My symptoms started very young, and first presented as
anxiety. As a toddler, if someone came
into our house that I didn't know, I would curl up under my mom's chair and
fall asleep. I lost my hair going into
Kindergarten, then as a school age student, experiencing panic attacks, which
led to hyperventilation, which led to seizures, which led to lots of ambulance
rides. My first conscious thought of
suicide was at the age of 8 - I thought everyone's brain worked like mine;
worrying about what would happen if the school bus rolled over, how would I get
out? Worrying about my dad while he
would wash the combine windows, visualizing him falling and what would I
do? Worrying about everything, all the
time, looking to the stars for hope that someone/thing would end my pain.
In high school, I started with self-harming behaviours to
cope. Binge drinking, banging my head
against walls, cutting - all while maintaining honour roll marks, being on
extracurricular activities, and planning my post secondary education. I worked very hard to hide the level of
psychological pain that had become "normal" for me, and searched for
my value in achievement.
The start of university brought a series of events -
rural kid graduating from a class of 11 going to live in a large city, the
university soon following with a staffing strike, a family cancer scare, and a
massive loss from a vehicle accident.
Over a short amount of time, I became home bound; I became convinced
that others could see how horrible of a person I was and I
dreamed/planned/lived every moment on how I could die. Soon after I experienced my first psychotic
episode with a large antlike creature standing behind my couch telling me I had
to die as I was so horrendous, so worthless, that I was taking my loved ones
down with me. The only way to save them
was to kill myself. Soon after, I had my
first psychiatric hospitalization.
I struggled for over 10 years in the system, with
revolving door admissions, many different medications, side effects, treatment
plans, gathering new psychiatric diagnosis as I encountered different doctors
on my journey. I continued to try to
find who I was, attending university classes, working 4 part time jobs when I
could work, homebound during the times when I couldn't. I really thought that
if I could just work harder I would just get into life. Somehow, no matter how hard I worked, it just
didn't work.
I would have longer periods of time of stability,
although never being able to dump the never ending feeling of absolute worthlessness. I learned coping strategies to do things
anyway, and then would deal with the pain behind closed doors. My husband and I (who I started dating at the
age of 17), had to learn to navigate the changes within the relationship -
sometimes he was the one who had to "watch" me to keep me alive,
while other times we would be equal partners in life.
After much thought and discussion after a long period of
stability, we decided to get married and have children after being together for
10 years. Our first child was born after
using fertility medication, and I experienced mild post-partum depression. I worked very closely with my case manager to
do everything I had to ensure attachment; all was well with work as I
discovered social services and found I very much enjoyed community volunteering
(and a strange knack for constitution and bylaws - always a nerd at
heart!). A few years passed and we
decided to try for another baby.
We became pregnant with our first daughter, but that
pregnancy was wrought with difficulties from the start. We found out mid-pregnancy that she had
triploidy (which the medical community considers "not compatible with
life"). She was born still on April
18, 2007. That was by far the most
difficult process for my husband and myself.
I thought I had grieved as I had a little cry after she was born; little
did I know the depths of pain that I had yet to encounter.
We got pregnant again soon after, miscarried, then
pregnant again with our second daughter.
She was born April 10, 2008.
Eight days later, we signified the first anniversary loss of the
stillbirth. 6 weeks later, I was in the
midst of the most painful post partum depression episode, that lead into
psychosis soon after. I had the supplies
I needed to end my life, the plan on where I was going to do it, just needed a
safe place to put my daughter. She had
colic, and wouldn't stop crying so I couldn't leave her. I drove for seemingly hours to get her to
stop, she didn't, and fate lead me to my case manager at the time and I ended
up in the ER.
I was in the hospital for 10 months over that first
year. Tried ECT, medications, different
treatment plans; all seemed to lead nowhere.
I became profoundly broken - unresolved grief, mixed with pre-existing
mental illness, mixed with post partum issues compounded to the point where I
would sometimes be catatonic, writing codes on my hospital room walls, and
seeing a man in a black coat that would follow me around the ward. I could tell you the respiration rates of the
patient 2 doors down as my senses were on fire.
The local psychologist was consulted - I had seen her on
the ward with her dog (who attended as a therapy dog), and given my high love
of animals, she intrigued me off the start.
As we met, she spent time developing trust. She asked me about me, not just about the
symptoms. As the assessment ended and
the recommendations evolved, we met regularly for therapy. Due to the high level of trust I had
developed, more "roots" of my pain were able to be shared, and for the
first time in my life, I was able to start to process the trauma I experienced
while being sexually abused as a young child.
The pain was exquisite, and I would often have to have the garbage can
close by as nausea was overwhelming. I
would be angry at her, feeling like I could never go back - but then realized
that the anger was not at her, but at the pain of the situation. I knew that I had hit the end - either keep
going back to slice this pain and figure my way through it, or die. It was that complicated and yet that simple.
I was able to share the guilt I felt at losing our
daughter, the guilt I felt of being a crappy human being, share my shameful
inner core of knowing that I was a palliative psychiatric case. Slowly, ever so slowly, I started finding my
way again back into life. The staff on
that unit were amazing through that year, with high levels of collaboration,
people thinking outside the box (I would have day passes to attend university
class in the midst of this mess, as that was a sanctuary for me), and they were
my cheerleaders as my husband would bring our children to visit daily so we
could do the attachment work that needed to be done. I was able to graduate with my social work
degree in 2011, and continue to contribute back to my community through
volunteering in any way I can.
As this campaign has rolled out, I have been asked if I'm
cured. Not even close.... I still experience mental illness symptoms -
in particular dissociation, psychosis, and mood changes when stressors get too
high. The difference now is that I have
a team (in particular the psychologist) who I trust 10000%, and I have worked
very hard to identify symptoms as they first come up so we can deal with them
right away. I held onto the thought for
many years that if I could just get my head wrapped around my symptoms, then
they would go away. I know now that
insight does not stop symptoms from occurring, but rather allows me to access
support much more quickly, leading to a shorter time of illness. I accept the fact that my brain works
differently than other people, and am acutely aware when I can feel things
change in the way I think or perceive things.
I realize that I can compound that change with destructive thinking
patterns and take it deeper into illness, but the initial change can be
connected to changes in stress, sleep, or just plain random. It is my job on the team to let others know
when that initial change is happening, so the care plan can kick in to ensure
it doesn't get exponentially worse.
Most recently, I had our third daughter. My risk of PPD was profound. It did come, but due to the team preparation
and response it was a tiny little blip on the radar. I was able to have the experience of feeling
my newborn baby in my mama heart immediately after birth for the first
time. I am so thankful; the hours they
have put into my care have not been easy, but the idea of recovery as I
envision it is now in my life. Recovery
for me is not the absence of symptoms, but living a full life in the midst of
managing them. I was the walking dead
for so many years, putting on a mask of expectations that I thought society
should see. By removing the mask,
inviting team members to help me, I am working everyday to see through my
differently wired brain. Do I think I'm
fabulous? No, far from it - I actually
think that part of my brain just doesn't work.
Do I struggle through that feeling to do things anyway? Yes - and for that, I am forever grateful.
