Let's Keep Talking

January 25^th, 2017 was the annual Bell Let’s Talk day sponsored by Bell Canada to promote mental health awareness and raise money for mental health initiatives across Canada. It is a great cause and an easy way to spread the word and share stories about mental health, different statistics, and social issues relating to the world of mental illness. The only problem was that after a bombardment of posts and messages and snippets across various sources of social media – today my feed was  almost silent. No more stories being told. No more statistics or awareness being spread.

But I still want to talk about it.

I don’t care about the hashtags or the re-tweets or the acknowledgement. I don’t care about the branding behind the initiative.

I care about sharing stories – telling mine and hearing others. I care about opening up communications within my social circles and beyond so that those currently suffering in silence, know that they aren’t alone.

I want to talk because today I am suffering.

I want to talk because today I was shrouded in a big black rain cloud – covered in depression, anxiety and panic attacks – and yet I forced the mask into place and I forced myself to carry on.

I want to talk because I know the feelings of loneliness and despair. I know the isolation and the twisted thinking that comes with it. I know the push and the pull – to both try to find help and yet shove anyone away who tries to help.

I know the anguished cries, the curled up ball on the bed, the prayers that feel unanswered. I know because today that was me.

I know the guilt over taking time for self-care and trying to do what you need to feel better. The tiredness of trying to keep up with everyone around you, feeling like a snail in a cheetah race. I know the looks you get when you say you had a nap - again. 

I know the confusion. I know the chaos. I know how it feels to be spinning in every direction while the world around you appears to walk in straight lines.

I know the anger and the sadness and the betrayal that work their way into your heart, that taint the way that you see your friends, your families, and your loved ones.

I know the insanity. The way that nothing makes sense, but it all makes sense. The way that you try to explain it and it sounds like gibberish – like back and forth, and up and down, and drama and despair and nonsensical nothingness.

I know the efforts to help – the hurt in their eyes as they wonder why. Why you feel this way when things are so good. Why you can’t figure things out. Why the usual coping strategies suddenly stop working. Why you are hurting again. Why nothing they can do can help you.

I know.

I want to talk about it because I know I’m not alone. I want to talk about it because I have a voice – because I know what it is like to feel the stigma and the self-condemnation due to a chemical imbalance. I know that it is important.

I want to talk about it... and I want to listen. I want you to know that you are not alone and you don't need to suffer in silence.

Today was a bad day.

I’m not afraid to talk about it. 

Because a bad day can look like any one of these: 

 

So Let's Keep Talking. 

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Undone - One Step Backwards

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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