Wife, mom of 3 beautiful children, dog lover, creative sole and children's book Author. Sharing my journey with depression and anxiety through blogging in hopes of educating and ending the stigma.
When I come face to face with myself in the mirror, I feel inadequate and unlovable.
Today, while at work, I began to feel an intensity of emotions all at once.
I needed to somehow escape my inner critic, so I made a quick beeline for the washroom where I found myself being confronted by my own reflection.
I didn’t run, though.
I stood there for a moment, desperately trying to ground myself.
I looked into my own eyes with the utmost of compassion and kindness, and instead of telling myself that I am inadequate and unlovable, I found the courage to softly mouth the words, I am worthy, and I am enough to the image staring back at me in the mirror.
All my senses are heightened, and I’m finding it harder and harder to hold on.
The weight of each added stressor and the weight of my emotional and physical pain I’m in just feel too much.
They keep piling one on top of the other day by day, and my shoulders can no longer handle the weight.
They feel broken.
I feel broken.
It feels like a losing battle.
I am so desperate to find some kind of resolution to my living nightmare.
I am hoping I can begin to learn some new tools of how to protect my peace and walk through my pain as I delve into the pages of my new book, which was written by the inspiring and motivational author, Trent Skelton, who has been rated the number one mindset and self-worth mentor in the world.
After a really long day, aqua therapy (which I have started doing quite regularly now) was the perfect way to help me to relieve some of the stressors from my day today and calm both my body and mind down a notch or two before bed tonight.
I wrote this poem a few years ago. I came across it again today. It hit me really hard as I read it over tonight. I felt a need to share it with you again today after learning earlier this evening about a young man who took his own life today. He may have been a reality tv personality to millions of viewers, on one of my many favorite reality shows I watch religiously, but more importantly, to some, he was an adored brother, a friend and a dear son. I’m struggling a lot myself with those same thoughts and feelings. The struggle with suicidal ideations is very real and cruel and can be unrelenting at times. It’s an unbearable weight to carry sometimes. I know that for many who have never been that close to the edge before, it can be difficult to understand. I just ask that we try not to judge others, no matter what. I am truly heartbroken tonight for his family and loved ones and adoring fans he has left behind. As I settle in for the night I will turn my focus in on the very last verse of my poem, the verse that reminds me to keep fighting this evil disease for those who simply couldn’t anymore.
*Please remember to reach out if you are struggling. You are not alone.
I WANT TO LIVE, BUT I WANT TO DIE
I want to live, but I want to die It’s an endless struggle, I can not lie.
I want to live, but I want to die My heart is heavy, there’s no denying.
I want to live, but I want to die I find some comfort when I can cry.
I want to live, but I want to die I dream of ways I’d say goodbye.
I want to live, but I want to die My feelings are valid and justified.
I want to live, but I want to die Will I ever become that butterfly?
I want to live, but I want to die I feel so confused and terrified.
I want to live, but I want to die So I need to ask the question why?
I want to live, but I want to die It’s so hard some days to even try.
I want to live, but I want to die I wish the two would see eye to eye.
I want to die, but I want to live To show my illness what more I have left to give.
It’s been a very trying and painful few weeks for me on so many levels. It’s making it quite difficult to focus on much of anything these days, including my writing. Lots and lots of trauma responses and triggers happening pretty much daily right now, one in particular started with a seemingly innocent email I received a couple of weeks ago that sent me spiraling even further. A hard and very honest conversation followed with my Psychiatrist.
The email was sent to me by a random stranger who had found a particular blog of mine online that I’d written last fall. Over the years since I started my Blog, I have received numerous emails from random strangers who happen upon it and reach out to tell me just how much they appreciate my honesty or how something I’d written had really resonated with them, or how deeply connected they felt towards me. It means the world to me every time I share my story, knowing I have helped even one person feel less alone. This stranger, though, had somewhat of a different agenda. I appreciated his intentions, but I never realized at first glance how much it would trigger my symptoms of PTSD.
His email began with, “Dear Kim, I came across your article, ‘A Win Is A Win’, which was a very difficult read. I do hope your symptoms have improved since you wrote that piece.” He then proceeded to introduce himself and his reason for writing me.
He told me that he is the Founder of a news outlet where he covers “the latest developments in psychedelic research and drug development” and then asked if I had participated in the clinical research trial that had just been published earlier that week. He attached the publication for me as reference. When I opened the link and began reading it, I knew immediately that it was in fact the findings from the trial I took part in 23 months and 1 day ago (but who’s counting) as the first thing I noticed was my Psychiatrist’s name at the top of the document, given that he was one of the lead researchers on the study. I hadn’t spoken to my Psychiatrist in a few weeks and had no clue that the study had concluded or that the findings had been published yet.
The stranger wanted to know if, after reading through the report thoroughly, I felt that the symptoms I have endured since that day had been “adequately represented” in the publication. He then wanted to know if I’d be willing to share my experiences with him further, including any updates as well.
I knew I had an upcoming appointment with my Psychiatrist in a few days and needed to discuss this all with him first, for many reasons.
He understood completely.
My mind became consumed for the next few days leading up to my appointment with my Psychiatrist because to answer the question, “do I feel as though the symptoms I experienced and continue to live with every day since, had been adequately represented in the publication?”, the short answer is an overwhelming NO!!
Although much of the report was written in scientific jargon and with charts I couldn’t quite comprehend or read, there was plenty I could understand. And when I finally got to share with my Psychiatrist that I had received a copy of the publication from this random stranger, we discussed it in great length and detail together. As I stated earlier, it was a hard, but very honest conversation, for the both of us. He completely understood how I felt my experience was not adequately represented in the publication and that my symptoms were very much glossed over. He let me know that the drug manufacturer had actually reached out to him directly at some point to specifically discuss my case when they read about my symptoms, and were obviously most intrigued to learn about my PGAD diagnosis, but that the “Ethics Board” did not approve any further discussion of my case, other than a basic one line, in order to try and protect me (it’s completely anonymous 🤔). **My participation in the trial lasted 6 months from treatment day, with follow up appointments every 2 weeks.
During our conversation, I once again reiterated to my Psychiatrist how I have never, ever placed any blame on him whatsoever for what has happened to me. It was my decision, and my decision alone to take part in the trial, but for the first time in almost 2 years, I told him that I do place blame with the two doctors who sat by watching me convulsing on a couch beside them for close to 6 hours straight and not once did either of them try to intervene or help me. By the time I finally came “down”, they jokingly stated afterwards “wow, that was quite a trip you had”. It is probably safe to say now, 23 months and 1 day later, that the damage that was done to me that day, the neurological damage done to my body that day is something I am slowly coming to terms with that I will have to live with for the rest of my days.
I know I probably sound like a broken record by now but the constant, unrelenting and unbearable tingling in my hands and feet, numbness and shakiness, brain zaps galore, very obvious tremors throughout my entire body, all day, a deep aversion to noise, a sensitivity to touch and of course the worst symptom of all; PGAD (in case you missed it: https://youareenough712.wordpress.com/2022/09/20/tmi/) have all led to a further decline in my mental health since last year and the reason I began the process of M.A.I.D, which now seems like another dead end (excuse the pun) for me.
I have so many regrets in my life, but I told my Psychiatrist during our appointment that my decision to participate in a study that was intended to give me a glimmer of hope at the time, has now become my biggest regret above all. He completely understood why and then looked at me straight in my eyes (over Zoom) and said to me, I too have so much regret for having you participate in the study. His words may not change what has happened to me, but feeling validated sure helped.
Before our meeting ended, he also gave me his blessing to go ahead and talk with the stranger more in depth, if I so choose to. He cautioned me though that he doesn’t want me to be exploited or get hurt or taken advantage of as he has seen others go through with media. I haven’t really decided one way or another yet, but I think if the stranger happens upon this article, like he did with the other one, it probably will give him most of the answers he’s looking for anyways.
The Pink Shirt Movement originally started after 2 young teenage boys decided to take a stand against bullying after one of their male classmates was bullied for wearing a pink shirt to school. Since its inception in 2007, it is now proudly recognized across the Globe on the last Wednesday in February.
Today is a perfect reminder to all of us that we need to continue to raise awareness about bullying, to encourage a healthy self-worth, to practice empathy and compassion, and to always, always, choose kindness.
Before I begin, I did want to first start by saying a huge, heartfelt thank you for all the beautiful messages of support I’ve received and continue to daily, both on and offline, after my last post where I let you know that I needed to take a bit of a break from my blogging and social media platforms for my mental health. I have read every last word written and spoken in private with so many special friends and acquaintances alike. It’s meant the world to me.
I’ve spent the past week trying to fill my own cup. I’m not sure it’s been all that successful, though. My heart is tired.
I’ve needed this time away to try and collect my thoughts and emotions while dealing with so many really big feelings all at once. My mind feels like it’s on an endless loop of hopelessness, trapped by all these negative thoughts and emotions. The best way to describe how I am feeling right now is likened to that of a prisoner, yet I’m the prisoner of my own mind.
The truth is, though, I miss writing, even if there are days where I put a lot of undue pressure on myself while doing so and on other days where the words just can’t come out. But I also know that every time I share my story, I take the hand of someone else along with me who thought that they were the only one going through something alone.
That is what inspires me most to keep writing.
Both my therapist and psychiatrist had been very helpful this past week as I desperately tried to sort through so many really big feelings all at once right now. With their help, I’m trying to become more aware of my endless list of triggers I have by challenging my negative beliefs circling my mind. I’m learning ways to stop replaying my past traumas over and over again in order to help me cope with my everyday challenges better. I’m still a work in progress. I still yearn to feel like I am worthy or enough; I still yearn to squash the self-doubt, and I still yearn to one day find purpose to go on living. I do know, though, that in the end, I am truly the only one who holds the key to unlock my imprisoned mind and be able to break free from the prison guards standing in my way.
“Write hard and clear about what hurts”~Ernest Hemingway
And I’ve come to an understanding this week that I’m NOT enough and never will be, which is why I am taking a break from my blog/writing/feeds for now for the sake of my mental health. I need to somehow figure out how I will ever, or if I will ever be able to come back from the overwhelming feelings of grief, betrayal, and triggers in my life. So much of my childhood trauma has resurfaced. The same trauma that has kept me in this never-ending loop of depression, anxiety and suicidal ideations for nearly 10 years now. It never truly goes away. I thought I was stronger than it, but clearly I’m not. I thought I had it under control, but clearly, I don’t.
I wish I could be more. I wish I was more than enough. It’s an unbearable weight to carry.
Today is “Random Acts of Kindness Day”, so before I go, I have one simple favour to ask; be the reason someone smiles today. Every act of kindness, whether big or small can brighten another person’s day and can mean the world to someone at just the right moment in time.
He sees me for more than just what my illness has taken from me. He still loves me despite my flaws. He embraces me when I’m feeling anxious. He holds my hand when I am scared. He makes me laugh when I am sad. He reminds me of my worth. He listens to me when I’m feeling alone. He walks beside me when I lose my way.
I am truly blessed that he is mine; My funny Valentine.
Love, I mean real love, is unconditional. Real love is a choice. Real love takes work. Real love means trusting one another, communication, appreciation and mutual respect. Real love is never perfect. Sometimes you go through hard times together, maybe you weather some storms and disappointments along the way as well but I promise you that if you can get through the hard times, the storms and the disappointments together you will truly know what real love is.
I could also care less that Taylor Swift flew all the way across the world yesterday just so she could be at the Superbowl game tonight.
But what I do care about and am a huge fan of is bearing witness to loving, mutually respectful, happy relationships and people who show up for love.
Something we do not see nearly enough of these days.
Since the start of Taylor and Travis’s relationship all I have seen are the haters who continue to bash two fellow human beings simply for loving one another and cheering each other on in their life and their wins.
What happened to a world where teaching our young boys to respect women was a thing or empowering our young girls to be fierce and fearless were too?
Haters are gonna hate and maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic (it also happens to be love week ya know), but I truly believe that if they can stop the haters from getting in between them, I think that the odds will be in their favour that they can make this relationship last.
So tonight, the only team I will be rooting for to win, both on and off the field, is “Team Love”.
YouAreEnough 
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