I’ve been spiraling and feeling extremely vulnerable for more than a week now. My emotions have left me feeling very unlovable, and my thoughts continue to try and tell me that the world is better off without me.
I began this deep nose dive mentally about 10 days ago, which I believe was initially triggered by my frustration, anger, and sheer disappointment yet again with our health care system. I shared the situation with you the next day as my spiral began to pull me under and into a hopeless abyss of despair.
***Sidenote, my appointment is scheduled for this coming Friday morning and I still haven’t received the signed form from the specialist, even though she was on the phone with me a week ago Friday filling it out and promising she would send it over to Rich as soon as we hung up. I have 2 choices now. 1. Call their office on Monday to remind the doctor for a fourth time to kindly send me the form we need to submit to insurance to see if the treatment will even be covered and at the same time reschedule my appointment for next month because once the insurance company does receive the claim, who knows how long it will take them to let us know if it’s been approved or not, or 2. Just say, fuck it and cancel the appointment all together. As you can probably guess, I’m leaning heavily towards the latter.
My body, along with my mind has also been in a constant state of fight or flight this entire week and the alarm bells sounding off throughout my body have reached its tipping point. My nervous system was sent into overdrive after 2 separate incidences triggered it yesterday.
I am feeling very alone today. No one can truly understand what is going on inside my body, let alone my mind, and I’m not sure I can face the reality that my symptoms are worsening. My body feels like it’s on fire as I write this. But all I can do for now is hope that today is a lot less stressful than yesterday was and keep to my plans…to do…nothing today, and then hope that will be enough to calm my body and mind the fuck down before a new week begins.
It was a year ago today that I was at my lowest point. I was in crisis like never before. Every aspect of my life seemed to be falling apart.
Rich didn’t know what to do. He got really scared that night, and his first instinct was to call the police. It wasn’t the first time he’d done so, but it’s the one that will forever be etched in my memory.
I pleaded with him to hang up the phone with the police as I ran upstairs to take refuge under my weighted blanket, but it was too late. They got to my house while Rich was still on the phone with dispatch.
Four very intimidating, but compassionate officers arrived at once, 2 of which came stomping up the stairs to my bedroom (in their wet boots 🤬). The other 2 waited downstairs with Rich, not allowing him to be by my side.
I tried telling them that I was ok now, but they were obligated to take me to the hospital for further observation and demanded (as kindly as possible) that I get up “voluntarily” and ASAP. I obeyed, yet in that very moment, all my rights were gone. As they slowly walked me to one of the several police cruisers waiting outside, they put handcuffs on me. I felt like a criminal.
I was immediately placed on a 72-hour hold when I got to the hospital, stripped of my belongings, including my cellphone. Security stood outside my door for the remainder of the night as I waited for the crisis team and Psychiatrist to arrive the next day. The nurse and emergency room doctor on duty treated me with complete disregard and made me feel like I was less than nothing.
I have suffered many forms of PTSD since that night a year ago. I am still extremely traumatized by the events that took place. So many lines got blurred that evening on how I was treated, which led me to write 2 letters a few days later, one to the police, inparticularly to their complaints against policies and procedures department for the unnecessary use of restraints against a person in crisis who went willingly and was not showing any signs of aggressive behaviour. The second letter I penned was to patient relations at the hospital on how dismissive the nurse and emergency room doctor were towards me and how, in turn, made to feel so ashamed of my illness.
Both the hospital and police department responded quickly to my emails, and a phone call from each of them followed. A thank you for bringing my concerns to patient relations was as far as they proceeded, but the police department opened a file and a wonderful investigator who was assigned to my case pursued my concerns for several months. Together, we came up with ideas as to how the police can better understand the difference between a mental health crisis and a criminal. We also discussed in great length the importance of having a crisis team assigned to each crisis call. I was hopeful. He had even tried to have me come in to speak to their board members, he started reading my blogs to help himself understand more, and then after several months of my important advocacy work, I never heard another word from him.
It was a really long week for me, and a stressful one at that. It ended in complete frustration, anger, and sheer disappointment.
I had an appointment with a specialist during the first week of December. Shortly after my appointment, I wrote an entire blog about how hopeful I felt that I had finally found someone who was willing to go that extra mile to help me, albeit temporarily, with all my neurological issues I’ve been enduring for close to 2 years now since taking part in the clinical research trial for Psilocybin. (See blog: https://wheredidmommyssmilego.com/2023/12/06/hanging-onto-hope/)
As Rich and I left the appointment, hanging onto hope, the doctor gave me a pamphlet with information to read over and told me that her office would follow up with me in a day or two to schedule my next appointment with her for sometime in January, but before the appointment were to take place, Rich first needed to submit a form to her from our insurance company, which she would need to fill out and sign in order for him to find out if the treatment she was hoping to do would be covered by his benefits, as it is way too expensive on its own.
As per her request, Rich sent the documents needed to the doctor via the email address we were provided at my appointment, later that same evening.
A week went by, and then another week as well. No word from the hospital as to scheduling a follow-up appointment in January, and no word from the doctor either with the signed forms we needed to submit to insurance.
Rich then followed up with another email and resent the documents to the doctor once again. I still hadn’t heard from them either, but I figured there was no point in calling to make another appointment until we knew whether or not his work benefits would cover this treatment.
Last week, and more than a month since my first appointment, I received a letter in the mail from the clinic with my scheduled appointment for the end of January. They never called to book the appointment like the doctor had said they would. Instead, they just sent a letter in the mail with a scheduled date and time. I guess that’s some progress though, however, we still had not heard back from the doctor yet and so on Tuesday of this past week, Rich resent the documents a third time, hoping, maybe this time we would finally hear back. Guess that was wishful thinking.
So on Thursday I called the office, sat on my phone while at work, for an hour, listening to soothing music and a voice message come on every few minutes to tell me that my call is in priority sequence. I eventually hung up, feeling defeated, and all hope lost. But I decided to give it one last try yesterday by going through a different connection in the hospital’s portal, and I got hold of someone at reception. I explained what was going on and that my husband had sent THREE separate emails to them over the past month plus and that nobody had answered any of them and that with my upcoming appointment it was urgent that we submit the signed forms to our insurance company right away as we have no clue how long it will take to get an answer from them next. The kind woman on the other end of the phone was able to scroll through their emails and found the email Rich had sent a few days earlier, and the 2 previous ones sent in December as well. She promised she would print it off right away and that the doctor was in so she would personally hand it to her.
Hope was in the air again. A couple of hours later, the doctor herself called me as she filled out the form and told me that she would be sending it to us right away
I texted Rich to ask him to keep an eye out for her email. When I got home from work a few hours later, on a Friday evening, the first thing I said to him when I walked through the door was, “Did you get the forms back from the doctor?” He replied, “Nope.”.
This was a difficult one to write and may be difficult to read. It’s taken me several days to finish as I’m struggling a lot this week.
I was recently gifted with a “Luxury Boudoir Giveaway”. It is valued at $1500.00. Included in the giveaway is a professional hair and makeup session, a 2 hour creative portrait sitting, and a $750.00 credit towards the finished product.
Let me first start by saying that by me accepting this gift, I couldn’t get any farther out of my comfort zone, even if I tried.
But what I have also expressed in my writing, is that even though I may have recovered initially from my battle with anorexia and bulimia in my early 20’s, it has never truly left me; it has just transformed itself in other ways throughout every stage of my life since then.
Before the onset of my eating disorder, I never had a weight issue whatsoever, or any distorted views of my body for that matter. I was confident in my own skin, and yet, somehow, something took hold of me and has never let go. My nearly 10 year battle now with depression added even more fuel to the fire when several years ago and over 20 different concoctions of antidepressant medications later, I found myself having gained close to a hundred pounds, in what felt like overnight. Once I made the decision to finally go off all medications altogether as they were causing my body and mind more harm than good and a further diagnosis of treatment resistant depression was made, half of my weight gain fell off me right away, but the other half has been a constant struggle. My struggle to lose the weight has left me, many times, indulging in those same dangerous tendencies from my teen years as I tried desperately, to no avail, to lose those unwanted pounds. I have not felt confident in my own skin for many years now. I hide behind the camera as much as possible. I want to cry every time I look at a picture taken of me. I lead with such skepticism when I’m paid any type of compliment, and when I look in the mirror, all I see is a very unlovable image staring back at me.
This past summer, I developed an ulcer (cuz I don’t have enough issues to deal with already), which my doctor said was stress related. It totally made sense at the time as I had been dealing with several personal and very stressful situations all at once. I found myself barely able to eat, and I was nauseous all day and night. I was losing weight, though. A lot of weight. Without even trying. In my heart, I knew this very rapid weight loss wasn’t healthy, but my head was telling me a very different story. By the time I finally went to see my doctor a month later, she prescribed me a medication to help alleviate the symptoms of the ulcer, but by then, other damage was already brewing.
Over twenty pounds were lost in that first month it took me to see my doctor. But that was not about to satisfy my yearning to lose more weight, and I knew I couldn’t stop there. I became fearful that once the medication started helping me (which it did) that I would gain it all back. Very quickly, I found myself resorting back to those same unhealthy yet super comforting tendencies. Purging soon became part of my daily routine, once again.
I’ve become more and more obsessed with losing more and more weight as the pounds continue to shed. I find myself limiting my food intake and stepping on a scale multiple times a day. But never satisfied, even though I have lost a significant amount of weight since the summer.
I want to learn to love myself again, the way I did all those years ago. I want to one day be able to celebrate the skin I’m in again and be able to look in a mirror and feel lovable. I want to embrace my beauty from within, feel empowered, and reignite my confidence. And I want to believe once again that I am enough just the way I am.
Boudoir photography is an experience that has helped so many women like myself discover all that and more. It’s about empowerment, developing a new found confidence, self-love, celebrating the skin you are in, and finding an appreciation for your own beauty. No matter what shape or size you are. Something we all deserve.
I have scheduled a tentative date for my Luxury Boudoir Giveaway. I know it’s way out of my comfort zone, but maybe that’s what I need right now to help me realize that I am worthy and I am enough.
“If it doesn’t challenge you, it doesn’t change you.” ~ ANONYMOUS
I watched the movie “Girl, Interrupted” for the first time.
There were so many reasons why I wanted to finally watch it after all these years. It was originally released in 1999. Parts of it were really difficult for me to watch and many of the scenes brought me right back to my very first time I was admitted to the psychiatric ward of a hospital 9 years ago where I spent over 3 months inpatient.
The movie is based on the real-life story of author Susanna Kaysen’s time spent in a mental institution for the better part of 18 months. She had just attempted suicide and was diagnosed with a personality disorder. Although the movie takes place in the 1960’s, I could relate to so many of Susanna’s experiences, one in particular were the relationships she forged with the other patients during her stay. There are so many stereotypes surrounding what a mental health patient looks like, but just so you know, they couldn’t be more wrong. “You see us as you want to see us – in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions.” ~ The Breakfast Club
I have written several articles before about my experiences from inside a psych ward, but I’ve never really spoken in detail about the people I met along the way. The movie really got me thinking about them.
I went through a lot of really dark days during that first hospitalization and any subsequent ones that have followed. I have both experienced and witnessed stuff that can never be erased from my memory no matter how hard I want to, but one thing that truly helped me get through some of those really dark days (and nights) were the other patients; all of whom were dealing with varying degrees of mental illness and all of whom had their own personal stories to tell as to what led them to be admitted to the hospital, just like me.
Some I still speak to today and consider my friend, but not every relationship was good for me either. Some have since passed away, some I needed to set boundaries with and some I found too difficult to have healthy relationships with so I had no other choice but to dissolve it by blocking their numbers and deleting them from my contact list… and life.
People came and went. Some were there for just a few days, some for several months like me, and others close to a year.
My roommates changed frequently too, and sometimes I shared a space with one other patient, while at other times I was in a room with 3 other people. That was often most difficult.
As I mentioned above, every patient had their own personal story to tell and varying degrees of mental illness. Their ages ranged somewhere between 20 years old and 70. I was in my early 40’s at the time.
We shared our personal stories, laughed, and opened up about our challenges. Making connections with one another through a common bond. It didn’t matter if they were 27 or 67, we still shared a common bond, one human being to another, interrupted in our life’s journey, fighting for our survival with varying degrees of mental illness.
Major depression disorders, suicidal ideations, grieving from the loss of a loved one, substance abuse, PTSD, Bipolar disorder, personality disorders, eating disorders, OCD, Psychosis and Schizophrenia were among us.
Our diagnoses should never define who we are as individuals, and no matter what the reason is that we are seeking treatment in a psychiatric hospital, no one should ever be discriminated against because of their illness. No one deserves to feel shame or hopelessness or isolation. No one should ever feel reluctant to ask for help or most importantly, denied treatment because, after all, we are all just human beings fighting for our survival.
Yup, just like that, I’m back at work today after my 10 day staycation.
Although I had some really difficult days during my time off, I was also able to find many moments of joy as well, especially while spending time with family and friends, which I was lucky to do lots of.
I’ve never been much of a traveler.
I have an overwhelming fear of flying.
I stress over planning the journey itself, and I always need to ensure I have an agenda to go with it.
I get anxious visiting new or unfamiliar places. I’m a chronic worrier and overthinker, so I don’t really do well in the not knowing. I need time to prepare and time to process everything.
I’m more than okay, though, seeing all the highlight reels on social media of other people’s vacations to sunny destinations. I am genuinely happy to hear all about my friends and loved one’s exciting adventures to far away places.
But it’s not to say that if the opportunity arose where I could get away somewhere, I wouldn’t take advantage of it. I am very accustomed to doing hard stuff by now, and somehow I pull through it, a little more beaten or battered maybe, but nonetheless, I get through.
I’ve actually been dreaming for quite some time now about taking a vacation… Alone. Somewhere. In order to get out of my own head.
Perhaps to a deserted island or a wellness retreat somewhere in the fresh mountain air. Somewhere, I don’t need to worry I will disappoint others or feel the urge to people please. Somewhere, I can disconnect from my everyday stressors and not feel pressured to be someone I’m not.
As I try, with great resistance, to settle back into my regular daily routine today, I am finding myself daydreaming of that somewhere and getting lost in the moment. It’s a way more pleasant place to be than caught up in the stress of playing catch up on everything I’ve missed while taking my much needed break from work last week. My anxious mind doesn’t seem to want to focus on the task at hand this morning, but as I sit here, at my desk, daydreaming about that deserted island and wellness retreat in the fresh mountain air, I am allowing the soothing sounds of water flowing from my new meditative rock garden to keep me calm. It is taking my imagination somewhere else. A friend of mine at work gifted it to me just before the holidays. When she saw it, she told me that she thought of me right away. It’s just enough for me to carry on.
And just like that, year two has officially begun.
The start of 2023 nearly broke me entirely. Last January was probably the hardest month of my entire journey to date (being taken from my home in handcuffs by 2 police officers and carted off to the hospital in the back of a police cruiser while in the midst of a mental health crisis will likely do that to somebody). Today is just another reminder of how much this time of year has become one of the most difficult for me. There is this unwritten expectation placed on the first day of January that we must reflect back on our past year in order to make the coming one all about fresh, new starts. Sometimes, though, it’s just too painful to look back.
This is why I stopped making new year’s resolutions long ago because if there is one thing I have learned while in the throes of my journey, it’s that by setting big goals at the start of any new year will only exasperate my feelings of failure and defeat. Trust me, I’m already doing that while thinking about the giant to-do list of things I didn’t accomplish in 2023, but I wanted to. For close to 10 years now, my new year’s resolutions have been all about my mental health and survival, which, for me, is more than enough. With my track record, I’ve kinda lost hope that anything else will do given that each new year tries to test me more than the last.
So, no matter what 2024 has in store for me, as this new year begins, I will focus my efforts on my neverending battle of survival with my mental health and now my physical health, too. I will continue to make therapy a priority, try to separate myself from my anxiety more, practice gratitude, celebrate my wins, only focus on connections that bring me joy, think of ways to be kinder to my body, make more time to do “nothing”, remind myself daily that my thoughts do not define me, and write, blog and journal lots.
Please enjoy this highlight reel from some of my most tender moments of 2023 and just some of the many beautiful people I got to share them with. Thank you again for continuing to come along with me on this crazy ride and for showing me so much love and support. I really appreciate you a lot.
I’m not really quite sure where my journey is headed to next, but as I cautiously walk into the new year, I promise to look forward, one step at a time.
I wish you all love, light, and a peaceful new year ahead.
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