the outside - but as much as I tried to fit in and hide them, the signs were already beginning to shine through.

As I developed into a young adult - having made several poor choices already throughout my life, I began to feel more than different; I felt broken and damaged. It wasn't a simple thought that passed through my mind one day though. No, it was the way that I truly began to see myself as my poor decisions, the unstable moods, the emotional dysregulation, and the lack of control concerning my actions continued to get worse. It was a difficult and confusing place to be in - I was young and although I was quite intelligent - the thoughts in my head rarely made sense, and nothing ever seemed to click into place easily for me. For years I wrestled with the thoughts in my head and with this feeling of being fractured, a million pieces of me that never fit together the way that they should. 

By the time I was given any diagnosis at all, I was a mess. I felt completely shattered and simply wrong... I knew I would never fit in, and I didn't know how to be normal - though I tried desperately to appear like everyone else. As the second and third diagnoses came in, I finally felt that maybe something made sense in my world for a change - maybe I hadn't been broken at some point and maybe there were just a few light cracks that needed to be glued together with meds and therapy. And so I continued to struggle on... oftentimes wanting to give up altogether. And then, just as I would become as stable as I knew how to be, something would always seem to happen that would completely smash me into tiny pieces again. There were times where it was a fairly big and traumatic event - and there were times when it was something small, a tiny change that would cause my shakey foundation to collapse and I would be left in a heap of small and jagged shards... needing to be glued together yet again.

In recent years I've learned a lot about myself. I've learned that sometimes I really do feel broken - just like everyone else, and that's alright. Sometimes, it's alright to need that glue to help me stick together, whether it's medications, or therapy, or just a support system around me. I've learned that feeling broken doesn't mean I am damaged or useless or unworthy... that sometimes the most beautiful designs come from the cracks we've had to repair. I've learned that I don't have to fix it on my own - I have my family, my friends, my faith, and my support system in place - and sometimes it's okay to know that you need a stitch to hold you together for a time. I've learned that no matter how broken I have felt in the past - it is always worth fixing it, and every time I work on myself... I get a little stronger, a little more resistent to those things that used to shatter me. I've learned that despite my earlier years and the hardest days of my struggle, that I've been able to not only survive, but begin to thrive - I've been able to grow and change and live. I've learned that no matter how many pieces there once were, that I can be whole and full and complete... and that there is always hope, there's always a way to be put back together again. 

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In the Mirror

In the quiet of the morning I stare into my reflection in the mirror. Like every morning, I see a woman staring back at me – strong, confident and happy. I see the blue in her eyes and the way she smiles as she fixes her hair, chatting over her shoulder to her daughter who has come to ask for help choosing an outfit. I see the strength that she has exhibited in simply getting up and beginning a new day, in getting out of bed, and continuing with the routine and the system that she has placed around her. I see her confident as she goes to work and appointments, as she attends groups and writes in her journal. I see happiness as she greets her children and her husband, as she meets friends for coffee, and works towards her goals. I see a person. Complete. Healthy. Able.

Sometimes it surprises me. Sometimes I think that I should look in the mirror and see the opposite… see the cracked pieces that have been carefully glued together. Sometimes I think I should see her past – the times of instability, the pain, the emptiness, the highs and the lows. Sometimes I think I should see the person that she believed that she was for so long – broken, flawed. She has an illness – two of them – that should show in her features, prominent, out where the world can see them. Sometimes I think she should have labels affixed to her skin – bipolar and borderline – the words that define who she is and the struggles that she has faced. Sometimes I close my eyes and count to three.

When I open my eyes I see who I am. I see the person who is on a journey of recovery and the person I saw before the invasive thoughts began to permeate my mind. The strong, courageous, determined person that is not only surviving, but living her life. I think about one of my favourite quotes from one of my favourite books – in Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll wrote : “It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” This is something that couldn’t be truer, I am a different person than five years ago, or one year ago or even last month – each leg of my journey has propelled me forwards in more ways than I could imagine. There have been setbacks throughout, and it has not been linear in nature – no, recovery is cyclic, a spiral of sorts that continues forwards even after a step or two in reverse.

Again I close my eyes and I remember, because I know the difference between remembering who I was and seeing the difference to who I am now, and trying to become that person who no longer exists. I now know that it does no good to label myself, and surround my image with the stigma that I used to allow to cover me. It is neither true nor useful to degrade myself and think that my scars – whether visible or not – should define me and make me less than the person I deserve to be.

The difference, the change, the life is because I am in recovery; it is because I see hope and a future and worth.

I don’t get angry with myself for thinking about the past, for remembering the decisions that I made and the paths that I took to get myself to this place. I don’t smash the mirror or storm away, I don’t chastise myself for the brief wondering and the surprise I felt at my normal appearance. No. I open my eyes and I walk away, I continue with my routine and there’s a smile on my face because I know that I am different. I am healing and I am strong, I am able to see the change and the growth and the emergence of a new person. I am healthy and I am in recovery.

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Living Beyond the Diagnosis

I am a busy mom of 4 amazing kids.

As the incessant beeping of my alarm begins at 6:00AM sharp, I roll over and slam my hand down on the clock, trying to find the off switch. I know better than to hit the snooze button. I know that if I do that I won't move from my bed until an hour or more later; I know that I have to keep with my routine. Groggily I roll out of bed and begin my day. Bathroom. Kitchen to make a cup of tea. Living room with my phone, the laptop, or a book for an hour. As 7:00AM approaches it's time to move from my spot on the couch and wake up the kids, move to the kitchen to help them with breakfast or making lunches... eat my own breakfast. As they begin to get ready for school it's time for me to shower and dress, followed by an outing of some sort (exercise on most days, occasionally groceries or a meeting or an appointment). I work part time so sometimes I go to work, sometimes I write or edit or read or bake or meal prep. The afternoon and evenings consist of more predictable routine - school bus, reading and homework for the kids, supper, evening sports and activities... baths and bedtimes and down time for the adults, followed by of course a steady bedtime for me. 

I am a dedicated wife.

It looks like a normal schedule for a busy parent of four kids and from the outside I look like I have it all together. It looks like I'm just another mom, running around - doing errands, taking kids to activities and swimming lessons, and maintaining a typical family home. As I move through the grocery checkout I smile at the cashier and make small talk, I listen to music piped from my phone to the car stereo on my way home, sometimes singing along and belting out the words at the top of my lungs. I've maintained a house that is usually clean and well organised, I've managed to hold a job with the same company for nearly six years... moving through different positions and transitions, and I've got four amazing, well behaved kids who receive compliments on their behaviour wherever we go. 

Life for me looks good. It looks positive. It looks healthy. 

And right now, at this stage of my recovery journey, it is healthy - despite my recent hospitalisation. I'm doing (almost) everything right and I'm willing and able to participate fully in my life and my own recovery. I'm able to stick with routine and use skills when I feel myself slipping or triggered - I know who to call and what to do if those skills stop working, and I know who I am without tacking on bipolar or borderline to the end of my name. 

I am creative and I am a photographer.

And that's the tricky part. One of the biggest events for my journey was the day I sat in the doctor's office and heard the words Bipolar Disorder for the first time in reference to my moods and behaviours. Oddly enough, it didn't freak me out to be diagnosed with such a serious condition. Maybe it was the lifetime of unpredictable mood swings, the hallucinations and lack of sleep, the constant battle between fine, and beyond fine - creative and motivated and risky and energetic, and so depressed that I wanted to end my life; it made sense to me. But it also began to define me. I didn't realise at the time how much I began to cling to the description of what made me the way I was. I did research on the subject and became well aware of what I was doing and why I did it... as much information is available on bipolar disorder, I found it. And then it became me. As I met with the Psychiatrist over several appointments and he confirmed the initial diagnosis, I began to incorporate it into my perception of who I was. I began to feel restricted and defined. I began to fight with myself because as much as it was me tacking on the defninition of bipolar to who I was, I also didn't want to be categorized that way. I didn't know what direction I was headed and while I tried to gather a support system and understand my new way of life, of the medications I was taking, and the way I thought I should now be living - I became lost inside of myself and it became a constant fight to figure out who I was. 

I am fun, and kind, and enthusiastic.

It was a daily battle. A struggle to find my place as I continually researched and learned more about the disorder. It fit. Mostly. And so it became who I was;  I didn't know who I was aside from having a mood disorder. I picked up words in my vocabulary and often referred to myself (behind a mask of humour) as crazy, nuts, or psychotic. I didn't see an end to the illness, a different way of living aside from constantly trying to keep my head above water and float along... after all, it was only a matter of time before another episode would occur.

And of course, eventually it did occur... several different episodes, with several different outcomes. It wasn't until I was finally hospitalised again after attempting suicide and a second diagnosis was added (Borderline Personality Disorder) that things started to really click for me. At first it was confusing though; I knew who I was - I was the Bipolar one, not the Borderline one. I didn't agree with the doctor and it took a few days, once again researching and talking to nurses and social workers before I finally managed to say to myself - look, this diagnosis fits as well, maybe you can be both. 

So I continued to read and research and really talk to people. I learned about what the disorders each entailed and where they affected my life, where I had let them control me by defining me, and where I could take back some of my life. This was not an easy process. It wasn't simply a decision followed by an action. It has taken months and even years of learning how to cope, how to identify, and how to prevent episodes from occurring or worsening. It has taken doctors, and counselors and support. Mostly it took rediscovering who I am. Because I am not crazy, nuts, or psychotic. I am a unique individual whose brain is wired a little differently than most and needs a little extra help from time to time, to keep it on track and moving forward in my daily life. While I do have a mental illness, it is not who or what I am. I am so much more than Bipolar or Borderline. What I am is overall satisfied - despite occasional setbacks. I am an individual that is creative, healthy, kind, a good mother, an organised housewife, a writer, a photographer, an enthusiast for life and for a future, and most of all I'm simply me; I'm changing and growing every single day. 

I have hope. I'm worth it. 

I also have hope. I've seen the progress and the changes that can be made. I've lived a journey through recovery that has taken me on adventures regularly, but that I will not let destroy my hope again. That's why my daily routine is in place, that's why I look normal on the outside, my daily life reflective of the life I want and will continue to lead. It isn't always easy - some days it has felt impossible - like trudging through waist deep mud, but it is definitely worth it. Hope for tomorrow, for stability, for a lifetime that I can live fully and enjoy despite the self-checks and the meds and the therapy is worth it. Learing, growing and being who I know I am inside is worth it. 

I am going to keep talking about my journey and my mental health, keep fighting to end the stigma that we place on ourselves and others. I am worth it.

If you're struggling right now, don't give up. There is hope beyond the diagnosis. There is life, and laughter and love. There is a person waiting to be discovered. You're worth it too.

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It's Worth Sharing

A year ago today I posted a note on facebook sharing the link to this blog and letting the world see inside my head for the first time ever. It wasn't my first time writing - it was just my first time sharing that writing. I began a journey that terrified me, with no intention of keeping it up, no expectations of where it would go, just strongly feeling that I needed to share where I was at and some of the experiences I've had - starting with my attempted suicide in November 2014.

It has been an amazing journey that has been a far more powerful experience than I ever thought it could be.

February 2016

Though I haven't posted on a schedule and I haven't kept track or even known a lot of the time if anyone (or who they are) is reading it, I know that my words have made a difference. In my own life, I feel free. I have put aside so many of my own fears and insecurities to open myself up like this - to share the darkest and scariest parts of my mind with anyone who is interested. I have used it as a tool, a coping strategy when I'm not doing well, and a place where I can share my accomplishments when I do succeed in mastering a strategy or simply getting through a difficult emotion. I also know I'm making a difference somewhere else. I'm being vocal and I'm speaking up. I'm not letting the stigma that is still so attached to mental health shut me down. I am saying that I have a mental illness and that is okay... I'm different, unique, and wired a little funky but that's alright because, well, who isn't?

So on this, my First Anniversary of Sharing, I would like to post a little update. Because this year has been tough; it has gone up, and down with stretches of level in between. I have had joy and laughter and excitement, and I have also experienced pain and panic and fear and sadness and desperation and loss of hope.

I have survived panic attacks, hypo-manic, and depressive episodes, and I let myself get help. I have adjusted medications and attended multiple types of counselling and therapy groups. I ha
ve spoken to doctors and pychiatrists, crisis workers and nurses, and friends and family. I have developed a tool box and I use it regularly - incorporating new skills almost every day. I have continued on and accepted this journey that I've been given, sometimes with determination and hope, and sometimes with a great deal of struggling and self pity. I have not just survived... I have lived while in recovery.

Today, right now, I am alive and well. I'm still struggling with sleeping regularly and getting the meds just right... but I've got hope and love and support. I'm developing a new routine and eating healthy to get me back to a level place and I work hard daily to stay grounded. I'm different than I was a year ago, two years ago, or more.

This is where I'm at right now. So on my First Anniversary of Sharing I want to encourage anyone else who struggles with Mental Health. You are not alone. It isn't always easy, but it is worth it. I have learned and grown so much within the last year and I know I will only continue to do so. Reach out. Find support. Love yourself no matter where you are at, and give your recovery journey a chance. It is worth it. Your life is worth it.

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Different, Isolated, Unique

Glancing around the room I felt a little lost. My house hasn’t changed – my things are all pretty much where I’ve left them, but it feels different. I feel different.

I was in the hospital for a week this time. Unfortunately as much as I tried to avoid it, and as much as I used every method and every skill I knew to keep myself level, depression still managed to sneak in. I wasn’t in a good place and while I didn’t want to go (and even fought it); in the end I forced myself to give in and let myself be taken in as I began to reach the crisis point.

Coloring I Did While in the Psych Ward

Two days in lockdown (Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit) for assessment and then 5 days in the open unit for medication adjustment, sleep patterns, and re-stabilising. It wasn’t the longest stay I’ve ever had. There was nothing spectacular about my stay. I’ve come out and while I’m still not to one-hundred percent, I’m still much better than I was when I went in. However it doesn’t mean that things feel the same as they did before. I feel different and isolated. It’s a kind of feeling I can’t explain very well to someone who hasn’t been there and experienced it.  It’s the feeling of going from the isolation of a psychiatric unit to regaining your freedom and independence.  It’s the feeling that for you, while you were recovering from an invisible but terrifying illness, the world stopped – and yet it didn’t. It’s the feeling that you are different from the rest of the world, that you can understand once again what makes you act oddly… sometimes not making sense to yourself. It’s knowing that you have this thing, this unseen illness that you will always carry with you, that people may know about but assume is better simply because now you’re out of that uncomfortable unit in the hospital. It’s feeling like you aren’t a part of the same world as everyone else because you feel, react to, and experience life uniquely.

The thing about all of that above though, is that it isn’t necessary. I don’t have to feel that way. I am unique… but so are you. Everyone has a story and just because mine involves the way that my brain works, it doesn’t make me abnormal. It doesn’t make me any less important or worthy or strong than anyone else. I can let it feel different. I can choose to isolate myself because of what I go through on a daily basis, the exhaustion that it causes to deal with my illness at times, and the fact that the stigma surrounding it all is still so huge; or I can be brave. I can embrace my differences and while I am learning to deal with it and recover, I can talk about it. I can write about it and stop hiding it. I can live without shame, or guilt, or embarrassment and I can be who I am without feeling the need to be accepted.

So right now I’m home. But last week I wasn’t. I was in the hospital. And this week, I’m taking care of myself – I’m still adjusting to the change in medications and I’m getting my routine back in check, making sure that I maintain my diet and exercise patterns and overall just take care of myself. I will not be ashamed and I will not hide what has happened or the fact that I sometimes need a little help. I will help end the stigma against mental illness. I will maintain my hope, I will be honest – with my supporters and with myself, and I will continue my recovery journey with the support and encouragement of my friends and my family. I will maintain my hope.

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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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Doing Well - Living Life with Mental Health

Recently I’ve been left with a lot of time on my hands to question things - to do some reflection and determine where I’ve come from and where I’m heading. It’s something that I’ve done more often in the previous several months and for me, it’s a good thing. I need that. I need those reminders of where I’ve been – how bad it has been at times and how good the possibilities actually are.

A reminder from hospital, made during therapy.

Some days I also feel like a fraud. I’m here writing (and talking in real life) about how well I’m doing, how under control my moods are – how level I’ve been – and how well I’m managing the Borderline Personality Disorder symptoms… and really, I’m speaking and writing the truth. I am doing well. But it isn’t without struggle – something that I’m not always able to properly articulate in my blog posts because the fighting and the worry and the constant watching is all under the surface. It’s in the reminders that I have around the house, the conversations with myself debating whether or not I have a legitimate reason to be upset or happy or energetic. It’s in the everyday fight to maintain the good things that I took time and effort to set up – everything from routine to what/how/when I eat. It’s in the battle of my mind that still wants to creep up from time to time and tell me that I’m worthless, that wants to stop me from reaching out when I need support, and that worries endlessly that I will slip up – that I’m not doing enough, that it will never be enough to stay healthy and on track.

The beginning. I needed reminders to get out of bed.

At times it can be utterly and completely exhausting to keep up with myself, to stop and slow down racing thoughts and to force myself to remain in constant sleep patterns when I feel my mood start to go up. It’s more than a little tiring to force myself to get up in the mornings and get dressed when I feel like a cloud of depression is pushing me down, and some days it feels impossible to keep moving forward when all I want to do is lay down and sleep. And then when my energy is already depleted, to have to force myself to be open, to want to build relationships and stop pushing people away; to bite my tongue and not react viciously when the anger begins to build can almost be too much. And occasionally I slip. I fail. I’m not perfect and I don’t expect I will ever be.

But I can learn to cope, to take those moments of trial and use them to find things that work, to practice on building the skills I have learned and to be authentic with the people in my life.

A reminder of my last stay in the hospital, a painting I did in therapy.

I’m not a fraud. I am doing well. It has taken me many years of half-effort and lack of understanding to get me here. It has taken suicide attempts and hospital stays, psychiatrist appointments and support groups to help me understand. Mental illness is not something you can deal with alone and although it took a lot of ‘wrongs’ to get me to where I am, I’m glad I’m finally here, in the place that I can acknowledge it all.

Mental illness doesn’t have to be my weakness. It is one of the many things in my life that has made me stronger and more resilient. I have become more determined to change my life and I am willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen – doctors, medications, support groups, supportive family/friends, research, talking, writing, self-discovery and self-care. My journey isn’t pretty. It isn’t filled with a doctor that took the time to counsel all of the reasons why I am this way, a single medication that has fixed my life and made everything look like roses. It has been filled with tears and fights and denial and ugly truths and hard lessons. It has been filled with days when I wasn’t sure I could go on, when recovery and happiness seemed completely impossible but I pushed ahead anyways. It didn’t always seem like it, but I know that it has been worth it. It sometimes seems so dark that you know that you will never escape, but I promise there is hope. If you are struggling, find help – reach out, call a friend or a hotline, dig your heels in and try just a little harder and you will find the light. It is there, just around the corner. Life is always worth it, even when you can’t see your happy ending. 

One of my reminders, (semi-colon tattoo) because my story isn't over yet. 

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New Year's Hope

December 29^th 2014 – I began writing about the day I nearly jumped off of a waterfall and my experiences with Mental Health. I didn’t know what direction I would take the writing and I didn’t know if I was even going to share it with anyone, let alone open it up for the world to see.  But I did. And here I am, still going.

As New Year’s Eve approaches I can’t help but to look back at the events of the past year (and a bit) and to see how far I’ve come. Last year I was still a bit of a wreck, still digging and fighting and trying to decide how much effort I truly wanted to put into becoming stable and improving upon the quality of my life. At this time last year there would still be another hospital visit or two to come and I would still have suicidal thoughts while my depression was still prevalent – despite the medication and the therapy I was beginning. 

I didn’t know how my journey through the battlefield of Mental Illness would end. I didn’t understand the depth of how intertwined it had been within every aspect of my adult life (and most of my teenage years as well). I didn’t know where to start to fix myself or if I was even worth fixing. I didn't even know if I could change. 

Research. Therapy. Support Groups. Medications. People. Through an assortment of these things in my life I began to unravel the years of twisted thinking and uncontrollable moods… and at some point during my journey I realised that it was no longer an option to stay the same. I made a decision and I began the long process of self-discovery, repair, and trial and error to begin to change.

It hasn’t been easy. Life hasn’t gone the way I expected it to during this time… in fact, some areas of my life have become more challenging than I thought they would once I began to do the work and become a different me.

I’m not finished changing. I’m not finished growing and learning and overcoming. It took me most of my life to get to the place that I was at… I’m not going to be able to fix things in less than a year… and some things might take the rest of my life to keep working on. But I will keep working on them. Because it is amazing to see how much you can change yourself, how much it is worth it, how much hope there is for a better tomorrow. 

This year I won't be making a New Year's resolution. There is no need for that as I continue on this journey of self-improvement and self-discovery. I have found my hope. I have found my determination and I have found the path I want to take in this life.

So from me to you, Happy New Year!

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Silently Fighting

I haven’t had the chance to sit down and write that much lately with how busy things have been.

It’s been a bit of a crazy month, but I’m managing and I’m doing well.

It’s easy for me to sit here and write about how I’m doing, how I’m fighting to stay level and am neither depressed nor manic, I’m not angry nor irrational.

There’s so much that I want to write about, so much that I would love the world to understand about living with Mental Illness, but I have to confess; it can be exhausting and sometimes I don’t always want to be honest about it. Sometimes I want to look like a winner and announce that it's done, I've conquered it - be that success story you hear about.

November is a bit of a crazy month to begin with, and one that in my past has always been a triggering time of year for me. Over the course of the past year, one of my main focuses has been my own personal self-awareness. Time after time I have spoken to professionals and have been told that there is no cure for either Bipolar Disorder or Borderline Personality Disorder. Therapy and medications and lifestyle can help to control them, but I will live with them for the rest of my life although they may dull down and not be as serious as I get older. 

I have to admit that I kind of believe them to an extent. You see, first of all I’m a highly emotional person – things just seem to affect me more than the average person and I don’t know if I can or want to change that - to me, that is sometime that makes me me. Secondly, my moods will always have the possibility to spiral out of my control and send me on a rollercoaster ride of emotion. But here’s the thing; while my emotional regulation is a little out of whack, and I’m quite a bit more sensitive than the average Joe – I am learning to identify with, work with, and challenge these qualities – sometimes finding that they can even be an excellent warning system that I can use to my advantage.  

I want to stop right here for a second though and make an admission. I’m not perfect and I’m pretty sure that I never will be - there will be times that I will make mistakes, or have panic attacks or feel like a complete failure. 

But I’m working on me. I’m working on several things that have come up within the last year or two (or three or four) and I’m figuring this stuff out. It’s hard work – something that so many people don’t realise – because I have to know every piece of me, every reaction and every trigger. I keep journals… several of them that I use to track everything from the food I eat, to the sleep I get, to moods I experience, to the things I say and do. I need to know my patterns, know my limits and understand my emotional reactions. And then I also have to fight. I have to fight to prove that my frustration or anger or upset is legitimate and not the disorder, I have to fight to keep myself stable and stop my moods from shooting up or falling down, and I need to fight to keep learning about myself and what level really is.

This month has been harder than some I’ve experienced lately. While I’m still doing okay and remaining stable I’ve had quite a few things come up that triggered me – some of them catching me completely by surprise and other things that I already knew about and was watching for. And so I’ve watched as triggers hit me – recorded them in my journal and worked my way through them, adding new tools to the toolbox, ways to cope with the never ending fluctuation of emotion and threat of an episode.

This life, it is exhausting right now as I work to do what other people can do naturally, and I don’t always feel like sharing. But this is when I should share. Because right now, at this moment I’m a success. I’m fighting hard to make life liveable, to get to know myself and what I need to do to survive and to change the way I think. I’m learning to use natural methods and things that are within my control to manage and redirect myself when I feel things might be beginning to slip one way or the other.

So this is me being honest. I’m tired and I’m fighting, I’m learning and I’m growing, I’m alive and I’m well, I’m neither up nor down, and even though I sometimes still struggle, I’m also feeling the strongest I’ve ever felt. Nothing beats that feeling of strength and hope, the realisation that you can have a future and that it won't be defined by your Mental Illness. 

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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.

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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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