PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression - Part 3

I feel nothing. Numb. And I am so overwhelmingly downtrodden that I can't even make the argument to myself that I am anything but useless...and that's just part of what's going on inside my head. My mind has completely lost focus on anything real. I haven't spoken to anyone for hours. All I can manage to do is to lie here in my own filth and stare at the wall or the ceiling. Inside my head there is a monologue that keeps saying things like "help me" and "can't anyone see how bad off I am" all while I'm desperately trying to not go through with the several different irrational plans my head is insisting I follow. I am lost in my depression, and it feels like the comfortable darkness will finally win. And all I can think about that possibility is...finally.

I don't know why this happens to me, but it does, and it's very, very real. Something tweaks in my brain, and suddenly I am falling down a rabbit hole. And it's so weird because I don't have anything in me to motivate me to move, shower, nothing. People who know me personally know that's not who I am inside...I am a fighter. But instead I just lay here lost in my head, and I am not showing any signs of life except for breathing, which...c'mon. That really isn't normal behavior.

Nothing matters except not moving and staying lost in my head. I'm comfortable, believe it or not. To say that I am comfortably numb is not a cliche or a sign of my deep love for Pink Floyd. The sad truth is that I AM lost and mostly unresponsive. And the thoughts I am having, they make so much sense--even though they are so NOT okay. Plans to fatally hurt myself reveal themselves over and over in different scenarios. And they all make sense. That's the thing I want to stress. This suicidal thinking makes sense while you're lost in it. Insanity is a real thing. When I am lost I know...KNOW...that I am a failure. I'm useless. No one can help me, and besides that I don't deserve anything and certainly don't belong where people can help me and support me because I am, in actuality, ruining their lives. This isn't even close to what I believe when I am feeling okay and am able to focus on what's real, but it's the conclusion I always come to when I am captured in a severe depressive episode.

Why is it that my brain makes me want to kill myself so badly when I am like this? I don't understand what triggers my head to go there, but it does. It's done this to me for 30 years, but the last 7 have been especially difficult. The only weapon I have against this suicidal mania is this distant voice from deep inside telling me to hang on. It's an internal struggle, for sure...one that I have, in fact, lost several times. In those cases I simply can't hold on, and I try to kill myself. I have honestly lost count of how many times in the last 7 years I have tried to end my life, and that doesn't include the sporadic times before that. However, I will tell you that every single one of those times was one where I was lost in that extreme thinking. I have just been lucky enough to have someone show up or figure it out and save my life. It amazes me, really, because I'm always sure that I am not going to be found until its too late; yet, it never ends that way. Somehow someone close to me always finds me in time.

Anyway, the only thing I have found that I can do when I desperately try to hang on is to seek out the safety of my bed and close my eyes as I hug one of my pillows. Inside my head there is a wondrous and fierce battle taking place, and I am just a witness to most of it. I have all of the thoughts I described above, yet there is a part of me that is instinctively fighting to stop myself from carrying out these terrible plans.

And I do fight...it's just not obvious because from the outside view I am not moving or communicating or keeping myself healthy. I fight by thinking of my educational goals and my brother's new wife, Martha, and his new step-daughter, Andrea, who, of course, is now my niece. AND there is the forthcoming birth of Abby, my brother's first child with Martha. I love them and am excited that Abby will be here in less than two months. It's thoughts like this and of the friends that love me who would be devastated if I died that allow me to hold on. But again, this battle is all in my head, and it's not obvious which line of thinking is going to control my actions.

For example, one action I can't stop myself from doing, because my negative thinking forces me to, is to hoard selective pills that are given to me even though I am screaming to myself, "NO, NO! Don't do this!". But it doesn't stop me. There is some part of me that irrationally knows that this is important because if I do this consistently for a short amount of time, I will have enough to overdose again. It's as if I am fighting to hang on whilst ensuring that the next time I fall into a deep depression I will have the necessary amount of meds to overdose and finally end this battle. I admit, it's sick, and it sure as hell scares me.

Usually I end up in the hospital when I am like this, but since it started (a week ago today until now), I have just regained the ability to articulate what it's like...really like...for those that may or may not know. Obviously there are varying degrees of depression ranging from being bummed out to all-out suicidal, and they are all important to recognize and to get help. As you can see, my brain tends to go for the worst, and it takes me a while to go for help...if at all. A lot of times I am forced to go against my will, and most of the times I can't remember at all.

My therapist/counselor has noticed that my brain easily gets going on a negative thinking path. It's automatic for me to think negatively about myself now. And that's hard to process because I know...KNOW...that negative thinking is not fundamentally me. Until this accident, I spent every day, year, decade pronouncing that I know I can do anything. I set an example for more than one person who wasn't sure. And yet now I have to admit that she's correct. In the last 7 years I have been disappointed more and more by my limitations. My visions for the future have been bleak and scary, although sometimes a ray of sunshine would help me to see that my future wasn't over if I just fought for it. For all of that, though, the bottom line was that I had no choice but to find a way to (radically) accept a completely different body. One that hurts a lot, is fatter than I ever imagined myself being, and of which I am very much ashamed.

I don't know how long I will be like this. I can say that I am a little better today as compared to last Saturday, and certainly this past Wednesday where I was so, so lost that the comfortable darkness was winning big. Yet here I am today, and I am able to look back on those days and articulate what it's like to those of you who may or may not understand, instead of lying in a mortuary. I'm counting that as progress.

As always, thanks for reading.

Setbacks

If I had written this entry a few weeks ago I would surely have had a different topic to discuss. I have had approximately 2 weeks of pretty good feelings. I was able to focus on my schoolwork and simple tasks in my life, and I took 2+ showers each week. I even did my hair and put on makeup those days. I ensured I looked really good for my doctor appointments so that they could see what I should be looking like more days than not (instead of the opposite, which is how I live now). During this time I completed 2 major papers in school and even made a commitment (which I kept) to go to the movies on that Friday. And again, I was able to get ready including hair, make up, etc. I honestly felt like I was better. I was a little anxious, but I conquered that feeling and participated in life for once.

Then Saturday hit. Of course, I needed the weekend (Sat, Sun, and Mon) to catch up with my new class, but unfortunately that's not what happened. Not only could I not focus on homework, but also I couldn't keep focused on reading, watching TV, nothing. I ended up in a fetal position for most of my days. My thoughts were racing so bad that I couldn't think straight. Sunday was no better. And Monday, yesterday, I couldn't keep my thoughts together at all. All of these negative thoughts were bouncing around in my head so rampantly that I couldn't do anything but sink into what my head was thinking. I spent most of the day in my bed, which I hate, but luckily I was able to sleep a lot. It's so disturbing to have this happen to me, especially for several days.

The reality is that I am extremely frustrated by periods of this whacked out thinking and behavior. I can't for the life of me understand why this happens to me. I am an articulate, intelligent, social, and generally kind person...so why do I have days where I am so lost? No doctor has been able to explain this, and I am stumped myself. I recently grilled my doctors about the medications I take, since I take A LOT, and the firm answer I received from all of them is that the drugs I take, antidepressants, for example, only help me (and everybody else) to feel just a little bit better. Instead what's more important is that I force myself to be active.

Can someone please tell me how this is possible? Do they think that I can just switch direction and be the person I used to be? I mean, I am aching to be active! I want to be the person I was before this damned accident! I want to get up everyday and take a shower (or at least get ready) and go places. I want to do this EVERY day. I even plan out my week in my calendar that includes me getting ready and going to a library to study or whatever. Yet, it really never happens. So often I am so overly and inexplicably anxious with random and dehumanizing, self-criticizing thoughts that disable me. How would you feel if your dominant thoughts were constantly telling you not only that you're a failure but reasons why? The only question left is when you would start to give in. I am my own worst enemy, I know. And not only me, but my professional help, don't know how to fix it.  

I receive ECT treatments every month, which have made a difference in my level of depression, and I am grateful beyond words for this. It hasn't stopped it completely, but between my mom dispersing my medications (so that there is no chance of my overdosing) and the treatments themselves, this strange focus of wanting to kill myself has mostly dissipated, with the exception of those horrible days like I described above.

During those periods where I am not strong, I picture things like holding a gun to my temple. I am also sure I am a severe burden to my family, so I often think I should just leave. Pack up the car with as much stuff as I can, load the dog, and hit the road. I think about this a lot when I am like this, actually. It's different than fixating on desperately wanting to end my life, which is great. But this idea to just run, sleep in my car, walk the dog, not worrying about showers since I can take them at YMCAs when I can. The idea that I can just run away from this environment where I spend almost all of my time feels like I would finally feel freedom...something I have not felt for a long, long time. I honestly don't know where I would end up. I just know that although I would miss my family terribly, I would feel better knowing that they could live their lives without having to take care of me or make excuses because I can't function effectively.

All of these details are part of the reason that I heartily believe that I am a burden to my family, my mother in particular. I have no words to describe the extreme and lasting guilt I feel when I have to rely upon her assistance. I feel useless and truly hate myself for the extra work I cause her. Sometimes I would rather she just stop helping me. I already feel alone, so it probably won't be so bad if she just gave up on me. I'm a hopeless case, and we all know it.

So yeah. These last few days have been a significant setback in feeling better. Intellectually, I know that there will be a period where I feel strong again. Yesterday my mom and I made a list of things that I wanted to do--tasks that aren't pressing but I would really feel better if I could take care of them. I really, really hope I can do those things. She has promised to help me--which makes my head insist that I am worthless and can't do anything anymore--so I hope that I can achieve my goals.

Setbacks are part of life--in all facets of life really--and I am no stranger to them in many respects. For me, I need to fight that horrific negative thinking which keeps me stuck, so that I can fight and fight hard. I imagine that many of you understand what it feels like to experience a setback, mental or situational. And I am sure you all thought it majorly sucked. So I guess that I am going to continue to strive to reach deep into myself and summon the strength I need to get past myself. I really, really want to succeed...like a lot of you can do.

I have work ahead of me, so wish me luck. And as always, thanks for reading.

Disappointment, Frustration, and Rage

Let's just start out by recognizing that everyone knows how it feels to be disappointed. Perhaps you weren't picked to be the leader of a creative team at work, or maybe your favorite sports team lost the game 2-3, whatever. There are countless ways that we all come to feel disappointed in our lives. It just depends on who you are and what you value as important. I see being disappointed as needing an attitude adjustment, and I'm used to feeling disappointed because my life is limited and difficult--although I will heartily admit that my disappointment sometimes departs, and I feel okay about where I am in the circle of life because I am blessed to have such loving people around me who do their best to show me they care and help me to overcome difficult moments.

Moving on, then there's that disappointing "thing" in your life that keeps happening over and over, and over time or just suddenly that disappointed feeling turns into frustration. Again this isn't a new emotion for any of us either. We've all been frustrated at some point. Whether it's being late to work while stuck in miles of traffic that doesn't seem to move or that you keep practicing something (dancing, singing, playing a musical instrument, doing math, whatever) but it's not coming together for you. Maybe you live paycheck to paycheck and still can't pay your bills, so you have difficult choices to make every month. In the end, it doesn't matter the scenario. You're just frustrated.

Frustration is a step-up from disappointment because when you feel frustrated it affects your mood, not only your attitude. You could be pissed off that you can't afford to buy any more food until the 1st of the month, even though you really need to, all the while trying to stay calm and think rationally about what you're going to do whilst the neighbor's dog is barking so loud it's as if he's in your kitchen with you. And it's tough to get beyond that frustration because you're not in control of what's happening and you direly wish you were. And that frustration can be very aggregating...leading to points which are not at all in the best interests of anyone near you.

In fact, to me frustration is like walking on the edge of a precipice. You still have a choice to walk away from the danger of falling off the edge (something that will most assuredly be horrific for you) even if you're already truly at the edge looking down. Yet we know that we can still gain control at this point because the messages that we can do it, hang in there, whatever, have been blasting in our faces between Facebook memes, TV commercials, and inspirational posters for decades...not to mention, let's face it, we've all overcome a lot of crap in our lives thus far, so there's an innate feeling that you can get through this too.

What is necessary is simple actually. When feeling frustrated one must simply remove oneself from the situation, even if it's only through visualization for a minute or so (which has an amazing effect on many, many people so don't knock it until you've tried it--and I mean really tried it). Doing this--this simple thing of focusing your thoughts on a pleasant memory or a goal or the love of your children, etc.--can mean that you have an opportunity to step back from a powerfully-negative emotion and instead rationally piece together your thoughts and your next move. It doesn't mean that things are going to get better. It just means that you are giving yourself a chance to think clearly and rationally. If you want my advice, the second you feel frustrated is the time that you give yourself a break (for as long as possible...maybe only just time enough to count to ten even, but hopefully longer) because what an escalation of frustration leads to is ugly.


I often wonder how many people in the world actually understand how it feels to be in a rage. I've been there more times than I can count--especially in the last 7 years--and I can tell you firsthand that its very scary when you look back on how you felt, your thought processes at the time, and the actions you took. There's no control being in a rage...there's only this unmitigated, strong, uncontrollable feeling that can and does make you act out in dangerous ways. Easy example: everyone knows about the plague of mass shootings in the U.S.and in the other parts of the world. That's rage at work.

Last night I was able to make it through a rage that was really, really harsh. I want to tell you about it because it's surreal to me when I look back at how I felt and what my thoughts were, and I honestly feel lucky that I couldn't/didn't do what my mind was telling me to do.

It started with being disappointed about having to deal with constant shocks in my legs (while being shocked, of course). This was quickly followed by feelings of intense frustration because I know that this pain and just complete randomness of shocked location is a prevalent part of my new life. Before I knew it I was lost and helpless and instead of thinking even slightly clear. I could only fixate on the fact that this was going to be part of my life for the rest of my life.

When this happens to me I typically try to calm myself down through either listening to music or by watching re-runs of The Big Bang Theory. Everyone has something they can do to help them escape/relax/whatever. Both of my activities include me laying in my bed, which is pretty typical for me, as you know, but in the end they work, and I was able to stop fixating and relax after a while. Soon after I fell asleep.

A few hours later I awoke to a situation that happens to me much more than I want to acknowledge. I know what it is like to feel helpless and an invalid when this happens. I can't imagine having the ability I used to have (but have now lost) for the majority of my life and then have this to look forward to. It's depressing.

So when I awoke I could feel cramping in my stomach, so I ran to the bathroom. Of course I was too late. I am always too late. Because of the nerve damage I suffered when my spinal cord was smashed, I have no ability to mentally, subconsciously, or physiologically tighten the sphincters that control when my body releases pee and poop. Instead the best I can do is to head it off and get to a bathroom the minute I feel any type of urge to go.

If you're reading this and know firsthand what I am referring to, I'm sorry that you have to deal with this. If you don't know what it's like, count yourself blessed. It's horrid that I not only cannot feel when I am excreting this waste but that I also can't feel where it is on my body because most of the skin below my hips (both the front and rear and sides) is numb. I can feel pressure (like when someone pushes on me), but no subtle sensation like other, unaffected areas of my skin. And the truth is that I am abashedly ashamed of this. No, it's not my fault, but I am still ashamed and very angry that I will never be normal again. I am ashamed that I have to wear Poise pads every day because I never know when I am going to pee unexpectedly. To date I am too proud to utilize Depends for both problems, but even that is starting to wain.

Anyway, back to my being too late. Put bluntly, shit was everywhere. All through my underwear and pajamas...even on the carpet of the bathroom and all over the toilet seat...not to mention that I am actively sitting down in the midst and atop of all this while my body continues to spew horrid-smelling goo. When it finally stops (and there is no way to know, to be honest, if it has truly stopped or just paused), I start working on cleaning myself up. I wiped myself clean from my lower legs to, well you know, and then have to deal with all the places it remains. The toilet is covered, the rug has a nice splotch on it, its throughout my clothes, and yes, it's in my bed too.

My mom wakes up and starts to help me, which immediately starts me thinking that I am unsure if I can ever live without a caretaker again. And to be perfectly honest, I notice that she's dealing with rinsing the shit off my clothes and my bed sheets--just what one wants to do when they wake up in the middle of the night--and I am extremely thankful for her efforts but can't react appropriately because I am so unnerved by everything has just happened. It's finally sunken in. This too is going to be part of my life forever. I gotta remember to pack a backpack with a spare outfit, towels, baby wipes, and more that I keep with me at all times. I gotta seriously think about wearing Depends...me...someone who has worn Victoria's Secret all of her adult life. I admit that this feels like I am surrendering to the life of an invalid, and it has pushed me to a breaking point.

I curl up in my bed as my wild thoughts start to swirl at tremendous speed, and all I can glean from them--the common theme of all of these flashes in my mind--is that my life will never be okay again. I want things to be different, but they never will be. And suddenly a rush of horrible visions sweep into my head. Thoughts of my room on fire while I just sit there and watch, thoughts of shooting myself, thoughts of taking a bat to all of the windows, TVs, and more all over the house simply to watch them explode when I shatter them, even flashes of thoughts of hurting others. Rationally speaking, I am completely in the throes of rage and the only question left is how I shall manage to get out of it.

After a bit, I marched over to the corner of my room and grabbed my cane.With it I beat the crap out of my newly made up bed. I beat it and beat it until I was quite exhausted, and even then I was driven to beat it more. The only way I knew that I could calm down was to physically exhaust myself...and I do give myself props for knowing that. I feel lucky that I had no access to weapons of any kind and that no one came in to disturb me whilst I was in the midst of this rage. I cannot say if I would have hurt them, but I definitely believe I could have. I was dangerous and out of control, so all I could do to negate it was to exhaust myself.

In the end, it worked. I found myself finally leaning against the bed and chucking my cane across the room as hard as I could. I was lucky. The only harm I did was to whack the crap out of my bed, but based on my thoughts it could have been so much worse. What if I had had access to a gun, for example? Or what if I had a bat that could easily smash everything in the house, including people or animals that got in my way? My thoughts were filled with images of this violence, but I fought them. I was horrified that I was envisioning myself acting that way. Scared, even.

So, as awful as it sounds, I actually understand the pathway to madness that brings forth these enraged people who mass shoot or bomb or whatever. I get it. I certainly don't approve of that kind of behavior, of course. I absolutely think that these people should be punished to the max for murder and terrorism, regardless whether they are mentally ill, religious extremists, or just blinded by rage that can't be overcome, whatever. Doesn't matter. I mean, if I was to do something that horrible, which let's face it, with the right circumstances who knows what I could be capable of (probably something extremely dangerous, harmful, and unretractable), I would WANT people to exterminate me so that this would never happen again.

Rage is a scary stage of mental thought processes because the majority of the time it results in actions...actions that are not usually good in nature. It all starts (for me anyway) by standing on the edge of the precipice feeling frustrated. If I could just take my own advice and immediately start calming down through some sort of medium, things might have gone differently for me over the last 3 years. Alas, they didn't, and whilst in rages over my situations, I tried to kill myself repeatedly. I have yet to hurt anyone or anything.

I guess what I am saying is please don't give into hate, which is precisely where rage takes you. Recognize when your level of frustration is getting the best of you and do something to mitigate it. It is the only way toward peace within. All of this I say knowing that my behavior is not a good example of how to do this yet. But I am going to keep trying.

As always, thanks for reading.

PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression - Part 2

Anxiety is a weird and ominous feeling, and that's putting it lightly. I mean, we all have anxiety to a certain extent when we're about to do something where we might fail (public speaking, dance recitals, pre-final examinations, etc.). In fact, there are millions of situations that cause us to be, what I call, rationally anxious. People naturally feel this feeling, and it's indicative of having pride in what you're about to do and wanting things to turn out for the best.

But there is definitely another kind of anxiety...the irrational kind that has no bearing on anything rational. Instead it hits you so fast that you absolutely can't think straight. Sometimes it leads to a full-on panic attack where things get really bad. Sometimes the symptoms can induce a heart-attack-like-event. You can't breathe, you're sweating, you have this wicked knot in your stomach, your thoughts race, and all you can manage to do is hide...in a corner, in your car, in your bathroom, or closet, or bed...whatever.

I experience both the former and latter types of anxiety. Yet most of the time I am afflicted with the latter type: the irrational kind. I rarely have true panic attacks, for which I am extremely grateful and feel loads of empathy for those that do experience them. A good example of my irrational anxiety taking hold of me was the day I went to see a double-feature at the movies. I was having a wonderful time until the second movie ended. As I walked out of the darkened movie theater and towards the lobby, I was hit with massive anxiety. The minute I reached the lobby I felt like a brick wall had appeared in front of me. I had that nervous knot and overwhelmed feeling come upon me so fast and so intensely I just put my head down and got to my car as fast as I could. I felt that everyone there could see right through me and were thinking to themselves, "What's her problem?".

The truth is that this type of anxiety can make you feel like you're screaming at the top of your lungs because you're afraid and you need someone to help you, except you can't speak a sound to ask for that help. Sometimes you even gather the strength to try to yell out, but all that comes out of you is a whisper, even with the intensity and volume you are desperately trying to accomplish. So instead you ball up and hide in a small space, or in your bed, or whatever, sometimes shaking so much you get  tense to the point where your body starts to hurt (and for me that's not a long time).

And a sucky part that is no one's fault is that, unfortunately, people in the house (or wherever you are) are going about their business because they have lives to lead and can't cater to you, particularly if they don't know what's wrong because you can't tell them. And sadly it could be because, let's face it, they've been through this 1000 times before with you, so it's somewhat par for the course. Even though they may have sympathy for you, they ultimately leave you alone and keep on with their business. After all, they know you're in a "safe" place all huddled up in a corner, the bathtub, the closet, etc., regardless of how desperate you are feeling. And you can't express how much you need them because, again, you can't effectively communicate. Yes, that does suck.

In moments like these, which for some reason now happen to me a lot post-accident, my thoughts typically race...and none of them are good. Thoughts of demeaning self-criticism leading to thoughts of hopelessness leading to thoughts of how I'm such a waste of time and space, confirming that I'm a failure and will never be anything more. I could go on, but you get it. The reality is that all of these thoughts and more are in your head racing back to back at unbelievable speeds, and you're too overwhelmed to know how to stop them...so you do what feels right (even though it's wrong) and you believe them...ultimately making the anxiety worse and your feeling of fear and desperation absolutely unbearable.

Someone who experiences anxiety also deeply hates being lonely but is too freaked out to socialize. (I have no doubt I am a full on agoraphobic at this point, speaking of.) I mean, maybe they can handle virtual socializing through things like Facebook, Instagram, whatever, but that's pretty much the limit. They don't go shopping for pleasure; don't feel that they can just jump into the car and go anywhere...even for just a ride, you name it. They are trapped by this affliction, and it takes its toll day after day.

Personally, I have anti-anxiety pills that I take, but if I'm being honest, they aren't nearly enough. If anything, the most I can say about them is, on my good days, taking them helps me (doesn't always work) to stay positive and social instead of giving into my anxiety so that things become overwhelming. Even with regular counseling and breathing exercises and all of the other coping mechanisms I have learned, when severe anxiety hits me, all I can do is take my prescribed pill and hope it is at least somewhat effective...whilst I curl up in my closet or corner or bed and listen to the happiest music I can handle.

Unfortunately, I have no positive ending to this post. I'm sure my high levels of anxiety come from some of my PTSD (described in another post). I mean, this certainly started after 9/29/09 (my accident). Whether I get them because of a TBI or a remnant of PTSD or some physiological reason or other trauma that I have indeed experienced, it's a mute point in part because I still have to deal with it...and no one knows how to help me.

Tonight I missed out on going to see The Dixie Chicks in concert in Bangor because of my severe anxiety. I was left alone for the day and anxious feelings grew like a weed until I was overcome by them. Not to mention my relatively new members of my family are here, and I am trapped in my room, so I'm totally embarrassed. I really wish they didn't get to see this side of me. I really, really hate my life sometimes.

Thanks for reading.

A Different Path

I'd like to interrupt my tales about PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression just this once and instead give an update on the path to meeting with a neurosurgeon to see if I am a viable candidate for this spinal implant surgery that could effectively relieve my nerve pain. I met with the pain management psychologist--with an open mind, as I promised to do--but it turned out to be (sadly) exactly what I figured it would be. Definitely a waste of money, yet I have to be fair and say the time wasn't a total waste. Yes, she asked me everything there is to know about my past (as if my distant past psychological state is even relevant to my goal) and then she explained what she does. When she was done interviewing me about my past and current whatever, I asked my mom to join me to listen to what she had to say about what she does.

I am not going to give you a play by play recap of the conversation, but there was something extremely important that I learned from her when we questioned her about some things. The most important information I received from her is that I should not expect to not feel anything with the implant device. Instead I will still feel something; it will just be different. And in fact, she currently works with several people who have had this surgery and need help managing their pain.

I think I had a minor stroke, I was so shocked. This was the first time anyone out of all the medical professionals I had seen had told me this. And frankly, that's a big deal. Here I am expecting to have my pain managed by this implant (based on what I have been told by several neurologists and pain management clinic doctors) when in fact, it's just going to be a different sensation that I may (or may not) have to figure out how to deal with. I was flabbergasted trying to process all of this. I didn't want to have to learn to deal with a new kind of sensation! Sometimes the devil you know is better than the one you don't, and in this case, that was exactly what I was thinking. Not to mention that I will also have this implant with a battery pack in my back that (according to her and another source I know in the medical field) many people cannot tolerate.

So I took that information and researched it, finding several cases that supported what this woman had told me, and I took a while to think about all of it. I mean, the most important thing is my ultimate goal: to stop feeling this pain or at least be able to live my life with it instead of it ruling the way I live. And this goal certainly does not include exchanging the pain I deal with now for something different that I will have to get used to--essentially repeating the process of what I have already accomplished in some small part. I mean, after all I have been through these last (almost) 7 years, in particular learning how to deal with these shocks that I receive randomly yet fairly consistently every day, the thought of doing this all over again was not something I wanted to even consider. All this time of learning how to suck up the pain and learning not to show people that I am hurting taught me an important thing in the context of this new information: I now definitively understood that this convoluted process I have been following is not in line with my ultimate goal. So on Thursday I decided to discontinue my journey to pursue this implant. Maybe in a decade the technology will be there, and maybe then I'll look into it again; but for now, nope.

So what did this leave me with for options? Not many that I haven't already tried to be honest. Well, all except one which I am going to pursue actively now. A new path and a difficult one indeed, but one that I think will be the best for me. When I wrote in my last post how much showering hurt, I remembered something else. I remembered that EVERYTHING I did (including just laying in bed or changing my socks) hurt like 25 times more than it does today...even on my current really bad days. What I gleaned from this revelation were two things: 1) The pain has lessened either because of physiological reasons or, more plausibly, that I had learned over the years to suck it up, and 2) because I can remember the difference, I see no reason why I can't simply push myself to continue learning to suck it up when it happens. If any continued lessening of the pain also has to do with physiology, that's awesome. But for now, it's time to get busy living a life while I have this pain.

There's no way that this new path is going to be easy. It's going to hurt, maybe/probably for the rest of my life, and somehow I am going to have to find ways to get through it. Yet, the coolest part of all this is that I believe I can do this. I really and truly believe it. That's something I never really felt when it came to the prospect of having that implant. Faith that it would work, I mean. However, I do find that I have faith in this pathway where I am in charge of how I react to moments of pain and not allowing them to rule my life anymore. The short of it is that it's just going to take time and practice. 

And the most interesting thing about all of this is that this idea is a true example of believing in myself. Something that in my old life was completely natural for me, but through this horrific experience over the last (almost) 7 years has become a stranger in my typical way of thinking for several years now. I guess I am saying that I think a part of the old me is slowly returning: the part where I believe in myself...where I know that I can do anything I set my mind to. And that's a tremendous breakthrough, especially if one considers the roller coaster of emotional and physical states I have been going through.

I daresay that (today at least) I am looking forward to a positive outcome. I can hardly believe it myself, but I, for the first time in a long, long time, am feeling hopeful. I can't tell you how suddenly light the burdens of these last (almost) 7 years feel now that I have reached a point of true hope. I am again flabbergasted, but with a smile on my face this time.

Stay tuned, and as always, thanks for reading.

PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression - Part 1

For those of you who are lucky enough not to be diagnosed with a severe depressive disorder, PTSD, or anxiety, I find myself wondering how many of you truly understand what happens to those of us who do, in fact, have these afflictions. I know that there are many people with horrible situations who face these things every day, and even I don't fully identify with or understand what they go through because it can be different for a lot of us...even though there are typically common elements to these conditions. And I have to be honest and say that I feel particularly vulnerable explaining my experiences with these things with the public because they stem from a very intimate part of me...my brain and how it thinks. It's going to take a few posts to cover this stuff; however, I did promise to be completely open in this blog, so here goes.

Starting with PTSD, it's an odd condition to deal with and not at all pleasant or convenient. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is a terrible thing to experience, and even with tons of therapy and learning techniques to overcome the severity of it, sometimes one can't ever truly get away from it. My PTSD was very severe after my accident first happened. I had a hard time, as you can imagine, being in a car with someone who might take their eyes off the road for even a second (which, let's face it, we all do while driving). I would literally watch the person who was driving me to ensure they were paying attention at all times and would totally freak out (in my head mostly...although at times I would make a small scene) if they diverted their attention for even a second. Because if you read the story of my accident through the link in my last post you know that I had done that very thing: taken my eyes off the road for a split second. I am happy to say that this part of my PTSD has calmed down a lot since the beginning. I am even able to drive myself and can take my eyes off the road for a second to adjust the radio, the air conditioner, or whatever. Something that astonishes people sometimes. It certainly astonishes me that I am able to do it.

Another part of my PTSD stemmed from the severe nerve damage and horrific pain that I dealt with every day when I was first hurt. When I was first introduced to learning how to shower with my new injuries, it was a terribly painful process. I had to sit in a shower chair, as you probably imagined, and use a portable shower head to rinse myself off...meaning that I wasn't kept warm by the water on a consistent basis. Now, anyone who knows me knows very well that I cannot stand being cold...ever. My friends have often jokingly teased me about developing temporary tourettes syndrome because I can't stop swearing until I am warm again. So that was the first part of my new showering process that was traumatic.

The second part was that the temperature of the water was never quite right. Not because it wasn't an appropriate temperature but because my body's lower extremities were so sensitive to temperature changes that it literally hurt to shower...whether the water was on me or not. My body couldn't handle the changes in temperature, and it would cause me so much pain that I could hardly bare it. Imagine, if you can, someone already in a tremendous amount of pain just laying in bed, who had to face what she knew was going to be torture when it was time to take a shower. It was very traumatic for me to say the least.

Since I have learned to stand again, I no longer have to sit in my chair very often and my shower doesn't have a portable head, so I am centered in the warm water throughout the process. However, the trauma I experienced for a few years when showering still affects me to a point today. I am happy to say that the instant change in temperature doesn't hurt as badly as it used to, and it is extremely helpful to be able to stay under the warm water continuously (of course getting out of the shower is a slightly different story because, like all of us, I am blasted with colder air the moment I turn off the water and open the shower curtain). Yet I get through it.

Unfortunately though, I am still severely affected by this particular part of my PTSD. I have an extremely difficult time motivating myself to take showers. In fact, to this day, I procrastinate and avoid them as much as possible because I can't stop my brain from connecting those harsh memories of pain with showering today...even though that painful process doesn't happen any more. I still can't be the person I was before the accident: one who showered almost every day and was fine with it. It's something I mourn for quite vehemently because I don't like being dirty. In fact, I hate it and am extremely embarrassed by it. Yet, it's part of my PTSD that I haven't conquered yet, after almost 7 years. As hard as it is to admit this, I can go for a week without showering, if I'm being completely honest. And although I hate every minute of it (truly), something in my brain stops me from simply going into the bathroom, taking off my clothes, and getting into (what is now) a lovely, warm stream of water. I mean, once I actually do get in, I always tell myself to remember how good this feels and how good it feels to be clean. Yet, to date, that has not helped me get over my PTSD regarding showers. I try to put showering into my schedule so that I do it on a regular basis, but that hasn't helped yet either.

I am now, interestingly enough, mostly able to force myself to move past my fear and get in when I have appointments, social or otherwise, because I am going to be seen by others. It's as if my PTSD gets overcome by the fact that I don't want people to know I have this problem, so I use every bit of inner strength that I have and just grit my teeth while I get in. And once I'm there, I'm totally fine. Like I said, I enjoy it and love the feeling of being clean. So my objective is to be more active so that this part of me gets (hopefully) easier and easier. After all, I can only hope that someday I will conquer this obstacle in my life for good.

As for the "becoming more active" part, there's always plans to hang out with people I know, or doctor appointments to which there is no end in sight. But I actually mean more than that. I am sick and tired of staying at home most of the time, so I have decided to go back to volunteering. I have a few places that I have contacted and am waiting to hear back. I'll let you know more when I do.

And finally, an update on my journey to getting help with the constant nerve pain in my lower extremities, etc.. Today I meet the psychologist who is trained in pain management. If I'm being honest, I have pretty much lost all hope that this journey is going to do anything but be a waste of money and time, but I have promised my mother that I will go to all of the appointments in the process and have an open mind while doing so. Of course, if I had my druthers, we all know that I would rather skip all of these unnecessary steps and just see a freaking neurosurgeon to determine if I am a candidate for the spinal implant procedure or not. However, since that's obviously impossible, I have resolved myself to getting on with my life and just accepting the fact that I have pain I have to deal with. I mean, yes, it can get very bad at times, but after almost 7 years of practice I have learned to endure it so that no one even knows it's happening. So, again, we'll see what today brings, but I have little doubt its just another step that wastes my time and money...oh, and is also a step that I am positive will have to be repeated several times before this psychologist finally writes her damn recommendation. Yes, it sounds awesome, I know (again, as my keyboard drips with sarcasm).

Until then, thanks for reading, and stay tuned.

When You Can't Deal with Your New Life

Many of you are aware that I have had quite a difficult week. I overdosed (again) on Monday last week and posted a goodbye message to my Facebook friends. I would have been successful except for my post and my action-taking friends. So instead of just going to sleep and never waking up, the cops showed up, followed by an ambulance, and I spent the night in the hospital. When I came home on Tuesday, I slept most of the day, and on Wednesday I was right back to desperate. I had taken a very sharp knife, which I stashed in my room, and even though my mom kept asking me about it, I lied and said I had no idea where it was. That night, after my mother went to sleep, I went to the bathroom, locked the door, and held the knife to my throat. It was my plan to simply slit a few major veins, climb into the bathtub, and eventually pass out.

But when it came to it, I couldn't do it. And I tried several different ways to just get over myself and do what I had planned to do. Yet, those of you who have been paying attention, well you are aware that I'm not really into pain, and it hurt when I tried to shove the knife into my neck. It hurt, like, a lot. So ultimately I couldn't do it. At that point, honestly, I felt like the biggest failure ever, believe it or not. I mean, when you reach the point where you are determined to kill yourself but can't ultimately do it, yeah. It feels like failure. So I lay in my bed afterwards and thought about taking my car and plunging into the river. It was late at night, so minimal (if any) witnesses would be around, and my car would submerge with me in it long before emergency services could help me.

However, I didn't do that either. Instead I started to read and respond to all of the outreach I had received via Facebook. I posted an update saying that I was okay and thanked those who had taken action because they saved my life. I also explained that what I go through everyday in my new life is more than difficult without friends (which, funny enough, was the subject of my last post in this blog, but by coincidence only). Most of you who are part of my Facebook network saw the post, and the outpouring of support I received was almost overwhelming...and definitely a big surprise. I haven't had that many people reach out and want to make plans with me for years. To be honest, the thought of people from all over Maine (and the country for that matter) wanting to show their support and working to make plans with me...that alone has made me stronger (which was another blog post, again coincidentally). And honestly, I am soooo looking forward to seeing those of you who have made plans with me.

Of course I recognize that my feeling good right now is precarious. I still have moments (some of them lasting for hours) where the pain is so great that it starts to screw with my thinking. It creates thoughts of pure desperation to make this pain stop in any way possible, including ending my life. Yet, I know that I can't think that way, even in the midst of those desperate moments. I know that I want have a future, and I will simply have to make due with submitting to the pain I have and the many physical limitations that I live with to have a good life.

My current future includes a niece on the way...Abbey...who should arrive in September. I have plans to finish my masters at/around the end of 2018. And finally, I am starting to design and create a business plan for a complex business network that is almost all non-profit. When I think about what could be accomplished by this organization I am designing, I truly think it can and will make a difference in the world; plus, I already have people willing to help (which is pretty cool). So I just have to stick with my plan and stay focused on these amazing things that are in my immediate future. 

With this paradigm-shifting focus to positive thinking--which is particularly important while I am confronted with horrible pain and the mental stress it causes me--in lieu of getting lost in the negative thinking that so easily overcomes me at this point, I am truly hopeful that I am on a different path today than I have been thus far in all (almost) 7 years of this experience. I sincerely hope I can hold onto this new way of coping. And I think that socialization is one of the keys to all of this.

I have no illusions that this shift from the negative to the positive will be easy, particularly in the heat of the moment when I am feeling massive pain and desperation. However, I also know that I am going to practice. Hard. And even though sometimes I might find myself falling into the negative, that's okay, so long as I find my way back to focusing on the positive in the end. Take this morning for example. I am reading the book "When Bad Things Happen to Good People", and I gotta say its tough to read when you're coming from my position. I mean, it took me a few days just to admit that I belonged to the group "good people" so that I could continue reading. And again this morning I reached a point where I just chucked my kindle away from me because I couldn't handle any more of what the author was saying. I was starting to head down that negative thinking pathway, and I knew it, so I forced myself to put on some music that I knew always put me in a good mood. And soon enough I was singing along and even dancing (if one can call it that), and that negative crap was gone...replaced with positive thinking. I call that progress.

One last thing before I end this. Many of you have said that you should have been a better friend to me. Let me crush that thinking right now. You all have lives to live, and you're all busy. None of this is anyone's fault. Plus, I have been so reluctant to reach out that I am probably on the edge of being officially deemed agoraphobic. In fact, I will admit that I am a little overwhelmed to go from having no plans except for doctor appointments to having social plans with people I care about. But its overwhelming in a good way and I know that with just a little push, I can do it. After all, that's the mantra I've lived by all my life: I can do anything if I try hard enough. And it's worked so far.

And for those of you who don't know the backstory, I have a few links. Years ago I started a blog where I explained exactly what happened in my accident, etc.: Why I Survived. After hitting a few rough patches, I started a sequel to my first: Surviving the Seemingly Survivable, but only made it to 4 posts until I once again hit another wall. If you are interested in reading them, I suggest you start from the first post (which is available through the links on the side by date). That's where you can find the backstory that inspired me to write this blog, and this time I am putting myself out there much more than I ever have because I figure, why not? Anyway...until next time...thanks for reading.

Friends

Since my last post I have continued to build my inner strength and am trying my best to stay on a positive path, with the exception of the water aerobics. I haven't quite been able to work myself into a regular schedule with those classes, yet, it is still my goal to do so.

This particular post I want to talk about my old life versus new, in particular, friends. You see, prior to my accident, I always had a lot of friends. Both male and female, and I never felt alone really. However, last night as I walked to the car after a movie, I had a moment of clarity. I thought hard and deep about this epiphany, and I am sad to say that I think I'm right about this: when it comes to the friends I have now, I can think of only 4 people (this is disregarding Facebook, of course, because everyone there has like 150+ friends) that are still friends with me...and only one of them lives in my state. 

I know that sounds like I am feeling sorry for myself and maybe I am, but its a hard smack in the face when you suddenly realize that almost all of your best friends aren't there anymore. More so they won't even talk to you when you reach out to them. And this is true. The people who were my best friends for decades haven't spoken to me (without giving me a reason why either...which naturally makes me insane trying to think of what I could have done) for about 4.5 years now.

Did they decide I wasn't worth it after seeing me so disabled? I can't imagine that it's true, but I don't know for sure. Is it because I am a mean person? I don't think I was/am, but again, I don't know for sure. I do know that people come in and out of your life as you grow, so perhaps it is some form of that, but that doesn't explain why they have completely shut me out of their lives.

I guess this is going to be yet another part of my mourning process with this accident crap. Just another thing to have to get over. Yet, I have to say, I'm lonely without my friends. I miss them terribly. I see things or hear things that instinctively make me pick up my phone to tell them, only to remember that they aren't there anymore. What did I do?

I guess the point I am learning and making in this post is that we all should be thankful for our friends. They are a true blessing (even if sometimes they annoy you), and you will surely regret it if you lose them. I know this first hand. So celebrate them...if not for yourself then for me.

Lastly, an update on the path to the neurosurgeon. I went on May 6th to see the pain management clinic doctor--a very nice man--but I gotta say that he didn't make me feel at all comforted that I would be able to get better. So yes, in the end I was pretty hopeless that I was ever going to feel better.

The next step, according to this doctor, is for me to meet with a psychologist that specializes in pain management. Why, you ask? I haven't the slightest idea. In my mind this is a bogus step in the process that not only delays the possibility of me feeling better, but it's complete hokum. What the heck does a psychologist have to do with any of this? I mean, really. It's weird that I have to do this.

I really had hoped that this procedure would already be scheduled by now...perhaps taking place in the middle of June...but instead I have to wait to meet with this psychologist on June 8th to talk about God-knows-what. At this rate I am on track to have this procedure at the end of the year, if at all. Yes, it's awesome news, I know (as my keyboard drips with sarcasm).

At this point I am at a juxtaposition between being really lost, lonely, hopeless, and hopeful. It is, I admit, a difficult place to be. I don't know what else to do except keep on keeping on. Like Beyonce says in her song, Freedom: "Imma keep running 'cause a winner don't quit on themself". (Yes, the grammer is clearly bad, but it's powerful in the song) Until next time...

Strength

It's an interesting phenomena that the more active you are the better you tend to feel. Because when you feel like crap and are hurting or feel sick or whatever, the LAST thing you're interested in is getting out of bed to do anything.

On Saturday the 23rd, I walked the dog around the block...and yes it was at 5:15 am. I then crawled back into my bed and studied as hard as I could (with the usual interruptions of Facebook, email, and text messages of course!) until 3 pm. Then I dragged my butt out of bed, picked out jeans, a tank top, and a multi-colored sweatshirt (which I LOVE and got from the site www.greatergood.com. I HIGHLY recommend shopping there because it benefits different charities that you choose). I then took a nice, long shower followed by doing my make-up and my hair.

Now, bare in mind that this is something I rarely do and am in the process of changing. I want to get back to living a life where I spend the day in clothes in lieu of pajamas. I want to continue to challenge myself with respect to my physical activity levels getting better, and in turn, my body reaping the benefits of getting stronger. I want to recapture the motivation to stick to a schedule where I walk the dog every day (actually, that's not much of a choice considering he starts pawing at my bed anywhere between 4:45 and 5:15 am EVERY DAY), where I am helpful around the house, where I am more self-sufficient in living my life through keeping my room organized and clean, doing my own laundry, and making meals (because I really do love cooking).

I am also on a slow-moving path that (I hope) will lead to my receipt of a spinal implant that stops pain impulses from certain parts of my body to my brain. My appointment with my neurologist this past Thursday, the 28th, was a waste of time, and I will admit that I was feeling hopeless when I left. Yet, I know I am on the right path. On Friday, May 6th I have an appointment with CMMC's pain management clinic, and I was assured that these people would be able to refer me to a neurosurgeon who could do the implant. And in the big scheme of things, what's one more week after waiting 6.5 years when you think about it?

My point through all of this rambling is this: what I am really trying to tap into is my inner strength. I need it to be successful in any and all of the things I mentioned I wanted to change in my life. I am setting goals that I can accomplish, albeit they feel small to someone who is a natural overachiever. Still, I am focusing mostly on my inner strength because without it none of these things will be possible. I feel as though if I compare my inner strength to the beginning of 2016 there is a distinct difference. Back then I couldn't even imagine how to blaze a trail that could lead to a new life...but I can now, and that, in turn, helps make me stronger. The effects of this rebuilding my inner strength are seemingly cyclical to me...the stronger I get allows me to gain even more inner strength. Another interesting phenomenon.

So I will continue my insanely early walks with the dog, pushing myself to go farther and farther as my body will allow. I will continue to go to the YMCA and take water aerobics to help my body overcome the atrophy I have experienced as a result of being more or less bedridden (due to pain and mental illness which was exacerbated because I just couldn't take the monotony of life with such pain anymore). And I will certainly continue the medical path I am pursuing. In short, I can see that I will get internally stronger than I have been able to imagine these last 6+ traumatic years.

And although I know I will have setbacks and whatnot, I also know that the more I cultivate my inner strength, the better I will handle them...and that's something I really want to achieve.

Mourning and Mental Illness

For me, my constant mourning is for my old life, meaning the life I had almost 7 years ago (pre-9/29/09 to be exact) where I was young and free and physically and mentally able to take on anything thrown at me. For the last 6+ years I have been recovering from a near fatal car accident on that day. I broke my back which has led to many physical problems including learning to walk again, using the bathroom again, etc., and I received a TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury) which caused me to have to learn to read again, talk with limited vocabulary, and more. It's been a long time since I was "me" because of all the physical therapy, doctor appointments, constant battles with depression and anxiety, and my seemingly never-ending battle with nerve pain, among other things. I could go on, but you get it.

The point is that I am definitely mourning how my life used to be. Sure, it wasn't perfect, and I absolutely have a past that I am not so eager to remember...who doesn't? However, I was proud of who I was back then. I had achieved tremendous success professionally among many other things. I was close to all my friends and family and knew I was loved. In no way did I feel lost.

Yet here I am in April 2016, and I am so far away from the person I was I have a really hard time remembering what it was like to live that way. For example, I was into fashion and shoes. I looooved me some high heels. Yet when I got hurt, the possibility of ever wearing those types of shoes again was nil. And although I dream about wearing them almost every night, in my new life I shall never wear another pair of stilettos or anything with any sort of heel. Instead I now have a life that includes nothing but flats, and to be honest, I hate it...even though I will admit that I do have a cute collection of them.

I will say that my mourning has more than drained me mentally. I have been in and out of psych wards for a while, and I can't really remember anything for the last 2 years I was so mentally sick. I have been diagnosed with PTSD, severe depression, and anxiety. And even though I shouldn't be embarrassed by this fact, I most certainly am. Logically speaking, I know that there are some 70%+ people in the United States who have been diagnosed with some form of mental illness, so why do I feel that there is still such a stigma? I don't know, but it is certainly something I don't talk about to most anyone, including my friends.

My everyday reality is that I fight two major battles simultaneously: physical pain and mental illness. The last time I was (psychiatrically) hospitalized (Feb 2016) I promised my family and my doctor that I would dedicate myself to exploring and finding a solution to my life-sucking pain. Pain that is so bad at times that all I can do is scream whilst I lay in my bed from exhaustion. In fact, for years I have spent most of my days bedridden because I deal with this pain all the time. It's done awful things to me mentally, particularly with depression. I have tried to kill myself 7 times in the last year and a half (all overdoses) alone. And sometimes I am just so lost in my head that I can't express myself because there's too much to say and no words that can accurately capture it, so I just place a pillow over my head and hide. Yesterday was one of those days, actually.

It's not always like that though (the need to hide, I mean). Even though I still deal with constant pain all day every day, I have started to work on a vision for my future...something I wasn't sure I would ever be able to achieve. For example, I have re-enrolled in University of Phoenix so that I can finish the degree I started before this accident turned my world upside down. My first class back I got a 99 out of 100, so I am pretty proud of myself for that. I am hopeful that I can keep up the good work. It's not easy between the pain and days like yesterday, but I have somehow found the urge to continue on once again...a remnant of my old life and the old me that I am hoping will stick around.

Even though I have bad days, I am really trying hard to overcome my issues so that I can have a new life that I am happy with. I go to my neurologist on the 28th of April to start a discussion about an implant for my spine that apparently blocks the pain signals from my lower extremities (I'm crossing my fingers for that to go well). Right now I can't remember what it was like to not have pain that debilitates me, and when I do it seems like a dream.

I have started walking my dog myself (as opposed to my mom having to help me) at 5:15 am EVERY day (because he is ready to go whether I am still asleep or not), and I am trying to go further and further in my neighborhood each time we go. I hope to be able to make it around the block next week. Plus I joined the YMCA so that I could go to low impact water aerobics up to 5 times a week. I've only been once to the class so far, but it was great, and I felt great (albeit tired) afterward. I have a baby-step goal to attend at least twice a week and build up slowly to Monday through Friday.

In the end, I hope I can use this site to express how I feel, whether it be good or bad or just so-so. And I hope that some of you who relate to this will comment so that I can get and give support to others who have issues they deal with...especially those of you who are transitioning from an "old" life to a "new" one like I am, or perhaps have issues similar to mine. I look forward to sharing my journey with you.

One last thing...Women's Health magazine coming out for May has a segment about mental illness. Those of you who suffer from mental health issues (men or women) should check it out.