MEDICINE MAINTENANCE

In maintaining some sort of normal, I have to get my medication tweeked occasionally. Occasionally, I am able to do it without having to go into a hospital, but more often I require hospitalization to allow my mind to stop and rest in order to let the new medicine begin to heal  me. This means that I have to step  out of my daily life, the one everyone knows me in and be me for a few days. It is hard to explain what it feels like knowing you have to go to the hospital but I will try to explain the feelings one may have before actually entering a facility.

It is my goal to ease everyone's mind when it comes to mental illness. I can remember being young and scared of the mental hospital. It actually was a place used to scare the crap out of kids so they would act right. My first experience with a mental hospital was when I was an adult and no longer in my parents house. 

My problem with going to the hospital is that it always catches me by surprise. I can't make myself give in and admit I need help. It always creeps up on me and shocks me that I got to the point of needing to go to a hospital. The fact that I am extremely pro-active in my mental health doesn't seem to matter when it comes to hospitalizations. I can only explain it like this, I have never been able to admit my medication is not working on my own. I am unable to see it. I am, however, able to feel the affects of how my medication is affecting my daily life, but I always have this hope, deep inside, that tells myself it is going to get better. I think it is the false hope that causes me to allow my situation to go to one extreme to the other. 

It's also something that pisses me off more than anything else out there. I get mad when I have to submit to my mental health. I am not one of the lucky ones who can live a normal life out in the real world. My  world is very small, making it difficult to be outside of my house for long at all. I have, on occasion, been able to attend certain events when  my anxieties allow me to but I have missed out on so many things that are important to me. I may keep a smile on my face, or even laugh at some of my oddities, but the truth is I am horribly bothered by my situation. I understand and acknowledge my circumstances but I have never accepted my  mental illnesses. 

Once my medicine stops working or needs to be adjusted, I am usually the last to talk about it. I hang on to this mental fantasy that it is going to be alright. The uncomfortable feeling of admitting that my mind has taken control over my body is hard to swallow but that is exactly what goes on. I have to give up the fight I have with my own mind in order to allow myself to heal. I have so many questions that will never be answered, so many thoughts that I can't discuss or even put into words to ask. How can someone know who isn't going through the same thing as I do or how can someone tell me it is going to be okay when their struggle is so different from mine. It is, however, always okay once my medication is correct.

The hardest thing I can think of to  say is , "I need to go to the hospital." It is the most exposed I ever feel. Swallowing hurts the back of my throat and lumps up making it impossible to swallow or breathe. I am not scared of the hospital. I don't even mind going to the hospital. The hard part of going to the hospital is admitting I need to go. 

A STORY OF DISCONSOLATE pt.1

It is often that I get emails from individuals who I only know from networking sites. Few actually get my attention, and those that do are so alarming that It actually seeps into my soul. I am not sure how someone can be affected by someone else in a way that warrants a reaction, either by emailing or responding. I am going to give you a peek into some of my HOPELESS emails I put in a safe cyber file. The first one I will allow you to read is the first of many emotional letters I make myself read all the way through. It is the hardest emails or collection of thoughts for that matter that I read. I don't choose or ask for these emails, just as I don't know why I am the one who has been chosen to help those who need it. I never know if my response will be accepted, ignored, or inspirational. I fear the worse with every email in this category. I fear because I hear the desperation, the guilt, the fear, the despondence of depression. In each of these emails, I will however, allow you to know the outcome, whether good or bad. I give you this because I can't get rid of the visions, the hurt or the chaos in my head and heart until I put it down. I am putting it down for you, the reader. I will not say enjoy, but I will say respect. Respect the courage someone had to put to paper real thoughts, emotions, personal feelings. Respect the way depression grips your choice of words, the vocabulary that does not necessarily need to be understood by all. This, I'm sorry to say, is the first of many blogs that I am getting out. Hang in there with me, and see if you see or hear something that I have missed, something I didn't understand. 

11 November, 2009

I am writing this to you because I don't know who to talk to. I am (sic) added you as a friend for a long time ago (sic). My life is in pieces and I don't know how to fix it. I wrote a bad check. I promised my mom I didn't and now they know I did and my mom can't know I lied. I am too scared to say I lied. I can't go to jail because my world will fall apart. Is there an easier way because I would like to know. For 4 days I know the police know (sic). I don't want to leave a note because I don't know what to say to her. It is just us. I am too shamed by what I have done. I send you this because I think you will understand me, because you have felt the way I do. I want to, but I'm scared. I have to but I wish I didn't. I'm not making much sense right now, but I have a question for you. How do you say goodbye? How do you say I'm sorry but I have to leave? It is okay if you don't have the answer. I don't have the answer. Will you say a prayer for me?

__________________________________________________________________________________

Okay, so I picked this one to start with because it was the first one I corresponded with. At first, when I read the email, I thought I was dealing with someone quite young, just by the way the words were put together. It wasn't until after I responded did I find that she was in her late 20's. Without telling the entire reasoning she had for wanting to die, I will say that she made a mistake. The lady bounced a check, and in my mind I don't see it as such a dire problem. Let me clear that up by saying I don't think it's a good idea but if it is by accident, isn't maliciously done it can be taken care of. All the time I was reading it I just focused on the offense of insufficient funds. I didn't realize that what she was trying to tell me was that her offense was LYING to  her mother or being caught in a LIE. Do you see why I am not cut out to help people? Do you see why I am haunted by the fact that someone out there has given me a key into their life and I don't know what I am supposed to do with that key. There is some pattern though to these emails, all of them think I understand or that I have been where they are. Is this the path I am supposed to go on? This young lady that wrote the letter, did in fact, attempt to swallow more than the recommended dosage of pain relievers and consequently was found by her mother in time to rush her to the hospital. The last I heard from her was that she was going back to school to study, and I am not making this up people, psychology. After I received our last correspondence, she informed me that she was going to close out her account. I haven't heard from her or what has happened since, and although I am not using her name, if she does happen to read this by chance I would definitely love to hear an update.

MY JOURNEY

What do you do when the inside of your body hurts? Not the kind of hurt from a heart ache or such trivial reasons as that. I am talking about a pulsing, driving ache that is with you constantly? You know that there is something you have to do for it, but you are lost in what that is.

For a few weeks now, I have had that ache. I've been asked if I am depressed, and I can truthfully say that I am not. I ache for something that I cannot see though. There is something out there I am supposed to do or say or be that I can't get to yet. It is an overwhelming feeling that I am not used to being tuned in to.

Sometimes, I feel as though I am on the right track, and although I look and sound like I am confident, my path seems a bit too complicated to me. I know what I feel I should do with my life, but I am not sure how to incorporate it into my daily living. How contrite I sound even talking this way, but it is that weight, that anchor that is heavy inside of my body that I hear, feel, even hold.

It is a weight, and yet it is also an electrifying feeling that I know something is around the corner for me. I have that feeling a child has looking at the presents under the tree and wondering what is behind the beautiful packaging. So, I spend my days waiting, watching and hopefully reading what it is I am supposed to be doing.

While I write this, I am sitting in the front room looking out of the front door that is open. There has been a slight overcast and the wind is blowing the clouds toward me. I say me because it is my world that I am living in. I watch as the ex marine rides in his hover-round with his missing legs, both from the knee down and ask myself why I have never told him thank you. It is because it would take me outside of my world, where there is safety and quiet. He is a very kind man. I met him once while doing laundry. He had a small cardboard box full of wash rags and kitchen towels that needed to be washed. I watched silently at first as he tried to maneuver the washing machine while his automotive seat hindered some of the buttons needed. I slowly rose from a bench I was on and took his laundry soap and finished the job for him. It wasn't until I was through that I realized that maybe he didn't want help. He had a smile on his face and thanked me. ME? I only did what my mother would have done, what she taught her children to do. 

It was that day, with the ex marine who had sacrificed his lower limbs while on duty, that I began to ache inside. I still don't know what it is, but I bet it has to do with someone other than myself. It will come to me, I just don't know when that will be. I've went over so many scenarios in my head until it too felt a burden. Do we all have that ache? I've never discussed it with anyone to know how prevalent this ache is. I don't even know what words to use for it. Me, someone who can describe anything, and I can't describe this stupid ache that I am having.

So, my ex marine is riding around outside, just looking at nature, feeling the wind blow against his body, letting the sun nourish his body and he looks as though all is great in the world. For some, I think it is. I think he has the right to finally feel his world is great. In my selfish mind I wanted to feel sorry for him, wanted to think he needed my help, wanted to be important. I never thought about his perspective. I've never seen him without a smile on his face. His daily activities seem to stay the same, not a lot of change and it looks like he feels fine with that. He seems happy, and yet I look at him and wonder where I have the the audacity of ever being depressed, or sad, or even upset. 

So, my path is beginning to become wider. I've came out of the narrow and straight to one that gives me a chance to look around, see more than what is in front of me, see others as they are and not what I imagine them to be, see things clearly and without a distorted glass to hide behind. I am ME. I say that a lot and now I mean it. I have a place to go, a place to be and I'm on my way. I just wish I understood what this ache is that I have, that my body feels, that my  mind cannot figure out. This ache is my path, it will show itself one day and I am no longer on that narrow road so I should be able to see it's light when I get there.

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN

I have been asked more than once how this mental illness happened to me. I find it quit odd that someone would think that I caught it or something. I have spent a lifetime trying to keep it hid, so that may be the reason some people think I just came down with it. Sorry, I've had it all my life, severities have differed but it has never left me.

I try hard to be patient, yet sometimes my heart is on my shoulders. I don't think people, in general, think they are hurtful by the things they say. Sometimes, though, things are said out of spite, or misunderstanding. Sometimes it is I, who although I hate to admit wrong, take things personal where there wasn't anything actually directed at me. I usually know when that happens I am starting to sink into a depression and I need to get my medications tweeted a bit. I am lucky that I have signs that alert me of my mental state.

People with depression, often times, refuse to be in company. It is a hard thing to get up and entertain the thought of even conversation. I don't deal with depression much and I am thankful that when my body is headed that way my actions are a big indicator. I've known people who have spent years in a depressed state and refused to get the basic of help. It is a most miserable feeling to be helpless to your own body.

I will describe, in words, how depression affects the body. There is a weight that holds you physically down. It is hard to raise your head off of your pillow. It is hard to feel comfortable anywhere you are. The mind tricks you into thinking you are sick. Not some ordinary sickness either. You start having symptoms of deadly diseases and cannot imagine why no one can find anything wrong with you. You get completely offended if the doctors refer you to a psychologist and so you change doctors.

Depression is also the culprit of extreme laziness. You have no energy to do the smallest of tasks. You can become sleep deprived because you are thinking about your situation and not being able to get out of it. Usually, not always, you feel you would be better off dead than a burden on someone else. The problem with depression though is it is usually brought on by triggers, from what the mental health facilities say. I say there is no scapegoat. You can't blame your depression on anyone or anything other than yourself. I know that sounds harsh to say but if you think about it you realize that it is within your brain chemicals that is making you this way. I realize that anytime you lose something or someone, grief sets in and the way you deal with it is personal but it doesn't mean it was the cause of the depression. Any time you go with little sleep, from worries or being scared, that can affect your brain chemicals and thus depression begins.

I don't want anyone to think I have all of the answers. I am just someone who deals with mental illness and wants those who have questions to ask. If I don't know then I am sure someone else will know. Sometimes it just takes someone to listen and tell you how they deal with things. It took me 37 years to understand what was going on with me. It was not talked about because we didn't know anyone who was suffering and I was not about to let others find out I was flawed.

I guess this blog is about stepping back and finding yourself. Whether that is depression or whatever else is running your life instead of you. Mental health is not for pussies. We are soldiers in a fight that some have no idea the war is going on. It feels like it is time to push through the barriers of this disease and let people know that WE are not weak, we cannot keep silent for the sake of making those around us uncomfortable.