When All Hope Is Gone...

**Trigger Warning – Mental Illness, Depression, Anxiety, Hopelessness, Suicidal Ideation**

“Sometimes, all you can do is lie in bed, and hope to fall asleep before you fall apart.”
- William C. Hannan

I am not sharing this post for your sympathy. I’m sharing it because usually when I share thoughts about my journey, it’s once I’ve turned the corner and can see the positive in life, once I’m in remission and am fighting to recover and gain control of my mind. I am raw, I overshare a lot, but I want to keep this real, and I want so desperately to help those without lived experience of this hell to understand why it’s not as simple as “thinking positively” or “going to the gym” or “trying yoga” or “appreciating the good things in your life and thinking about everyone else who is so special to you.”

I want to help people comprehend what it is like when depression, anxiety, and mental illness in general, take control of your mind and fight you each time you make a conscientious decision to take back that control and convince yourself to keep going. You try to plan for a future that right now your mind tells you doesn’t exist. You surround yourself with loved ones. You read stories of others who’ve overcome these obstacles. You read the stories of families who have lost someone that they love to these terrible illnesses and never recover. You take the medication you’re prescribed by the psychiatrist. You see the psychologist. You try alternative therapies like Transcranial Magnetic Therapy (TMS) and Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT).

Your brain isn’t rational, your mind fights back and rejects the limited positive thoughts that you’re able to find each time that they resurface, trying to convince you that things will get better. And still you feel hopeless, you feel defeated, you feel like a burden, you feel the pain overtake you, and you know that you just can’t do this anymore. You’re exhausted, and you just want your journey to end, you want the fight to be over.

You’re put into hospital to keep you safe from yourself. To stop you from making a decision to end it all, and escape from the hell that exists in your head from the moment that you wake up to the moment you fall asleep.

The anxiety stops you from wanting to be around others. At meal times you don’t eat. You’re not hungry, but even more so, being in that confined space with everyone around you, makes your heart race, makes it so hard to breathe, you get hot and cold flushes, you feel dizzy, you feel nauseous, you feel like you’ll pass out, and your mind just tells you to run away, get out of there, leave right now. You can’t do this. So you return to your room and isolate yourself, feeding into the anxiety and letting it remain in control.

You sit in your bed, you try to find positive inspiration online, you try to remember all those positive times you’ve had in the past, you look at the photos of those you love, photos of amazing memories, with your husband, with your family, with your friends, you remind yourself that you’ve overcome this battle in the past and you’ve got so much to be thankful for, and so many people who love you, you’re not alone. But the depression tells you that this time it’s different. This time you’re in too far and you’ll never get out alive.

The depression makes you want to isolate yourself from everyone and everything. The depression tells you that your family, your friends, that everyone, will be better without you here putting them through hell, you’re a burden. You’re a failure, and they’ll start to resent you for making them relive the pain of your existence, watching you suffering, listening over and over to your crying, witnessing you getting frustrated, saying horrible things to them that you don’t mean, and not being able to stop these things for you. You know they’ll never admit that you’re a burden on their lives, you know that maybe right now they can’t see it, but you know that disappearing from their lives would be so much better for them in the long term.

So your mind goes round and round. The thoughts get faster and faster. Sometimes the sedation medication helps to stop everything and you can sleep to escape it all, but when you awaken you know you’re just going to be right where you were before your eyes closed. You’re on a dangerous theme park ride, where the only way to make it stop is to unbuckle that safety belt and jump the hundreds of metres to the ground. To come crashing down, to fall to pieces, to make it stop and to never get up again. Despite what your friends and family argue, and try so desperately to convince you, you truly feel this is the best option for everyone.

Your psychiatrist visits you in hospital each morning. She tries to convince you that things will improve, that things will get better, that she’ll get you through this, that’s she is not giving up, that once she can get you to see that suicide is not the answer, and find that medication balance that you so desperately need, your life will turn around, and you’ll find life worth fighting for once again. But right now, you can’t see this, so you continue to feel like a prisoner, trapped inside your own mind, wishing and hoping for the day when they let you go home, after all they can’t keep you locked up indefinitely. They can’t keep you safe forever. One day the ride will stop, and you’ll be pain-free, it will all be over and this torment inside your head, that affects everyone you love and everyone you care about, will cease to exist. One day you’ll find peace and truly be free.

Electric Smiles

Trigger Warning - Depression and Suicidal Ideation

As long as I can remember, I’ve battled depression and fought against suicidal urges to end my life. Over the past 15 years, I know I have had more hospital admissions than I’m able to accurately keep track of.

There was an amazing time of bliss in the most recent few years where I was able to battle my mental illness as an outpatient, without the requirement for hospitalisation, and simply by taking regular medication and seeking assistance from a psychologist for talk therapy, I was able to stay in control and limit any real impact of mental illness on my life.

Everything was fine. Until it wasn’t. A few months ago I noticed that my mental health was slipping, and I wasn’t as in control as I would have liked. I noticed the suicidal thoughts becoming more and more, and the urges getting harder to fight against. November brought with it the first admission to the mental health ward in years. It wasn’t ideal, and I was devastated to need it after so long without it, but it served it’s purpose and kept me safe.

We changed the medication, I got back on my feet and I was ready to face the world once more, after only a week to get some time out and get back on track.

As time went on, the suicidal urges became more and became fixed at the forefront of my mind. I don’t know why I was depressed, all I knew is that I didn’t want to battle the depression any more, and if I was going to be depressed again, then I wanted it all to stop.

I stopped sleeping properly, my mind wandering, negative thought processes taking control. I ended up being honest with my psychiatrist and being admitted to the hospital for supervision and monitoring.

We used this time to try some alternative treatments for my depression, new medications, transcranial magnetic stimulation, electroconvulsive therapy. Anything that would alleviate the struggle and make it easier to face the day.

Becoming unwell after a prolonged period of being well, I was crushed. It reinforced the suicidal thoughts. I mean, if things were always going to come back to feeling like this, what was the point in even trying to recover and be happy? Fighting against the urges to crash my car, or hang myself from a tree or tall building became harder and harder. I needed supervision, I needed support, I needed guidance and encouragement that things would improve.

That period of extreme suicidality, where my thoughts were consumed with how to escape the pain I was feeling, became like a never-ending obsession. Suicide was all I could think about. How would I do it? Where would I do it? When would I do it? I knew I needed to escape, and I knew that suicide would alleviate the stress and the pain that life was giving to me.

Admitted to hospital for weeks was never part of my plan. But looking back now, I can see how necessary it was. I was obsessed with suicidal thoughts and making plans, because that was all I could think about. People close to me witnessed my mood deteriorate, work colleagues and supervisors became concerned for my safety. 

I confided in a few people about just how bad I was feeling. They encouraged me to reach out for professional help. I was scared. I felt alone and I was petrified that this time, I was going to succeed in taking my own life to escape the mental anguish I was feeling.

Whilst the last few months feel like a huge blur, and I cannot recall a lot that has happened, I know a lot of that is for my own benefit. I know it’s still painful to think about how bad I was feeling. I know it’s still horrible to think about what I put those I love and care about through. I know how desperate I was for it all to stop, and how close I came to finding a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

I feel so blessed that I have been surrounded by people who love and care for me, and that I have been continuously encouraged to take the time to look after myself and get myself back on the road to wellness. I feel so lucky that those people who are in my life have not judged me for my mental health struggles, but have offered guidance and support in ensuring that I make it through to the other side.

Whilst I know I’m not out of the woods yet, and suicide still crosses my mind when the depression grasps a firm hold, I feel like a lucky person to be surrounded by so many wonderful colleagues, friends and family. I know that although the battle is dark, and sometimes I fail to be able to see the light shining, reminding me that I’ll make it through, that I am so lucky to be surrounded by such a supporting army of wonderful people. I know that regardless of how often the suicidal thoughts cross my mind, or how fixated I feel my mind gets stuck on them, there are a bunch of people on my side, praying for me, and supporting me to make it through and out the other side. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

Progress?

Is this what it feels like to fail? Or is this what progress looks like? I'm confused, because I know once upon a time (and even at the beginning of this struggle) I would pretend like nothing was happening and hope that by avoiding my troubles, they'd disappear, with no intervention required.

The fact that I've been in hospital now for almost 4 weeks, and the fact that I'm still alive with no attempts on my life taken should be seen as a positive step, but when you awaken each morning in a hospital bed, and you struggle to see the light at the end of the tunnel, one must question whether you can really claim progress has been made?

Since late last year, I've noticed my mood slip beyond "a little depressed" and more into the category of "completely unable to cope and to continue to function as a normal human being". I have reached out for help. This is my third (and longest) hospital admission in recent times. I've tried medication, I have tried new age therapies, like Transcranial Mangnetic Stimulation (TMS), and more recently, I've progressed onto Electro Convulsive Therapy (ECT). Thankfully I've noticed a slight shift in mood through receiving ECT and I can only hope that another 6 sessions will help me recover and find the me that I've created and lost underneath the beast that is depression somewhere.

It is hard pretending like I've got my shit together, when everything feels completely overwhelming. Or in those fleeting moments when I feel I can actually beat this, which are quickly followed by an all consuming fear of not being strong enough to fight my way out this time, it's hard to stay positive and remind myself that I've likely been through worse than this before, and I am therefore equipped to deal with it, no matter how far over my head I feel.

The hospital itself is so much different to everywhere I've stayed before. It is calm, the staff are kind, it's the perfect environment to relax and recuperate strength. It's more than a place to keep me safe. It's a place to get me on the road to wellness and get me back to enjoying the life that I've created for myself. I just hope that I'm strong enough to ride it out, that the ECT continues to bring about successful results, and that at the end of this ride, I'll be stronger coming out the other side, ready to face the world in front of me.

It's been a while...

Depression, my old friend. It's been a while. We spent a few years apart, and each time you tried to claw your way back into my life, I thought I'd be able to successfully beat you off. Only this time, you were too much and I was too far gone before I realised the seriousness of it all.

So here I sit, alone in Room 19, pondering how it got to this point, and questioning how I can manage it better next time, so you can't slip in through a doorway or a window I've left open somewhere.

I know we have a long history. I know for many years I welcomed you into my life, because you were safe, you were comfortable, and I'm pretty sure I wrongly assumed that you would protect me from the world outside, by destroying me from within, where although destroyed, I would remain in control.

This time around, my life has changed somewhat. Sure, right now, I'm a little over it all, but generally speaking, I'm a pretty happy person these days. I'm married, I have wonderful friends, a supportive and amazing family, including some very cute little people who can hug me and make everything feel like a million times better.

I first realised that you were making your way in early last year. But with the wedding and honeymoon to distract myself, I figured that you'd just go away on your own. Once the wedding and honeymoon were over, and you started to make your presence a little more well known, the echo of your existence a little louder, I considered it the come-down after such an exciting time in my life, and once again, thought if I ignored you, and tried to drown you out with friends, with exercise, with distraction and avoidance, that you'd realise you weren't welcome and leave on your own accord. Only this time, it wasn't that simple.

I linked in with a GP. I got a mental health care plan. I saw a psychiatrist, I saw a psychologist, I found a better GP. All was on track for recovery, only you didn't want to make it that easy. The medication did nothing to lift my mood. Your friend, Anxiety, who I'd not really experienced like this before, came along with you for the ride. It was hard enough to try and gain control of you, but with Anxiety tagging along, both of you feeding off the other, I knew I was in over my head.

And here we are... the third hospital admission in as little as four months. The first one to save me from making decisions in the heat of the moment, the second much the same, but also to try an alternative treatment. After the anti-depressants did little to help, and the Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (TMS) did not assist as I'd hoped, you left me with little choice but to travel down the Electro Convulsive Therapy (ECT) path.

At first, if I'm honest, I wasn't hopeful. It was just another thing to tick off the list to say that I'd tried. Another thing that would show others that I don't ask to be depressed and anxious, and that I would literally try anything to ease the pain. Even if it meant going under three times per week and having surges of electricity sent to my brain to trigger a seizure.

On Monday, I had treatment #4 and today, treatment #5, and I'm happy to report that although, nowhere near where I need to be, I do feel as though that heavy weight is lifting. What previously crushed me through the floor, and made it feel difficult for me to be able to pull myself even to floor level, has now had part of the weight removed. I still feel trapped, I still feel suffocated, I still feel afraid and alone and so very lost, but I don't feel like I have no other option. I feel as though with the ECT showing improvement, I, at the very least, do not need to give up and throw in the towel right now.

Right now, beneath the rubble of it all, I have found something I'd lost somewhere along the way. Hope. And as long as you have hope, you have reason to keep trying. And that's what I intend to do, for now anyway. What have I got to lose?

To hide or not to hide?

Tomorrow I start a new job. I feel happy, excited, anxious amongst a mix of emotions. I’m currently questioning what I’m going to wear, how much of myself I’m willing to expose on the first day. I am not referring to the length of my skirt, or whether or not I hide my cleavage under a collared shirt, I’m talking about whether or not I allow my true self to be revealed, scars and all. Do I wear long sleeves and jackets in the middle of an Australian Summer, or do I open myself up to vulnerability and the possibility of being judged by my past and the interpretation from my new colleagues of what they misguidedly believe it may mean?

For my friends on Facebook I’ve not kept my past history of self-harm a secret, I’ve not hidden it, because whilst I’m not particularly proud of the scars, I have come to accept that I did the best I could with the skills I had at the time. I know each individual scar holds a memory of a time when life was more difficult for me than it was for most, each scar reminds me that even though the emotional pain at that time was overbearing, I still somehow found a way to make it through. Each scar tells a story of hopelessness, of anger, or despair, of numbness that I never thought I’d get through, yet here I am.

My self-harm history is something I don’t give much thought to these days, because the scars have healed and all that I see when I look at them are victories and lessons learnt which have given me the skills of empathy, understanding, kindness, and an ability to express compassion to others without making impetuous judgements. However, in times like this where people have not had the chance to get to know me and what I am capable of, I am weary that others don’t have the same life experience as myself, many others do not express the same understanding and empathy that I do, and I am mindful that the appearance of these scars can sometimes lead to others judging me and my abilities prematurely.

I guess as unjust as it may seem, am I willing and open to the possibility of having to work three times as hard as anyone else to prove my worth to the workplace, by allowing them to see the scars of my past before they see who I am and what I’m capable of, or will I be the crazy, uncomfortable colleague who sits in the office in long-sleeves and jackets, sweating profusely, trying to hide the scars that have shaped me into the positive, hard-working, friendly person I know I am?

And the battle, although just as painful, becomes easier to cope with...

And as she climbed up on that chair and placed the noose around her neck, she realised she would finally get that escape that she so desperately longed for. She would finally be free of the constant battle against herself. She would finally have an end to the chaos that all too often erupted inside her mind. She would finally find peace. But, before she had a chance to take that huge leap of courage, with only a small step, and seek the freedom that she so desired, a lifetime of memories flashed before her eyes..........................


She saw her mother standing in the corner of the Intensive Care Unit. She saw the pain in her mother's eyes. She could tell that her mother hadn't slept a wink all night. And whilst she'd seen that look of pain in her mother's eyes many times before from not being able to pull her out of this depression, and not being able to show her the beauty the world has to offer, she realised that nothing had ever compared to the fear and pain she saw in her mother's eyes right then and there.

She remembered the words that still resonate with her today. The words that send a sharp pain right through her heart, and never fail to bring a tear to her eye. That one statement, a single sentence from her little sister, which easily broke her heart, and changed her world. "It was hard growing up, going to bed each night, and not knowing whether I'd still have my sister when I woke up." Her sister was an adult when she'd shared this raw, emotional statement, but despite them both being adults, all she'd seen was her little baby sister, a young teenager, standing in front of her, in a world of her own pain, and all at the thought of losing someone she'd cared so deeply about. All at the thought of losing her big sister, who had long lost herself and constantly questioned her existence through the pain. The big sister who honestly, and whole-heartedly believed that life would be easier for her family if she ceased to exist.

She remembered the exact thoughts she had at that time. She remembered feeling like things would never get any better. She remembered feeling so guilty for the pain she was consistently putting her family through. She remembered the tip-toeing that the family was forced into, for fear of pushing her over the edge during one of her intensely emotional mood swings. And hearing her baby sister express in this single sentence that despite the emotional pain and outbursts that were tip-toed around, despite the pain of seeing her sister fade away into a shell that she feared she'd never come out from, the most painful thought was that she would lose her completely, and that somehow, life would have to go on without her.

The last 12 months have been an intensely emotional rollercoaster for me. There have been some great ups, really there have, but each time the downhill has closely followed and I've delved faster down that track swaying from side to side, hoping like crazy that the safety harness would hold me in, the entire time feeling like my life was turning completely upside down.

I've been trying to write this post for months. I've been struggling to find the right words. And I've been afraid of what people would think of me if they'd learnt that even today, I'm not always that bright and bubbly person that they all see. Would they judge me, treat me differently, whisper nasty things behind my back? Surely it would be easier to fake it than to show them the real way I feel at times? Right?

Despite questioning whether I'd get through the pain, and whether I was strong enough to come out the other side for quite some time during the past 12 months, this week things became a whole lot more intense and I seriously considered options I'd not seriously considered in years. I had two good friends, both unknown to each other, that questioned our friendship, and the reason, because I didn't share myself with them wholly (negative and all) and because of that, I avoided any conversations that may lead them to believe otherwise. I had friends questioning our friendship because I failed to communicate with them at all, failed to share my true emotions, because I put up that mask, and because I hid behind that wall that protected me from them finding out and consequently realising I was way more work than any friendship was worth, and that quite simply put, I was toxic and a burden on their lives.

I know I've shut my family out for years, because of similar reasons, and I know how irrational it is to not share your emotions with the family that have continued to love you through the worst and most difficult years, and that have never left your side when things get tough. I realise how completely ridiculous it is to hide your feelings from those who love you unconditionally, and feel completely crushed that when things do hit rock bottom, because you'd not shared your pain with them and let them be the support you so desperately needed.

And gradually but then all at once, I realised that life isn't the same as it was a decade ago. I'm not a 19 year old girl consistently struggling to make sense of my own head. I'm not wearing long sleeves to cover the fresh cuts on my arm, or on the very odd occasion in which someone found out, sitting at Emergency waiting for a nurse and doctor to give me a look of disgust and reluctantly stitch up the damage I'd bestowed upon myself, the self that I seemed so determined to destroy. I'm not constantly in and out of psych wards several times a year (and when I say several, I mean SEVERAL), merely to protect me from myself and the costly, permanent decisions I was likely to make in the acute heat of the moment. I'm not in a hospital bed, covered in wires plugged into monitors that will reveal if this time, I've managed to cause some irreversible damage to my body.

I'm now a 29 year old woman, who whilst still affected by Bipolar Disorder, whilst still battling the same mental illness I was a decade ago, whilst feeling that forceful pain I have in the past, has learned healthy coping mechanisms, and isn't that tiny, scared little girl she was back then. I'm now a 29 year old woman who, at 19, never imagined a year without a hospital admission, let alone the fast approaching three years since such an admission has taken place. I'm now a 29 year old woman who has no desire to place any more scars on my body that has already been punished so badly. A woman who whilst uncomfortable with meeting strangers for the first time and receiving judgement for something they simply don't understand and for their inability to see past these and get to know who I am, feels proud to see those scars on her arms. They are a constant reminder of how much pain I was in, and how I'm still here, and I'm still fighting. They are my battle wounds. They are my evidence that the pain I've been through is a lot deeper than many others could handle. They are a testament to my courage, my strength and my determination to go on, despite at times feeling as though all hope was lost.

I am now a 29 year old woman who has been given a lot of support over the past 15 years, even from those who don't realise it. I am now a 29 year old woman who can honestly say she has the most amazing family and friends in the world. I'm now a 29 year old woman, who despite still suffering at times, even with getting out of bed proving a struggle some days, believes that life has so much more to offer. A woman who has been questioning her existence and feeling like a failure for not accomplishing most of the things on her "before 30" bucket list.

I now know that I have the power to create my own reality. All I need to do is try and believe it's worth it, believe that I'm worth it. Be determined... Love completely... Trust fully... Believe it's possible... Try... Hope... Create... These things have the potential to change my life. These things have the potential to assist me along my journey, with all it's twists and turns, and at 39, write another post about how much further I've come in the last decade, and how glad I am that I made the decision at the time of writing this very post that I have the power to manifest my dreams into reality, and that I deserve to be happy and fulfilled with my life.

I started writing an application to become a member of the BeyondBlue speakers program, and that's really the driving force that provided me with the inspiration to share this raw, deep and mostly hidden side of me and the battles I still fight each day. I'm willing to share my story with complete strangers and allow them to somehow see they're not alone, and that things can get better, and even if they don't recover completely, they can have good moments as well as bad moments, and those good, positive, loving moments can be enough to pull them through the darkest of their days. Showing them that even if their illness is likely to stay with them, it gets easier to manage, and they'll learn how to cope. Show them that there is nothing like the hug of a niece or nephew (or their own children / partners) to make them smile, inspiring them to be all that they can be, and provide them with the determination they have been lacking to make this possible. If I'm willing to share my story with complete strangers, surely I should be willing to share this story with friends and family. Surely I should be willing to let them know what depression and mental illness feels like, to give them some sort of insight. Surely I should be willing to share my story with the friends that are suffering so that they, like the complete strangers I'm willing to share with, will know they're not alone, and that things can get better.


.........................And in that moment, with those very thoughts and images running through her mind, she slipped the noose from her neck, cut the rope from where it was hanging, lit it on fire and watched it burn, envisioning the fire taking away all negativity and things that were holding her back, the smoke floating away as she let her fears leave with it, allowing her to free her mind and believe that life could be wonderful, and that if you look hard enough, you will always find beauty in this sometimes messed up crazy world. To believe that life was worth it... To believe that she was worth it.

**Please note - the writing about suicide by hanging at the top of this email was only meant as an indication of the pain and anguish within the story. I have not stood on a chair with a noose around my neck, and I am in no danger of self-harm or suicide. It was used as an analogy, and should not be interpreted as a serious threat to my safety.**

This post was originally posted on my Facebook page on 8 February 2015

Fun Flashy Friday...

Oh. My. God...

There is something about Fridays that simply lights up my world.  No matter how crap the work week has been (which it actually hasn't been too bad this week), Friday fixes everything.  For that one day, even though I'm at work, it feels completely different than the rest of the week.  I'm pretty sure, because no matter what happens on Friday, I have two glorious days of doing whatever the hell I want to immediately afterwards.  Tomorrow will be an even more amazing Friday, can you say public holiday?  Three day weekend?  The most exciting Friday, since my 24 "Saturdays" in Europe.

Friday at work is relatively stress free, people are HAPPY, and because it's casual dress Friday, I get to wear my super awesome, light up, Skechers.  Every single week, when there is someone new who gets in the lift with me, in my very corporate office, I get comments about the shoes.  "Wow, they're cool shoes."  "Well, duh, they're my Friday shoes!!!"... or my personal favourite "my daughter has shoes like that"... I just laugh and mention that's the beauty of having small feet, you can fit into children's shoes.  I also really enjoy when I'm in the lift with a few gents in suits.  I see them glance, and I watch their faces, knowing they are thinking "WTF", and then when getting off the lift, I wait outside the lift and wait to hear that laugh and the familiar comment "nice shoes."  Every.  Single.  Time.

Ah, the most impressive shoes I own, the ones that I'm super attached to, and when they eventually fall apart, that I'll simply HAVE to replace, because let's face it, these shoes are now part of who I am.  I'm the girl who gets out of the lift on Level 3, with the strange, child-like, flashing shoes.  And it may not seem like much to most people, but I feel good in the fact that each person I come across, either walking to the office, walking into the office, in the lift, start the day with a smile, or even better than that, a laugh.  And I feel like I'm starting their Friday (my favourite day of the week) off in the best possible way.  What may seem like a hilarious joke, the 29 year old, wearing the flashing shoes to work, allows me to bring that positive feeling to the start of their work day.  And let's face it, sometimes, in the midst of the crazy work life, where stress is unavoidable, and frustration is inevitable, we just need something to make us smile, and help us start the day on a positive note.

Plus, have you ever seen a child with awesome, colourful, light up Skechers feeling disheartened about coming into the office for the day?  Yep, didn't think so.  I rest my case.  (Yes, I clearly recognise that a child would not be coming into the office for the day to work, however it's my blog and I'll use whatever examples I want to).

Friday... Tomorrow, we will meet again, and as usual, I'll embrace you, with a smile, happiness, a skip in my step, and those wonderfully, bright, positive, child-like, flashing shoes.