Sunday, October 5, 2014
Where Do Dogs Go When They Die?
It has been four weeks since I last wrote in this blog. I would like to write more regularly, not entirely certain that anyone would be interested in what I have to say. I write, none the less, for I find it therapeutic. It allows me to get my thoughts and especially my feelings out there on paper. I may see them, get in touch with them and feel them. The words express what I am feeling. It is often difficult for me to figure that out. In this way, I am better able to understand them. If I do not express myself, if I try to suppress them (these intense emotions), if I bury them too far for too long, they will either smother me, or rise one day, down the road and the hidden grief would drive me into infinite lunacy.
Having bipolar disorder, anyone who has it, or lives with someone who has it, knows that our emotions are intense. We cannot help it, it is the nature of the illness. We are intense complex individuals. The mood stabilizer I am on stabilizes my moods. It does its job, it does not allow me to feel the full weight of my emotions. Some people may argue that that is a good thing. But I often feel cheated!!! Especially when I face a trauma. I used to feel the full weight of my emotions straight away; good, bad, or indifferent, I knew what I felt and I felt it to my core.
It was sunny earlier today, cool, but sunny. Suddenly dark, black, ominous clouds completely blotted out the sun. They seemed to appear out of no where. The sky blue sky became many shades of grey. It looks like a storm is brewing. The trees are not swaying, there is no wind, but a downpour is on the horizon. The sun at this very moment, is in one portion of the sky, the south west hemisphere, and it is trying to peer through these massive clouds. Now the question becomes will it rain heavily or will the sun win and the clouds drift away? Will it rain as heavily as anticipated? Or will those clouds all disappear and the rain hold off until later tonight? Will it rain at all?
Thus far, there has only been some light drizzle, a few drops against the window pane, like the tears that sometimes well my eyes,as I sit writing this. I am aware that this reminds me of my current situation and my mood concerning Molly our dog.
Whether we have a mental illness or not, life's situations, and our emotions, reactions to these events are like this, the weather. Things can be going well and suddenly, out of a clear blue sky, a storm threatens and something traumatic happens. Lets say for example, you have to put your dog to sleep, as we had to yesterday. That is our current storm in our household. I, personally, have never had to put a dog down before.I did not know how I'd feel. I prepared for it, however. Or so I thought.
The storm hit me, my husband and my sister as she lives with us. And she is closest to the dog. But of the three of us, I was the only one who at first did not appear visibly shaken by it. What is wrong with me? Am I that callous? Did I not care for the dog at all? Where there should have been a fierce downpour, there had only been a light drizzle. A few tears and not much rain. I felt cheated as I said earlier because when we first did it, I felt numb. I did not react at first, as I thought I should have. Where a storm threatened and then struck, I experienced a gentle drizzle, just as it seemed outside. A fierce storm was imminent, but did not happen.
When traumas blind side us, or even when we brace ourselves for the impact, as I thought that I had, are we ever fully prepared for the variety of emotions that come with it? The emotions envelop you like those clouds, I spoke of earlier and they completely block out your sunshine. They take away your peace, jumble your emotions and your thoughts. For many of us, it is practically impossible to think straight under such enormous pressure
We all saw that our dog was suffering. She was partially blind and partially deaf and so arthritic, she was unable to stand properly or walk without losing her balance. We have had Molly our Sheltie for 15 1/2 years. As the owner I knew what is to happen. My dog will die that day but my dog doesn't know this, as I pet her, talk to her, not even certain she can hear me, I say my good byes holding back the tears and I leave her. I was not fully conscious of the fact that I would never see, or pat her again when I took my leave of her.
The night before, I thought that I would be able to take her there and to be with her when they put her to sleep, but in a moment of weakness, after I'd said my good byes the day she was scheduled to be injected, I asked that my husband take her. He understands he says. But does he? Does he know how he will feel? Because I sure as hell don't know how I feel and I cannot explain it,
When he returns from the vet's he is visibly crying. He cannot even speak. I cannot bear to see him cry.I hold him, his shoulders are shaking. "I didn't know it would affect me like that? he said. "I did" I answered as I held him in the doorway. Tears are in my eyes, but I am still not crying as I should.
Moments later, we sit alone together in the living room. He pours us a shot of 18 year old Scotch and we toast Molly. I feel numb.My husband is speaking and he proceeds to tell me "The vet said they would give Molly some ice cream, an injection, a pain killer, she will feel no pain, and within a minute her heart will stop and she'll be gone" he said. I hear him, I sit watching him from across the room, sipping my Scotch.
I feel the tears well in my eyes and the lump in my throat. I heard this voice screaming at me in my head (Not literally) "You should be with her, you should be with her, you callous bitch" and my husband continued, "They asked me if I wanted to stay while they did it?. "I told them No" he said. His voice sounded distant and far away. I could not hear him due to the other voice in my head telling me "Molly is alone, completely alone with strangers with whom she is about to die and neither of you are with her. Why aren't you with her Lynn-Marie? This isn't right. You coward. You'll regret this for the rest of your life." I told myself. I hung my head in shame and remorse. I said nothing. I never told him how I felt.
We were to go and meet our two granddaughters ages 4 and 2 for a sleep over just then, the three of us grateful for their visit. They were a welcome distraction. "The vet said they'd call when they had done it" he said. But they never called before we left, or after we returned. On route to meet the girls, I wanted to call the vet and see if they had done it and tell them to wait, I would come and be with Molly after all. But I didn't. Why didn't I go?
We were glad to have the girls overnight because their presence helped ease the pain a lot and kept our minds off of the fact the dog was no longer with us.We returned after meeting the girls to find Molly's empty feed and water bowls in the sink. My heart sank. I knew she was gone by now. I washed them quietly, Ian took them to the garage, the girls didn't ask about the dog, their mother had told them earlier that day that Molly got sick, died and went to heaven. I wasn't even certain if they knew what that meant, but if they asked any questions I would answer them as simply and honestly as I could.
Never to see Molly again, that reality never really hit me full force until this morning,upon waking to an empty hallway and not finding her by the back door waiting to be let out to pee, or fast asleep on the carpet. I resisted the urge to cry while my grands were here. It was only after my grandchildren went home with their parents this morning and my husband went to work, and I was alone that I thought of Molly and all of the years together since she was a pup. I never even realized how much I loved her or what she meant to me until then. My heart stopped, the breath caught in the back of my throat, the lump grew bigger, and the storm came, and when it came, it was a tsunami. What began as a drizzle, tear eyed turned quickly to a complete downpour. I sat in the wash room and I sobbed. No one saw me, no one heard me.
What I share with you is the fact that I did not deserve a dog like Molly. I took her for granted. My sister took better care of her, lavished her with more attention, was a much more avid animal lover and all around better human being than I am or ever will be. That is what hit me, that is what I confess here in this blog and that is what will forever haunt me. I will never have another dog, not only because I cannot put us all through that again, but mainly because I do not deserve to have one.
I felt GUILT, I felt ANGER and I felt SHAME for all that I have previously mentioned and that I did not remain with my dog when she took her last breath. I was there with my grandfather and my mother in law when each died, and yet, I could not hold my dog and watch a vet inject her and put her to sleep and have that dog, whom I have had since a pup die in my arms. I just could not do it.
When I finished sobbing, I returned to the living room to watch the sky once more. And like my mood and my situation, the fact the rain is imminent was clear. I knew from the pain in my legs and the emotional pain in my heart I'd experienced earlier regarding, my previously explained situation with Molly, that it is coming. It is and was only a question of time.
The sun and the clouds now are engaged in a scuffle. The clouds are becoming darker and the overshadowing the sun. The pain in my legs has intensified and so it will come soon. And when it does it will be a downpour and not a drizzle.But lo and behold, I look to the south west again and the clouds have turned from dark grey to fluffy white. Bright blue portions of sky are visible behind these clouds, and the grey ones are suddenly drifting away, becoming lighter and less intense. The dark grey clouds have been pierced by the sunlight and they too are breaking up and drifting away.
The sunlight is piercing through the front window pane and illuminating the entire living room. The beige sofa I sit upon lights up with a ray of sunshine and the warmth fills the room. It will rain today, but not yet. As I write this, hours later, the sun is gone now and the clouds are back full force. I have had my rainstorm of emotions my downpour regarding my dog. And now await a literal downpour here in my town.
I know one day, the sun will peer through those clouds regarding my grief, our grief with Molly. I know one day it won't hurt as much. I allowed myself to feel the full weight of my grief. I will find myself missing her, the grief will come in waves with little reminders. I will never forgive myself for not being with her or being a better owner. That is how I honestly feel. More guilt weighted upon that which already exists regarding the previous losses in my life, more regrets that I hadn't done things differently.. Saying good bye to Molly was by far more difficult than I had ever expected or imagined. I feel like I hadn't truly said good bye to her as I was not with her when she actually died as I should have been.
Having bipolar disorder, anyone who has it, or lives with someone who has it, knows that our emotions are intense. We cannot help it, it is the nature of the illness. We are intense complex individuals. The mood stabilizer I am on stabilizes my moods. It does its job, it does not allow me to feel the full weight of my emotions. Some people may argue that that is a good thing. But I often feel cheated!!! Especially when I face a trauma. I used to feel the full weight of my emotions straight away; good, bad, or indifferent, I knew what I felt and I felt it to my core.
It was sunny earlier today, cool, but sunny. Suddenly dark, black, ominous clouds completely blotted out the sun. They seemed to appear out of no where. The sky blue sky became many shades of grey. It looks like a storm is brewing. The trees are not swaying, there is no wind, but a downpour is on the horizon. The sun at this very moment, is in one portion of the sky, the south west hemisphere, and it is trying to peer through these massive clouds. Now the question becomes will it rain heavily or will the sun win and the clouds drift away? Will it rain as heavily as anticipated? Or will those clouds all disappear and the rain hold off until later tonight? Will it rain at all?
Thus far, there has only been some light drizzle, a few drops against the window pane, like the tears that sometimes well my eyes,as I sit writing this. I am aware that this reminds me of my current situation and my mood concerning Molly our dog.
Whether we have a mental illness or not, life's situations, and our emotions, reactions to these events are like this, the weather. Things can be going well and suddenly, out of a clear blue sky, a storm threatens and something traumatic happens. Lets say for example, you have to put your dog to sleep, as we had to yesterday. That is our current storm in our household. I, personally, have never had to put a dog down before.I did not know how I'd feel. I prepared for it, however. Or so I thought.
The storm hit me, my husband and my sister as she lives with us. And she is closest to the dog. But of the three of us, I was the only one who at first did not appear visibly shaken by it. What is wrong with me? Am I that callous? Did I not care for the dog at all? Where there should have been a fierce downpour, there had only been a light drizzle. A few tears and not much rain. I felt cheated as I said earlier because when we first did it, I felt numb. I did not react at first, as I thought I should have. Where a storm threatened and then struck, I experienced a gentle drizzle, just as it seemed outside. A fierce storm was imminent, but did not happen.
When traumas blind side us, or even when we brace ourselves for the impact, as I thought that I had, are we ever fully prepared for the variety of emotions that come with it? The emotions envelop you like those clouds, I spoke of earlier and they completely block out your sunshine. They take away your peace, jumble your emotions and your thoughts. For many of us, it is practically impossible to think straight under such enormous pressure
We all saw that our dog was suffering. She was partially blind and partially deaf and so arthritic, she was unable to stand properly or walk without losing her balance. We have had Molly our Sheltie for 15 1/2 years. As the owner I knew what is to happen. My dog will die that day but my dog doesn't know this, as I pet her, talk to her, not even certain she can hear me, I say my good byes holding back the tears and I leave her. I was not fully conscious of the fact that I would never see, or pat her again when I took my leave of her.
The night before, I thought that I would be able to take her there and to be with her when they put her to sleep, but in a moment of weakness, after I'd said my good byes the day she was scheduled to be injected, I asked that my husband take her. He understands he says. But does he? Does he know how he will feel? Because I sure as hell don't know how I feel and I cannot explain it,
When he returns from the vet's he is visibly crying. He cannot even speak. I cannot bear to see him cry.I hold him, his shoulders are shaking. "I didn't know it would affect me like that? he said. "I did" I answered as I held him in the doorway. Tears are in my eyes, but I am still not crying as I should.
Moments later, we sit alone together in the living room. He pours us a shot of 18 year old Scotch and we toast Molly. I feel numb.My husband is speaking and he proceeds to tell me "The vet said they would give Molly some ice cream, an injection, a pain killer, she will feel no pain, and within a minute her heart will stop and she'll be gone" he said. I hear him, I sit watching him from across the room, sipping my Scotch.
I feel the tears well in my eyes and the lump in my throat. I heard this voice screaming at me in my head (Not literally) "You should be with her, you should be with her, you callous bitch" and my husband continued, "They asked me if I wanted to stay while they did it?. "I told them No" he said. His voice sounded distant and far away. I could not hear him due to the other voice in my head telling me "Molly is alone, completely alone with strangers with whom she is about to die and neither of you are with her. Why aren't you with her Lynn-Marie? This isn't right. You coward. You'll regret this for the rest of your life." I told myself. I hung my head in shame and remorse. I said nothing. I never told him how I felt.
We were to go and meet our two granddaughters ages 4 and 2 for a sleep over just then, the three of us grateful for their visit. They were a welcome distraction. "The vet said they'd call when they had done it" he said. But they never called before we left, or after we returned. On route to meet the girls, I wanted to call the vet and see if they had done it and tell them to wait, I would come and be with Molly after all. But I didn't. Why didn't I go?
We were glad to have the girls overnight because their presence helped ease the pain a lot and kept our minds off of the fact the dog was no longer with us.We returned after meeting the girls to find Molly's empty feed and water bowls in the sink. My heart sank. I knew she was gone by now. I washed them quietly, Ian took them to the garage, the girls didn't ask about the dog, their mother had told them earlier that day that Molly got sick, died and went to heaven. I wasn't even certain if they knew what that meant, but if they asked any questions I would answer them as simply and honestly as I could.
Never to see Molly again, that reality never really hit me full force until this morning,upon waking to an empty hallway and not finding her by the back door waiting to be let out to pee, or fast asleep on the carpet. I resisted the urge to cry while my grands were here. It was only after my grandchildren went home with their parents this morning and my husband went to work, and I was alone that I thought of Molly and all of the years together since she was a pup. I never even realized how much I loved her or what she meant to me until then. My heart stopped, the breath caught in the back of my throat, the lump grew bigger, and the storm came, and when it came, it was a tsunami. What began as a drizzle, tear eyed turned quickly to a complete downpour. I sat in the wash room and I sobbed. No one saw me, no one heard me.
What I share with you is the fact that I did not deserve a dog like Molly. I took her for granted. My sister took better care of her, lavished her with more attention, was a much more avid animal lover and all around better human being than I am or ever will be. That is what hit me, that is what I confess here in this blog and that is what will forever haunt me. I will never have another dog, not only because I cannot put us all through that again, but mainly because I do not deserve to have one.
I felt GUILT, I felt ANGER and I felt SHAME for all that I have previously mentioned and that I did not remain with my dog when she took her last breath. I was there with my grandfather and my mother in law when each died, and yet, I could not hold my dog and watch a vet inject her and put her to sleep and have that dog, whom I have had since a pup die in my arms. I just could not do it.
When I finished sobbing, I returned to the living room to watch the sky once more. And like my mood and my situation, the fact the rain is imminent was clear. I knew from the pain in my legs and the emotional pain in my heart I'd experienced earlier regarding, my previously explained situation with Molly, that it is coming. It is and was only a question of time.
The sun and the clouds now are engaged in a scuffle. The clouds are becoming darker and the overshadowing the sun. The pain in my legs has intensified and so it will come soon. And when it does it will be a downpour and not a drizzle.But lo and behold, I look to the south west again and the clouds have turned from dark grey to fluffy white. Bright blue portions of sky are visible behind these clouds, and the grey ones are suddenly drifting away, becoming lighter and less intense. The dark grey clouds have been pierced by the sunlight and they too are breaking up and drifting away.
The sunlight is piercing through the front window pane and illuminating the entire living room. The beige sofa I sit upon lights up with a ray of sunshine and the warmth fills the room. It will rain today, but not yet. As I write this, hours later, the sun is gone now and the clouds are back full force. I have had my rainstorm of emotions my downpour regarding my dog. And now await a literal downpour here in my town.
I know one day, the sun will peer through those clouds regarding my grief, our grief with Molly. I know one day it won't hurt as much. I allowed myself to feel the full weight of my grief. I will find myself missing her, the grief will come in waves with little reminders. I will never forgive myself for not being with her or being a better owner. That is how I honestly feel. More guilt weighted upon that which already exists regarding the previous losses in my life, more regrets that I hadn't done things differently.. Saying good bye to Molly was by far more difficult than I had ever expected or imagined. I feel like I hadn't truly said good bye to her as I was not with her when she actually died as I should have been.
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Well meaning friends.
September 6th, 2014
The other day I had commented on my personal Facebook page how I was a bit depressed due to the fact that my eldest two granddaughters were beginning junior kindergarten and I would not be minding them regularly any more. I realized how quickly they had grown up and this rite of passage though expected had come too soon. I felt I was entitled to my feelings. I thought it was normal for parents and grandparents to feel that way. I even stated I felt mildly depressed. I thought it was a common feeling whether one suffered from a mental illness or not. Was I depressed, or just feeling sad? The word "depression" stirs up a lot of confusion even with those who battle it daily and to various degrees. And with the sudden suicide of actor Robin Williams due to chronic depression, the mere mention of that word throws people into a tizzy.
I received a private message from a well meaning friend who herself battled crippling depression for many years. She stated that she was sorry to hear that I felt that way, that she thought "I was over that" meaning my bouts of depression. She suggested I should focus on my loved ones, and how there is so much suffering in the world. How should one interpret any of this?
This floored me. How could one innocent comment be so misconstrued? How do I respond to this? Firstly, I took a deep breath and remembered that I knew this person for a long time. I knew many intimate details of her life. I knew that she meant well, so I did not respond straight away with a knee jerk reaction. I let her know that I knew she meant well, but that bipolar was not something "one gets over." It is incurable but can be controlled with the right treatment. Secondly, I pointed out that I had indicated in my original post that I was mildly depressed.
I suppose now in hindsight I was, but perhaps I was also a little sad. Can I be depressed and sad too? Had I used the wrong word to describe how I felt? If so, it would not be the first time and it certainly will not be the last. I have always had trouble identifying my emotions. It took me years to be able to express them verbally.
I immediately felt misunderstood, judged, and was rattled by this response from my well meaning friend. I felt my feelings were discounted and my situation was not important. It did not help when she proceeded to tell me how she had pulled herself out of her almost lifelong depression for the sake of her grandchildren. Which implied that I ought to be able to do the same thing without her coming out and saying it. Whereas, I have to take medication to battle my demons and stabilize my moods. For me, there is no other option. But this was not a debilitating depression I was experiencing.I even said so. Why all the fuss? Perhaps I was not depressed at all. I had merely used the wrong word to express my emotions.
Her comment made me feel as though my will was not as strong as hers was. Does this mean that I am weaker by nature, I have a character flaw, or that my faith is not strong enough? Not by a long shot.It means I have bipolar disorder and she does not. I have been struggling with this disorder for twenty five years. I have good days and bad days. But there are different forms of bipolar. And there are various types and degrees of depression. Though my disorder is diagnosed as Bipolar I with psychosis, for me, I have experienced more mania than depression. I have not had a psychotic episode in 17 years.
The medication I am taking, and thankfully I only need one drug, has kept me stable for the last fourteen years. The one I was on for three years previously also managed my disorder until I had a toxic reaction to it. I can only pray this current medication continues to work for me. It also has side effects as all drugs do and I have gained a lot of weight. But my sanity is far more important to me than vanity. I have long since stopped dyeing my hair, or wearing make up, but no matter what I do or don't do, there is somebody who is going to judge me for it.
I also think a former toxic relationship had been a major trigger for me and since severing that relationship, I have not experienced any more psychosis. I have learned new coping skills, I monitor my stress level, I have learned to set boundaries, I see my pdoc regularly and I take my medication, I have a strong support group. I manage a public mental health page and a closed support group. My husband, children and grandchildren are my nearest and dearest family, they bring me so much light, and love and laughter. I do focus on my family, but I also help those who walk the same path I walked and continue to walk.. I have goals. I lead a full life. This works for me. I don't share this expecting others to think what worked for me will work for them. If it were not for my faith in God, my resilience, my determination to control this disorder and not allow it to control me, I would still be fumbling in the dark.
I reached a state of normalcy back in 1997. Since such time, I have come a very long way in my recovery. When I say recovery, it does not mean that I am cured. For as previously mentioned there is no cure. But just because I have an off day every once in a while, is no reason for friends and family to think I have jumped off of the deep end. I know when I am in need of help. And when I do I will ask for it.
During this long road from the onset of my illness in 1989 to 1997 when I last experienced a hospitalization, I became aware of the symptoms and on two occasions in between had the courage to seek professional help when necessary and alert family members as to my state of mind, and call when I am in need of a ride to the hospital, I have checked myself in more than once. In my case, I am acutely aware when I lose my mind, and seek others to help me find it. Some people don't remember there experiences whilst psychotic, I do, and I believe I was meant to remember in order to do what I do.
It hurts when I am not allowed to express the same reactions other people would normally feel under the same circumstances. If not for my medication which stabilizes my moods, I would feel the full weight of my emotions which at times can be debilitating. So if I were not on medication and "thought of the suffering in the world" as my well meaning friend suggested, I would most assuredly be so weighed down by the weight of such grief, I would not be able to function.
The other day I had commented on my personal Facebook page how I was a bit depressed due to the fact that my eldest two granddaughters were beginning junior kindergarten and I would not be minding them regularly any more. I realized how quickly they had grown up and this rite of passage though expected had come too soon. I felt I was entitled to my feelings. I thought it was normal for parents and grandparents to feel that way. I even stated I felt mildly depressed. I thought it was a common feeling whether one suffered from a mental illness or not. Was I depressed, or just feeling sad? The word "depression" stirs up a lot of confusion even with those who battle it daily and to various degrees. And with the sudden suicide of actor Robin Williams due to chronic depression, the mere mention of that word throws people into a tizzy.
I received a private message from a well meaning friend who herself battled crippling depression for many years. She stated that she was sorry to hear that I felt that way, that she thought "I was over that" meaning my bouts of depression. She suggested I should focus on my loved ones, and how there is so much suffering in the world. How should one interpret any of this?
This floored me. How could one innocent comment be so misconstrued? How do I respond to this? Firstly, I took a deep breath and remembered that I knew this person for a long time. I knew many intimate details of her life. I knew that she meant well, so I did not respond straight away with a knee jerk reaction. I let her know that I knew she meant well, but that bipolar was not something "one gets over." It is incurable but can be controlled with the right treatment. Secondly, I pointed out that I had indicated in my original post that I was mildly depressed.
I suppose now in hindsight I was, but perhaps I was also a little sad. Can I be depressed and sad too? Had I used the wrong word to describe how I felt? If so, it would not be the first time and it certainly will not be the last. I have always had trouble identifying my emotions. It took me years to be able to express them verbally.
I immediately felt misunderstood, judged, and was rattled by this response from my well meaning friend. I felt my feelings were discounted and my situation was not important. It did not help when she proceeded to tell me how she had pulled herself out of her almost lifelong depression for the sake of her grandchildren. Which implied that I ought to be able to do the same thing without her coming out and saying it. Whereas, I have to take medication to battle my demons and stabilize my moods. For me, there is no other option. But this was not a debilitating depression I was experiencing.I even said so. Why all the fuss? Perhaps I was not depressed at all. I had merely used the wrong word to express my emotions.
Her comment made me feel as though my will was not as strong as hers was. Does this mean that I am weaker by nature, I have a character flaw, or that my faith is not strong enough? Not by a long shot.It means I have bipolar disorder and she does not. I have been struggling with this disorder for twenty five years. I have good days and bad days. But there are different forms of bipolar. And there are various types and degrees of depression. Though my disorder is diagnosed as Bipolar I with psychosis, for me, I have experienced more mania than depression. I have not had a psychotic episode in 17 years.
The medication I am taking, and thankfully I only need one drug, has kept me stable for the last fourteen years. The one I was on for three years previously also managed my disorder until I had a toxic reaction to it. I can only pray this current medication continues to work for me. It also has side effects as all drugs do and I have gained a lot of weight. But my sanity is far more important to me than vanity. I have long since stopped dyeing my hair, or wearing make up, but no matter what I do or don't do, there is somebody who is going to judge me for it.
I also think a former toxic relationship had been a major trigger for me and since severing that relationship, I have not experienced any more psychosis. I have learned new coping skills, I monitor my stress level, I have learned to set boundaries, I see my pdoc regularly and I take my medication, I have a strong support group. I manage a public mental health page and a closed support group. My husband, children and grandchildren are my nearest and dearest family, they bring me so much light, and love and laughter. I do focus on my family, but I also help those who walk the same path I walked and continue to walk.. I have goals. I lead a full life. This works for me. I don't share this expecting others to think what worked for me will work for them. If it were not for my faith in God, my resilience, my determination to control this disorder and not allow it to control me, I would still be fumbling in the dark.
I reached a state of normalcy back in 1997. Since such time, I have come a very long way in my recovery. When I say recovery, it does not mean that I am cured. For as previously mentioned there is no cure. But just because I have an off day every once in a while, is no reason for friends and family to think I have jumped off of the deep end. I know when I am in need of help. And when I do I will ask for it.
During this long road from the onset of my illness in 1989 to 1997 when I last experienced a hospitalization, I became aware of the symptoms and on two occasions in between had the courage to seek professional help when necessary and alert family members as to my state of mind, and call when I am in need of a ride to the hospital, I have checked myself in more than once. In my case, I am acutely aware when I lose my mind, and seek others to help me find it. Some people don't remember there experiences whilst psychotic, I do, and I believe I was meant to remember in order to do what I do.
It hurts when I am not allowed to express the same reactions other people would normally feel under the same circumstances. If not for my medication which stabilizes my moods, I would feel the full weight of my emotions which at times can be debilitating. So if I were not on medication and "thought of the suffering in the world" as my well meaning friend suggested, I would most assuredly be so weighed down by the weight of such grief, I would not be able to function.
Friday, September 5, 2014
"One door closed and another opened."
September 4, 2014
It has been a long time since I have written here. So much has happened these past nine months since the death of my friend and co partner Tracey Lynn Barfield. When Tracey Lynn first died suddenly in January of this year, I felt as though I had lost an engine, or as a bird with a broken wing and was spiralling out of control. I could not think straight and all I could feel was the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach as though falling at a breakneck speed and unable to get my bearings. I wondered how I would possibly manage without her help. The mental health pages had already grown since forming them the year before. I knew I could not manage them alone. My first thought was shutting them down, but quickly thought how many people came to depend on us and the numbers just kept growing. I thought also of mine and Tracey Lynn's vision and I realized she would want me to continue with both. It took me a while to get my bearings and back on track. But I did not do this alone.
In the beginning, when she first died, two friends quickly volunteered to help who are members of the closed group. Things happen that force change and in hindsight have a way of working out for the best. I am now back to managing things by myself as I had before I ever met Tracey Lynn. Not a day passes that I don't think of her and miss her.
I realize I am only one person and managing a public page, a support group and a blog all by myself is a lot to take on. Though I post regularly on our public page and am often in group, I don't write in our blog regularly as I would like to.
In mid March, the day after my birthday, a friend I had not seen in over 24 years contacted me on Facebook. The first sentence of her greeting was introducing herself and asking if I remembered her. I responded that I could never forget the only woman outside of my immediate family who ever openly told me to my face that she loved me.
She said it was time she found me. I was so pleased to hear from her. As we chatted we both discovered that each had Bipolar disorder I and that we both shared a deep spirituality. She was not aware that I founded a mental health site or support group when she contacted me. She had no idea that I was mentally ill. She had no recollection of ever visiting me in the psychiatric ward at the onset of my illness, due to her memory losses from her ECT treatments. But I know she did visit as I found a record of it in my journal. I could state precisely when she visited. I was not properly diagnosed then 25 years ago. It took two more psychotic breaks before the doctors correctly determined what was wrong with me.
When she visited me in hospital, I did not know she would later endure hardships I could not even begin to imagine. We had grown apart each living a separate life. When she suggested that had I known then what I know now, or she of me and my illness, we would have been able to understand one another and each have one person to talk to who got it. But I told her that had we still been friends and going through our personal struggles we may not have been of much help to the other, we barely had enough strength to sustain ourselves. How do two drowning people help one another without outside help? We both had to endure the trials we had and fate brought us back together at this time because we are meant to be together now. We are now so much closer than before. We discuss things we never dreamed of talking about before.
It takes a long time to catch up on a thirty year absence. My friend and I had and continue to have a lot to discuss. My husband and I went on vacation this July and flew out to Manitoba to see her. We spent a week together. I had a much needed rest and break from everything. Before we left, I ensured she knew how to use SKYPE and we now chat regularly.
I think of the many connections in my life, those I have loved and lost and the way I lost Tracey Lynn at the beginning of this year only to have another friend I cherished walk gently and unexpectedly back into my life. It truly made the expression |"As a door closes a window opens" come true. I wonder sometimes if Tracey Lynn whispered in my friend's ear to contact me. If so, I could not have asked for a better birthday present.
It has been a long time since I have written here. So much has happened these past nine months since the death of my friend and co partner Tracey Lynn Barfield. When Tracey Lynn first died suddenly in January of this year, I felt as though I had lost an engine, or as a bird with a broken wing and was spiralling out of control. I could not think straight and all I could feel was the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach as though falling at a breakneck speed and unable to get my bearings. I wondered how I would possibly manage without her help. The mental health pages had already grown since forming them the year before. I knew I could not manage them alone. My first thought was shutting them down, but quickly thought how many people came to depend on us and the numbers just kept growing. I thought also of mine and Tracey Lynn's vision and I realized she would want me to continue with both. It took me a while to get my bearings and back on track. But I did not do this alone.
In the beginning, when she first died, two friends quickly volunteered to help who are members of the closed group. Things happen that force change and in hindsight have a way of working out for the best. I am now back to managing things by myself as I had before I ever met Tracey Lynn. Not a day passes that I don't think of her and miss her.
I realize I am only one person and managing a public page, a support group and a blog all by myself is a lot to take on. Though I post regularly on our public page and am often in group, I don't write in our blog regularly as I would like to.
In mid March, the day after my birthday, a friend I had not seen in over 24 years contacted me on Facebook. The first sentence of her greeting was introducing herself and asking if I remembered her. I responded that I could never forget the only woman outside of my immediate family who ever openly told me to my face that she loved me.
She said it was time she found me. I was so pleased to hear from her. As we chatted we both discovered that each had Bipolar disorder I and that we both shared a deep spirituality. She was not aware that I founded a mental health site or support group when she contacted me. She had no idea that I was mentally ill. She had no recollection of ever visiting me in the psychiatric ward at the onset of my illness, due to her memory losses from her ECT treatments. But I know she did visit as I found a record of it in my journal. I could state precisely when she visited. I was not properly diagnosed then 25 years ago. It took two more psychotic breaks before the doctors correctly determined what was wrong with me.
When she visited me in hospital, I did not know she would later endure hardships I could not even begin to imagine. We had grown apart each living a separate life. When she suggested that had I known then what I know now, or she of me and my illness, we would have been able to understand one another and each have one person to talk to who got it. But I told her that had we still been friends and going through our personal struggles we may not have been of much help to the other, we barely had enough strength to sustain ourselves. How do two drowning people help one another without outside help? We both had to endure the trials we had and fate brought us back together at this time because we are meant to be together now. We are now so much closer than before. We discuss things we never dreamed of talking about before.
It takes a long time to catch up on a thirty year absence. My friend and I had and continue to have a lot to discuss. My husband and I went on vacation this July and flew out to Manitoba to see her. We spent a week together. I had a much needed rest and break from everything. Before we left, I ensured she knew how to use SKYPE and we now chat regularly.
I think of the many connections in my life, those I have loved and lost and the way I lost Tracey Lynn at the beginning of this year only to have another friend I cherished walk gently and unexpectedly back into my life. It truly made the expression |"As a door closes a window opens" come true. I wonder sometimes if Tracey Lynn whispered in my friend's ear to contact me. If so, I could not have asked for a better birthday present.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Facing our fears together.
"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage" Anais Nin.
Since beginning our main page Living With Bipolar Disorder and the Living with Bipolar Disorder Closed Group in 2012, I don't think there has been a darker period than this past week and a half. Dealing with the death of my friend and co partner Tracey Lynn has effected so many people within the group. We share the loss and grief, collectively and individually.
I had forgotten what it was like to manage the page and group without her input. It is hard to accept that I won't have her at my side as I continue the journey without her. Though I know I carry her with me always, I feel her presence at times, it has been hard to cope with the needs of so many and not be able to discuss matters with her.
I am fortunate to have the love, friendship and support of two other women in group who have taken on the responsibility of administrators in helping me with the page and group. If not for them, I don't know how I would have managed this past week. I have had to delegate, as the group has become larger than Tracey Lynn and I ever imagined.
Our group is not about numbers, or popularity, or solely posting feel good posters, or jokes, or articles pertaining strictly to bipolar. As there are so many members with overlapping disorders, we feel the need to share information regarding other disorders too on the main page. The private group is not about platitudes. It is not about throwing sunshine and rainbows all over the place, and overemphasizing the importance of a positive attitude and faith alone.
It is about facing the darkness and fighting our demons together. Though faith and a positive attitude are important and I believe necessary for our recovery, and I am a strong advocate for both and practice such myself, I cannot disregard someones feelings or negate their pain and suffering when they desperately need help and I know how they feel. It is about sitting with someone in their suffering who needs to vent, chat or know that you are listening and you honestly care about their well being, enough to extend an ear, a helping hand or point them to professional help if they are in crisis.
My point is, people come to group in different stages of their journey with bipolar disorder, some are newly diagnosed, lost, frightened, confused, feeling unimaginable shame, pain, and sadness. They need to know we are here, we understand and are willing to help them cope with what they are going through. They need to know that they are not alone. We steer them toward getting professional treatment, as in the group we can only offer so much emotional help. Some members have had the disorder for years like me. Some are in recovery and stable as I am. I have not been hospitalized in 18 years and realizing that toxic relationships help drive us over that edge, is part of our recovery. Some are med compliant, others feel they can cope without meds.
We have to learn to root out toxicity from others and from within ourselves, but also learn to cope better with it when it arrives on our doorstep. We cannot run away whenever there is a problem. We cannot recover until we face our fears, let go of the grief, the sadness and all of the weight holding us down.
Tracey Lynn and myself, as well as several of our members are Christians with an abiding love of God and respect of persons no matter their faith. Our group believes in the power of prayer and unconditional love, it is welcomed and encouraged there. Though I generally pray in my faith, others are welcome to pray in whatever faith they follow, and if they don't have a particular faith, or don't believe in prayer, they may offer love and light. We make it abundantly clear that we do not discriminate for any reason.
Having bipolar disorder myself for the last twenty five years, I have to monitor my stress level, take my medication, see my therapist regularly. I am fortunate to have the support of family and friends who accept me as I am, imperfections and all. I am blessed to have the group who support me and one another. It is what Tracey Lynn and I envisioned it to be and so much more. If anyone reads this kindly keep us in prayer.
Love and Prayers
Lynn-Marie.
Since beginning our main page Living With Bipolar Disorder and the Living with Bipolar Disorder Closed Group in 2012, I don't think there has been a darker period than this past week and a half. Dealing with the death of my friend and co partner Tracey Lynn has effected so many people within the group. We share the loss and grief, collectively and individually.
I had forgotten what it was like to manage the page and group without her input. It is hard to accept that I won't have her at my side as I continue the journey without her. Though I know I carry her with me always, I feel her presence at times, it has been hard to cope with the needs of so many and not be able to discuss matters with her.
I am fortunate to have the love, friendship and support of two other women in group who have taken on the responsibility of administrators in helping me with the page and group. If not for them, I don't know how I would have managed this past week. I have had to delegate, as the group has become larger than Tracey Lynn and I ever imagined.
Our group is not about numbers, or popularity, or solely posting feel good posters, or jokes, or articles pertaining strictly to bipolar. As there are so many members with overlapping disorders, we feel the need to share information regarding other disorders too on the main page. The private group is not about platitudes. It is not about throwing sunshine and rainbows all over the place, and overemphasizing the importance of a positive attitude and faith alone.
It is about facing the darkness and fighting our demons together. Though faith and a positive attitude are important and I believe necessary for our recovery, and I am a strong advocate for both and practice such myself, I cannot disregard someones feelings or negate their pain and suffering when they desperately need help and I know how they feel. It is about sitting with someone in their suffering who needs to vent, chat or know that you are listening and you honestly care about their well being, enough to extend an ear, a helping hand or point them to professional help if they are in crisis.
My point is, people come to group in different stages of their journey with bipolar disorder, some are newly diagnosed, lost, frightened, confused, feeling unimaginable shame, pain, and sadness. They need to know we are here, we understand and are willing to help them cope with what they are going through. They need to know that they are not alone. We steer them toward getting professional treatment, as in the group we can only offer so much emotional help. Some members have had the disorder for years like me. Some are in recovery and stable as I am. I have not been hospitalized in 18 years and realizing that toxic relationships help drive us over that edge, is part of our recovery. Some are med compliant, others feel they can cope without meds.
We have to learn to root out toxicity from others and from within ourselves, but also learn to cope better with it when it arrives on our doorstep. We cannot run away whenever there is a problem. We cannot recover until we face our fears, let go of the grief, the sadness and all of the weight holding us down.
Tracey Lynn and myself, as well as several of our members are Christians with an abiding love of God and respect of persons no matter their faith. Our group believes in the power of prayer and unconditional love, it is welcomed and encouraged there. Though I generally pray in my faith, others are welcome to pray in whatever faith they follow, and if they don't have a particular faith, or don't believe in prayer, they may offer love and light. We make it abundantly clear that we do not discriminate for any reason.
Having bipolar disorder myself for the last twenty five years, I have to monitor my stress level, take my medication, see my therapist regularly. I am fortunate to have the support of family and friends who accept me as I am, imperfections and all. I am blessed to have the group who support me and one another. It is what Tracey Lynn and I envisioned it to be and so much more. If anyone reads this kindly keep us in prayer.
Love and Prayers
Lynn-Marie.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
No one can Walk this Path Alone.
No one can
walk this path alone. Regardless, of what our personal beliefs are, we gather
in one spirit to light our paths. We come to the Supreme Creator of all persons
with open hearts, open minds and good intentions. May all present here be
blessed, guided, sustained, and protected. May our needs both individually and
collectively be met. When darkness falls, may we find the light to guide our
way. May we find the strength to carry our burdens with dignity and grace, and if
the burden prove to be too much, to be blessed with loving hearts and hands to
help lessen our loads. When we feel most frightened and alone may we receive
gentle reminders that we are not alone, may we remember these candles, each
member of this group, and be reminded that we are not alone. May we find joy,
love, light, laughter, comfort, peace and sanctity in our interactions with
others, and with one another and most especially with those near and dear to
our hearts; and may this group and each member be blessed in numerous and immeasurable
ways. May we endeavour to trust, support, protect and continually love each
other and may we find the grace to forgive one another in moments of anger,
despair, when things are not going according to plan, when one of us is trying
to adjust to a crisis or a difficult situation.
Remember always the fragility of the human psyche and the enduring strength
of the human spirit. I wish you love, fortitude, gratitude, and grace. As a
Christian, I end my prayer in Jesus name. Amen.
Lynn-Marie.
Danish philosopher and theologian Soren Kierkegaard wisely said: “Life
is not a problem to be solved but a mystery to be lived.” Many years later I
read a maxim by Oscar Wilde “The final mystery is oneself.” It is a mystery why
you and I have been afflicted with this troubling disease (bipolar depression).
Perhaps, you too, once asked yourself “Why me and not the other members of our
families?” Perhaps, you also felt that it was some sort of a curse, or a
punishment for past sins. In the beginning, when I had lost my mind completely
for the first time in June of 1989, I felt what seemed to be an inner battle
for both my soul and my mind. I felt, tasted and breathed a fear that I had
never known before. I felt such shame in accepting the fact that I was
“troubled in mind.” I felt certain that I had a broken brain as well as a
broken heart. I did not know where to turn with that pain and for the better
part of my life, I internalized it.
There
was then, and sadly still is, such a stigma attached to mental illness. I had
the feeling that everyone was looking at me differently and strangers would
know that I was “different.” I believed that people would treat me differently
if they knew. Perhaps they would love and respect me less. I could not talk
about it. I would not talk about it.
I did not know what had happened to me, or why, but I could not
forget the experience. The only thing I knew for certain was that none of my
family, not my husband, or our children, our families or our friends, as much
as they loved and supported me, could possibly know nor understand what I was
going through. They recognized that something was seriously wrong with me.
Hell, I knew something was wrong with me. But they did not know how to help me
and their immediate response seemed to be “She’s broken, fix her.”
None
of them could feel my pain, share my shame, or touch my fear. Embracing that
fear was the most difficult thing for me to do. I was not certain if it was my
own fear, or the fear that I read in so many other peoples’ faces strangers and
loved ones that bothered me more.
For the first time in my life, I surrendered completely to God who I
desperately needed to take control of my situation and my life. I needed help
to endure this trial. I had to trust that He would see me through. I had never
felt closer to God than I did when I first became ill. It seemed that He was
the only person who really heard me. It was the second time in my life that I
became acutely aware of His presence, the first was when my mother had tried to
kill herself when I was nineteen years old and I had found her sprawled on the
upstairs hall floor in October of 1976 after she had overdosed on a bottle of
sleeping pills. But this was the first time that I personally trusted God
enough to help me personally. Perhaps that was part of the problem; I could not
completely TRUST anyone.
I
recognized that I had fallen apart like Humpty Dumpty and wondered if I would
ever gather the fragments of my former self together and be normal again. The
truth is that I am not normal, I never was, and I knew it. But how does society
define normal? We are all wounded and broken in various ways and to different
degrees.
Ernest Hemingway had written about being “strong at the broken places” and
others have said that there are within each of us wounds that only God may
touch. Mine was a wound, or a succession of wounds, so deep, I myself, did not
know the depth of that pain. We also hurt and we heal by various degrees.
Several years later, after my open heart surgery at aged thirty eight to repair
a hole in my heart, my friend and ex-teacher Angie told me that sometimes the
healing process hurts far more than the original wound. And she was right. This
is a truth which can be applied to spiritual, psychological and emotional
wounds as well. They are long painful healing processes that do not occur
overnight.
Our
lives circumstances and our personalities make us very different people. We
each have our individual coping mechanisms. I do not know you and you do not
know me, but I share your pain-I know it well. I have been where you are now
and lived with my disorder for many years. Every day is a constant struggle
when you are mentally ill.
Galileo had said “We cannot teach a man anything, we can only help him to
discover it within himself.” What helped me may not necessarily help you. The
drugs that worked for me may not work for you. It will take years of various
medications and a long succession of doctors until you find the proper
combination that works best for you.
The
first step in my own recovery was learning all that I could about this disease.
It helped that my husband Ian was willing to learn all he could about it too,
in an effort to understand what I was going through and what he should expect.
I then learned to accept it. Knowing that it is incurable, hereditary
but that it could be controlled, gave me the hope and reassurance that I would
not be lost in this darkness forever.
I then found a doctor whom I felt comfortable with and finally a
medication that worked for me. This process did not happen overnight. It took
me over nine years and three more psychotic breakdowns before it was under
control. In the meantime, I deepened my spiritually and strengthened my
relationships with my loved ones and with God. I read numerous books that
helped me, one in particular by a psychiatrist Dr. Kay Redfield Jamison who is
herself, bipolar since the age of seventeen. Her book “An Unquiet Mind” totally
changed my life and gave me the courage to go back to school part-time in
September 2002 to work on my English Literature degree.
When
reading the epilogue of Jamison’s book, I cried uncontrollably because for the
first time since developing this disorder, someone described precisely how I
felt and what I experienced with brutal honesty and raw emotion. She spoke as a
patient and a fellow traveler on a long and arduous journey rather than as a
doctor using medical jargon that I may or may not understand. Her approach was
emphatic and compassionate rather than cold and clinical. She spoke from human
experience rather than from a clinical perspective. She shared the pilgrimage
with me and knew the darkness, both the highs and the lows. She did not let her
illness define her, and from then on, neither would I.
I
too, had several things in my favour. I have a huge loving and supportive
family including my in-laws, good friends and intense faith in a higher power
and a strong sense of humour. Sadly, as I witnessed for myself during my
hospitalizations, many patients, coping with mental illness do not have these
blessings.
Please understand that although most of my family does accept that I have this
disorder not everyone in my family and not all of my friends understand nor
want to understand this illness. Many of them view it as a character flaw, a
weakness, or a blemish on the family history. Many do not want to deal with the
issue and therefore, will not talk about it. In many cases, I think it is
because it frightens them and the possibility that it could happen to any one
of them; or to future generations is an abject reality they simply cannot or
will not face. T. S. Eliot had said, “Human kind cannot bear very much reality”
and he was right.
If I
had cancer, heart disease or any other physical disease they would be far more
tolerant and understanding, but mental illness is generally viewed as a
psychological disorder and the biological component is seldom addressed. It is
a chemical imbalance in the brain which a drug helps regulate. If not for my
medication, I would not be able to function as normally as I do.
I love to read, to write, to reflect and to record these
reflections in my journals. I enjoy long walks and being with my loved ones,
especially the intimate candlelight dinners with my husband, and dancing with
him until the wee hours of the morning. I love movies and popcorn, cooking
various culinary dishes from different countries, good food, good company and
good conversation. I love the sanctity and peace I feel in my home and being
with my husband, my family and my friends.
I
have learned to love life and to count my blessings. I have learned to enjoy
the moments. But most importantly, I have learned to embrace the pain, feel the
full weight of it and then let it go. I have allowed myself the freedom to love
and to allow myself to be loved in return. I have, since embarking on this
journey, found a sense of purpose in my life, and as strangely as it sounds for
having developed this disorder, a gratitude for having become a more
compassionate, loving and tolerant human being because of it.
Bipolar depression is part of who I am, but I do not let it control me. Life
wounds all of us and the scars forever remain. Although I have learned to
accept and to control my illness, I also learned to view the world and myself
through very different eyes. I have changed my perceptions regarding many
things.
I can recommend various books to help you toward better spiritual,
mental and emotional health. Books have always been my closest companions. They
are friends, teachers, and guides. I do not know you, but I shall hold you in
my heart, in my thoughts and always in my prayers.
Lynn-Marie Ramjass
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