Always grateful for everyone’s support both near and far 💜💛💚
For anyone who is new to my page this is my children’s book I published a few years ago.
Where Did Mommy’s Smile Go? takes you on a journey through the eyes of a young girl trying to grasp the difference between sadness and Depression when her Mommy suddenly takes ill. With both patience and comfort her Daddy helps her understand an illness she cannot see and assures her that she is safe, loved and most of all, not to blame for her Mommy’s Depression.
It’s my labour of love.
Where Did Mommy’s Smile Go? aims to teach Parents, Teachers, caregivers and loved ones alike how to help children cope with and understand their feelings when someone they love is suffering with Depression.
If you would like to order a copy feel free to message me or email me at kimfluxgold@gmail.com.
Today I went to see my therapist; it was the third time this week.
That’s a new record for me, not that I’m bragging (lol). I’m also not ashamed of it either. After I tried to attempt to take my own life just 7 days ago I’m pretty sure it’s probably more of a necessity than anything else at this point as I try and deal with the traumatic aftermath of events last weekend and the uncertainty of how to move forward without letting my illness win.
I am BEYOND blessed to have found my therapist 5 years ago after several years of struggling to find the right fit for me. I know that this is not uncommon and that most people need to try out a few different therapists before they are able to find the one that feels right for them. Trust me, I know it can be a very trying and lonely process.
Before I got sick I’d never even been to therapy, but have since become a HUGE advocate for it. I believe that everyone can benefit from therapy at one time or another in our lives and although a therapist may not always give you all the answers you are looking for, a good therapist will always help you find them.
But you have to be ready to commit to setting aside the time and energy needed to invest in therapy and you have to be ready for whatever may come from talking about difficult things.
A gentle reminder…It’s okay to ask for help and although medication can help to reduce some symptoms of mental health conditions for many, the added benefits of therapy will go alot further in gaining insight into or help you to address some hidden causes of your illness that you never knew were there, instead of just masking them.
For me, going to therapy every week is a really big part of my self-care. I know I am safe when I am speaking with my therapist and that I can share anything with her without feeling judged or stigmatized.
I never imagined that after nearly nine years of battling a chronic and debilitating mental health disorder that it could get any worse but boy did I prove myself wrong last weekend. I have since spent the better part of my week desperately trying to get my head back above water but I just can’t seem to shake the events of the past week from my mind; they just keep playing over and over again in my head like a recurring nightmare.
Writing is very therapeutic for me. It helps me to declutter many of the intrusive thoughts in my brain and sort through a lot of my trauma and pain so last night I sat down and began writing. This time though it wasn’t for the public to read or for a page out of my book; this time it was a letter, well actually it was two letters.
The first letter I penned last night was to the York Regional Police, inparticularly to their complaints against Policies and Procedures Department. I wasn’t writing this letter to complain about the officers who came to my home last Sunday evening or who took me to the hospital, infact they were all very respectful and kind towards me and were just following the policies and procedures that they had been trained to do. The problem is, many of these policies and procedures can bring further harm to an already vulnerable individual by isolating them from their loved ones like they did to me, keeping Rich from comforting me or allowing any contact with me at all while they spoke to us both separately or even when they took me away from my home. He was also told not to come to the hospital. People in these situations need an ally and advocate by their side (he came at 7:30 the next morning).
But worse than that, they then took me outside to their police cruiser (there were 3 cars in total), holding on to my arm as though I was going to try and run (like I could’ve outrun four huge police officers with guns strapped to their belts) and before I got into the police cruiser, they placed handcuffs on me. They apologized to me many times before and after.
I was not showing any signs of aggressive behaviour, nor had I. I went willingly.
As I detailed in the blog I wrote a couple of nights ago (https://wheredidmommyssmilego.com/2023/01/19/cuffed/), treating a person in a mental health crisis who is showing no signs of aggressive behaviour or acting belligerent or not obliging there should be ZERO reason to place them in handcuffs or treat them like a criminal. The decision should be left up to the discretion of the attending officers. I’ve been down this road before, however this was a first and just further proves to me that there is still so much stigma surrounding mental illness and has left me never wanting to share my vulnerabilities with a loved one ever again for fear of being treated this way, ever again. Silencing an individual who is experiencing active suicidal ideations could have very deadly consequences.
Again, I don’t blame the police officers one bit for following their policies and procedures. I totally respect them for doing what I believe to be the hardest and most honorable job in the entire universe but I couldn’t stay seated which is why I penned a second letter.
The second letter was addressed to the “Patient Relations” Department at the local hospital I was taken to where I was made to feel so ashamed of my illness starting with an emergency room doctor who came in to see me moments after I arrived, made no eye contact with me, scribbled quickly on my chart, brushed me off like I was an inconvenience, placed me on a “Form” and disappeared within 2 minutes, never to be seen again. He was not interested in speaking with me at all and just told me a nurse will bring me something to calm me down, which I declined.
The nurses on shift that night were beyond rude (my main nurse in particular). She was condescending, dismissive and also made me feel so ashamed for having been there. The only thing she and the other nurses were concerned with throughout my stay was taking my blood pressure and temperature every couple of hours; in between their eye rolls and big sighs when I found myself having to beg them for a blanket or even a glass of ice water.
When someone is lying in an emergency room for a mental health crisis, continuing to check their vitals which had both been completely normal upon my initial intake in triage is absolutely ridiculous. That time could be better spent with a patient who is obviously not physically sick, maybe talking to them, maybe checking on them, maybe asking them how they were doing? They showed not one ounce of compassion, showed no kindness and never even took a moment to ensure I was okay.
I was scared, felt so alone and was still very traumatized by the events that had taken place earlier that evening in my home. I had told the nurse at one point while desperately trying to advocate for myself that I’d been there several times before (voluntarily) and in that moment by her reaction, if I could read her mind, I can assure you she was thinking to herself “uck…she’s just another crazy mental lunatic”.
It is difficult enough been “Formed” and having both your dignity and every right taken away from you including your belongings and cell phone but then to be treated like I was less than “human” has really made my journey this week that much more difficult knowing how many other vulnerable people are out there being treated the same way.
I completely understand how stressful and difficult a job nurses and doctors have in their profession and how underpaid and overworked many of the nurses are today and the unfathomable situations they face everyday, especially in an overwhelmed emergency room but the treatment I received needs to change and maybe it starts with more compassionate training done for those having to deal with patients experiencing a mental health crisis.
I’m not sure if either of my letters will be taken seriously, make any difference or even be read but I needed to do it for myself and for anyone else who has ever found themselves too afraid to ask for help for fear of the stigma surrounding mental illness, the many stereotypes, the discrimination and the prejudices that follow.
I share my journey with the world because of this, as difficult and often shameful as it may be or sound to others but as a mental health advocate I need to continue to bring awareness to the forefront by sharing my own struggles so long as I’m living to remind others that they are not alone. Being a voice for individuals who suffer with a mental illness brings me purpose and continues to help so many individuals find hope and healing. Educating others about the many depths and challenges we face every day and fighting for change is key to building a stigma-free society one day.
I am going to take this weekend to continue focusing on my self-care and try my best to have as stress-free of a weekend as I possibly can, including trying not to obsess over all the unfinished work I left piled up on my desk at work late yesterday afternoon which will still be waiting for me on Monday morning.
Oh and one last thing, today is “National Hugging Day”. A hug can be one of the most powerful things you can offer someone. Offering a hug to someone feeling hopeless today can be a great first step toward change.
Sorry in advance for the long post today but I haven’t written in days and I just needed to try and clear my head somewhat. I hope you can take a few minutes to read through it.
It’s been beyond an exhausting week. I’ve stayed away from as many triggers as I possibly can since the start of the week (including social media). Unfortunately though many of the triggers I’m experiencing right now feel so far out of my control; my neurological issues and my new job being just two of them; but 2 HUGE ones among so many others to say the least.
Starting back to a full-time job last month after almost nine years wasn’t supposed to add a boatload more stress to my already overwhelmed life; it was only supposed to help lift some of the burden at home but instead it’s actually made things worse for me. The workload is too much for just one person to handle (even someone with a healthy brain) and there seems to never be enough hours in the day for one person alone to ever catch up. A part of me knows that I am putting way too much undue pressure on myself which just comes along with the territory of living with a mental illness and being a perfectionist.
But I’ve tried to focus as much as I can on my self-care this week while I continue to process everything that happened last weekend. I’ve been left extremely traumatized by the events that took place, especially what ultimately led me to be taken away from my home Sunday evening in handcuffs (in case you missed it; https://wheredidmommyssmilego.com/2023/01/16/7017/).
It’s not the first time I’ve dealt with the police during a mental health crisis over the past almost nine years, rode in the back of a police car during a mental health crisis or been held involuntarily in an emergency room for an undisclosed amount of time during a mental health crisis; but Sunday night was most definitely the first time I’d been put in handcuffs during a mental health crisis.
Having a mental illness is NOT a crime but when police get involved in a mental health crisis those lines seem to get blurred. Apparently it has become standard practice for police to now handcuff an individual who is being transported to hospital during a mental health crisis, even if they are not showing signs of aggressive behaviour or go willingly like I did. All it’s actually doing is escalating the situation further as it did for me, making the situation worse and creating an even bigger stigma surrounding mental illness. And let’s not forget your loss of dignity.
I’ve been in a zombie-like state ever since; feeling sluggish, withdrawn, quick to tears and unable to focus on much of anything, other than the very conflicted and intrusive thoughts that continue to swirl around in my head day and night.
I know I scared the crap out of Rich on Sunday night and he had every right to call the police given my erratic behaviours and psychotic state. I left him very little choice. But knowing that the reprucussions of displaying such erratic behaviours and disclosing your intrusive thoughts to a loved one could result in the police showing up with handcuffs again could likely result in deadly consequences next time for a vulnerable person like myself. Voicing my intrusive thoughts or acting upon my suicidal ideations now comes with an added level of fear of ever being put in a similar situation like that again. How will me being taken to the hospital in the back of a cop car in handcuffs motivate me to ever want to share my vulnerabilities ever again. It’s difficult enough for people struggling with their mental health to find proper treatment but how does treating them more like a criminal than someone who is sick gonna help anyone?
If I wasn’t already traumatized before, I sure as hell am now.
All week Iong I’ve received messages from friends and acquaintances alike, checking in on me daily and telling me how strong and brave I am. How needed and loved I am. How much I’ve helped someone feel less alone or seen as more than just their illness. Please know that I am doing the best I can to hold on to all your love and light for dear life right now ♥️.
Every year the third Monday in January is labelled as “Blue Monday”. Although there are some really good concepts surrounding this theory as to why today is deemed the most depressing day of the year, I also know that having depression doesn’t just last for one day per year (see Blog for more info from January 2018: https://youareenough712.wordpress.com/2021/01/18/depression-is-not-a-one-day-sales-event/).
But right now today feels like the bluest day of my life after Rich needed to call the police again last night while I was in crisis. I begged and pleaded for him to hang up (I will not be sharing any details publicly as to what actually transpired beforehand, I will just say that I am beyond overwhelmed right now and it feels like every aspect of my life is falling apart by the millisecond).
The police arrived before Rich had even hung up the phone. Four very intimidating, but compassionate officers came stomping up the stairs (with their wet boots still on 🤬) to meet me in my bedroom where I’d been trying to take refuge under my weighted blanket. They asked Rich to please stay downstairs.
I tried to tell them I was ok and had calmed down but between Rich’s detailed report to them both on the phone and in person they were obligated to take me to the hospital to be further assessed and demanded (as kindly as possible) that I get up “voluntarily” and take me in ASAP. I felt like a criminal.
After arriving at the hospital the emergency room doctor immediately “Formed” me (which means I can be held in hospital for up to 72 hours involuntarily). Security then handed me some hospital scrubs, socks and a plastic bag to which I was to place all my belongings in; including my shoes, clothes, wallet, cell phone and my dignity).
The nurse offered me something to calm me down. I refused. Security stood guard all night. I slept some. A crisis worker woke me around 5 AM to talk to me. I was very disoriented. Then I waited very anxiously and very impatiently for the Psychiatrist to arrive “sometime” in the morning so I could be further assessed. It felt like forever. All I had was a clock on the wall to stare at and pass the time. After we finally spoke, at length she agreed to release me and sent my Psychiatrist a report to follow up with me.
I got home around noon today and immediately took a quick shower to wash off the hospital grunge.
Although I was and still am feeling very shook up, numb, traumatized, exhausted, weak and very angry at myself and the world around me I made it in to work by 1pm. Rich drove me, thankfully because I was too shaky to drive on my own and it’s a good thing he did because we had to make a detour around a small plane which had crashed onto the road earlier this morning on the very route I take to work every day. That detour would have sent me into total panic mode.
The overwhelm of how much work was waiting for me had I not gone in felt way more distressing at that moment than anything else.
I am home now and resting once again under my weighted blanket. Tomorrow is another day.
If you or someone you love is in crisis please don’t hesitate to reach out to a crisis responder for help. Canada: Suicide Prevention 1.833.456.4566 (check your local listings).
Thank you to everyone for the outpouring of support I (and Rich) received yesterday. Your texts, (missed) phone calls, prayers, social media posts and private messages did not go unnoticed. It truly meant the world to me and I am beyond grateful (in case you missed it: https://wheredidmommyssmilego.com/2023/01/14/my-friday-the-13th/).
I had hoped that yesterday would’ve been a better day for me but unfortunately it quickly went south and I found myself in an even worse place mentally, emotionally and physically than I’d been on Friday (I didn’t know that could be possible).
I was inconsolable and in a state of psychosis for most of it; I needed to be watched like a hawk. The pain I’ve been feeling in the last while has become so unbearable and just too difficult to share.
I tried shifting my attention yesterday by taking an afternoon walk in the crisp winter’s air, I practiced lots of breathing and grounding exercises and I immersed myself in water for over 2 hours; but no matter what I did, I still couldn’t fight off or quiet down the noise in my head. By now, the stress had also put my body into an unrelenting flare-up which has spilt over into this morning.
I felt so desperate at this point to find any way I possibly could to get out of my head, even if it were for just a few hours so somehow (I honestly don’t know how) I mustered up enough strength to put myself together and go to my dear friend’s “80’s” themed birthday/housewarming celebration.
The 80’s were the most awesome, rocking and totally rad era ever and being able to reminisce about our teenage years during the 80’s while laughing and eating cupcakes and playing 80’s trivia games with old (and new) friends alike really was gnarly and also made me really wish I could go back there right now.
As I mentioned yesterday I have a much needed appointment with my therapist this afternoon but first I will need a couple of hours to get the bottle of hairspray I used to create my 80’s do last night out!!
I was hoping I’d wake up this morning and had only dreamt that last night really happened, but it did happen and it caused chaos and panic to erupt for my family; well in reality I caused the chaos and panic to erupt last night for my family. Ok let me try and rephrase this one more time; in all reality my Depression caused the chaos and panic to erupt last night for my family and it nearly won this time. It came very close.
I could easily blame what happened last night on it being Friday the 13th yesterday cause I’d felt really off all day, like everything was so far out of my control, even while I sat at work, too busy to catch my breath. I was ready to explode but like anyone who suffers with depression knows, I wore my fake mask and smiled until the workday finally ended around 4:30 pm, at which point I left and got into my car; but I didn’t go home. I went completely MIA instead; for many, many hours.
Notes were prepared, apologies for being such a burden and failure to my family were sent and a plan was put into place; at which point Rich needed to call the police and I needed to shut off my phone. I have PTSD from my encounters before.
I did make my way home where Rich came outside to greet me. He had been on the phone with a police officer (not 911) at that very moment, giving them my license number and other information you would give for a missing person, a vulnerable missing person in my case. They were about to send out a team to look for me when I arrived home. I pleaded he hang up. He told them I just returned home and he listened to me by telling them not to come but before he hung up he promised the dispatcher that he’d call them right back if he needed them to send out a crisis team.
I continued to sit alone in my driveway for another couple of hours though, refusing to go inside and hoping that maybe I’d eventually freeze to death instead. By this time I did allow a friend of mine, a beautiful soul with the most generous heart (who happens to also be a therapist), sit with me on the phone, reminding me of my worth and that my depression was speaking so many untruths. It was no longer Friday the 13th by the time we finished texting and eventually, with a pounding headache, an empty stomach and no more tears left in me, I went inside. The house was quiet. I took a Tylenol (I’m not gonna lie, I thought about taking more), had a “midnight” snack and crawled into bed.
Again this post is not meant to garnish sympathy, I just need to continue telling my story and letting others who may be in the midst of their own mental health crisis today or maybe tomorrow know that they don’t have to go through it alone. You are not alone. Ever.
I’m going to try and focus on self-care and healing today which will include Rich and I attending a party that a friend is hosting later this evening where laughter and cake will hopefully be the only medicine I need.
I had an appointment with my Psychiatrist this afternoon. I let him know what happened to me last week when I took a sleeping pill; a pill I’ve taken hundreds of times before, but this time it ended in a trip to the emergency room; (in case you missed it: https://wheredidmommyssmilego.com/2023/01/03/damn-you-2023/).
I told him that I am done ever touching another pill ever again, prescribed to me or not. It doesn’t matter if it’s an anti-anxiety medication, a sleep remedy or something that is all natural, eventually I react to them all. It may not happen the first time, or even the hundreth time, generally there is a build up over time, but either way my body rejects them all.
He agreed that unfortunately it may be what’s best for my body right now.
Once our Zoom call ended and we hung up, I finally realized that what I really need is not to learn how to control my mental and physical illness anymore but to instead learn how to cohabitate with them and let nature take its course by accepting that it’s a part of me, a part of me that no matter what, will always be there.
I no longer have the strength to try and fight to live without my physical and mental pain because the more I do lately, the more they seem to be winning.
I’m not looking at this as defeat; it just feels like my reality.
Today, in honour of what would have been my father in law’s 90th birthday I wanted to repost the poem again, not only because it is one of my favourite pieces and a timeless classic but because it reminds me of my father-in-law and how he lived his “dash”. He knew what mattered most in life was kindness and to live and love and make everyone he came into contact with, laugh.
To quote what I wrote a year ago, “I am so very blessed to have been a part of your dash Sid.”
***The picture attached was from my father-in-law’s 80th birthday celebration, 10 years ago, surrounded by all his grandchildren who truly loved and respected their Zaidy; life has changed so much since then but our adoration for him never will.
Experiencing so many restless and often sleepless nights leaves me feeling extremely tired and lethargic, making it beyond difficult to get out of bed most mornings or to have any type of regular morning routine.
Because of my many restless and often sleepless nights, my mornings have become a very sacred time of day for me over the last many years. There is often a calmness that fills the air in the morning and a sense of security which allows me to close my eyes and get some rest; it’s more like a quick cat nap, but eventually it gives me enough strength to get up and start my day. But since starting my new job four weeks ago I no longer have the luxury of time in the mornings and it’s been very trying on both my mental and physical health.
Having to take pause and make some really big changes to my daily routine in order to get to work each morning has been one of the most difficult adjustments I’ve had to make. Not having that safety net and time of day I enjoyed most anymore is making my transition that much harder.
Depression can make morning routines feel like hell.
To be completely honest though, I’ve never been a morning person. I can’t even tell you the last time I actually ate breakfast; high school perhaps? But even though I’ve never been much of a morning person, I always managed to function and be productive; the kids were none the wiser growing up. Nowadays however I need to rely on those same kids (well mostly Hannah) to be my alarm clock or Rich, who is already at work, to call me. He and I are polar opposites when it comes to our morning routine; he actually enjoys waking up at the crack of dawn and makes selfcare a top priority in the morning, whereas I leave myself very little time for anything, let alone selfcare; choosing to stay in bed until the last possible second.
They say your eyes tell us so much more than words ever can; those dark circles under them pretty much say it all.
But I’m doing my best to give myself grace at the moment.
And as to how the actual job itself is going, well that’s a whole other story for another day.
YouAreEnough 
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