mental illness

The Aftermath

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In my head, the aftermath looked like a scene from a natural disaster. The people and place gets rocked by the chaos of the disaster, just to be left standing in the middle of what feels like a chaotic wilderness of nothing.

There are few things from that day and the days to follow that I can’t remember verbatim. From the time I got the email as I was shutting down my computer at work asking ‘have you heard from Jos today?’ To the phone calls made within that half hour waiting for my bus to go home, to me knowing that the next call coming through was going to bad. I knew it before I knew it, shit, I had already played it out in my head, I was getting off the bus to meet my mom at the hospital, because I assumed she was going to call back saying there was a message on the answering machine that she had been in an accident. The bus was pulling out as she called back and it’s as if the conversation played out in my head minutes prior, except she called frantic that she wasn’t breathing. I ran off the bus, planning to meet them, just to find out it wasn’t needed.

I was the last one to get there that night by the time I got a ride back. When I got there all of my family and then some were there, including her, as they hadn’t come to get her yet. I remember feeling a sigh of relief when my mom said she didn’t want me to go in because she didn’t want me to see her like that. And then there was the guilt the next day for not seeing her, for not laying with her, for not getting in more kisses and hugs when I had the chance. For being selfish, like I always was, for relying on someone to tell me what to do, for being afraid of what I’d see, afraid of it being real.

My dad was in Montana on his first mule hunting trip so we had to wait until he could get home. I can’t imagine what that day must’ve felt like for him, feeling a million miles away, unable to get a flight out sooner, walking around aimlessly feeling even more hopeless then we did actually being there, surrounded by everyone. I remember walking to the car to meet with the funeral home and saying to my fiance, “Is this really happening? We’re going to make funeral arrangements? Is this our life, is this for real?” And him responding, “yes, I’m so sorry”.

The funeral was on a Sunday, it was November – colder then hell, raining and sleeting. The family had visitation prior and I just wanted to hog her! There just wasn’t enough time to fit in every single I love you, I’m sorry, kiss and hug for all the times I chose not too. We were told due to the amount of people lined up, we needed to begin earlier and I remember being pissed. Pissed because I didn’t care who was standing in the freezing rain, this was all we had left with her, tomorrow she would gone forever, we needed this time – we deserved this time! The next 6+ hours consisted of hugging and talking to about 1100 people, one of the largest wakes they had hosted to date. It was overwhelming to see the amount of people that came through, from old to young alike. But I couldn’t help but think, do you see this Josie?! Did you have any idea how many people your choice has affected? I wish you knew, why did it have to be this way in order for you to see it? Those hours consisted of going through the motions, being introduced to people, hugging, and saying thank you for coming, but oddly enough, not all that much crying. As I would look out beyond the people’s shoulders that were standing in front of me, seeing no end in site to the line, there would be certain random faces that would just trigger a melt down. But all in all, as we stood on the other side, we held our shit together pretty well!

The funeral was worse for me, once again we weren’t able to get additional time with her like we’d planned due to the number of people packed in the church. And once again, I was pissed because I didn’t give a shit – this was it – this was the last time of any physical contact with her, even if it was in this form. As I bent over to kiss her and hold her hand and try and squeeze in the last of apologies and I love yous, I managed to lose a contact through the tears. This was less then ideal being that I was doing the eulogy! The closing of the casket was about enough to make all of us hit our knees as we knew this was it. The remainder of the service I concentrated on trying to hold it together so I could make it through the eulogy, I knew if one tear fell while I was up there, it’d be game over and I wouldn’t be able to finish it. I did – I delivered and I felt I owed her that. As we exited they played Eagles Wings, one of my favorite hymns and that’s when I lost it, following the casket out to the hearse, but it was worse watching them lower her in the ground. I remember being told the services are more for everyone else to come and mourn the loss and pay respects to the family, then it is for the family. It isn’t until after that, do you get a glimpse of what our new reality is about to look like. We learned how much truth was behind that statement.

Fortunate is an understatement of what were when it came to family, friends and community support. I mean, besides the fact that the wake alone consisted of 1100 people, the amount of people that remembered long after that was still so impressive. People were stopping by a few months after, always calling and asking what they do or how they could help – the response was so humbling in so many ways. Looking back, it’s overwhelming to think how fortunate we were and are! The simple gestures of hand written cards with poems and nice letters, not even just then, but for birthdays and anniversaries to follow – that people remembered! Things that are so hard to appreciate at the time, but that speak volumes in so many ways, that we often forget as the time passes. Not many can say that and I feel fortunate that we can.

But despite the tremendous support surrounding us, there was still this calm after the storm – when the world around you starts going back to their hustle and bustle and you’re forced to have to sit with it and really swallow and digest it. It was in the quiet that it really started to settle, the pain began settling both physically and mentally and the sobering truth spoke volumes. It was learning how to recalibrate our days of going back to work and into society with this….heaviness. To know eyes are on you, not knowing what to say, and if they did say anything, it didn’t matter anyways, because nothing took away the pain. Nothing even put a dent in it. It was hard to appreciate those that expressed their condolences because I was so numb, that and it was the fear of breaking down. It was such a toss up at first, one day it’s as if I was offended if someone didn’t say anything and then other days I’d pray they wouldn’t because I wouldn’t be able to contain the tears! To attempt to focus on the task sitting in front of me was next to impossible because the only thing I could think about was her. Where I went wrong, how I didn’t see it, how the rest of the world gets to pick up and move forward and how I have no clue what or where in the hell to go from here. Who am I? What is my life? Is this real or am I still in a nightmare? When will I wake up? There were no amount of words or actions that were going to change the outcome or bring me any type of peace. It was nice and it was humbling, don’t get me wrong, but at the time, I couldn’t appreciate it.

The destruction that came afterwards, the kind that settled in with the stillness and quiet – this new ‘norm’ – this new ‘reality’ – this new what the fuuuuuuuck?! It’s as if you’re looking at your life through an outside lens saying “what’s happening, where are you, did the plot in the story change – get out of this!” ha And to think, on so many levels – it was only just the beginning.

Continue reading Missing Piece

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Apples to oranges

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APPLE TO ORANGES

“Whatever happens to you, belongs to you. Make it yours. Feed it to yourself, even if it feels impossible to swallow. Let it nurture you, because it will. “ – Cheryl Strayed

There were many years I truly believed it was impossible to take any more blows. I was sure that there was no humanly way possible to survive them if I was forced to take another hit. I thought I was the only one that endured that kind of tragedy and pain to the extent I did and within the short amount of time that I did. In the same breath I’d find myself looking around and thinking ‘don’t complain, it can always be worse, you have so much to be grateful for.’ But I was wrong – about most of it.

Maybe by constantly feeling as if I had to bury it, that I wasn’t ‘allowed’ to complain, vent or cry about it – I was only making it worse. Maybe feeling like my circumstances were less then so many others or that I didn’t have the right to feel and think the way I did, only prolonged my healing further. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I had alot of safe havens and wonderfully supportive people in my life (God only knows they listened to me like a broken record of the Titanic song replaying over and oveeeeer!!  Even though I had those outlets I was still always thinking I didn’t have the right to feel bad, sad or mad about certain parts of it. And more importantly I think the focus of those venting sessions were being placed on things and people that, at the time I thought were the issues. Primarily because I couldn’t say what I was actually thinking, or perhaps I just didn’t allow myself to go there mentally. It was as if the only emotion tied to her was sadness and the only one tied to him was anger. I couldn’t be mad at her or sad over him because it wasn’t her fault she felt that way and I couldn’t cry about someone who I was supposed to be happy I was rid of. It’s as if it’s ingrained in us to always remember ‘it could be worse’ or ‘at least you aren’t them!’ So, while I had outlets, I was always playing this game with myself that I needed to quit, needed to get over it, needed to stop thinking or feeling certain things as they arose. So, instead I’d go back to my default emotion and cry or rage depending on which one it pertain too 

There’s this constant comparison in our world that we always need to shut up and just be thankful. While gratitude is important, burning our stories and emotions surrounding them, only further suppresses what is already there. We have every right to endure them in whatever manner we need too in order to work through them. It’s as if we can better justify what’s going on in our life at the time by doing things such as self talk like ‘get over it’ or ‘just be grateful’. Maybe that’s why we endure those relationships for far longer then we ever should’ve allowed, wallow in guilt or pity towards others, staying bound to their ways, or stay in our own hellhole of a prison, induced by depression and self hate for years beyond what was needed. Maybe by just owning it and feeling every terrible aspect of it, we’d be able to move through it faster.

Now, 8 years after her death and 7 post separation, I’ve had to relive every dirty and sickening detail of both. And each time they’ve resurfaced, they’ve come back at a greater intensity because of it. So, maybe you should scream into your pillow when you need too, cry in the middle of the store because you thought for a split second you seen a glimpse of them, laugh because that song that just came on triggered a memory. Maybe there isn’t an answer for everything, maybe we need to feel it for what it is because it’s our story. Maybe the constant comparison is doing nothing but driving us all deeper into a state of hell and oblivion. Maybe instead of thinking we’re entitled to all the material things around us, we should realize we’re entitled to our emotions surrounding our circumstances. Maybe then there’d be less holes in the walls or terrible things said and done, maybe there’d be less depressive states, less cheating, less hate and anger. Maybe if we’d just allow ourselves to act or react at the time that the actual emotion occurs instead of telling ourselves how ridiculous we’ll look crying for no reason, or screaming in our car at a red light is taboo, the only ones we’re hurting is ourselves.

Healing comes from within, and it comes from no one but ourselves. Maybe when we just being a little truer to our emotions as they arise, truer to our journey and hardships as they cross our paths, maybe we can move forward – for real. It’s OK if you feel like your world is falling apart on account of a break-up, or that you won’t survive if you loose your parent to a disease, or that you can’t possibly face another soul in public after an embarrassing charade at the local saloon or that you’ll be a let down if you lose your job. It’s OK because I know what all of them feel like.

 When you look at the grand scheme of things – it’s terrible right then and there, but then again, it was terrible in 9th grade when the opposite sex turned you down. It was terrible when you rolled your car in your driveway (oh wait, maybe I’m the only one that’s ever done that ahahahaaa) It was terrible to get the rejection letter to your college of choice or first pick job. many have been terrible in your life, and at the time, they needed to be and were warranted for their own reasons, but you survived them too. Maybe the trick to surviving has more to do with being OK that things are shit right then, and less to do with comparing our story to the next persons. Maybe while saying our ‘gratefuls’ we can also curse and cry about the things that aren’t so great. Either way, it’s worth a try to allow yourself to feel every corner of grief, of loss, of the unknown, of being scared shitless, of anger, rage hate, fear, sadness and love all at once! (Yep, there are days it happens just like that – one big ball of ‘holy shit – I’m laughing through my tears while punching my pillow! As different and unique as all of our stories are in so many ways, maybe our reactions behind them aren’t as crazy as they may seem, or not to the extent that we feed ourselves anyways.

Continue reading Blind Faith

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4th stage, 4th letter – D.

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It’s funny that the mental picture many get in their heads when hearing ‘psychiatric or mental issues’ is a padded room. Because I swore I was standing in one for years, there were days that room sounded far better then being in my own head.

This stage was, and to some degree still is, a huge part of my life. It’s the forbidden word, the one that we as society tries to avoid at all costs. Who can blame them, the highlight reels of the outside world are far more exciting then a topic such as this! 

So, depression, mental illness, psychiatric issues, a nut job, a lunatic – I don’t care what you want to refer to it as – it’s real. And it’s real in alot of other ways then that padded room. 

Josie was diagnosed at the age of 11. My parents never hid the fact that this was a concern. Not only was she treated by medication, but my parents made sure she had also had a therapist to talk through things. Depression is a word that I was very aware of growing up, but nothing I could personally relate too. It honestly never made sense to me. My mentality on the whole subject was ‘pick yourself up by your bootstraps, get over it and just be happy already!’ Then one day, I found myself standing on the opposite side of a fence I never understood, nor cared to ever understand. Once I was there – I instantaneously understood the physical and mental heaviness that so heavily bogged her down, both physically and mentally.

I remember standing in the kitchen while Nathan told me ‘you’re here, but you aren’t here, we need you here mentally just as much as physically.’ I remember thinking, yeah, no shit, I wish that was an option, but it’s something I can’t conceptualize at this point. From a physical standpoint, I had gained 40 pounds within a year – food became my safe haven. Aside from that, getting out of bed was SO much work, and being active was no longer in my vocabulary. I didn’t want to have to see a soul, including myself. I’ve never known mascara stained cheeks to be a trend, and that’s all that would happen if and when I did leave the house. The few times we would go out, I would find myself just standing there looking around thinking, I shouldn’t be here. I didn’t deserve to laugh or have fun. I’d find myself watching others doing just that and think ‘I wish I could do that and it come so naturally again.” No matter how many times I tried, like really tried to laugh or be fully engaged in a conversation, I couldn’t be genuinely engaged, every part of my mental body was a million miles away. The laugh wasn’t genuine, the conversation was surface, probably for both parties, because I’m sure others were unsure of what to say or how to say it. The only thing I could think about was her, how my life would never be the same, how I hated the person I was before this, especially my selfish ways, and yet how I so badly, to some degree, wanted to remember and be my old self again. It was a time of total and complete darkness.

By May of 2008 after suicidal thoughts, that I really don’t think would’ve been that hard to follow through on – I was admitted into the Generose outpatient program. It was the only option I had next to inpatient treatment. I was taken off of work for 6 weeks in hopes of regaining some sanity. That’s when my adventure with medications started, which only added to the weight gain and excessive sleeping at first, but at least when I was awake, I was a little more coherent. I believe most medications are a temporary bridge, there is only so much they are going to do, but the root of the problem often lies far deeper then that. I was directed to a Godsend of a Psychologist, Don Williams, who drastically impacted and seriously saved my life. He gave me insight on everything from suicide, to depression to parenting, to coping, while reiterating I wasn’t as crazy as I felt! (Always a nice reassurance, even if he was lying 😉 I began to look forward to our sessions, even if they were nothing but chronic breakdowns to start. They were my weekly ‘pick me up’ to get me through the next week, it was like a small load would be lifted from me each time I left.  After awhile the intense crying became a little less, but the topic was still repetitive. I remember telling him over and over, ‘I don’t know why I think these terrible things! I hate it, I know it isn’t right and I just want it to stop! It’s MY head, MY thoughts – I should be able to control them, I’M in charge of them! And, as always, his feedback was perfect. He would ask, ‘can a cancer patient make their tumor stop growing?’ Of course I looked at him like WTF does this have to do with anything!? He said ‘that’s the problem with society, everyone thinks it’s that easy, you just flip a switch and you can magically think differently. But this is a disease, just like cancer or heart disease. It’s the same as looking at that cancer patient and saying ‘it’s your body, make the tumor stop!’ It doesn’t work that way. I remember being awed, just like that, things made more sense. Isn’t it funny what we believe on account of what’s drilled into us? I was feeling so guilty for not being able to better control my mindset, but I was sick. Funny how things are viewed so differently isn’t it?

Don was my sounding board for years, he walked me through, step by step how to just survive by putting one foot in front of the other. That’s all it was for a long time, pure survival mode. It was like going back to the basics of teaching a child to eat, sleep and bathe on their own. I had to learn how important it was to shower and take 10 minute walks to try and clear my head, time to decompress, but not too much! I needed to start putting things back on my calendar, even if they didn’t sound the least bit enjoyable. Start wearing makeup and doing something with my hair before work. Things that used to come so easy to me, I was now having to be told to do. They worked – for awhile. But then I’d cycle back around again, needing another medication or dosage change. Fuck, when was I ever going to be normal again?! Better yet, was I even normal before? Did I even like the “me” before all of this? I had done such a good job hating that person, but I equally this one as well. Why can’t I just laugh, why is having fun so hard? Why can’t I be excited about things again? Why can’t I enjoy everything I have? Ready, set, walk…one .foot.in.front.of.the.other. They say slow and steady wins the race, and slow it was!

Continue reading Gluttony and Starvation

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