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| Learn to dance in the rain |
I have decided that I need to write about what has been happening with me the past little while- with my depression, my past, and the decisions that have been made. Please hang in there with me, I'm not sure how long this post will be or if it even makes sense but I think it's time to do some serious writing.
At the beginning of this Spring semester I was feeling excited and hopeful (well, trying to feel excited and hopeful anyway), I had felt that I had finally found my spot with school. I had switched my major to Behavioral Science with an emphasis on Psychology. I felt, and still feel, that with my experiences and background that I could be of great use in this field. As much as I could, I enjoyed my classes this semester, until March. I'm not 100% sure of what switched. If I'm honest, I just don't think that I've ever given myself a chance to heal from the different abuse I endured or my many suicide attempts. I couldn't take the time. I had convinced myself that it wasn't worth putting the effort into learning about and working with my depression. (That was my mother speaking!)
In March I decided that I would take a leave of absence from school to get myself healthy. Already that was a huge step. I grew up being force-fed the lies that depression isn't real and that I didn't need help outside of the family. The decision to take a leave of absence was a step in starting to break away and get better, although I didn't realize it fully at the time. Towards the end of March I started becoming quite suicidal again and this scared me and everyone around me. On March 30, I voluntarily checked myself into Mountain View Hospital in Payson, but I only stayed overnight. I convinced myself that I needed to be home not in the hospital, and I managed to convince the doctor to release me. This was one of the worst decisions I have ever made, but then again, what decisions are smart ones when you're in the throes of depression?
After I was released from Mountain View, I just kept getting worse. By April 7, I was practically an empty shell. Laura, Michael's cousin and a dear friend of mine, told me that my eyes and voice were dead. There was no spark in my eye and no giggle in my voice. Sort-of voluntarily (if I hadn't gone voluntarily, Michael, Laura, and others would have admitted me to a hospital anyway) I agreed to be admitted to Provo Canyon Behavioral Hospital. I was there a full week. It was hard for me being away from the kids and Michael for so long, but it had been good for me to go in.
While I was in the hospital, they started me on a couple different medications. This is the first time I have agreed to medication. I knew that this was kind-of a last chance situation. I didn't want to hurt myself or my family by association. I needed to get better and gain new skills.
At the hospital, our days consisted of groups and a lot of down time which was usually spent coloring, writing, reading, or visiting with other patients. I bonded very quickly with the other patients and we became each other's support while in we were admitted. We each knew the other's pains, at least mildly.
Coming home from the hospital on the 14 of April was both rewarding and difficult. I immediately was back in the real world, and it seemed overwhelming from where I was standing, but I had a few more tools to work with it and a caring husband that hasn't ever given up on me. Not to mention all the wonderful people that have been placed in my life just to love me. (I still haven't gotten over that one yet! There's a ton of people that have been put in my life at just the right time thanks to a loving Heavenly Father that is greatly aware of my needs.)
When I first came home, it was still difficult for me to be able to get up and do things, but I decided to be proactive in my recovery. I searched for therapy groups to attend. I did research on my meds. I even started attending these groups-by myself and of my own will! Since I was released in April, I feel that I have made a lot of progress with help of the medications prescribed me. For example, I realized that many of my negative feelings (depression, sadness, anger, etc) were stemming from the feeling of being inadequate. Every day, at least once, I had heard my mother's voice telling me that I wasn't good enough or smart enough or blah blah blah blah. I realized that this had gone on for as long as I remembered, and I burned with resentment and anger. I am good enough and worth it, dang it!
One morning, a couple weeks ago, I woke up feeling strong. Stronger than I ever have. I was able to be honest with my mother about my feelings. I stood up to Christine Joseph. I felt amazing. I felt like I could accomplish anything! That was the first day I had not heard her voice telling me I was inadequate and I haven't heard it since. I no longer burn with anger or resentment toward my mother, but I've learned that I don't need to be a doormat to myself, my symptoms, or to other people.
As I have mentioned in another post, depression is not something that just goes away, but I'm working on working through my past and managing my mental illness. I have learned to be open about my experiences and will share them openly without embarrassment (usually...sometimes I've done embarrassing things like falling down a mountain, but that's a story for another time). I want you to know that if depression, or other mental illnesses, shadow your life there is a light and there are people that understand and care. Please do not give up hope.
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| Sorry about the bad word, but this made me smile. :) |
