Last I left you I was out of the hospital and telling you about that journey. For those who don't know that story, here's the short version. I have battled Mental Illness (that bitch deserves capital letters!) for most of my life until in my mid 30s when it started to win the fight. I left work in 2008 but really didn't let myself "fall apart" until my 40th birthday in 2010. It was a slow downhill roll from there. By 2013 they had tried everything to "fix me" and decided to try a stronger medication, one meant for Bi Polar. It was a diagnosis no one was absolutely sure of, it's not like there is a blood test. It didn't take long for that medication to make me feel worse. I tried to tell the doctor but he was convinced this was the answer. I didn't agree but I wasn't the expert. I even took my husband to appointments to stress the drug wasn't working. That it was, in fact, making things worse. In response, the doctor increased the dosage. In the meantime, I put myself on the waiting list for a private mental health hospital. The waiting list, 6 months long. If I could just hold on. By the Spring of 2014 I was beyond lost. I was barely living. Go read some of my posts in here from that time period. It's not pretty. I talked of suicide and my death often. Come June 2014 I couldn't take it anymore and I tried to take my own life. I wanted the pain to be over. It was agony to be alive inside my own head. I spent two days in the ICU of my local hospital then five days in the Mental Health ward of the same. I spent only about 3 weeks back at home when the call came, there was a bed for me at the private hospital. I went into that facility in the 3rd week of July and I didn't come home until the 3rd week of September.
Once I was back at home and settled in I had only 3 weeks to relax until I went in for a major surgery. I had hysterectomy. I had been diagnosed over the years with cysts, dysplasia, and endometriosis. They are all abnormal cellular growths of varying degrees in the feminine reproductive system. I always assumed I had to suffer and suffer I did. Once a Gynecological Surgeon offered to help with surgery and advised that my mood could stabilize as well, I lined up to do it. Of course the risks were it could be worse but I was willing to take that chance if it might be better, at all. Only while open in the surgery would exploration be done to see what else might be going on with the abnormal cell growth. Everything turned out well. I had to get a bowel resection. They had to remove 3 inches of the colon as it was covered in abnormal cells but the pathology was clear, no Big C. Thankfully. That surgery was a hard recovery though. I was open from the whoo-haww to the belly button. 32 staples long. It was a 3 month recovery.
I said on Facebook and in a post here that I was going to make 2015 ma' bitch. And bitch I have, thus far. I am taking psyche type classes at my local hospital twice a week and I am doing a new therapy each week in the city. All of this requires my getting up and participating in life again and so far, so good. I have made almost all my classes and appointments since I got out of the hospital. That's huge for me. In 2015 thus far I have attended more things than I did in all of 2014.
It's still so hard for me to believe how lost I was. The problem with Mental Health is it's not an easy diagnosis. It's like House. Remember that old TV show where the doctor's must diagnosis mysterious illnesses? Well that's Mental Health in many cases. Everyone thought I was Bi Polar. I have about 3 different reports from some of the most renowned doctors in Ontario (Canada) and they all said the same, "displays Bi Polar tendencies". That's the equivalent in Mental Health as a "diagnosis". Diagnosis = medication. And what does medication for the wrong diagnosis in Mental Health do? It often makes you much sicker than you were before. That's how I ended up in the Emergency Room. I was given a very strong medication that was meant to help a person with Bi Polar disorder. Unfortunately all it did for me was allow my already over active mind to become more depressed. All my thoughts were dark and never ending. They repeated constantly. All day and all night, on repeat. And I couldn't sit still with them. It was awful. Once I was in long term care and they could monitor me, they adjusted almost all my medication including taking me off the drug that almost killed me.
I was diagnosed in long term care with Borderline Personality Disorder which I have already mentioned here. I think this year they will take me off any remaining medications for depression (and Bi Polar depression) and see how I do with new therapies and coping mechanisms under my belt. I am learning all about self care and how to manage this disease. People with Borderline have reactionary characteristics based on the past and not the current. For me, if I feel vulnerable to mental harm or pain, I become very volatile. I become unreasonable, impulsive, and overtly aggressive. And these are the responses to perceived threats, not even real ones. If I feel unloved at all, be careful. If I feel someone has wronged me, then they must not love me, and I will make them pay for that because I cannot be unlovable. It's all a very vicious circle and I can be my own worst enemy in these situations. I will lash out and mentally abuse someone before they can harm me which actually just perpetuates what I was scared of to begin with. My reactionary behaviour makes my fear come true. People tend to run, not walk, when you are throwing things at them. *duck!!!* My deathly fear is to be unloved, and yet ironically I can be very unlovable under these circumstances. It all makes a great deal of sense to me now. I can almost pinpoint every single time in my life these characteristics came in to play. And it's all because I have dealt with trauma in my life on many occasions most of which were as a developing little human. As a child. Our characteristics, our personalities, can be severely altered by trauma especially if it occurs while our brain is developing.
For me, this diagnosis means work. For the rest of my life I will have to stop and think about my reaction before I let it out. I will have to think about whether I am giving an honest, (authentic to the situation you might say), reaction to the current circumstances in front of me. Or, conversely, is my reaction all based on emotion built up from my past that I never let out before? So that, my friends, is what I have been up to. I have been stopping and thinking before I react. Before I type. Before I speak. Before I do.
The therapy I am doing for this disorder is very much a full time job. I have to acknowledge every emotion I have. I have to feel it. Sit with it. Then I have to decide if the reaction building is legit or not. If it's helpful, factual, realistic. Then I have to sit with that. Sometimes I find myself crying for hours. Please do not worry. I don't feel depressed or lost. Typically on one of those days I have just come to terms with an overwhelming emotion based entirely on my past. Sometimes the past memory is brand new, something I didn't remember before and I have to sit with that, let it happen. And that, can lead to tears, a lot of tears. Then I think it all over. I wash my face off, and I move on. But that makes for a day that feels like, what I can only assume running a marathon would feel like. Exhausting. It's hard to explain, so I will give you an example.
I had 3 rabbits. I was allergic to them. I took 3-4 Benedryl a day just to have these rabbits in our lives. When I fed them, I couldn't breathe for hours after. But I loved them. They were all rescue rabbits that I took in to give them a better life and better life I did give. We decided that this wasn't the healthiest thing for me, to be taking heavy duty allergy medication daily. We further decided the rabbits deserved more interaction than I could give to them. Each time I held one my clothes had to be washed and I had to take a shower. Because of that, they weren't held often enough. I put the rabbits up on a local sale/trade website. I offered them for free to a good home. I offered all the equipment we had amassed over the years plus two months of food and bedding. Then I wrote up a questionnaire that I would send to each person who showed interested outlining how much care the rabbits got, and needed. If I received an enquiry and the person couldn't spell or bother to write full sentences, delete. No go. To those that responded well, they got the questionnaire. And to those that passed that level, well they were told they had to meet me and the rabbits before I would release them into their care. Overboard? Perhaps. Remember I suffered from neglect, abandonment, and my greatest fear is feeling unloved. To me, these were my furry kids. And I was about to....abandon them. Just like I was.
The first rabbit I was giving away was my baby. She was the youngest and the most personable. She wanted to be loved. She gave kisses and snuggled. *cough* *sneeze* When the young couple arrived to meet her she clung onto them, especially the girl, like I had never seen. She made happy noises I only read about. She fell asleep in the girls arms. I knew it was the right call in that moment to let her go with them. I packed up all her things and making sure they understood I was available if they needed anything, I let her go with them. I was very pleased the rabbit seemed so happy. They only just pulled out of the driveway when the negative thoughts began. I pushed them aside. Doubts, huge nagging doubts. Then I started thinking of all the things I didn't tell them. I stated obsessing about it. What if? What if this or that happens because I didn't tell them. I sent an email to them giving them all the information and asked them to let me know when they had settled in and all was okay. That was at 2pm on a Wednesday. By 6pm on Thursday I had sent 3 emails and a text. Each getting a little more hysterical than the next. I was devastated I hadn't heard from them. I hadn't slept. I hadn't eaten. I cried non stop. I was falling apart again. I was imagining the worst possible scenarios. They didn't respond because they didn't care about me or the rabbit. I must have done something wrong in their presence and they were taking it out on the rabbit. They were sociopaths and serial killers. The rabbit was dead and she died wondering where her Mommy was. All I could imagine was this little rabbit thinking, "Why did my Mommy let me go? Where is she? Why doesn't she love me?" This is in all seriousness, this is what I was thinking. Obsessing really. These weren't thoughts, they were obsessive reactions to my having let this helpless wee baby go.
At 6pm on Thursday I got this picture and this message:
Hi Nicole! I am so sorry I didn't respond earlier. We ended up cuddling her for most of the evening and she seems to be settling in great. It totally slipped my mind to check my email this morning, as soon as I was up, I grabbed her and brought to bed with us. Then I plopped her on the couch with me. She's eating and drinking lots, and still making all her lovey noises, so I would say her stress is minimal! We just love her to bits. Here is a picture of her in bed with us this morning.
The irony of the message and enclosed picture as compared to my emotions and reactions for 24 hours are not lost on me or my therapist.
I hope to have more posts about all this Mental Health stuff to you soon. As I mentioned, things are really busy all up in here (in ma' noodle) now.
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