Category: Anxiety

Today Is World Semicolon Day ;

Today is World Semicolon Day. It seems like just about everyday of the week you open up your Social Media platforms we are being inundated with people celebrating some kind of a day. Many of these days are super silly or fun and many of them just give us the perfect excuse to honour someone we love like our pets or family members.

Today on World Semicolon Day I am celebrating a community, a community that I now belong to and a community that many others do too. And in its honour I am continuing to do what I have been doing now for several years which is sharing my story with you and reminding anyone who is suffering with a mental illness, along with all those who support you that we are not alone.

Most of you have probably never heard of World Semicolon Day or Project Semicolon but over the last few years it has been a very significant part of my world. For those who have been following my journey over the last couple of years through my blog may recall that I have talked about Project Semicolon before. This organization was founded about 6 years ago by Amy Bleuel who wanted to honour her late father for whom she lost to suicide. Since her foundation began, the semicolon (;) has become known worldwide as a symbol to many people who struggle with depression, addiction, self-harm and suicidal ideations “to believe that this is not the end but a new beginning.”

Sadly, two years ago Amy lost her own battle with Mental Illness too but her foundation continues to bring hope and inspiration to many others through awareness and suicide prevention using the semicolon (a punctuation mark ; indicating a pause in a sentence, not an ending) symbol. Hundreds of thousands of bodies have become permanently inked with this symbol as a daily reminder that their story isn’t over yet (;) and many others have done so in memory of a loved one who they have lost to a mental illness.

Three years ago this coming July as Rich and I were casually strolling through Kensington Market and enjoying a hot #summerofrich day we passed by a tattoo parlour. I had been thinking for some time about getting a tattoo (for the first time in my life) in honour of my mental illness (and Project Semicolon) and had been holding onto a photo in my phone representing what it symbolized to me and its significance that my story isn’t over quite yet either.

I went for it. I got the tattoo and although it’s tiny and only visible on a hot summer day when I am wearing a tank top or bathing suit, it’s truly meaningful to me which is what I believe a tattoo should be. It’s a “Chai” which I added a dot on top of in order to make a semicolon symbol as well. Chai is a Hebrew word that when translated to English simply means “Life” but also possesses a numerical significance in the Jewish religion as well. It represents the number “18” which has become a longstanding Jewish tradition of gifting, contributing or donating in increments of $18 and is considered a Mitzvah (a good deed in English) meaning “a gift of life”.

Along with its meaning of life it also carries many symbolic principles too, including kindness, thoughtfulness and selflessness which are three of the greatest characteristics a person could hold during their time on this earth. So you see my tattoo has a lot of meaning behind it and a permanent reminder of my daily struggle to continue living and how important it is to continue sharing my story with you.

*Stay tuned for the upcoming #summerofrich (it will be somewhat of an abridged one) because I have been designing another tattoo for sometime now and you never know where our journey may take us next*. And lastly, who thinks Rich and I should get matching ones?

Writer’s Block (AKA Depression)

I’ve had to force myself to sit down and do some blogging today because I’ve been totally incapable of doing much of anything this past week or more. I am exhausted and feel completely depleted. There’s a lot going on in my life right now, most of which I just can’t share, but the overwhelm of it all has generated what an author would call “writer’s block”.

Writing has become a big part of my identity over the last couple of years and more recently it’s actually become an important part of my journey. For the most part I find writing to be very therapeutic and fun but right now I am finding that it’s just causing me additional anxiety (if that’s even possible) just thinking about it. I truly love writing but given the dark and lonely place I find myself in lately, my tank is completely on empty, leaving me no motivation to write. I also find my apprehension to discipline myself to blog is creating added feelings of being a failure and of course causing me such f@cking guilt (truth be told it doesn’t take much for me to feel either of these emotions).

I have so much to write about and so much I need to write about but this so called writer’s block (AKA Depression) is making it near impossible right now. I am feeling frustrated and most definitely uninspired. My anxiety has hit an all time high lately which is only causing me to feel even more inadequate and unfocused. I am beyond the norm of overwhelm with all the shit going on in my life and the walls around me feel like they have pretty much caved in. My thoughts and emotions are completely clouded.

Ernest Hemingway was once quoted by saying “Write hard and clear about what hurts” which I truly believe has become my mantra since I began writing my blog over two years ago. Writing should be impactful and needs to come from the heart no matter what the genre. Writing also takes strength and concentration because you and only you are in charge of your own thoughts and emotions. Additionally I find that it helps me to release many of my negative thoughts and hurt right onto a crisp, blank page and all of this combined is not only cathartic and freeing but I believe this is what Hemingway is trying to tell me.

Maybe Hemingway was also trying to channel me earlier this past week when I sat down with a psychic for a few minutes the other day at a Health, Wellness and Spiritual show. I have been wanting, almost to the point of needing to speak with a psychic over the past year so when the opportunity arose I thought why not? Because it was at a show there was only an opportunity for a short, abridged session which I figured I would try first before I commit to a more in depth reading. The psychic knew nothing about me, not even my name but the very first thing he said to me was that I need to “continue writing and being creative” and that it is very important I do so for my well being. Ya it was kinda freaky, and I’m kinda a believer now and may just need to take it one step further. So does anyone know a good psychic?

April 4, 2014: It’s Been Five Long Years;(

It’s been a really tough week for me, like omfg tough. It’s been a roller coaster of emotions causing so much pain and anguish which in turn leads to very scary and intrusive thoughts. I’m used to it by now though because you see, I’ve been on this roller coaster ride for 1,825 days, 43,800 hours and 2,628,000 minutes (no wonder I feel so nauseous all time). It was five years ago today; April 4, 2014 when I headed out the door to go to work that Friday morning like any other seemingly normal weekday, but by five o’clock that afternoon my entire world came crumbling down and I have been trying to put the pieces of my life back together ever since.

That Friday morning, April 4, 2014, I was doing what I had been doing for several months. I was heading to a job that I hated. A job that made me doubt my self-worth. A job that made me uncomfortable. A job that made me question my integrity. A job that made me compromise my morals and a job that made me feel unsafe. Ok so it wasn’t so much the job itself that did all that, but in actuality it was a boss who did.

Turns out I was working for a crook, a scam artist and one mighty smooth talking jackass (actually there were two of them!). I started to realize very early on that this crook, scam artist and smooth talking jackass was doing some very illegal shit and partaking in some very immoral behaviours which included ponzi/pyramid schemes and stealing money from innocent and unsuspecting people (your welcome to google his name because it’s all there for the world to see on the world wide web).

He wooed me for several months before I decided to leave another job to start working with him. When I did eventually start working with him I was so excited and thought I had finally found a job that I could build into a thriving career. I fell for his charm (stupid, stupid me) but at least I was lucky enough to have only invested my time with him and not my money.

But on April 4, 2014 after I was asked to do something I felt was ethically and morally wrong I packed up my belongings and hightailed it out of there. I got into my car completely petrified and completely broken (but at least he actually paid me that day, unlike so many previous weeks). I drove around petrified and broken for hours upon hours while my entire family and many friends headed out all over the city trying to find me because the last thing I did after leaving my office was tell my husband I wanted to die and then I turned off my phone.

It was on that day that I lost my will to live. It was on that day that I became hopeless. It was on that day that I felt worthless. It was on that day that I realized I was a complete and utter failure and it was on that day that I discovered just how much of a burden I truly am. Something inside of me snapped that day five years ago or so it might of seemed at the time, but what I didn’t know then was I had truly been suffering in silence for a long, long time and didn’t even realize it.

A great deal of my pain and suffering is from many of the regrets I have in my life and although it’s only human to have some regrets throughout your lifetime, if they are not safely managed they can turn into depression and anxiety. Many of my regrets have left me feeling completely broken and feeling like I have absolutely no purpose in my life either. But at least now I can recognize how much power many of my regrets have taken away from me so that maybe I will one day be able to build from those regrets and find my true purpose in this world (this does not include my role as wife and mom).

Ounce By Ounce: Experimenting With Cannabis

For those of you who have been following my writing over the last couple of years may already know that I stopped taking conventional medication to treat my depression and anxiety about two years ago (Blog: Anti-Depressants; My Reality, April 2017). There were many factors involved in mine and Rich’s decision to stop taking them, but the most obvious one was that they just weren’t helping me. In fact they were doing quite the opposite for me and after experimenting with over 20 different concoctions the decision seemed like an easy one. All that the medications were doing by this point were creating even more problems both mentally and physically, and not to mention I could no longer be trusted to keep them in my possession without the worry that I would abuse their use if no one was watching over me. I just needed to sleep and take the edge off somehow, I swear!!

Although my Psychiatrist at the time (who moved to Alberta shortly thereafter) wasn’t on board with our decision he carefully and patiently weaned me off the concoction I was taking at the time. Once I completed the extremely grueling, exhausting and debilitating task of detoxing I almost felt a sense of relief except we were then left with one question; what now? So my Psychiatrist suggested medical marijuana. He wrote me a script and referred me to a clinic in which I followed up with in the coming weeks.

Let me take you back in time for a minute before I continue with my story. You see, as a teenager and young adult I never really had the desire to smoke marijuana or even drink alcohol, in fact I am to this day mostly the designated driver. Well not so much in the last few years since I haven’t driven at night in over three years and only drive the bare minimum during the day, but up until then I was for sure! It wasn’t like I didn’t have access to drugs and alcohol because I did. In fact I was completely surrounded by it. All my friends did it and boyfriends too (some quite a bit!). It was everywhere I went, but for some reason I had very little interest in partaking in these activities. But now in my late 40’s I find myself consumed by trying any alternatives I can to traditional medication so I guess desperate times call for desperate measures (and it’s legal now!).

I experimented for a while with different types of medical marijuana but quickly realized what I didn’t like about it thirty years earlier and the whole process was stressful and I still found no relief nor was it helping me sleep any better so after about six months I stopped doing it. About that same time I had been introduced to CBD oil and researched it alot until my husband and I found the right concoction (Blog: Cannabidoil (CBD OIL) My Personal Discovery Toward Wellness) from a company in the States and although it didn’t help with my sleep deprivation either, it did something more important for me. It instantaneously relieved many of my symptoms of anxiety. Within minutes of taking the drops I would feel calmer, my heart palpitations would slow down, my nausea subsided and so much more. It certainly wasn’t a cure but I could take it as many times as needed throughout the day as my anxiety levels rose and did so without getting “high”.

I am still using it today but of course like everything else in my life, it hasn’t been without drama. You see, several months ago it was banned from shipping to Canada. Ya the one and only thing in my life that gave me any sort of relief and I didn’t have access to it anymore and like a junkie would do, I began searching for any way I could get my fix. Once the ban was lifted (It’s legal in Canada so I have no clue what the hell the problem was!) we decided to stock up (I’m not the only one in my home using it), but guess what happened next, after a couple of weeks anxiously (literally) waiting for my oil to arrive, Rich gets a call from the Canadian Customs that our order had been seized at the border (I felt like we were smuggling cocaine across the Mexican border). Anyways, we were refunded our money and we reordered it again and this time it came through but then operations got shut down again for shipping to Canada and I have been left high and dry without any oil for weeks while awaiting for the ban to once again be lifted. I know you must be thinking there are so many other ways to purchase different strains of CBD oil but you see, I have not found any others with the right concoction that works for me anywhere else. Nothing with that instant relief, nevermind any relief at all (the medicinal oils take three hours to absorb in order to take effect).

So as I wait for the ban to be lifted once again (they claim will be by the end of March which is in two days from now so I’m doubtful that’s gonna happen), I have gone on to experiment with other methods of smoking and ingesting marijuana but I just don’t react well to any of it (kinda like all the anti-depressants). Nothing can ever be simple! Nothing can ever be easy!

I was introduced to another cannabis product about a month ago by a friend. It is an oil based vape pen containing only pure extracted ingredients just like my CBD oil I am so longing for which is why I decided to give it a try. However, unlike my CBD oil which is in the form of drops, this oil is vaped and also contains very high levels of THC (Tetrahydrocannabinol, basically the psychoactive part of cannabis) which also means I can only use it at night. If inhaled in just the right quantity (not to the point of feeling stoned which has happened many times while experimenting) along with my new weighted blanket (which I really like: See Blog; My Weighted Blanket, January 25, 2019) I am able to get a few solid hours of sleep some nights but I still needed more, especially to help relieve my debilitating nighttime anxiety.

So I recently decided to take my experimentation one step further and try some “weed gummies”. Let’s just say it didn’t end well. What it did end with however was Rich having to stay by my side until almost 4am that morning (with a glass of water in hand) as I hallucinated and became severely panicked, paranoid and hysterical. I couldn’t catch my breath and even had trouble swallowing for almost four hours. Thankfully all three kids had slept out that night however upon hearing about my experience the next day they were only upset that their dad hadn’t videotaped the whole thing for them to see. Oh and yes Rich regrets it too!

So for now I think it’s best that I lay off the experimenting for a while, not sure my body or mind can take much more defeat. Just make sure to keep me away from the new retail stores opening up on Monday!

Should The Media Report On Suicides?

*May Be Triggering To Some*

In the span of just one week three suicides have shattered two different communities. These aren’t just any ordinary communities but are instead the home to two of the deadliest mass school shootings in American history; Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland Florida (Feb 2018) and Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown Connecticut (Dec 2012) both suffered further devastation this week when two students from MSD (one had since graduated and was attending College) took their own lives and then just yesterday a broken hearted father from SH did so as well.

Those of us who watched these mass shootings unfold on the news (and so many others) will forever remember the horror and chaos that erupted during the time of the shootings and the aftermath of these communities trying to put their lives back together while also trying to grieve the pain of losing their loved ones in such a violent and tragic way.

So here’s the question(s) I have for you. Did reporting the suicide of 19 year old Sydney Aiello, who died a little over a week ago trigger the other young man (his name has not been released to the public) who still attended MSD to take his own life a few days later, or how about Jeremy Richman, the father of little six year old Avielle Richman who died in the mass shooting at SH just over six years ago?

Is there a connection? Did hearing of Sydney Aiello’s suicide last week give not one but two other individuals suffering similar pain and anguish the okay to end their lives too? Is suicide contagious? Is the media “inspiring” others to follow these tragic ideations? Studies have shown that individuals who are suffering with mental illness can most definitely be triggered by another individual’s suicide whether it’s a friend, a loved one or a famous person but was that the case here or was it all just coincidental?

So would we be better off not having an open dialogue about suicide? Absolutely not! And here’s why. I may say this often but it’s the truth, no two people are the same and no two journeys are the same either. And although these three individuals who took their own life may have been forever connected through similar violent tragedy, they were all on their own journey with their own truth which is why I believe it is still better to honour their lives by continuing to have an open dialogue about suicide than to sweep it under the rug and pretend it doesn’t exist. So long as the messages and resources being conveyed by the media are done in a safe and healthy manner then bring it on because the more attention and the more open dialogue there is on the subject then I truly believe it can and will save lives.

What Do You Have To Be Depressed About?

To many outsiders maybe my life looks great, I mean look at all my blessings. But you see, depression doesn’t care about all my blessings and when an outsider tries to “help” me by pointing out all the reasons why I shouldn’t be depressed it only makes me feel worse and causes me to feel more guilt and even more like a burden.

J.K Rowling who is most well known as the author of the Harry Potter series, who many may not know had also suffered with depression for many years was once quoted as saying “It’s so difficult to describe depression to someone who’s never been there, because it’s not sadness.” This is possibly the biggest reason why depression can be so confusing to so many outsiders because she’s so right, depression is a lot more than just feeling sad; it’s a blackness, it’s feeling insignificant, it’s exhaustion, it’s loneliness and it’s a feeling of hopelessness all rolled into one.

To imply to a person who is suffering with depression that they have so much to be thankful for, that they are so lucky, that they should just look on the bright side or that they have such a great life may be seen by the outsider as a good intention but in reality it is actually deeply discouraging to someone battling with depression. As I said above these phrases are just creating more feelings of being a burden and more feelings of guilt.

It may also make someone suffering with depression feel like they are not being heard and that their feelings are not being validated. These thoughts from an outsider implies that the individual who is suffering have no feelings of gratitude or that they are too self-absorbed to be grateful when in reality they are just too damn exhausted trying to fight with their emotions.

Depression is not just one simple feeling of sadness but is instead a complex combination of neurological, environmental and social components leaving someone suffering with depression feeling even more misunderstood when they hear these well intentioned phrases while putting an even bigger target on the disease itself by perpetuating the stigma further and dismissing the severity of the illness.

I can’t keep apologizing for who I am or who I have become anymore. I can’t continue to feel ashamed of my mental illness anymore and I can’t live with the guilt associated with the outsiders looking in who think that someone else may “have it much worse” than me. It won’t change the fact that I am who I am or that I have what I have and with or without guilt I am just trying to do what’s best for me. And yes I am beyond grateful, thankful and lucky for all the love and support that surrounds me everyday.

What Will It Matter

In the wake of Hollywood’s latest scandal I have found myself engrossed in all its details and not only because of how disappointed I am in “Aunt Becky” but mostly because I see the damage it’s caused from a mental health perspective.

I’ve already been through the process of applying to University programs with two of my kids and in less than a year from now I will be doing it again for a third time so I know what it’s like. The process is stressful on everyone involved but sometimes as parents we make the process far more burdensome than it needs to be. Sometimes we may think we are doing what’s right for our kids but deep down it may just be our way of trying to fill our own void, doing more harm than good to them in the process. I mean heck, they are still kids when they begin the process in the first place so why wouldn’t we try and bias them. And let us not forget that only a few months prior to the start of University, while trying to make these life altering adult decisions regarding the rest of their lives, they were sitting in a high school classroom needing to raise their fricken hand to ask permission to go to the bathroom.

So I know that it’s hard as parents to want to do whatever we can for our kids if we think it will be in the best interest for their future but what’s most important to remember is that we need to listen to our children more than ever and stop pressuring them to be something we want them to be or what may look best to “The Joneses”. We quickly forget that all kids are different and that all kids have different needs as well.

Maybe if I had had more support and encouragement during this process back when I was in high school I wouldn’t have surrendered to the pressure from my parents or society and maybe I would have chosen a much different path, one that was better suited to my needs and wants. And even though it’s been over 25 years it has been a huge part of my pain and suffering over the last 5 years, something I never want my kids to feel because the pressures that teenagers and young adults face today are insurmountable compared to all other generations before them and it is taking a toll on their mental health like never before.

I never want my kids to feel like they were pressured to choose a career path they didn’t want or become someone their not. I want them to feel like they have the confidence and control over their own destination because of the support and encouragement they were given. And trust me when I say they have needed lots of it along the way thus far. You see, sadly at the end of the day, it’s the kids who wind up suffering the most, not the parents (unless your Aunt Becky). “Aunt Becky” didn’t listen to her kid’s needs or their desires and just saw the prestige and admiration from the Hollywood elite (or The Joneses in layman’s terms), or maybe she put her own needs first and felt the need to sit on the sidelines while bragging to the world (which seemed to be often) and forgetting how little it will matter in the end or who’s lives it may destroy.

Will it matter in the end that your kid got an early acceptance to the program they wanted or will it matter in the end if they don’t get into that dream school they wanted or will it matter in the end if they took a different path altogether? No, none of that will matter in the end. All that will matter in the end is that their successes, their failures and their future happiness always be supported and encouraged by you because all that will truly matter in the end is that they feel happy, healthy and empowered in spite of it all.

In Memory Of Lance: Our Broken Healthcare System

A couple of weeks ago I shared a post on Facebook which originated from the York Regional Police website in regards to a missing person in Thornhill. It’s sadly not uncommon to see such posts being shared by so many of us but this time around for me it wasn’t just a nameless face I was staring at on the screen but instead it was a face of a man that I had known since I was 8 years old. We both moved to Thornhill around the same time and attended the same Elementary and High School together. Our paths first crossed the year I had moved from Montreal and Lance had immigrated all the way from South Africa.

When the initial shock wore off I quickly became flooded with memories of a guy I once considered a friend. I remembered how funny he was, I remembered his beautiful smile, I remembered how disciplined he was, I remembered what a thriving gymnast he was (through his adolescent and teenage years he worked his butt off as a gymnast with the Canadian National Gymnastics team), I remembered how he fought so hard to pursue his dreams to the fullest and I remembered how much all the girls in Elementary school chased after him. And although we had gone our separate ways after High School I never forgot about my friend Lance and all those memories.

The only real contact we have had in the last 10 plus years was through Social Media but other than knowing he had become a lawyer, I didn’t know much more. He kept a very quiet presence on Facebook and I had no idea that a few days later after seeing his missing person picture all over Facebook that I would learn his fate and that Lance was no longer considered a missing person but instead that he had succumb to his battle with mental illness.

Every time I hear about another suicide it completely throws me into a tailspin but when I read about Lance’s lifelong struggles today through an article that was recently written by a Crime and Justice Reporter in connection to an interview conducted with both Lance’s mom and dad I became even more angry and even more saddened to learn the details of his pain and suffering. He battled with many mental illnesses, but his severe OCD is what began his demise, crippling his ability to function and ultimately leading to other diagnosis’s of depression and anxiety.

His parents talk at great length in the article about Lance’s struggle to find the proper treatment he so desperately yearned for and their heartbreaking words so sadly resonated with me, knowing that I face the same obstacles everyday with that same broken Mental Healthcare System. Their words made me feel so disheartened for him and every other individual struggling to find that proper treatment. It is so distressing just knowing how many other people like Lance or myself also feel so ostracized and stigmatized because of their mental illness.

The sad reality is that Lance’s story isn’t an isolated one, I mean I talk in great length and often about how broken our Mental Healthcare System is and it doesn’t seem to be getting any better with each new day or each new obstacle I face. This is why it’s more important than ever to talk, cry or shout about how badly our system is failing you or maybe your mom, your brother, your best friend or your own child. We have to be the voice and keep fighting to let all the Lance’s out there know that their lives were not lost in vain.

Feel free to read the article I referenced above.
https://www.yorkregion.com/news-story/9223123-frustration-of-life-health-care-system-claims-thornhill-athlete-ocd-sufferer/

Some Memories Are Unforgettable: Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT)

Lately I’ve been noticing that my ability to retain small amounts of information is becoming more and more troublesome. If I don’t jot things down right away then I am sure to forget many significant or even trivial details that may be of importance to me. I also find myself losing my train of thought while in the midst of a conversation or even forgetting what I am talking about all together. Although I have been struggling more recently with my short term memory loss it has actually been of concern ever since I made the decision to do ECT (Electroconvulsive Therapy) 4 years ago.

I have mentioned ECT several times in my blogs but I have never really gone into much detail about my actual experience. But before I go any further I want you to know that this is by no means a public service announcement or in any way a deterrent from changing someone’s thoughts or feelings on this method of treatment or any other for that matter.

This, like everything else I write about is my own truth, my own story and my own reality. My intention is never to discourage someone from trying anything that may be beneficial to their own treatment of depression or other mental illnesses because if there is one thing I have learned throughout my journey it’s that no two truths are the same, no two stories are the same and certainly no two realities are either.

I share my own truth, my own story and my own reality in order to help give others some insight into this dreadful disease by bringing about more awareness, more change and more understanding. It’s not so black and white like many want to believe, there is often a lot of grey in between too. And it’s that grey area that led me to try ECT.

ECT has been around since the 1930’s which has thankfully been updated over time since the days of “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest”, but still carries with it many of the same stigmas. ECT works by using electricity to induce seizures as a way of relieving the symptoms of many mental illnesses.

When I entered the hospital in October 2014 ECT was quickly presented to me as an option for treatment. I declined right away, but 2 months into my stay I was left feeling so defeated from the many medications that were failing me, that I decided to revisit the option, mostly because I just wanted to go home. I had observed many other patients regularly being scheduled for the treatment and I thoroughly trusted my team of doctors in my care. That was until I began my own treatment and almost immediately regretted my decision.

To have the best possible outcome, ECT is done a few times per week at a minimum of 8 to 12 sessions. Every morning that I was scheduled for a session a nurse would come into my room around 5:30 am, turn on all the lights, wake me up and start taking my temperature and blood pressure. Then the real fun began when she started pricking me with a needle in order to put the IV pic in my hand. I then could choose to go back to sleep or what I did instead was anxiously await my turn to be called down to the OR which could sometimes be many hours later. Once I was wheeled downstairs into what felt like a dungeon, I lay down on a cold hard table and the next thing I would feel was a sharp coldness burn through my veins as they injected me with the anesthetic before I drifted off to sleep.

Once the procedure was done and I was awake they would monitor me for about an hour until I was stable enough to go back upstairs. The days that I had treatment were extra hard for me as the immediate side effects were usually exhaustion, headaches and muscle pain. But I also began to experience terrible panic attacks from the whole treatment in general. My doctor tried to ease some of my panic and fears by making sure that I was first on the list of patients every time treatment day rolled around but after my seventh session and of course no sign of relief in sight I decided I couldn’t do another day.

If there was any sign that some of my symptoms were lifting I may have fought through the agony it was causing me but if after seven sessions of torturing myself to get through just one more, left me thinking there’s no way one more is gonna make a difference (but never doubt that my feeling like a failure again doesn’t cross my mind daily). And I was also beginning to understand the severity of how much memory loss I was having. Much of December 2014 and well into that new year have been pretty much erased from my mind and maybe that’s for the best, but it never seemed to have fully restored to the capacity I functioned at before I began the treatment.

I know ECT has saved many lives, but it just couldn’t save this one. I saw it save lives right before my eyes. I’ve seen brightness again in someone’s eyes and hope in another’s heart. They are the brightness and hope I’ve been longing for and the memories that never leave my mind.

My Vicious Circle

Depression and anxiety suck the life right out of me, both literally and figuratively. They make me feel inferior. They make me feel angry. They make me feel exhausted. They make me lose my sense of self-worth and they make me lose my will to live. Basically to sum it all up in one word, depression and anxiety make me feel useless.

Depression and anxiety create a vicious circle for me, one which can cause injurious results when trying to change one bad situation or behaviour that may be caused by another situation or behaviour and in turn often causes more damage to the original situation.

I try, I really do. I can even present myself to the world sometimes as eager and enthusiastic when I engage in tasks or chores that may be seen as appealing and enjoyable to most people but for me these simple tasks and chores quickly create a newer or greater problem by exasperating the old one and triggering a continuum of that vicious circle. Those seemingly simple tasks or chores rapidly become too overwhelming, too intimidating and darn right near impossible to follow through with, creating a wall (way bigger than Trump’s wall) which I don’t have the strength to climb over, precipitating further anxiety, panic and self-hate.

At first my eagerness and enthusiasm seem like a great idea, especially when looking on from the outside in. I want so badly to prove to the world that I can do it, but then without warning those emotions fabricated by my depression and anxiety cause me to feel worse, cause me to feel like a failure and most definitely cause me to feel useless. It’s as though I will never be able to accomplish anything at all and these overburdening emotions have taken away my will to want do anything at all anymore.

I know that several of my current situations I’m dealing with (and there are many) I have to approach in their own distinct manner as they all have their own distinct set of attributes but once I take a step back, take in a few deep breaths, ask myself some very important questions, set some very important boundaries, cry, yell and berate myself further I just feel more overwhelmed and muddled. I’m desperately trying to stop my vicious circle from continuing to spin out of control because listening to that voice in your head tell you all the time that you are incapable of achieving anything really can make anyone feel useless.