How did I end up here?

As I sat in my room, (which can only be described as a university dorm room that made babies with a hospital room), tears ran down my face and I kept asking myself, "How did I end up here?"  It was my first of many days in the private mental health facility I stayed at this year from July through to September.  I had checked myself in?  How did this happen?  How did I go from fully functioning to so mentally ill and fragile I needed a full time hospital to take care of me?  What happened?  I can tell you now that mental illness can creep up on a person.  It doesn't have to be present in your teens.  It doesn't have to debilitate you at first, or ever for long periods of time.  And sometimes, you just get overwhelmed and realize it's caught up to you.  You are there.  You are mentally ill.  I always knew there was something different about how I thought and felt about things. How I reacted to things was definitely "different".  It just didn't take the wind out of my sails until my mid 30s.  There is no shame.  Like cancer, like diabetes, like any other disease, it can take time to catch up to you and make you sick. 
 
The facility we found had been on our radar, my husband and I, since before the 2014 year even began.  We knew what was coming, and that it wasn't going to be good.  And it wasn't.  I finally fell into what can only be described as full on despair in May 2014.  I held on until June.  I couldn't do it anymore, I was out of strength.  I attempted suicide in June of 2014, the second my husband's back was turned.  His back was rarely turned that Spring/Summer as he saw what was happening right before his eyes.  He will never forgive himself for those few hours he took away from my side.  I gave him that burden to bear.  He has forgiven me, he has not forgotten.  I have forgiven myself, I have not forgotten.  That is a place I will never go to again.  I will be in hospital if I feel that sense of despair again.  I will not take that chance again.  I was lucky.  We both knew at that time that I had to get into this mental health facility, and fast.  The waiting list, 6 months long.  I was at month 5 when I tried to kill myself.  Month 6 was a few weeks later when they called.  They had a bed for me.
 
Upon arrival at 9am on that Friday morning, they showed my husband and me to my room.  A room no bigger than my walk in closet at home.  There were two beds in this tiny room.  Beautiful windows from side to side looking over the grounds but I was to have a private room.  I don't do well in tight spaces with other people.  The first of my temper tantrums began.  Tears pouring down my face I turned to my husband, and said "I am not fucking staying in this room, I am supposed to have my own fucking room, I want to go home, NOW".  He turned to the nurse and interpreted that as, "she was to have a private room, and this one appears to be a double".  The nurse advised us that a bed had opened up, it was semi private and the second a private opened, I would get it.  It shouldn't be more than 2 weeks she said.  My husband hugged me tight and begged me to stay.  I had to.  If for no one else, for him.  I had to stay.  He asked the nurse if another room, one a little bigger was available.  He could tell I felt claustrophobic in that room.  I was pale, and clammy.  I was obviously stressing. 
 
They took me to another room where a woman I had seen practically shaking in her own skin at admissions was unpacking.  I quietly introduced myself, left my things behind and walked my husband down to the car.  I begged him to let me go home, he begged me to stay.  I did what he asked.  I knew it was for the best.  I knew what I had put him through.  I walked slowly back to my room and began to unpack.  Once done unpacking, I crawled into bed and let the tears fall silently.  I didn't want my roommate to see them.  I was strong.  I didn't want to share.  Besides, she was a mess.  Exaggeratingly breathing in, breathing out, jumping and gasping at every sound.  The last thing she needed was me blubbering on.  I didn't leave my room much that day.  I can't recall eating.  I slept on and off, and I cried. 
 
My first full day was a Saturday.  I was awoken by the nurses at 645am.  Standard practise they said when I asked.  I hadn't slept much that night as they check in every room every few hours with a flashlight.  That takes some getting used to. This first room didn't have a bathroom so upon waking off I went to get changed in the stall of the ward's public women's bathroom.  The bathroom made me feel like I was at camp, or back in high school.  I didn't much fancy either the first time around.  I brushed my teeth and hair and slowly made my way to the cafeteria for breakfast.  The cafeteria was buzzing, buzzing too much for my over active mind.  I almost turned and left without food that first morning.  There were just too many faces, too many voices, far too many people looking at me.  I stayed.  Lined up, got my food, and sat alone next to a post to block me from other people.  The food was average, it was obvious they tried.  I guess feeding 300 people in the hour and a half they allowed, wasn't easy.
 
After breakfast, I wandered.  I wandered the loooong long hallways finding everything I would need to know about.  I saw where the Rehab center was, the other psychiatric ward (the high risk lock down ward), the mood and anxiety program, and the eating disorder clinic.  I walked the beautiful grounds, taking in the beauty in hopes it would help me accept where I was.  I checked out the café and store, the gym, the rec centre, and even the old bowling alley.  I walked for hours.  I needed to be away from that room.  That hospital like room I never thought I would find myself staying in.  And for 60 days no less.  You see on arrival I thought the program was 30 days.  Little did I know the standard program runs 60 days?  That broke my heart.  I couldn't imagine leaving my husband, my dog, my rabbits, my home....for two months.  I couldn't imagine being stuck in this place, no matter the beauty outside.  My husband knew all along.  He had called for the full information long before that day, he just knew I couldn't handle it until I was already there, being forced to face the truth of where I was at mentally.  The good news was finding out I could leave every weekend and every evening so long as the doctor approved.  I decided there and then to be well behaved and be approved!
 
We were allowed to keep our cell phones on this unit, thank god.  Most of the others, you were not.  But on two of the units, ours included, they wanted you to stay in touch with the real world, the reality outside of those walls.  I texted my husband that first day, "please tell me how long I have to stay here, how long before you know I gave it my best?”  "Two weeks" he replied.  I had hoped for one week.  I could do two weeks.  This is like University without the alcohol I thought to myself, I can do this.  I can learn for two weeks and leave.  That phone was my life line for the first two weeks or so.  I texted my husband every half an hour. 
 
Those first few days I was on auto pilot.  I did what they said, went where I was supposed to go but I seethed with resentment.  I resented my husband for wanting me there.  I resented myself for ending up there.  I resented all of the staff because I was sure I wasn't sick enough to be there.  And I resented every patient I came across because they just reminded me, I was sick, I had an illness.  I slept, ate, slept, ate.  My husband came to see me that first Sunday, basically a day after my arrival.  He brought the dog.  I sat on the grass with them and I sobbed.  I wanted to go home, but I knew I had to stay.  I missed them both so much already.  My husband cried.  He wanted me home, but he knew I had to stay.
 
I can honestly say those two weeks were some of the hardest days of my life.  They weren't awe inspiring yet.  They didn't teach me amazing things.  For the first two weeks you get a schedule, easy classes like horticulture and art therapy.  The time is spent just getting used to waking up at a certain time, going to bed at a certain time.  You get on a simple schedule.  You could only get whatever medication you were on during specific times.  And each time you did get your medication you were required to share with your primary or secondary nurse how you were feeling, what was truly going on inside.  As my primary nurse said my second day, "fine, okay, good, and alright tell me nothing and aren't acceptable answers when I ask you how you are".  Jesus fuck lady, I just got here!  I am having a hard enough time having to line up to take my crazy pills with all these crazy people indicating that I am crazy.  Ease the fuck up.  You might be surprised to know that I said none of it.  I said "I am sad" and walked away. 
 
I didn't stay in hiding for long.  Come on, you all had to see that coming.  By Monday I was saying hello to other patients quietly.  I was curling up on the stinky old couch in the lounge with a book when I didn't have classes.  I had a meal or two at a table with my roommate.  The other meals I spent head down, reading my book.  I guess I was hiding in those pages now that I look back.  Hiding inside a fairy tale story, my face hidden behind the paper.  But I might have looked up and even smiled once or twice at people.  I started to meet people in the lounge and in the classes.  I was finding my groove a little I guess. 

By the end of the week one I found myself talking frequently with two girls who'd arrived around the same time as me.  By the following week we were playing basketball in the gym together.  I was moved into a semi private room with no roommate.  And the week after that I brought my softball stuff and we were out playing ball with other patients on the diamond on the grounds.  By week four......well obviously by now I was there to see the program through.  I had my own private room by then with its own bathroom.  It was comfy.  It was mine.  I was loving french toast Wednesdays and pancake Friday's with ma' girls, now a gang of 5 of us.  I could no longer believe so much time had passed.  I was knee deep in the hard classes and I wasn't even close to being ready to go home? 
 
What the hell?  How did I end up here?




P.S.  More about my story, my time on the "inside", will follow. 

And Homewood Health Centre is the facility.  I couldn't recommend more.  If you are ready and prepared to do the work, it will work for you. 

http://homewood.org/





 
 
 

 

"Hi"...a simple "Hello" can say so much.

As many people are aware, I suffer from Bi Polar disorder.  Due to a medication misbalance and general disease mismanagement, I found myself in need of some intensive care.  I checked myself into a treatment facility in July and stayed into September of this year.  (See Homewood Health Centre).  I spent 60 days focused on myself and my illness.  It was the most beneficial 60 days of my life.  Over the next few months I am going to share with you some of the things I learned on the "inside".  

I found myself very intrigued when, in one of the classes offered at Homewood, the social worker/therapist posed the following scenario and asked what our gut reactions would be:

 

You are wandering down the hallway at school, or work, perhaps the grocery store.  You see someone you know and you say "Hi" to them as they pass you.

 

They do not respond.

 

Do you:

 

a) Think they must not have heard me.

 

b) Think they are an asshole and rude (my words not the therapist's).

 

c) Think they must not like you.

 

 

This says a ton about you as a person, and your core belief system at play.  If, you answer this quick and with pure honesty. 

My first reaction was, "Asshole, jackass, mutha' trucka', rude.....", and then quickly turned into, "Why don't they like me?"

When I was honest I got to the root of it.  My initial response was to defend myself, get angry, blame them for bad behaviour.  If I sat in it long enough it turned to a place of self loathing.   Self loathing is hard to admit and sit in, so again, my initial reaction was to defend myself from that pain.

There were very few of us, struggling with mental illness (amazingly), that could honestly say, a) They must not have heard me.  In fact, only one did, in a class of 20.

Most went directly to c) They must not like me. 

I, am an angry, defensive person by nature because I don't handle real pain, hurt, well.  I don't like myself much (I am working on that every day), so for someone to re-affirm that in my mind is unforgivable. 

Take a second and think about this.  Answer it quickly and honestly and you will know in a manner of seconds if you have a solid foundation of self worth, hello a), or if you need a little tune up to your self esteem, b) and c).

I'd be interested to hear what happens, if you feel like sharing that is.  Obviously I am open to the whole sharing thing. 

FYI - 9 times out of 10, they didn't hear you.  There's always one asshole in the bunch.  LOL
 

Jian Ghomeshi. Just my opinion.

The news hasn't stopped.  Jian Ghomeshi, a famed Canadian radio personality likes his sex rough.  He likes it rough and he chooses partners who like it rough too, per him.  Those are his words, not mine.  (Not his exact words but you get the gist of it).

Jian Ghomeshi is a practiser/practitioner of BDSM.  I am not sure how you say that properly so forgive me any "practisers" that read this.  BDSM stands for bondage, dominance, sadism, and masochism.  Ghomeshi told the world he practised this in a Facebook status update last week.  In this statement he mentions always having consensual partners.  He said that issues arose forcing him to disclose his personal preferences because of a scorned ex girlfriend.  And finally, he states that he was asked for evidence of consent by his employer, the CBC (the "Canadian Broadcasting Company").  Apparently another news company had information about several women complaining that there was no consent in their violent interactions, some of which were violent sexual interactions, with Ghomeshi.  Ghomeshi made his statement on Facebook to the world immediately prior to an announcement by the CBC that Ghomeshi was terminated.  Mr. Ghomeshi then filed a 50 million dollar breach of trust suit against the CBC.  CBC countered with a statement of their facts for termination.  Since all that back and forth, which streamed for days on everyone's TV and computer, 9 women have come forward to claim that they had violent non-consensual interactions with Ghomeshi.  To reiterate, they claim there was NO consent. 

From what I can gather BDSM is very much about power.  One party wants it, one party gives it up.  They consent to what they will do role playing out these power positions.  The two parties agree in advance to what they will do, what they will NOT do, and a safety word to end the power play altogether.  And sexual gratification plays a very big part in this.  I say that it plays a part in it, because in many cases, there is no sex.  Sometimes it's about BDSM alone, not the sexual activity that can sometimes go with it.  In some cases it is about violent activities such as whipping, hitting, choking for example, and there is no sex involved. 

As I said earlier, 9 women have come forward, in the news, to say they were harmed by Ghomeshi and they did not consent to being harmed.  Many people are asking why these women didn't come forward at the time, and to the police for that matter.  Every day women are harmed by their partners and they do nothing about it.  I am sure there isn't one person who will read this that doesn't "know a girl who knows a girl", who stayed in an abusive relationship long past the first hit.  In many cases these women feel they somehow deserved it, that they did something to provoke it, and they are embarrassed it happened to them.  They find themselves asking, "How could it have happened to me?  How did I become "that" woman?  Maybe if I just go along with this it will stop?"  Then factor in that Ghomeshi was somewhat famous and the women become even more scared and intimidated, embarrassed, and unsure.  Maybe they somehow led him on?  Would the police even listen to them?  What would they have to reveal about themselves to win something like this against a man with fame and money?  We've all seen CSI and Law and Order.  It's not easy being the victim and without even being one we know that already.

When this first came out I thought Ghomeshi was the victim.  I thought the big bad corporation had wronged him.  I started to write about that.  I pulled it from my blog and Facebook because I stopped, just for one second, and thought about the supposed "scorned ex girlfriend" and wondered if she had been physically harmed.  If that was the case then was I ever gonna feel like shit siding with Ghomeshi as the victim of this wrongful dismissal.  Don't get me wrong, I don't think an employer has the right to fire you for your personal life....unless that personal life is criminal and thus harmful to their brand.  And the brand better be contingent to the corporate success as is the case with a broadcasting company.  Public opinion not only matters, it's tantamount to their success.  Further an employer has a legal obligation to ALL it's employees to keep them from harm.  If they are aware of a potential harmful situation they must do something immediately to negate that risk or potentially face litigation from all the other employees.  In this case I believe CBC did the best they could.  They took the information they had, balanced the risk to liability, and made their decision.  Should they have suspended their employee versus termination while the facts came out?  Who knows.  We likely don't have the information they have, nor do we have their full employee guidelines and practises, their union handbook etc.  They made a decision that no one has to agree with.  That we can agree on.

Let's review the facts shall we? 

BDSM is a personal choice.

BDSM harms no one if both parties have consented to partake in the activities.

Consent means full, true, and plain disclosure of all the facts and an agreement to all facts. 

Not having consent means the other party has been given full disclosure of all the facts and has said no or they simply don't have all the facts to say no to.

Not having consent but acting as if you do, removes a person's rights.  Their freedom of choice.  And will cause harm at a minimum just by the removal of their rights.

With all that information in hand I decided that I had nothing to say just yet.  At that stage we had Ghomeshi's word, CBCs word, and the "apparent" word of an anonymous woman labeled by Ghomeshi as a jilted ex girlfriend.  I would wait to hear more about the developing story.  I read, and I read some more.  I looked at the legal side to Ghomeshi's case against his employer.  I even read some legal jargon pertaining to whether as a unionized employee could he even sue at all.  FYI, they cannot until they have gone through arbitration with their union representative and their employer.  In most circumstances, if their case goes to a judge, into a courtroom, the judge will defer back to the arbitration agreement because they do not wish to step into union business.   That's a whole other ballgame.   

As of today, two women have come forth publicly, to the press and admitted to being alone with Ghomeshi and his causing them physical and/or sexual harm without their consent.  They are claiming they knew nothing of the BDSM rules.  They did not have full disclosure of the facts.  Therefore they couldn't consent to what they didn't know.  In addition to these 2 women who've come forth publicly, 7 more have come forth anonymously.  They all claim to being harmed by Ghomeshi without consent.  None of these women have gone to the police.  Until today, doing a little light reading (aka research), I wasn't aware you could even go to the police after two years had passed.  In these cases, there is no time limitation for filing charges. 

The question seems to remain, why these supposed victims have gone to the press and not the police?  I can only assume it is much easier to skewer a person in social media than it is in court.  If these women file assault charges against Ghomeshi they have the burden of proof to prove he is guilty.  He is presumed innocent of the charges.  In turn then, are they not assumed guilty of lying basically? Seriously!  Think about it.  He is presumed innocent which means the person saying otherwise is lying.  Therefore the liar must be proven innocent while the innocent proven guilty.  The victim's lives will be ripped apart to prove they are telling the truth.  Would you file?  Or would you let the people on social media decide his fate?

Did you know roughly 90% of sexual assaults in Canada go unreported.

Of the 10% reported, 1/3 of those are decided unfounded.  There is not enough evidence to lay charges. 

Charges are laid in about 16% of the 10% reported.

(statistics from a Globe and Mail article, October 2013 "How Canada's Sexual Assault Laws Violate Rape Victims)

I ask you again, would you go to the police?

I was raped in 1989.  I did not go to the police. 

This is the only time I have spoken of it publicly.  Close friends know.  My husband knows.  My therapist knows.  And of course the doctors and nurses at the clinic I recently stayed at know.  It's a huge part of treatment for any woman who finds themselves staying in a Mental Health Facility.  As per the professionals at the clinic, it is something that has sadly happened to "most women" who end up there.  You'd be amazed how many women in the clinic had been raped.  It was frightening and sad how many of us there were, most of whom, didn't report it.  I didn't go to the police because I was drunk.  I was out of control drunk.  I should not have been.  I should never have been that out of control that I couldn't say yes or no.  That laid partial blame in my corner in my mind.  With that fact alone I knew better than to go to the police.  If I did, I would have to prove it, and I wouldn't be able to.  The burden of proof would be in my court.  So I put it away, and I went on with life. 


9 women have come forward.

They say that Jian Ghomeshi hurt them and they didn't consent to being hurt.  From what I have read, none of them are part of the BDSM community at large.  BDSM is not their preference or current practise. 



1 man has come forward.

He says he did it, yes.  He choked these women.  He hit these women.  He put himself in a physically dominate power position over these women.  But he did so with consent.  He gave these women full, true, and plain disclosure of all the facts beforehand and they all said yes to all the facts. 



9 to 1 odds.  I'd take that bet.  Would you?



For the record, considering what MIGHT be at stake here, the non-consensual harm of 9 women, these t-shirts are fucking shameful.  Facebook and it's Advertising department alongside this tee shirt company should be really ashamed of themselves.

http://teespring.com/teamjian?utm_campaign=TAretargeting&utm_medium=retargetingTA

It's just MY opinion...don't hate. THAT will save us.

A Muslim, sometimes spelled Moslem, is a follower of the religion of Islam.

There is no god but God, Muhammad is the messenger of God.

A Muslim is a person who has dedicated his worship exclusively to God.  Islam means making one's religion and faith God's alone.

The Qur'an describes many prophets and messengers as well as their respective followers as Muslim: Adam, Noah, Abraham, Jacob, Moses and Jesus and his apostles are all considered to be Muslims in the Qur'an. The Qur'an states that these men were Muslims because they submitted to God, preached His message and upheld His values, which included praying, charity, fasting and pilgrimage.

With about 1.6 billion followers, almost a quarter of earth's population, Islam is the second-largest and one of the fastest-growing religions in the world.

____________________________________________

There is nothing that I can find regarding this religious, this freedom of religion, choice that says “hate”, “kill”, or “destroy” people of other faiths.   Muslims represent the world’s second largest populous of humans on this earth.  We see random acts of terrorism all over the world and we condemn this religion as a whole.  This is not fair, not true, and is in fact racist.  Something we Canadians do not do.

Every day, white people, black people, Asian people, Christians, Catholics, Baptists, and Atheists cause this world harm.  They kill, rape, steal, and cause mass harm.  See Oklahoma City bombing.  See Columbine.  See Virginia Tech.  See Sandy Hook.  Have you ever seen the news address these killer’s religious beliefs?  We are condemning the entire Muslim population, an entire religion, for the acts of some. 

These violent people are, and must be called, extremists, radicals, and/or terrorists. They have chosen to use their religion as an excuse for extreme and radical violence and hate.  They have taken a religion and manipulated it to fit their dark and hateful beliefs.  Using it to condone their hate.  This is not the belief of the general Muslim population.

ISIS/ISIL (Islamic State of Iraq and Levant) are terrorists that believe they should have control over the entire Muslim population of the world and once they have that, they will take control over the rest of the free world. They will gain this control through violence if necessary.  Obviously they believe this is necessary.  Muslims are not members of ISIS/ISIL by default because of their religion.  ISIS/ISIL members are members.  They have chosen to be terrorists.  That is not by definition, "religion".

I am not a religious person.  I do not follow any religion.  In fact, I find religion to be, in many cases, used by people as an excuse for bad behaviour.  If the non-existent (in my opinion) God can forgive you, than you have done no wrong? That is typically after you have already done wrong and need forgiveness.  How about we do no wrong?  How about we rely on a moral compass to determine what’s right or wrong?  But those are my beliefs and mine alone.  I do not begrudge anyone their faith or beliefs.  Whatever gives you comfort and peace, grab a hold.  Spirituality is what you make of it.

What happened in Ottawa, Canada on October 22, 2014 had nothing to do with religion.  It had all to do with extremist beliefs to cause harm to others.  Those that wish to cause harm, those that follow groups that wish to cause harm, must be stopped.  Let’s not assign blame to an entire population of people who wish to believe in religion.  We gave them that right when we welcomed them into our free country.  They are Canadians who have a religion we may not follow or understand.  What we do not understand we shall not judge.  We are a free country which prides itself on its rights and freedoms.  It’s what Canada stands in large part for.  Take pride in THAT today.  Take pride in those people that put their lives on the line to honor these rights and freedoms.  Love this country of ours and all those that love it alongside you.  

 

RIP Corporal Nathan Frank Cirillo

 

O Canada.

Our home and native land.

True patriot love in all thy sons command.

With glowing hearts we see thee rise,

The true north strong and free.

From far and wide,

O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

God keep our land, glorious and free.

O Canada we stand on guard for thee.

O Canada we stand on guard for thee. 

 

Thank you Pittsburgh

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Things Could be Worse

This morning in the grocery store I found myself telling someone, "it could be worse, it could be Ebola".  I wanted to slap myself for saying, as always, what popped into my head.  And yet at the same time, a truer sentence was never said.  It could have been worse and worse would be Ebola, as a front page news example.  I said this to the cashier at the checkout.  Thankfully she is aware of my sick humour (or not so funny comments you might say) and she just shook her head in disbelief.  I am sure she wanted sympathy for her announcement of a cough but I wasn't in the mood to provide sympathy.  It was a, "here's Nicolle's reality" kind of day.  The fact is, her cough could have been worse, couldn't it?

I just recently spent 60 days in a Mental Health Facility.  I have struggled my entire life off and on with mental illness.  Because of this struggle I have been on many medications one of which recently led me down the vicious path of suicidal thinking.  It was a very dark place, with very dark thoughts.  I was more than ready to spend some time in hospital having my medications rebalanced and doing some intensive therapy and self-care.  It was time, this was obvious.  Why am I seemingly so far off the Ebola topic?  Because I found myself constantly looking around the hospital thinking, "Shit, things could be worse, look on the bright side".  The bright side being, things could be worse.  It was everywhere around me.  People suffering from more severe mental illness than I.  I was pretty lucky.  Even though I was in such a dark place this year, things could have been worse.  I just had to see that.  With this being Mental Health Week in Canada I wanted to post some reality.  A way for the those suffering to see some light because it's not as easy, "think positive thoughts", as it sounds.

 

 

Remember, things could be worse. It's called the bright side for a reason, it's brighter over there.  Reality is, things are sometimes bad.  I think we need to feel the bad to be able to see the good.  I am saying that things in this moment may not be so bad if you take a good hard look at how it could be worse and say to yourself, "I guess it's not so bad after all".  Trust me, I am not Miss Positive Pants so it should come as no surprise that I found myself asking the doctors while I was in hospital; "How can I be positive when I live inside a chemically imbalanced brain that induces depression?"  The response was unanimous.  Positive thinking does not negate the bad things in life.  They will happen, and you need to learn how to deal with them as best you can.  Life will not always be positive just because you think positive.  There needs to be some preparedness for stress, for anxiety, for pain, for heartbreak, and for all the things that can sometimes happen in life.  You need to learn how to live with the bad, sit in those moments, feel them, and then do your best to move on.  Looking at how things could be worse can be that stepping stone to moving on. 

 

 

Let's be honest, if you try saying to a room full of people suffering from depression or depressive states due to other mental illness, "be positive, always"..... it's a pretty good way to get yourself a beating.  But if you say to them, "things could be worse", they can usually see how.  Almost everyone can see how their bucket of crap could be deeper, bigger, a "head under", bucket.  They just don't always, in that moment, see how they can climb on out of it.  Telling them to "just do it" is not always the best first step. 

I always recommend humour so try reminding those you love that are struggling that things could always be worse....with a giant pimple on the tip of your nose. 

Really, that is worse. 

 

 

Who, what, where and how do we define "mental illness" and responsibilty....

I’m struggling as of late to make sense of mental illness in this world.  I thought I would take on an easy topic to think about and ponder.  *rolls her eyes*  “I couldn’t just think about puppies and kittens”, she says to herself.  If you’ve been watching the news at all then you might have heard about the two stories directly relating to mental illness I am going to talk about here. 

On one side there was a man so ill that he lit himself on fire, literally burned himself to death, and on the far other side of the spectrum, a man charged with the most horrific murder I’ve heard of since, well, a long time.  My struggle will become clearer as I write, I think.  I can’t be sure of that as I am still struggling with my thoughts. 

We cannot fathom what kind of things were going through 31 year old Cole Hunter’s mind to make him think lighting himself on fire rational way to end pain.  There is nothing rational about the action he took.  I mean it’s not rational in the first place to want to die.  That’s not a rational thought, that’s a mental illness thought.  Then to take an action that causes nothing but agonizing physical pain.  If you think about it, logically, without emotion, there are many other ways to die, a lot less painful ways.  Perhaps he was trying to kill those things in his mind, only he could see and hear.  Apparently this man suffered from schizophrenia.  He often found himself battling with voices and images that no one else saw (see his funeral notice).  Imagine not just battling with someone human, standing there in front of you, perhaps someone you can have an intelligent argument with, but with someone your mind has made up.  There is no winning, no rationalizing with that.  That’s just a broken mind torturing a soul.  I can only assume that, like many of us, when we argue with ourselves, we rarely win.  He lived this way full time, all the time.  Poor soul.

Cole Hunter

I think we can all find pity with this man.  In so much pain he chose that way out.

Now think of Luka Magnotta.  This 32 year old man, apparently planned a murder.  He then acted on that plan murdering a young man.  He dismembered the body of his victim performing sexual acts on the body parts.  He fed parts of the body to his dog, and apparently killed his dog.  He then cleaned up, and disposed of the body parts.  Some of the body parts he mailed across Canada to various people.  He planned and made his escape to Europe.  He was caught and brought back to trial in Canada.  It's surreal to just type all that. 

Cole, who lit himself on fire was a poor lost soul.  Luka is a horrible monster don’t you think?  Luka killed another human being, not himself.  He did things that no one can comprehend doing.  He should be put down like a rabid animal don’t you think?  I have thought so, I do think so.  And then....

What’s the same here, between two human beings, is the improper functioning of their brains?  Neither one functioned right.  The guy who lit himself on fire to die was surely not sane.  I pity him.  There is no other way to look at it.  But how is the guy who murdered someone, dismembered the body, saved the body parts, had sex with the body parts, sane?  I don’t pity him.  I want him punished.  Could this man be sane and do those things?  Or does he deserve pity for being that sick?  That’s what I am struggling with.  I have no pity for him, none.  The other day I said to my husband, “I don’t care if he is mentally ill, this is sick sh*t, he deserves the death penalty”. 

If we can’t even remotely fathom doing the things he did then doesn’t that make him the sickest of us all?

Then we bring ourselves to the question of what to do with someone like Luka Magnotta.  He has admitted to all he has been charged with.  All of it.  At the same time he is claiming he is not guilty of all the charges because of his mental illness.  Does that mean because he is insane he should not be held accountable for his actions.  I am?  I am held accountable aren’t I?  Even morally, I hold myself accountable to my own actions.  If I suddenly, if all people who suffer with mental illness suddenly started thinking we could do anything at any time because of our illness…*shudder*.  I can’t even begin to think how the world would change. 

I don’t believe for one second that Luka Magnotta should be released.  He is dangerous, end of story.  Should he be sent to a mental institution for life?  I just left one of those places and I have to say that I would not want to be on the same floor as him, let alone the same institution.  How would that be fair to non-dangerous people who are sick?  I go in for medication changes and some intensive therapy and I end up rooming next to someone who can dismember another human being?  Wouldn’t that be a violation of my rights for a reasonable expectation of safe care and treatment? 

Should he be sent to prison?  He did commit a crime.  Can he get treatment inside of prison?  Do we do that inside of prison?  If you go into prison with flu, I am pretty sure you can get treatment for the flu.  If you go into prison with a mental illness, can you get treatment for that illness?  I am not sure this happens.  Not effectively.  Please do not get me wrong.  I do not believe that this man deserves treatment and then a release back into the world.  As I said already, he did things, no one can even imagine doing.  I am just saying it’s painfully obvious he was/is, sick. You’d have to be wouldn’t you?  To do this?  I would hope so otherwise what does this say about the human race?

So where do we draw this line?  How do we draw this line?  Make sure the sick are getting treatment yet fairly and justly punished for their crimes.  If someone goes into a school and mass murders young children is this person not insane?  No sane person could do that right?  I cannot bring myself to think of them as sane as sane people do NOT do those things.  So what do we do with these people?  They are sick.  But what they have done is unforgiveable.  Then what?  It would make it so much easier if they just took their own lives instead of hurting others wouldn’t it?  Had Luka Magnotta taken his own life instead of doing all this to another human being we would be saying “poor lost soul” wouldn't we?  But he didn’t.  He committed grossly inhumane acts instead.  It sure would be easier if every person who hurt another at least then hurt themselves as punishment for their own bad behaviour.  When the headlines read “murdered then used the last bullet on themselves” we sigh relief.  We will not have to judge. 

When I was in the hospital there were people suffering with schizophrenia in there.  Please note I am trying not to use the defining term of “schizophrenic”.  They are people too.  Like my being beyond just white skinned, blond hair, with green eyes.  I have many other traits.  Having Bi Polar is just one of many.  In their case, they suffer with schizophrenia.   I was scared of these people at first.  I won’t lie.  From my observations, they typically, while their medications are being rebalanced, have little to no interpersonal skills.  Almost always they pace the hallways.  I think because of the voices they cannot stop moving, they need to keep active to try to distract themselves.  I came to learn that most people suffering with schizophrenia are harmless, with no intent to harm.  Many times they harm people only because they become paranoid about being harmed themselves and act out defensively.   I find it hard to believe Luka Magnotta’s actions were in defense of himself?  Or these mass murderers in the schools were defending themselves?  But it is factual that in most cases people with schizophrenia strike out, lash out, in perceived defense of themselves. 

I became somewhat friendly with two people suffering with schizophrenia in the hospital.  One a pretty young woman who also suffered with multiple personalities disorder.  And another, a young man.  When I say friendly I mean saying “hello” and the occasional short conversations in passing.  Both of these people were very sick when I arrived in hospital.  The young woman, let’s name her “Jane”, had outbursts where she would yell at no one sometimes.  But she didn’t seem like she was going to hurt anyone.  She was fighting with someone, or something, we couldn’t see.  When I first arrived I actually called my husband and said, “there’s a woman here talking to herself as if she was on the phone having a lively conversation, but there is no phone”.  I was making light of her illness because I was scared of her, of it, the illness and her behaviour due to it.  We often make light of which we don’t understand, which in most cases means we are scared. 

The young man, “John” we will call him, was not socially interactive whatsoever until near the end of my stay.  By the time I left he knew my name and we would always stop and check in with each other about how our days were going.  I once walked out of my room only to find him lying on the floor, just outside my door, arms linked behind his head casually looking at the ceiling.  I asked, “Whatcha doin’?”  “Thinking“, he replied innocently as if lying on a hospital floor and gazing at the tiled ceiling as if it were the sky was perfectly reasonable.  Another day I was telling a story about going to see a gospel choir and as I can do, I was being loud and boisterous in my telling of the story yelling out “Hallelujah, praise be, Amen”.  John walked into the room and said, “I needed those words today, Hallelujah sister”.  From then on, we passed each other in the hallways and said “Hallelujah brother” (and “sister”) to each other.  Others looked on strangely and we went our way as if this was completely natural.  It was, for us. 

Jane was a different story.  I tried to make a point of saying “Hi” to Jane as often as possible.  Sometimes she saw me and heard me, sometimes I wasn’t there and her voices were in charge.  Sometimes I think her personality at the time was not Jane, but in fact someone entirely different, someone else.  One day I came to be walking directly behind Jane on our way back to the hospital.  We walked for a good five minutes and in that time she spoke entirely in the third party, as if Jane wasn’t actually her.  The things she said to herself, that happened to Jane, that people did to Jane, why Jane was sick, ripped me in two.  If any one of the things she said were true, I can see entirely why she needed to create alternate personalities to deal with her pain.  On that day I became Jane’s biggest supporter.  After that, a day didn’t go by without my making eye contact and saying hello.  There were many days that Jane would dress up, put in hair extensions, wear makeup, and look very different than the day before.  Instead of saying “Hi Jane” on these days, not wanting to trigger her personality change, I would simply tell her how pretty she was.  In a very childlike voice more often than not, she would thank me and wander off. 

 

One evening as I was sitting in the lounge two patients broke into song.  They are both professional singers by trade so they were harmonizing with each other for fun.  Another patient was strumming the guitar.  It was all very civilized and not as random as it sounds.  I must say, I did find it interesting that “performers” were suffering with mental illness.  Those that look for outside affirmations through attention and praise for their performances.  Performances they put on solely to entertain others, to make others happy.  Makes sense they’d struggle with their identity doesn’t it?

 

But I have steered off course.  The beautiful singing caught Jane’s ear and she came into the lounge with the biggest smile on her face.  She made eye contact with me so I removed my knitting from the chair next to me and she sat down.  This is basically the conversation that followed.  (I use the word “hurt” here as substitution for another word which is too harsh a word in reality to use).

Jane:     It’s beautiful isn’t it? He said you wouldn’t make eye contact with me so you wouldn’t have to talk to me.

Me:        Who said Jane?

Jane:     My husband.  My husband said.

Me:        Is he here?

Jane:     He’s right there, next to your husband (no one was actually there).  

Jane:     They aren’t being very nice.  *laughs* They cheat you know.  On both of us.

Me:        My husband cheats, are you sure Jane?

Jane:     They both do, it’s what men do.  They don’t mean to hurt us, it’s just their way, it’s because they are sick.

Me:        I am sorry your husband cheated Jane, I don’t think mine does though.

Jane:     He does, you will see one day.  Just remember when he wants to hurt you it’s so he can transfer his pain to you.  He doesn’t mean to hurt you.

Me:        Jane, I am sorry your husband hurt you.

Jane:     It’s okay.  It’s why I am sick you know.  He was sick then he gave it to me.  He hurt me for 8 years until all his illness was inside me.  Now I am in here and he’s out there free.  I haven’t seen him since the last time he hurt me.  He doesn’t talk to me, see me, see our son *laughs*, he just left.  Funny huh?

Me:        Oh Jane honey, I am so sorry you’ve been hurt.

Jane:     Okay, I am gonna go now. (Suddenly her voice was very childlike and she almost skipped out of the room).

My breath caught in my throat as I watched her transform from a woman to child before my eyes.  My heart broke for her.

Upon reading about the Luka Magnotta trial I found myself wondering what I would think if I found out that either Jane or John hurt somebody?  Would I be surprised?  Would I pity them as I saw their illness first hand?  Would I want them punished, or cared for?  I guess it all depends on the heinousness of the crime and how much we know someone doesn’t it?  It’s all relative to us, what we think, our judgements of the situation and the person(s) involved, I guess?

What’s the difference between a weed and a plant?  Only the judgement we place upon it…

….(and if it’s invaded our personal space uninvited I suppose).

Diary of a Bi Polar Woman DBPW 128 - Can you hear me? I have a Mental Illness!

Well Hi There people.  It’s been a while since we last spoke.  July it appears.  There’s good reason for that, really there is.  I checked myself into a wonderful place called The Homewood Health Center five days after my last posting, on July 18^th, 2014.  Homewood (“The Home” we patients like to call it) is a mental health facility (a hospital) specializing in many fields including, but not limited to, addiction, eating disorders, and general mental health and wellness.  I had been on the waiting list for many months, long before all that happened, happened. 

Homewood Health Centre

If you follow me at all then you know I was diagnosed with Bi Polar II disorder.  A disease which causes manic (high) episodes where you feel elated, like all things are good in the world, you are untouchable, you can do anything.  Your impulse control is non-existent.  In Bi Polar II these highs are typically shorter lived than in Bi Polar I.  The depressive episodes are usually, typically, much more evident and longer lasting.  Bi Polar I can also have hallucinations, of which, I have none.  You may have heard the term “manic”.  Typically, in the USA, this means Bi Polar in some fashion or another. 

While I was in “The Home”, Robin Williams died.  He died of depression.  His death was caused by his disease.  His suicidal actions were caused by his mental disease.  Many say he was likely Bi Polar, suffering from highs and lows which were evident when he performed.  He would become very high and manic during those periods, in that environment.  When dealing with “normal” day to day life, he fell into depression.  We will never know entirely what happened as we do not live in his mind, but I can say this, he died because of mental illness.  No one takes their own life because of a whim or a bad day.  I know this because I found myself there this year and it was the worst day of my life.  It was also the day that called for all my strength.  All my strength to say, “Yes, I can actually do this, I can take my own life because of this pain”.  It is not easy to take that kind of action.  It takes a great deal of strength to say, “This is it”.  If you don’t believe me, consider it, think about it.  Think about not seeing the one you love, the dog who greets you at the door, your best friend, all your friends, ever again. 

 

 *sigh* Just this picture makes me smile.

The ONLY reason I bring this up, and mention the lovable Williams again is because of the volume of people I met inside The Home who attempted to take their life because of their illnesses.  Whether it was addiction or mental illness, it was more common than not in there to hear how they barely made it.  It was amazing to me that almost every person in there, seeking help, looking for a solution to their pain, at one point or another tried to end it themselves after years of trying to figure out how, in any other form, to stop hurting.  I thought myself alone and suddenly found myself surrounded by people who got “it”.  When we heard about Williams, we all found ourselves looking at each other with sadness, many “oh god no” but little real surprise.  So how did we let someone that famous, that loved, go?  Because we do not sit down and talk about this, about mental illness and how so many of us suffer.  We are ashamed and embarrassed.  We feel less than the apparent “normal” person beside us. 

I am here to say again (and often), that I suffer from mental illness.  I will continue to talk about this, to be open about this.  People need to get their heads out of their a**es about mental illness.  The stigma of mental illness will only go away if people are strong enough to stand up and talk about it.  And while I don’t title myself “strong” under most circumstances, I am strong enough to talk about this.  I love to talk about myself on a bad day so this shit isn’t really that much of a stretch for me.  I will not be ashamed of my past and how I might have behaved because of illness.  Perhaps someone else, someone without illness might have behaved differently.  Be that as it may, I behaved my way.  I have regrets, but I am not a regret.  I have made mistakes, I am not a mistake.  I am Nicolle and I suffer from mental illness, I am not the disease I suffer from.  Are you cancer?  Are you diabetes?  I am not mental illness.  It’s pretty ironic I say that considering this blog diary is titled “Diary of a Bi Polar Woman”.  Maybe a change in title is required?  I don’t think so.  I am beautiful.  Smart.  Funny.  A gorgeous, hilarious, genius really….who has Bi Polar.  The title needed shortening, that’s an awful big mouthful.

 

Damn straight I chose a picture I thought was flattering, I have Bi Polar, I am not stupid.

Trust me after 8 weeks “on the inside”, there’s more to come.  Stay tuned.  In the meantime, if you suffer from mental illness, talk about it.  Talk to me if you want, I am not going anywhere.  Not today anyways, and today is really all that matters in the grand scheme of things isn’t it?