starlight, I will be chasing a starlight until the end of my life... our hopes and expectations, black holes and revelations

Thursday, 07/12/18, 2:59pm EDT

Apologies for the long absence. I can blame travel for some for it (which I am yet again doing), and having kids home with me for a bunch of time over their summer vacation so far. "A bunch" as in a lot more than I'm used to, not "a bunch" compared to other people out there. But then to give some perspective, "a bunch" more than others out there as well.

I actually wrote a longish draft about a month ago but never finished it and thereby never published it. This has happened before. If it gets to be long enough after writing the beginning of a post, I lose that momentum, that thought train, and it all doesn't make much sense to me anymore to bother attempting to finish it. Eh. That draft was written towards the end of that one biggish suicide week- the one with Kate Spade's suicide, Anthony Bourdain's suicide, and the release of that CDC report about the increase in suicide rate throughout the US since 1999. It was a tough week, emotionally, as suicide discussion is always difficult for me. And then, just in writing the above, I couldn't remember Anthony Bourdain's name, so I was searching through some list of notable people who have committed suicide in the 21st century, and I came across Robin Williams' name from his suicide in 2014, which had escaped my memory. And then there was just the scary length that list was. So now I'm just feeling all the feels again, as usual, of how badly I wish we could get a better handle/abatement/ or just something on mental illnesses and general wish people have of no longer existing. It just... sucks.

But. That isn't the topic I wanted to discuss today.


I want to discuss failure.

It’s something I'm quite certain I’ve brought up before, in varying degrees and contexts, but… failure.

Failure.

Failure is something that has been a really big deal in my head and I’ve continually striven to “not be a failure” which has meant I must somehow be “perfect” (since that’s the opposite?). I think a lot of my depressive thoughts have centered around “I am a failure”:

“I am a failure as a mom”,
“I am a failure because I became a mom so young”,
“I am a failure because I got pregnant out of wedlock”,
“I am a failure at using my engineering degrees”,
“I am a failure at fighting my depression”,
“I am a failure because my depression treatment finally brought me to requiring Electro-Convulsive Therapy this past year”,
“I am a failure at integrating into my life all the things I’ve learned from therapy and depression reading/research and discussions and advice from others”,
“I am a failure at staying in shape”,
“I am a failure because I’ve gained a bunch of weight in the last 2 years”,
“I am a failure because I don’t fit into the clothes I used to”,
“I am a failure because I can’t run a mile without taking walking breaks and without my feet screaming at me”,

“I am a failure because……….”

Everything. Anytime, anywhere, always. Despite that big list, it’s only the tip of the iceberg; I really could go on and on. But you really don’t want to read more than that list, you probably didn’t want to read that long of a list, and I really don’t want to continue because I also know that it could just send me down the hole when here I am, trying to write stuff to keep me out of the hole and maybe even, if possible, help others to not go down that hole.

I went to Catholic schools 1st through 8th grades, switching schools halfway through due to a move we made. Which as a side note, sucks for having to make new friends, you know?

Anyway, I was pretty smart (maybe still am, who knows?), in particular at math. In first grade I was doing second grade math. I can’t actually remember if this event happened in first grade or second, but one of the times I left my classroom to join the next grade’s math, while my class continued working on whatever it was we had been working on (because this is how it was done. Someone from the other class would come to say they were ready for me to join in, and other stuff was done in my classroom. Because apparently this special case they made for me wasn’t really done before? And maths were not taught at the same times? anyway…), apparently while I was gone, the teacher made an announcement to the class to not bring the assignment home to finish because she was concerned we’d all leave the work at home. Well of course I never heard this announcement. And of course I was learning the other math while everyone else could work on this assignment so I had to bring it home in order to work on it and catch up. And then guess what happened? Yup, you guessed it… I left my assignment at home. Because what else would a child of 6 or 7 have done? So then the next day when I told the teacher I’d left my work at home (and I wasn’t smart enough apparently, or at least not learned in the ways of standing up for myself, to say that I hadn’t been in class when she gave that announcement), she really brought me to understand how badly I messed up. And the typical punishment at that time was to put kids to stand in corners (cuz somehow that made sense??). Well I ended up in a corner behind the teacher’s desk. And then she forgot about me. And it still didn’t occur to me to stand up for myself, but I ended up there for way longer than I should have. And I stood there, silently crying. Eventually I was taken out of my punishment, but somehow any memory of the teacher making any apology doesn’t seem to exist; all I remember is the other details in rather exact perfection.

And needless to say, after that school year I decided I wouldn’t go learn the next year’s math anymore because it just wasn’t worth that kind of humiliation and that kind of crushing my spirits and that kind of origin or reinforcement of this idea that I’ve messed up/I’m a failure.

In high school and college I think I felt really good because I thrived so well academically. In high school I was always in accelerated/ advanced placement classes, I got the highest possible score on every one of the advanced placement exams I took earning me college credit. Then in college I studied mechanical engineering, which challenged me, but I guess I rose to the challenge. I did well, I graduated after four years, with one of the semesters being away and working as a co-op, and with internships for each of the summers. I even graduated “with honors” aka magna cum laude or one of those things. I’m not saying all this to brag, but to try and make out what it all has been through my life, what has been my measure of whether or not I’m a failure at that particular bit of my life. I guess I understand a little as to why I put such importance on the academic stuff, even if I don’t think it was the healthiest, especially considering how I think that attitude has probably contributed some/a lot to my current mental health issues which really manifested post kids. I’ve had some additional schooling (with my master’s degree) and some working, but I’ve felt like I haven’t done nearly enough, and I don’t feel remotely capable of going back into it, especially since the ECT treatment has destroyed so much memory. But then I don’t at all feel “enough” as a mother and continually feel like a failure there in my interactions with my kids, and I see all the other mothers around me and compare myself with them and I see how much they are able to accomplish while I can barely do anything especially when I’m constantly doing things for my mental health (and failing at that in the process).

Ok, so let’s try some different things out that don’t focus on the failure stuff so much. Oi. This sounds hard and sounds like I’m already setting myself up for failure.

Deep breath.

Listen a bit to that fantastic music running through my earbuds right now.

Remember a few things…
I love my children.
I love my husband.
I love my family and friends.
I love all those out there who struggle, with the same or similar stuff/thoughts, or with completely different mental or physical or just daily stuff.
I love… myself. (despite how badly I want to add “I think” to that statement)

Now a few more things…
from my bracelets given to me by two wonderful supportive people in my life…

“YOU ARE ENOUGH”
“You Are Braver Than You Believe Stronger Than You Seem And Smarter Than You Think”

I try to wear these bracelets almost every day, because even if I don't sit there and read them multiple times a day, or even when I really should read them as a reminder when I'm down, I think the process of putting them on in the morning is a little uplifting reminder thing that then is just part of my day. And those continuous, habitual reminders can make an enormous difference and very much help in the long run (as I believe research shows but I am too lazy at the moment to look it up and provide links).

Some more things to remember...
I try very very hard, in everything I do, in all the different roles I play in my life, as a wife, as a mother, as a family member to many, as a friend to many.
I try very hard to make the world a slightly better place, particularly in my role as a person who struggles with mental illness and has come to some capability of sharing my personal experiences with others.
I love others around me with my whole heart, even when I don't speak to them very often, even when they live far away or I hardly ever see them, even when they only have been part of my life for a short bit of time a long time ago. I love, very much.
I try to be a good person, to care about people and the world and the earth.


There are some therapies I'm considering trying out to work through some of this "I am a failure" stuff that I continually come back to. Because it is still a bit too ingrained than this post or my lists will really fix. Don't get me wrong, I think this stuff helps and will help and is very worth doing. I just think I need more help that just this.

I would love to get to a point in my life when I can truly discuss this failure stuff, or really all my mental health stuff, without feeling a bit triggered by the discussion. Without wanting to just sit down and sob. Although maybe the fact that I feel these things and yet continue to try and discuss it all with others and share my story is almost even more of an encouragement for others to get there? I don't know. I guess I'm trying to say that I want it to be easier to talk about but also not get to a point where I'm distant or disengaged with it all.

I want everyone out there to be able to recognize the need for help, to feel able/capable/free to seek the help they need, to be free of those feelings of failure that come with seeking help. I want our society, our world, to accept that all people need to feel supported in their lives, in their feelings, in their struggles. Hah, I want that perfect world, rather than that failure of a world I so often feel we're living in. But I guess we do have to continue to strive for the highest possible, without that full connotation of perfection, but maybe just general improvement, so that we don't just keep going at the level we're at. We are not failures, we don't live in failure, but there is always something to keep doing, to keep trying for, to keep improving.

I look at the world and I notice it's turning, while my guitar gently weeps, with every mistake we must surely be learning, still my guitar gently weeps

Saturday, 05/12/18, 11:06am

Well I guess I'm really becoming a once-a-month blogger. Ah well.

This last month has been decently good, emotionally/mentally speaking, and we keep spreading treatments out more and more. This stretch I'm currently in is 4 weeks. Man, what a difference from the once every week time (which I think lasted a bunch of months), and then of course the 3x a week. The doctor had said, post acute phase of 3x a week, that the maintenance phase would be 6-12 months. I think I'm gonna end up longer than 12 months anyway, though that's not a bad thing and nothing to be ashamed of, but I think that I never felt like once a week was really "maintenance". To me that was more like a second phase of the treatment that was still fairly "in the thick of it" treatment. Now, with the spreading treatments out more and more, feels more like "maintenance" to me. Eh, whatever. Labels aren't exactly important.

So despite the overall "better and better", those bad days, moments, weekends, weeks still hit, and seemingly just as hard. Yesterday and today, so far, have been down in the hole despite an exceptionally good week this week. I managed really well with more evening kid responsibility due to some later work stuff that Nasser had a few of the days. I handled fights/complaining/etc with kids with, what felt like, more patience than I used to. I kept feeling more and more proud of myself. And I got in the pool and did my first bike ride in a really long time. Maybe it was the high hopes of getting back into an exercise every day routine kind of thing, and then not feeling able to yesterday, that brought me down. And I know that thoughts around tomorrow have been feeling like a big trigger. So. Yes, tomorrow is Mother's Day or whatever. Which has some of its own expectations or something. But tomorrow is also the 2nd anniversary of Adam's death. (As my longer term readers may remember, Adam is Nasser's brother who suffered from schizophrenia and was hit by a train and died the night of Friday, May 13th, 2016). I'm not actually going to spend much time discussing Adam today, not because I don't want to, but more because I'm scared that doing so or doing too much of it will just bring me down further.

I suppose that every down period for me has a trigger(s), although originally when it hit yesterday, it kinda felt like the depression just crept in and took over without me realizing it was there until it was too late. I mean, I guess I shouldn't say "too late" because it's not like it's ever too late. I recover and get through these down periods. But during them, it almost always feels like I never, ever will. I turn to the thoughts of "I hate my life", "I'm never going to be better", "why do I even try?", "nobody cares about me", "I'm a failure", "I'll never succeed at anything in life ever again", "I should just give up", etc, etc. It's overwhelming, it makes me sob and sob, it makes me feel like all my lists of "things to do when the depression hits" won't actually help, it makes me crawl further and further into my hole without being able to see or recognize any way out.

But then there are those little, tiny things that maybe seem slightly better, like just barely show that maybe, just possibly, I'm fighting, you know, at least a little. So like, above, when I stopped myself in the "too late" statement. And last night, when Nasser was putting the boys to bed, I started feeling like it was taking him a long time. And I started going into the thoughts that maybe he was hanging out in their room longer because he didn't want to spend time with me. And maybe he doesn't really love me. But I had the brief thoughts of, "no, this is what the depression wants you to feel. this isn't actually real". And after thinking that last night, it didn't like pull me out of the depression, but I guess it was kind of a start. Nasser told me that just having those little thoughts that fight the depressed thoughts is HUGE. It may be baby steps, but it's in the right direction.

A couple weeks ago, when I was in a bad state for a few days, I printed up all these mental health stuff that I had found on Pinterest, of all places. I had made myself a board called "for me" and filled it with these little pictures with good motivational, mental health related quotes. Then with all my printouts, I put together a bunch to hang up in my bedroom. This was the end result, that I'm currently calling my "wall of strength".

To me, they are all wonderful in so many ways, and I so want to blow them all up in this blog for you to see. I have a couple though that I'm picking out to draw your attention to.

They all totally make me tear up and choke up and yet, all in a good way. Like they give me strength every time that I see them. I am trying, I am always trying, even when it feels like I'm not trying or that I'm going to fail. I keep taking those steps to move forward. And even if this fight will never really end, for as long as I live, I am always trying, I am always fighting for those good moments/ days/ weekends/ weeks/ months/ whatever. I am fighting for those I love, I am fighting for those with their own fights, I am fighting for those who have lost their fight and have gone on to whatever lies beyond, and I am fighting for life itself.

This year, we are doing more of a Mother's Day celebration for me today, rather than tomorrow. Nasser made chocolate, chocolate chip muffins this morning, per my request. And we're basically doing whatever I want today, even though the depression has made it hard for me to figure out if there is anything I do want. We are going to the pool this afternoon though, and I think lunch and dinner are all up to me. I wanted to make today a substitute Mother's Day in some regard because it felt really conflicting to try and figure out ways to honor Adam tomorrow and yet also do Mother's Day activities. And then I'm also working on removing my expectations of a "perfect" Mother's Day and the "perfect" way to honor Adam, etc. I need more accepting in my life and less expecting. But then, baby steps.

but she wants to be sure, 'cause you know sometimes words have two meanings

Friday, 10/27/17, 8:50am, 10:33am, 11:26am (hah, again, my birthday time- 11/26)

Today's not the best day, depression-wise. It started last night, with a conversation with Nasser about my therapy appointment yesterday and how I'm doing lately, generally. He's had, well, a different view/opinion of my mental health of late than I have. We both certainly acknowledge that I'm doing much, much better than I was for the last year, mostly since Adam died. But he was saying, compared to two years ago, three years ago, four years ago, he doesn't know that I'm any, well, happier per say.

Three years ago, four years ago, "ish" because you know my memory completely fails me now, I was biking to work every day. I was doing triathlons, various running races, I was much more active.

I told Nasser last night that I'm having trouble getting back into my active state because I'm currently so out of shape. When I do exercise, I feel like crap, at least during. I sweat, a ton, it's hard to breathe, and I want to and often do quit early. And then I beat myself up for "failing". And I can't seem to get past all this, to exercise really regularly again, in order to get back into shape. I have no interest in dieting to lose some weight, which would probably make exercising easier too. And I don't know what the underlying problem is. Nasser thinks I'm not doing as well as I should be, which means maybe we need to talk with my psychiatrist(s) more about medications, and there's this whole genetic testing we recently found out about which can be used to better understand interactions with medications. We even have a test kit, given to us by the ECT doctor, but I just haven't gotten around to it yet.

Today I'm feeling like the depression is all-consuming. Most days I can function pretty well and get stuff done or at least poke around on the internet, passing time. But I might not be "happy" because a lot of the activities that make me happy have been really difficult- exercise and reading books to name a couple (I can't figure out if my brain is simply cognitively not there yet or if I haven't had the motivation to read, neither reason makes me feel too good). My lack of memory has made things difficult, in many ways. I just picked up a book from a series that I really enjoyed not too long ago- the Wings of Fire series- and it pained me to recognize some things, like characters' names, but not remember the majority of it. And I get it, there have been plenty of jokes, that I've made as well, about how I can read/watch things "again for the first time". After awhile, that doesn't feel too comforting anymore. And it certainly doesn't feel comforting when it's in the context of (not) remembering previous events with friends and family. It's just... depressing.

This morning, so far, I've been laying on the couch a lot, under a comfy blanket, mostly watching The Princess Bride, a good comfort movie for me. 

And maybe the fact that I do remember the whole movie (I can't even begin to count the number of times I've watched this movie across the entirety of my life) is comforting to me as well. Finding something I remember kinda helps. Yesterday morning I found myself rereading old emails between Nasser and me, before we started dating. I didn't remember all of it, but it was extremely comforting and gave me a lot of sentimental feelings. It was nice.

I'm feeling a little bit better since writing the beginning couple of paragraphs, which is a good sign. I washed/wet my hair in the sink so that it's a little less bedhead, I brushed my teeth, I had another cup of coffee with a nice chocolate biscotti, and I'm getting to some exciting parts of my movie.

"Have fun storming the castle!"

"Think it'll work?"

"It would take a miracle"

"Good-BYE!"

Oh, another thing I did, was start a 7-day mindfulness exercise in this app on my phone- "Calm". I think it's a fairly popular mental health/mindfulness/meditation app that's out there. There's a 21-day practice in there too, but I figure if I like the 7-day one first, I'll try out the next one. Maybe this will be a good practice I can do on my own to improve my, well, everything. There were several things my therapist gave me yesterday in my appointment to work on, and I think this app will help with some of them. 

There was another thing we talked about in my appointment that I did attempt to put into practice last night during that difficult conversation with Nasser. We talked about my ease into the thought "I want to die", almost like it's a habit. When I get super depressed, this thought does come up rather often, rather easily. My therapist suggested I try and start challenging these thoughts. To try and recognize, in the moment, that this thought doesn't actually mean I want to die, but that I'm looking for an escape from how I feel in that current moment. 

Last night, I was fighting an incredibly strong urge to sob at one point and had these overwhelming "I want to die" thoughts. And I was able to remember what my therapist said and I did what she said. And I felt slightly better. What she said worked. It at least stalled or stopped the "I want to die" feelings even if it didn't totally avoid the tears. Of course, hopefully the more I practice this, the easier it will get.

This week has been difficult for a few reasons, other than the stuff from last night and today. Tuesday I started going through my closet and emptying out the things that no longer fit. My increased weight has made a lot of my clothes too small. This doesn't help my depression by any means. (Of course my therapist yesterday reminded me that doing this wouldn't put most people into a good mood). I was super productive Tuesday and Wednesday with this task of taking out the clothes that don't fit, which I think will help in the long run to not constantly be looking at these too-small clothes and feel horrible about it every single day when I'm trying to find something to wear. And the productivity helped me feel good about myself in a different way. In the same way that completing a bunch of laundry yesterday made me feel good about myself. Doing tasks around the house, getting started and making progress on house projects has made me feel better in the last few days, and it did (prior to last night and this morning) make me feel like I'm on the mend. 

Maybe I need to be careful about expecting too much, too quickly. Maybe getting to that regular working out and in shape state is just going to take lots of time, and expecting myself to work out everyday isn't yet a reasonable expectation. I am still more active than I was during much of ECT, and I'm getting better at these cycling classes, even if I do, on average, only go once a week. We already made plans for me to be able to go tomorrow. And maybe treatment every 2 weeks is still too much for my brain for reading books. Maybe I need them a little more spread out to cognitively handle it. And maybe that's a little worse than what's average/normal for most ECT patients, but I should discuss it with the doctor before deciding that it means something's wrong with me.

And it's not that Nasser thinks I have things "wrong with me." He's trying to make sure we get to the best possible outcome with my treatment(s), including all the medications I'm on. I think I really took it personally last night, thinking I'm failing because I'm not as happy as he'd like to see me, compared to times that he has seen me really happy in the past.

With my movie over now, and having moved on to Pandora and my "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" station...

... I'm feeling more... reflective and understanding and willing to see room for improvement rather than failure. My underlying mood affects that willingness a lot. And sometimes it takes a lot of work to change that mood, sometimes it takes hours and hours. But it's good to be thankful that it doesn't take days or weeks like it has in the past.

As a final side note, I did some Halloween decorating yesterday, after having previously decided I'd skip it this year. The kids liked it and enjoyed helping decorate more.

I'm learning to fly, but I ain't got wings, coming down is the hardest thing

Sunday, 10/08/17, 11:23am, 1:34pm, 3:33pm (plus all the draft times this week, including the hour this morning that I'd been writing and nothing saved, you effing blogger, you!)

Oi, whatever. I've had some time to get over losing the entire post that was ready to publish, and I've decided that this new one will just be better.

That's the attitude to take when things go wrong, right? And that's certainly not something that is instinctual for me, but I'm working on it.

I haven't blogged since the Las Vegas shooting that happened last Sunday evening. I don't really want to say much, there's plenty being said out there anyway, but the one thing I want to add to the conversation is my frustration that every time we have a mass shooting (and they happen way more often in this country than they should), many, many people decide to blame mental illness/ mental healthcare so that they can take the blame off of some of the more obvious and true factors. I appreciated this article which discusses the many reasons "Better Mental-Health Care Won't Stop Mass Shootings." I could quote the entire article here to state my case, but I'll just put in this one bit:

“If we were able to magically cure schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and major depression, that would be wonderful,” Jeffrey Swanson, a professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at the Duke University School of Medicine, told ProPublica. “But overall violence would go down by only about 4 percent.”

Personally, my depressed and anxious thoughts have never once led to thoughts of mass killing or violence against others in any way; the only "violent" thoughts I've had have been directed towards myself. It's so unfortunate that these mass killings keep happening, obviously, for many reasons, but it most certainly doesn't help the stigma against mental illness. And that just makes the journey towards recovery that much more difficult for people like me.

And yet, the difficulty I encounter doesn't deter me from "daring greatly" and continuing this blog and continuing to tell my story to neighbors and acquaintances and friends and family and friends of friends. I've had the uncomfortable silences and quick topic changes and shifting glances with people plenty of times before, and I've been told in various ways to "get over it" or lost friends or been recommended all kinds of things that don't help, or I've tried plenty of times before, or aren't even applicable to depression versus simple sadness. I've had to sit through all kinds of completely non-entertaining jokes that undermine the struggle I've gone through. And yet, I've also been told, by many people, that I'm brave, that I'm strong. I've been thanked over and over for being open about my struggles. Now that I'm doing quite a bit better, so many people have shared with me their happiness over my recovery. I've been hugged and been offered help and love countless times. I've been shown appreciation by fellow sufferers of mental illness for being open. The good bits make it all worth it. And when it's someone who has similar difficulties who feels helped, even just remotely, by my blog and by my being open, that feels the most touching to my heart. I told an acquaintance today that I am a patient, first and a mental health advocate, second. I hope to make things better for all of us sufferers as much as I can.

I also wanted to share with you fine readers some things from this week. This was my first full week being off the 24/7 supervision requirement. (As a reminder, I'm still going through electro-convulsive therapy, or ECT, but we're down to treatment once every two weeks right now. I guess we are truly into the maintenance phase of ECT, but we're still hoping to spread the treatments out even more eventually. We'll keep it at every 2 weeks for several more treatments to make sure I'm not deteriorating the few days prior to each treatment before we spread it out more. Oh and I still have 24/7 on treatment days, of course.) I'd say that the week went pretty well, but I think I noticed a lack of confidence quite a few times. But I think I need to figure out, it feels like it's from scratch, how to live with myself, for myself, all over again. I think I haven't really known how to do that, successfully, for many years now. I have a pile of books I want to, plan to read, several of which are of the more "self-help" type, but it's been rather difficult to read for quite some time now. The treatment made it really hard to get through any kind of reading, like my brain couldn't handle it, maybe still can't handle it. I started re-reading this week a book I got years ago, at the recommendation of a therapist, called Mind Over Mood, but I haven't gotten very far yet. And this one has lots of exercises in it too, so not strictly reading. It feels like therapy has been helping more the last several sessions, than it has in a long while. I'm also practicing more with a phone app I have to help with calming down in the moment. The only one I like so far is called "Meditation Game", although I've been downloading several more free ones to try to find a few options for myself. I've still been using the mood tracking app, "Daylio", and it's actually been a full two weeks since my mood has fallen below the average rating, or "meh". That's pretty good, in my humble opinion. I'm still working on my schedule for this week, but I plan to put a little more responsibility onto my shoulders, at least a few times, even if it's only for short periods of time.

I have another big thing to tell you all. I drove yesterday, for the first time in almost four months... woah. It didn't go entirely to plan, because originally I was going to drive my car, which is automatic, but when it was time to leave with the kids, it wouldn't start. I guess it shouldn't come as much of a surprise since we haven't actually started it in several months. We ended up using Nasser's car, which is manual, so... that was fun. It really wasn't too bad, but I learned stick shift later in life, so it made the driving again experience a bit more stressful. We didn't have the kids with us, of course; RG had a birthday party and we took TK to my parents' house for a playdate with his cousin while all the grownups watched the Cubs' game (stinkin' Cubs yesterday!!! ps- yeah I'm a Cubs fan since I grew up in the northwest suburbs of Chicago). We started me off in an empty parking lot, then progressed to the empty road in the business park, then on to real streets (taking the smaller roads where possible) back to my parents' house. We hung out for a bit and put in an order for Thai food before heading out again. This time I drove on some of the busier streets to pick up some dessert before even busier streets to then highway to get the Thai food. Nasser took over after that to pick up RG from the birthday party and head back to my parents' house. All in all a decent amount of driving, and I feel a bit more confident, although I'd prefer to get back to my car sometime soon, once it's fixed. We haven't decided yet when I'll drive on my own, and of course, then eventually, with the kids.

It feels like lots been happening, even though it hasn't really been that much, it's just... life. Despite being so much better than "before" (before ECT really), there's plenty of ups and downs, which still surprise me, oftentimes. As a friend said at the Moms' Night Out we had this week (which was so, so, so wonderful to be around my big group of mom friends again), "it's hard to be human."

Let's finish off with some gorgeous fall colors pictures... before we get snow (pwhat???!!!) here in Colorado tonight and tomorrow. (This is real, I'm not kidding...)

how to support someone with a mental illness

Sunday, 05/28/17, 10:22am

Oh blog. Dear dear blog. You dear dear readers and loved ones who have stuck with me through, what I believe was the worst of it, and I think I'm close to finally coming out the other side. I love you all for sticking with me, despite my illness causing me to push people away so much. I now understand, after fighting this illness for so long, what it is that helps me the most.

And I can look back on my behavior all these years and I can see my mistakes but I can also see why I made them and what I was looking for.

I feel amazing. If I didn't know any better I'd wonder if I was manic, but I know that's not it. I can recognize the emotions in myself and I can better label them now. We also think this latest antidepressant might just be starting to kick in.

I should explain. There's so much to explain though. I have to do it right, because this may still be a hard post for all of you to read.

Let's start with a couple things. What I have to say, I think I know a lot about and I want to tell you why I think that and why I think I have the authority to talk about it. You know I have depression and anxiety, right? You may assume some things about my depression and anxiety, and the best thing I can do is share about it and hope that you understand more and assume less. And you may know that I'm an engineer, so you can probably assume that I have a fairly logical and analytical brain, which may or may not give you assumptions about me. I have seen, firsthand, my whole life, how my emotional side and logical side have been in conflict. And I think I finally know how to resolve them.

What I have to talk about is empathy, something I've touched on in this blog, but something I didn't fully understand until now. Many things have led to this "epiphany" I keep talking about. I've been feeling frustrated by my illness and I feel like a burden to everyone around me but part of the reason I feel that way is I see myself rejecting their help as I get worse and worse and I feel awful about that because I want to accept their help but it doesn't feel helpful to me, for some reason I can't figure out. It's been really really hard, but as I understand empathy more, in this last week of epiphanies, I can better empathize that the people helping me have also been scared to death by my illness and my rejection of their help. They see me deteriorating and they don't know what to do about it.

So, quickly let's have a little bit of history. I grew up not understanding mental illness. When I started feeling suicidal when I was about 12 or 13, I had no idea what to do with those feelings. I knew that I shouldn't have these feelings, they certainly felt scary and wrong to me, but I was terrified to tell anyone because I didn't know how they would treat me, because to me, this was me, not an illness. So I didn't tell people. For a really long time. I figured out, enough, how to reject those feelings and be happy and choose to be happy and pretend like all that stuff had never happened. I was happy in high school and college because I chose to be happy and when I was met with people who were depressed at that time, I couldn't understand what they were going through, and I, along with everyone else, couldn't help them either.

Then after having kids, those awful, scary feelings came back. I couldn't seem to choose to be happy anymore, but I kept trying to. I was like, ok, I'll get the minimal help I need and continue to choose to be happy. And I kinda did that, somewhat well, or at least it appeared that way to everyone else. The people who saw me depressed knew I wasn't all the way better, but I was functioning, enough.

My therapist has mentioned several times that I don't seem to accept my illness. All the scary thoughts I have about myself and the reason I usually go down that hole even further is because of this ridiculous belief in me that this is all my fault. And, as it turns out, it's been reiterated to me over and over and over again by the stigma that's out there.

Let's talk more about stigma real quick. I believe that it is something that is so pervasive, even with the improvements in mental health advocacy over the years. It's something that doesn't actually seem to get better because as mental healthcare improves, we also set higher expectations on the patients to "get themselves better". And that's such a ridiculously weird expectation. We see people who are so far gone with their mental illness, and we can't empathize with that situation because we haven't lived their life. We don't actually know what that person has tried and we don't actually understand why they've chosen the care they have.

The reason I call this stigma is we don't treat people with a physical illness the same way. We don't argue with cancer patients about the care they've been getting, usually, if they are seeing the experts. But then experts in mental illness aren't perceived as experts because mental health has to do with human behavior so why do people need experts for that? And suddenly, everybody feels like they need to help but of course most people aren't qualified to do so.

Let's try some empathy on real quick. In the last few days or so, I've been applying it everywhere, I've been practicing it more, and I'm finding it's getting easier and easier to do it as I see how it works. So take for example the young teenager, struggling with bullying and suicidal thoughts. They don't know who to turn to, because despite everyone loving them, very few people are empathizing. Because as this person struggles with these thoughts, they become more and more irritable and they seem to push others away more and more. If they don't understand, like really understand, not just logically, that there is help out there and people are willing to give it, they will turn to suicide. Absolutely.

We keep using this language to describe suicide as "committing" or "choosing to die" or whatever. It turns out, that language blames that person every time. They were "selfish", etc. We refuse to humanize and empathize with what that person was going through to lead them to that act, because it's so scary that someone would hurt us that way by leaving us.

Death by cancer is forgivable. Death by suicide is not.

Because yes, suicide isn't an "option", I'm not trying to claim that it is. It's just, we have to find the right language instead of demonizing the person with the illness.

If I tell you that I'm feeling suicidal, you feel scared. Am I right? You feel like it's all on you to fix this and you don't know the right way to do it. So you do what you know best, you remind the person you love them, and you offer some way to help, by either offering to help when they're willing to take you up on it and/or offering advice. But in the case of mental illness and suicide, etc, we rarely offer empathy, because yes, it is so scary and it's almost impossible to empathize with something that is so foreign and so scary.

I find that the best help I get is when that person offers empathy, first and foremost. Before and throughout any piece of advice they have to offer.

My therapist offers things for me to do and to practice in my life, but she is trained and knows to always give empathy first. I talk about how hard my life is, and she says, "wow, that sounds tough. it sounds like you've been struggling with these thoughts for a long time." And I still don't necessarily respond super well to her advice, because usually it's something I need to change about my life. And of course that's hard. But I respond better to her than I do to someone who doesn't offer empathy.

I started sharing about my mental illness at a point in my illness where it probably wasn't quite what I needed. I didn't know that what I needed and craved was empathy. But after taking data on all the help I've received since sharing openly, I've now seen that empathy is the common thread to helpful help.

I don't think that empathy is the key to eradicating mental illness or something. I do think that empathy is the key to eradicating stigma though, and I think that's going to be my message to the world from now on. If you can empathize with these crazy illogical thoughts that are floating through my head because I have this illness that you can't just fix by telling me the right thing to try, then you can start to offer empathy and give me exactly what I need when I need it the most.

My biggest fear like I mentioned is that I can't get better, either because I won't or because I won't accept help or because I haven't found the right treatment yet. I've been looking for other people to tell me that's not true, but of course they can't tell me that because they're almost too scared to talk around me. I've been looking for other people to remind me that this is an illness, it's not my fault, but then as I refuse to empathize with how hard their situation is in supporting me, I'm not invoking the empathy I want people to show me.

The best thing to say to someone with a horrible mental illness is this:
"I am so so sorry that your illness makes you feel that way. That sounds awful and scary. I wish I could help. Please tell me if there's anything I can do to make it better and I will try to do that thing. In the meantime, I will accept you for who you are and accept that you're trying your hardest to reject these feelings and thoughts."

And the best thing for someone with a horrible mental illness to say to people supporting them is this:
"I am so so sorry that my illness makes you feel helpless and scared for me and I know that you want to help so much. And I know you love me. Please know that when I reject your help, I'm not rejecting you. I am trying so hard and I will continue to try and tell you when I need help and get the help I really need."

I love you all. Really I do. I don't want to hurt anyone by what I have to say and I'm not trying to blame others for suicide or whatever. That's not my message. My message is simply this: try to implement empathy in your life, with your spouse and children, with your parents and your siblings and extended family, with your friends and neighbors and acquaintances, and most especially, with people you find disagreement with. If you try empathy, you can usually start to understand where someone else is coming from. And that is an amazingly powerful tool.

I don't expect I've said everything I wanted to say in this short super long blog post. And I don't expect to get this all figured out real quick because what I want to do is an impossible task. I want every person in this world to put empathy first and foremost in every situation they encounter, but that's not going to happen. It's not how our human brains are wired. When we see a scary situation, we have the "fight or flight" response, and it's really really hard to stop that. I've been working on stopping that, every time I get depressed or anxious, and I haven't been very successful so far. I think, I hope, it's going to get easier, as I get better and better at empathy and asking others for what I need. I think, maybe, I'm getting there.

how many seas must a white dove sail before she sleeps in the sand?

Monday, 02/13/17, 10:07am, 1:11pm

Hello my dear blog. It's been a very long time.

It's been so long I think I've felt especially nervous and unsure about what to come back with. I haven't felt much like blogging in so long, that it's felt that no topic is deserving of blogging.

Well that's just silly. There are plenty of things to blog about, to continue to blog about, when it comes to mental health. A topic that continually evolves, for the world, in our communities, and individually.

The last many weeks have been long. Many of them, many of the days, I've just felt, I don't know, like I'm underwater, in a fog, in a hole. I date my depressive episode here from around Christmas time, when I came off antidepressants completely to try a different bipolar medication (the one that maybe gave me that potentially deadly rash). There've been some ups for sure, plenty of functioning I guess, but a lot of depression, much a deep, dark depression, with a plethora of anxiety to top it all off. It's been really hard, and I think it was too much to share openly on the blog while it was happening. I say "was" because honestly, the last week has been slightly better. One of the difficult side effects of the depressive episode has been the fatigue. Complete, utter fatigue and lack of energy. It's been nearly impossible to stay up past 9pm most nights, or even simply beyond kids going to bed, and we figured out it could have been worsened by one of the leftover medications I'm still on. There are 2, neither of which are antidepressants. One is an anti-psychotic which had been paired with the antidepressants, but we kept me on it since we don't know if I'll be worsened by going off it. The other is an anti-seizure medication which has been shown to help with anxiety. So we weaned me off the anti-seizure med, and suddenly I have more energy. I still don't feel normal by any means, but once in awhile I stay up until 10 or 10:30pm now.

It was good timing to wean off that med since we just had a ski weekend in Crested Butte with family and friends. I certainly needed the extra energy even if it wasn't enough to ski full days, or stay up very late with our friends. The depression still crept in a couple points, as it just does these days, but we kept it at bay, at least until the drive home yesterday.

Here's my best family photo of the weekend. Our attempt at a selfie, minutes after the paid photographer offered to take a photo for us. I did not manage to take a whole lot of photos from the trip.

But yeah, I did the pigtail braid thing...

And this was the view from our condos... a ski in/ski out place. :)

So this Thursday I have my motor threshold appointment for the TMS treatment which starts next Monday, a week from today. This whole process has felt like such a long time coming, and really it kinda has been. But it's here. So motor threshold is interesting. That will be my first experience with the magnet, and they'll be positioning it on my head to find the location where they can twitch my right thumb. That will determine the precise location, some exact number of centimeters forward from that point or something, where they'll be delivering treatment.

Man, it feels surreal to be talking about this treatment as something that's actually going to happen to me. Like it still feels like I'm talking about someone else.

And this treatment has few risks, little to any discomfort, and likely positive outcomes, and yet, I'm awfully scared still. I guess I'm just scared it won't work. That nothing will change, that I won't start feeling better. And I'm still doing the cautious hopefulness thing here, trying not to get carried away, banking on something that may not do anything. But I am hoping. And I'm excited that it's almost here.

I will try to blog more often through treatment. I want to. I want to try and document it to some extent because it may be a somewhat unique perspective out there, but I'm also going to be continuing to take things a little easier. I've been letting go expectations for quite some time now, and it's been helping, but it's still challenging for me to do. I still beat myself up for not cooking dinner very often, for not feeling well enough to do a lot of normal things, for not feeling up to social stuff, for not being a better mom while I feel awful about myself. But everything has taken second place to the depression for awhile now, too long, and I'm looking forward to hopefully feeling a bit better finally.

everyday (everyday) I try, and I try, and I try

Wednesday, 12/21/16, 8:57am

I am in a hole this morning. One of those stupid stupid holes that shouldn't be there, that should never have made me fall, there was no fucking good reason for it, and yet it happened.

I hate depression so much. You know, it really is not just a matter of "thinking positively" or powering through or whatever else you may be thinking. It's there and nothing seems to give relief these days. I try and I try and I try, and it doesn't work.

Imagine that the thoughts that occur in your brain can't be trusted. Imagine that you are expected to question every thought that pops in that head, and you're a failure if you trust the wrong thought. That's what it feels like to have depression, and really it may feel that way for most mental illnesses. Oftentimes, my brain will interpret something as hurtful, or judging, and I discover (or Nasser points it out to me) that the interpretation might be wrong, and I just cycle downward that much more. I discover that my brain has failed me again, that I have failed myself by not questioning those thoughts and I didn't stop myself from feeling hurt or sad or depressed by those thoughts, and yet again, I've been proven to be a failure.

A failure.

That is my hot thought, almost every time. And everything that I look at within myself seems to prove that thought more and more when I'm depressed.

Mindfulness is supposed to help. Cognitive behavioral therapy is supposed to help. Medications are supposed to help. Am I a failure because these things aren't helping enough? Because maybe I'm just not involved in my own mental health as I should be?

I don't know. I really don't know.

No.

It's not a failure because it's a disease. It's not a failure because my disease is likely "treatment resistant" at this point. It's not a failure.

I am trying. I've been trying. For a long. fucking. time.

And I guess I will keep trying. Forever and ever and ever even though that just sounds like a life sentence this morning.

I am not a failure.

Because I try. Because I care. Because I love. Because.