Category: Suicide

My High School Reunion

* please read if you have ever gone to high school, are in high school or plan to be in high school soon!*

For many teenagers and young adults alike, high school can be one of the toughest times in their lives. A time which is filled with so much self-doubt, hormonal changes, social anxieties, peer pressure mixed in with trying to find your rung on the social ladder, getting good grades and having to begin your path towards a very uncertain future.

When I think about my high school years I remember it mostly as a time in my life when I was at peace with myself and I was happy. I may be in the minority when I say that my high school years are probably ranked among some of the best years of my life. Being a high school student in the mid to late 1980’s was ‘like totally gnarly dude’ (I bet when you read that you even used the accent!). The fashion trends, the big hair and perms, the introduction of computers and some other awesome new technology, the movies, the TV shows and the music all contributed to the amazing memories I have of my high school years.

The transition for me into high school from elementary school seemed to go pretty smoothly. Although I was entering a much larger building and a very unfamiliar territory I wasn’t doing it alone. The excitement and privilege of having so much more autonomy and responsibility allowed me to revel in the overall experience that went along with it.

It is important to note here that the main emphasis of high school is to prepare us for a higher education, a satisfying career or hopefully both, but that high school is also a time for growing up and enjoying countless firsts. I believe that in order to mold ourselves into capable and contributing adults in today’s society, one must take the opportunity to explore and experience those firsts, many of which help us to mature while making plenty of mistakes along the way but still creating those amazing and lasting memories. During my five years of high school (for anyone who entered high school in Ontario after 2003 may not know that it used to be five years) I got my driver’s license, had a rockin’ Sweet 16 party, made some of the best friendships, fell in love, fell out of love, explored many of my passions and so much more (sorry, trying to keep it PG here).

As a mom of three children, 2 of which have since graduated from high school and my ‘baby’ who is already halfway there (well in 6 weeks she will be), I have recounted time and time again to them the lasting impact high school can have on their lives and the endless amount of doors it can open for them, especially in the almost 30 years since my graduation.

This past weekend while engaging in a conversation with some friends and parts of my family I had a sudden urge to dust off my old high school yearbooks from a box in the basement and give my kids a good laugh while I was at it. It felt like I was watching an episode from Oprah’s ‘Where Are They Now’ show marveling and reminiscing about so many now unrecognizable faces from the hallways we once walked together all those years ago. It didn’t quite hit me until later that evening and well into the next day when my negative self-talk so rudely interrupted my walk down memory lane toward contradictory thoughts of my time spent hanging out in those hallways. Could the direction I strolled down those hallways in somehow have led me to my journey I’m on today, did I somehow take a wrong turn down one of the many hallways even though I followed the expected pathway that high school ranks most value on at the time?

As I continue to consider this recourse today, I am also relishing in the anticipation of my upcoming high school reunion. It is my high school’s 50th anniversary this year and in three weeks from now there will be a two day celebration which will include all past and present faculty and students who have walked and continue to walk those same hallways over the last 50 years as I once did (and believe it or not there are still some faculty teaching there from some 30 years ago). If this reunion had taken place a few years ago I truly believe that I would have been first in line for it or maybe even have joined the administrative committee, but instead I am left feeling completely tormented and anguished over it.

It was over a year ago when I first heard about the reunion and I joined the Facebook group that had been created in hopes of reaching as many people as possible. In the months following I have observed the preparations and anecdotal storytelling for the upcoming reunion while hiding behind my laptop in silence, sometimes feeling a sense of warmth and sometimes a sense of sadness. When I first joined the Facebook group, the reunion seemed so far out of reach and so I just kept observing in silence, but now it is just weeks away and I can no longer just observe from a distance.

I have someone to go to the reunion with, probably the most notable person from my high school days, someone who has continued to be right by my side through all my peaks and valleys since graduation day, someone who understands me, someone who doesn’t place judgment on me and someone who only wants the best for me, so then after reading all this what could possibly be stopping me? The simplest and most straightforward answer would have to be the ruthlessness and unrelenting conduct of my Depression and Anxiety.

So if I don’t make it to my reunion this time around, maybe a goal I can set for myself is to aim for their 100th anniversary reunion in another 50 years which will put me at the ripe old age of 96/97 years old, now the only question left to answer is, who’s coming with me?

Liar, Liar Pants On Fire

*Some Sensitive Content*

Who wouldn’t enjoy a compliment from a loved one, an acquaintance or even a stranger once in a while?  A compliment is a courteous way of conveying one’s feelings to another person using words that express praise or admiration.  Regardless if you are the one giving the compliment to someone else or on the receiving end of it, studies show that there are actually many physical and emotional health benefits related to the act itself.  Whether you’re showing your appreciation to a colleague for a job well done or simply taking note of a friend’s trendy new hairdo, the compliment can heighten their performance level, increase their mood and even strengthen their overall self-image.

As human beings we desire feelings of acceptance and recognition from others and giving someone else a sincere and genuine compliment is probably one of the most effortless and straightforward ways of fulfilling this need.  Many times the act of complimenting someone may seem truly insignificant or trivial to the person giving it, but for the person who is receiving it, it can have an enormous impact on them.  It indicates to the receiver that they are important, valued and noteworthy which can in fact turn any tiresome or difficult day around.

Unfortunately when living with major depression and anxiety as I do, my thoughts have become increasingly distorted and twisted, even the most basic ones.  Don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate and recognize the sentiment that comes from somebody who is modestly trying to pay me a compliment, but most of the time my negative self-talk will find a disagreeable way to deflect it.  I don’t consciously intend to dispute your kind gesture when you have taken the time to make a sincere or heartfelt assertion in hopes of putting a smile on my face, but my illness seems to have a mind of its own.

Throughout my journey I have often recounted to you what it truly feels like to suffer with depression and anxiety using countless metaphors and adjectives alike.  My illness runs much deeper than an overwhelming sense of sadness, instead it fills me with an agonizing sense of worthlessness, hopelessness, loneliness, guilt and emptiness all wrapped together in a very unappealing and suffocating little box which often takes away my will to live.  Metaphorically speaking I feel like I have become trapped in a very dark, broken down and overcrowded elevator where no matter how hard I try to reach new heights, it always seems to try and take me down instead.

Living in this unrelenting state of mind, I want nothing more than to be able to embrace the simple pleasures in life that most of us take for granted like the enchantment you feel when you wake up to a warm, sunny day ahead or even the exhilaration that comes from spending time with loved ones, but instead I have become paralyzed and numb to these undemanding emotions, making it quite unmanageable to see the beauty in anything, even something as easy-going as a compliment.

At times I may take a less argumentative approach when I am pondering your kind gesture while still debating in my mind that your compliment was undeniably untrue.  I may instead choose to not allow the other person to feel my internal struggle by giving them a much less confrontational, non-verbal (yet polite) smile while listening to the voices in my head crying out ‘liar, liar, pants on fire’ and then quickly trying to redirect the conversation.

Even though we have always been taught from a very young age that the only way to accept a compliment from someone is by doing so graciously and respectfully, with a big smile on your face, or maybe even a hug, which is both inarguably and despairingly exhausting for me right now.  So instead while I continue to try and find my way through this journey, please know that I most definitely hear your incredibly kind and heartfelt compliments, all of which I have so graciously and respectfully stored away for safekeeping to be retrieved at a later date.

Honestly Speaking

*Sensitive Content*

From a very young age parents, caregivers and educators alike all try and instill in us that honesty is the best policy, but is it always?  Let’s face it, sometimes being honest with oneself or others can really hurt; A LOT. Over the last four years I have seen what honesty can do to a person who is suffering with a Mental Illness; the good, the bad and the ugly.  Being honest simply means that you are freeing yourself of deceit and that you are truthful, sincere and have integrity, but when faced with a Mental Illness it can also leave you with a great deal of judgement, hurt and anguish.

Although I had been quite open and honest about my illness from the very beginning I certainly wasn’t shouting my innermost thoughts and feelings from any rooftops to my acquaintances or strangers alike on the streets below, that was until about a year and a half ago.  For many months prior to that day I had been keeping a journal and writing for myself when I decided that maybe it was time to share my honest and true self with as many people as I could.  And although there are several parts of my journey thus far that are still too raw and painful to share (just from the past two months alone I could probably write an entire book), it is safe to say that what I have chosen to share with you up until now has been nothing short of genuine and honest.

When I made the decision to begin sharing my journey with the utmost honesty and integrity that I knew how, I didn’t know where it would take me, and I certainly didn’t know how it would wholeheartedly affect me.  I have learned first and foremost that I am not alone on my journey and that by speaking my truth I have allowed so many other people the strength to start speaking their own truth as well.  I have also discovered that through no fault of my own did I cause the onset of my illness to occur and that by learning to be honest with myself and others I have been able to recognize how important it is to set healthy and achievable boundaries with loved ones and strangers alike.  Another valuable lesson that I have uncovered recently by talking openly and honestly about my journey is that it is okay to not feel okay and that this by no means makes me weak in any way, even if I battle with this notion each and every day.

Yes being honest about my most intimate thoughts and feelings has been met with so much positive energy which has also allowed me to understand the importance of why I need to choose me each and every time as selfish as it may seem to some. But if I am going to be completely honest right now then it is probably just as important to note that my honesty has also left me in a very vulnerable and dark place.

Over the last four years it is probably fair to say that there have been many changes in my life and that it has honestly never been my intention for anyone to take them personally, especially if you could truly understand how something as simple as sending a text message, talking on the telephone or committing to any sort of engagement can turn my whole day upside down.  And I also know that my honesty can often be both frightening and overwhelming to many, especially on the days where my thoughts and feelings read something like a suicide note.  This expression of honesty has left many of my relationships strained and some entirely dissolved, but at the same time it has also strengthened many others, making them the ones that I should be most focused on.  And as much as I may be hurting some with my honesty (which causes me tremendous guilt), I would only be lying to myself if I can’t share my true self, if I can’t feel less afraid and if I can’t feel less alone.

So is there a right or wrong answer to the age-old question “is honesty the best policy”?  Even though I am living on both sides of this debate I really don’t have the answer and it’s quite possible that I never will.  All I truly know right now is that my honesty has allowed me to help educate, clarify and begin a quest to destigmatize Mental Illness by sharing my own personal journey with others, but as for that other side of the honesty debate, the one that causes some to caste judgement, hurt or look the other way, well I’m pretty sure my heart may already have the answer.

A Dog’s Purpose

It’s no surprise to anyone who knows me well knows that I am an animal lover, especially when it comes to dogs.  For most of my childhood and adult life I have been a dog owner, and at one point in my late teens/early twenties that included three at one time.

I still remember as a young child begging my parents to buy me a dog, sighting all the compelling arguments for why we should get one (which of course included all the promises that kids make about walking and feeding them).  My brother and I eventually wore them down and soon we were picking out our new puppy.  She was such a sweet little dog who quickly became part of our family, but more importantly I became her favorite (along with my dad of course since as predicted he did end up walking and feeding her the most!)  When my parents separated in my late teens, I really didn’t care much at first where I lived so long as my dog was with me. Through several moves, and lots of ups and downs over the next few years, there she was right by my side, right up until the end of her life all the while making certain that I was right there by her side too.

The end came suddenly and unexpectedly the week before my wedding at which time her and I had already been settled in and living with my soon to be husband for close to a year (yes, in sin).  Mourning her loss was very difficult as any animal lover can attest to, but it was especially difficult trying to do so while celebrating my upcoming wedding and honeymoon.  After we settled back into reality upon our return home from our honeymoon, I felt such a void in my life and missed having her around so much.  Although I could never replace her, or any animal for that matter, I crave the kindness and love that comes from a dog, something that only a dog lover truly understands.

I soon began the search for a new puppy, but together my husband and I decided it was probably best to wait until we were no longer living in a Condo.  That time finally came for us to move into our brand new home, the moment I had waited for to get a new puppy had arrived, however, I was now eight months pregnant and on bed rest with our first baby.  As excited and grateful as I was to become a mom, it only made my yearning for a puppy that much stronger because I truly believe that every child should have a dog!!!

After we welcomed our beautiful baby boy into the world and I began recuperating from a C-Section, we were then met with some life threatening health scares with both my mom and my husband’s dad, both of which thankfully remedied themselves.  By now our son was already four months old and I had waited long enough so together the three of us picked out our new furry, four legged family member.  My husband really wanted a dog that was a little bigger than what we were both used to growing up, but I agreed.  The two babies quickly bonded, stealing each other’s food and toys and taking long naps together.  Two months after we brought our adorable new puppy home, we got the “surprise” of our life…I was expecting another baby.  Our new puppy was a breed that needed a lot of stimulation, way more than that of a smaller breed and so we made the heart-wrenching decision to give him back to his breeder.

At this point in time you are all probably thinking to yourself, I guess they decided to put off getting another puppy during this busy time in our lives, but who’s kidding who?  Dogs just serve too much of a purpose in life not to have one.  So while being very pregnant and running after a very, very mobile 11 months old (and anyone who knew him then will confirm this), I brought home another fluffy little ball of fur to once again join our growing family.

Our family eventually grew to three children and our puppy who was no longer a puppy had somehow turned into Cujo.  Who knew a dog that was all of ten pounds could be so vicious?  But he was, yet he still found his place in our family and my children still wanted to love him so badly, as difficult a feat as it was.  His behaviour began to turn my husband completely off the thought of ever wanting another dog again, but his grisly behaviour only made me want another dog even more.  By now, our once adorable, fluffy little ball of fur had become old and sick, making him become even more irritable.  I just wanted another puppy so much by now, one that my kids could play with or simply cuddle with, one that they deserved to love and one that deserved to be loved in return.

Seven years have almost passed since we did welcome that said puppy into our family (she turned seven last week).  It was Father’s Day and just a few days away from my 40th birthday when we brought her home and she was the greatest gift I could have ever asked for, even more than I knew at the time.  Although she can be a little bit feisty (or bitchy, whatever you want to call it), she has proven to us what a dog’s purpose truly is (and she is the apple of my husband’s eye!).

She has taught us about loyalty, companionship and unconditional love.  On top of everything that she has taught us, she has also helped me through some very dark days (and nights) throughout the last four years.  She instinctively knows when I am upset and has the ability to comfort me whether it’s snuggling right up next to me in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep or licking away my tears (yes I can hear the jeering from here from all the non-dog loving readers!).  And whether she knows it or not, petting her behind the ears or giving her a belly rub when I am extremely anxious or very depressed has such a calming effect on me (a win-win for both of us!) especially when human contact can often leave me feeling very confined and claustrophobic in these situations.

They say that a dog is a man’s (and woman’s) best friend and I truly believe that.  Our fur baby is faithful, smart, nonjudgmental, dependable, protective and an integral part of our family unit.  Her amusing and often silly antics only make me love her more.  She accepts me for me and never holds a grudge.  She is always happy to see me, even if I have only left the house for five minutes, when I return home it’s as though I’ve have been gone for days.  Her heart is filled with so much love and she genuinely understands the importance of the simple pleasures in life which so many of us take for granted; like having a good nap, a stroll in the park during a warm summer day, a leisurely ride in the car with family or a delicious home-cooked meal.

You see a dog undoubtedly has so many purposes in life, but first and foremost they show us how important it is to be mindful of ourselves and others, and that the real purpose in life is truly to just be happy.

If I Woke Up Tomorrow…

If I woke up tomorrow with no fear what would I do first?  Fear is a very unpleasant emotion which causes a person to believe that someone or something may cause them harm, pain or danger and could also be a threat to them.  A person can develop a fear through conditioning or a learned behaviour (like a fear of dogs) especially if they themselves have experienced a traumatic event in their lives or have a loved one who may have, and in turn instills that same fear upon them.

My biggest fears I had growing up were never learned or conditioned behaviours, in fact they were and still are quite the opposite.  I have always had an extreme fear of thunder and lightning, heights and my greatest fear of all is undoubtedly flying. None of these fears stemmed from a traumatic event in my life and none of them were passed down to me from my loved ones, but the best news of all is, I have yet to imprint any of these fears onto my own children.

So how did I go from having some very common and quite normal fears to where I am today?  They say that most of our fears surface during our childhood and adolescence and continue to grow into adulthood, most of which are quite manageable in our day to day lives.  My fears that I have been battling since childhood have never really impaired my day to day life because let’s face it, they aren’t fears that control a person daily. Over time I have learned to weather a storm, stay away from tall buildings (and water slides) and lucky for me, travelling by plane is hardly ever in my vocabulary!

But again I am left pondering how I got here.  How going from having a few simple childhood fears has escalated into chronic and severe ones that affects every aspect of my life, most of which is not even triggered by an event or happening.  It’s just there, leaving me in a constant state of fight or flight response. This feeling causes me to have a very difficult time falling asleep and staying asleep. It also causes me to have a great deal of irritability and sudden outbursts of anger.  I am also continuously finding myself unsettled, lacking concentration, easily startled (and that’s an understatement) and ready to react to my threatened state of mind. I live daily with subconscious pains, a heart that is beating so fast it feels like it may jump out of my chest and unrelenting flashbacks.  It is a very lonely and scary place to be.

My fears keep me feeling incapacitated, guilt-ridden and impulsive.  The impact of feeling a chronic fear affects how I feel physically; it leaves me confused, forgetful and unavailable mentally.  It may come without any warning and leave me with impaired judgement. It stops at nothing to try and beat me down. It leaves me very vulnerable.  It leaves me feeling embarrassed and it leaves me very tired.

I’m pretty sure a lot of my fears bare no logic to an outsider looking in, but they are very logical and extremely overwhelming to me. I am able to recognize that many of my fears cause me intense anxiety and panic, and that they are often not realistic causing me to avoid many people, places and things.  I feel pressure to relent to my fears and often feel so powerless as well, but I also know that sometimes fear can be used to keep me safe and protect me from danger. I understand what triggers many of my fears and I am learning to talk back to the negative thoughts and engage the fears with fight instead of flight response.

Facing my fears head on takes a lot of practice and patience for me and my loved ones.  It’s been a long battle especially when my list keeps getting longer rather than shorter, but I have definitely been doing a great deal of reflecting while writing this blog in response to the very first sentence I wrote; If I woke up tomorrow with no fear, what would I do first? The answer is simple, I would place both feet on the floor and get out of bed! What would you do?

‘Put Your Sticks Out’

One of the proudest titles I have owned in my soon to be 20 years as a mom is that of “Hockey Mom” or more specifically to me, “Goalie Mom”.  For more than half of my 20 years as a mom, hockey became a huge part of who I am. I still remember putting my little boy on the ice his first year in house league all dressed in his hockey gear, barely able to skate and boom…he accidentally collided with another player and broke his wrist.  Fast forward 2 years and that same little boy who had been waiting both eagerly and patiently for his turn to play goalie during a tournament gets his chance to shine, and shine he did. He did such an incredible job that from that day forward his dream of becoming a goalie was fulfilled. The following season he joined a new team with some friends, at a more competitive level and quickly they became our family for many years to follow.

He improved and worked hard to become the successful goalie he is today through perseverance, dedication, training, coaching and his love of the game. He is no longer playing at a competitive level but he is still on the ice, living his passion each and every week with his new hockey family and although I am no longer part of the daily hockey grind I am still a very humbled and proud “Goalie Mom”.

Throughout the years hockey defined our family dynamics, always operating our lives around where the next game or tournament was going to be.  Even though there is no more schlepping from one end of the city to the other, no more packing up the family for a weekend away tournament, no more car stinking like a pair of dirty old socks, no more cheering when the team scores the game winning goal, the sacrifices we made and the dedication we weathered was all for our boys and all for our hockey family.

This week our nation, along with many other parts of the world is mourning the loss of another hockey family.  A loss that is beyond incomprehensible.  A loss of 15 boys and men, many of whom were just beginning their lives. For the hockey family who have been left behind trying to come to terms with their new norm, today they are desperately wishing they could be schlepping their son, brother, boyfriend and grandson from one end of the city to the other, packing up their family for another weekend away tournament, stinking up their car like a pair of dirty old socks and cheering their team on when they score the game winning goal.  Instead today they are only able to hold onto these images as memories while clinging to that team jersey they wore to represent their hockey family loud and proud.

Over the next many days, weeks and years to follow, this hockey family and surrounding community will need each other more than ever.  They will need to lean on each other and embrace each other in whatever capacity they are capable of for they cannot do it alone. For many people it is often very difficult to ask for help, but I know first-hand how crucial it is in order to begin the healing process, I know now it is imperative.

My son was still playing competitive hockey when I was in the throes of my illness and as difficult as it was to attend hockey games, team parties and weekends away at tournaments (sometimes only during a weekend pass from a hospital stay), I got through it because I had the love and support of my hockey family behind me.  Being part of a hockey family means you triumph together and you fall down together. For many of us on the team who were together for so many years we had the honour of watching our little boys turn into fine young men, sharing in each other’s joys and sorrows, helping each other out at every turn. I always knew they would be there for me and my family if and when we needed them, and boy did we need them at times, even if it was simply to drive our son to a practice or feed him a well-balanced meal before a game we could always count on them and I am so grateful to call them family.

Asking for help does not come easy for me, but staying quiet can have very serious repercussions for anyone who is struggling.  As the Humboldt Broncos family begin to heal I hope that they will be able to utilize the many resources been made available to them in order to help them move forward somehow, I also hope that they will take some comfort in knowing that millions of Canadians and beyond are there for them, cheering them on in the stands, staying focused while we put that puck in the top corner… because that’s what you do for our family.

My One Brave Night

Last night I was fearless.  Last night I was courageous.  Last night I was brave.  Last night I was able to be all of these things because of the love and support of my family and friends by my side.  Last night I fulfilled my goal of stepping up and inspiring hope for millions of Canadians who are affected by a mental illness each year.  Last night with the help of friends and family I reached my target and I am so thankful for that.  Last night together we had #onebravenight.

I needed to keep the evening as intimate as possible in order for me to not get too overwhelmed. It began with some of our dearest friends joining us at our home for dinner.  They arrived with games and alcohol in hand and I knew then that the evening was certain to be a success.  After dinner was over and plenty of alcohol already was drunk (not by me as alcohol is more of a depressant for me than a stimulant) we decided to break open the new trivia game that we recently purchased just for the occasion.  We played in two teams, kids vs. adults.  It was trivia from the 2000’s so I figured the kids would bamboozle us but I was mistaken because at the end of the day we all basically sucked!  Maybe it was from the alcohol being consumed or the distraction from watching the Blue Jays game at the same time which inhibited our concentration, but either way it was still fun.

After we finished playing the game (or more that we all just gave up) it was time for dessert which had been baked by my kids and my husband the night before.  They prepared all our favorite Passover treats (yes they do exist) one last time for the year before the holiday wrapped up.  As dessert was being served we were blessed with some more dear friends to join into the mix.  After the kids finished their dessert they left the adults to continue watching the Blue Jays game (and continue drinking) and they went off to play another board game, one that was probably not so age appropriate for all that participated!  Our friends eventually left and we cleaned up, got into our pj’s, got comfortable on the couch (Maggie included) and spent a half an hour deciding on what movie we should watch.  It was close to 1 am by this point, but we were committed to trying to stay up as long as we could.  After the movie finished everyone retired to their own beds.

There is definitely a very gratifying feeling when you know that your efforts are been rewarded or benefiting others.  Donating to charity or participating in its endeavors can be very empowering which is why they say it is better to give than to receive.  It allows someone the power to strengthen their own personal values and belief system by helping make someone else’s life better.  For me, this event definitely sanctioned a teachable moment for my children as well by having them share this experience with me and giving them the opportunity to see that they have the ability to make positive change in the world, no matter how big or small their undertaking is.

My evening was not about winning any type of race, or making sure that I stayed up all night, but instead it was about finding both my mental and moral strength and challenging myself to be a voice to a cause that is very near to my heart.  Most days for me being brave is often just having the ability to get out of bed, or face another day of uncertainty.  It is also knowing that there is no guarantee that I will find any sort of relief as every day feels like I am fighting for my life.  That is indisputably the most exhausting act of bravery.

Having depression and anxiety is not a weakness by any means but unfortunately it is still looked upon this way by many misunderstood and misguided people who cannot see mental illness as a real illness.  Knowing the battle I endure daily by the stigma of mental illness is probably my greatest act of bravery as I have opened up my world to you all by sharing my struggles and at the same time lending my voice to those who are still trying to find theirs.  This courageous act of bravery definitely has made me very vulnerable and susceptible to judgment, eye rolling and backs turned but it has also inspired a great deal of hope in others.  I also know that having my family with me through my journey is also one of the bravest things that they can do too and I love them all so much for being by my side #onebravenight at a time.

ODE TO MY OLD SELF

I lied awake late at night and began to reflect upon,
The last four years of my life and where the days before have gone.

I know that I cannot change the past, or get this lost time back,
For the more I even think it, causes me an anxiety attack.

I miss the person I used to be, who smiled all the time,
And had the confidence to see that there was no mountain she could not climb.

The old me would have not lost hope or relented to her fears,
Her laughter would have been enough as she wiped away her tears.

I look at my reflection of a person I no longer know,
And wonder if it’s even possible to return to status quo.

The person that I once was, has forever gone away,
And she is becoming a distant memory since that dreadful day.

No one can predict their future or how fate will play it’s part,
So please show kindness to each other, it’s the perfect place to start.

Stop and Smell the Roses

*Warning Triggering Content*

Springtime is the time of year in which many of us look forward to.  It’s the time of year for new and exciting transformations.  It’s the time of year when the temperature begins to rise to a more humane degree, the days start to get longer, the birds begin to chirp, the grass gets greener, the trees come alive again and the flowers begin to bloom.  Spring is a time for rebirth.

Rebirth is defined as a time to flourish, rejuvenation, revitalization and a renewal that comes after a decline.  This week will mark four years since my illness began and I am still waiting for that rebirth.  I am still waiting to flourish, to become rejuvenated, revitalized and feel a sense of renewal.  With every passing day, every passing month and most certainly with every passing year I have heard my depression and anxiety tell me in a very unsavory and enticing way that I have no purpose in life, that I am a burden to those who love me and that they would be relieved if I were gone, and it also continues to tell me that I am a complete and absolute failure.

Failure is a necessary part of life. Everyone will fail at some point in their journey through life.  Without failure we may not learn some valuable life lessons.  Without failure we may not learn what success feels like, and without failure we may not find our inner strength.  For me failure has become an overwhelming daily emotion, one that I can’t seem to find my way out of.   Some days may feel worse than others, days where no matter what I may have accomplished I still feel like a disappointment or days where I can’t seem to handle the simplest task at hand, and especially the days where my mind takes me far away from reality.  These are the days that make me feel like giving up is the only option.

The human mind is a very powerful tool, sometimes it can be your best friend and at other times it is your worst enemy.  When suffering with depression and anxiety I can certainly tell you that it is without a doubt your worst enemy, a nightmare to be exact.  It evokes feelings of dissatisfaction, anger, regret and weakness which all seem to play a role in believing that you are a failure.  My mind continues to tell me many lies and exaggerations in my convictions as I am unable to find an ounce of self-compassion for myself while carrying this weighted-down, undesired emotion.

The definition of compassion is very straight-forward, it means to ‘suffer with’.  Self-Compassion entails showing kindness and comfort toward you in the same way you would ‘suffer with’ or do so for others.  Being Self-Compassionate means that you understand that you are by no means perfect or capable all of the time and that it is also okay if sometimes you may fail.  I am well aware that by increasing my Self-Compassion and becoming more gentle and mindful of myself will have monumental benefits for my recovery, slowly eliminating any harsh judgment and feelings of failure.

But four years ago this week I lost all sense of self-compassion, along with my ability to see the many new and exciting springtime transformations that have occurred each year since that day back in April 2014.  Even though I have continued to watch the temperatures rise, the days get longer, the grass get greener, the trees come alive and the flowers begin to bloom, I have only been able to see these transformations while standing in the rain, under the dark and dismal clouds.  Each of those raindrops relentlessly represent how my illness has made me believe that I have no purpose, that I am a burden to those who truly care about me and that I am a failure.

For now as I tirelessly stand in the springtime rain waiting to flourish, or become rejuvenated and revitalized, I will begin this coming year by learning how to stop and smell the roses more often.

Feeling Helpless

*WARNING: SENSITIVE CONTENT*

This past week has been very difficult, exhausting and complicated.  Some of which I will open up about today, but much of what happened this past week is still too painful to talk about right now.  It has been a week filled with so many mixed emotions especially feelings of hopelessness and helplessness.  I have spent this week working through my quandary with some much needed (and involuntarily) additional support in order to help me through.

My week began with a severe panic attack, it did not happen in the comfort of my own home or in a busy public place, but instead it occurred in my car while I was driving.  It has been two years since I had to stop driving at night due to my anxiety and issues with my eyesight (thanks to all the concoctions of medication I had been on), but over the last while I have felt my ability to drive at all has been hindered as well.   My judgement while behind the wheel has become obstructed by fear, uneasiness and panic.  I had always considered myself to be a pretty adept and confident driver but recently all that has changed, leaving me feeling even more hopeless and helpless inside and out.

The following day after my panic attack I needed to drive my husband home from a procedure he was having (he is okay!).  My anxiety began building up before dawn and the only way I was going to get through the morning was by ensuring I took an extra dose of some CBD oil.  The car ride home was especially quiet as I had just experienced another episode moments earlier.  When we finally arrived home (safe and sound) my husband was clearly concerned and unsettled.  He proceeded to articulate his apprehension towards me driving right now and in his own witty and sarcastic way he expressed how we would have been better off letting him drive home while still under the effects of sedation.

My illness has left me feeling defeated and powerless on more occasions than I can count which is why I am now left believing that I am beyond helpless.  Helplessness is defined as someone who is deprived of strength or power, unable to help one self, leaving them feeling weak, incapacitated and unfit to manage independently.  These feelings have significantly interfered in my daily life over the course of my illness as well as my road to recovery, in turn creating some serious consequences.  I am extremely frustrated and discouraged having lost all sense of self which has left me longing to just want to give up.  I feel as though I have been banging my head against a brick wall for far too long and that all my efforts are futile.

I know that I have never shied away from trying new treatments or therapy, and that I have been given many tools along the way in order to assist me in identifying many of my triggers but still I am left with an overpowering sense of helplessness.  I compare my illness to that of riding on a roller coaster, one with many ups and downs, twists and turns and one which leaves me feeling so out of control and most definitely helpless.  I am so terrified and want to scream in order to get off the ride but it won’t stop, not on my own terms anyways.

My therapist has been working with me toward a common goal of ensuring I lose this feeling of helplessness.  This goal in which she is hoping to achieve over the next little while will be done through Hypnotherapy, something she is clinically trained in.  It is something I have never tried before and I am very nervous to do so but as I have stated above, I never shy away from any new therapy or treatment.  Hypnotherapy is a guided hypnosis or a trance-like state of mind which focuses its attention completely inward to find natural resources deep within ourselves to help regain control or make necessary changes in our lives.  Together we have worked on a list of areas that she deems imperative right now to concentrate on and SIX pages later I am set to try this next part of my journey.  She has reassured me that it is very relaxing and that I will be in complete control. She has also promised me that I will not feel violated in any way or start quacking like a duck next time I hear my name called out.