A Rage Episode. (approx. 6½ - 7 min. read) *Trigger Warning*

It’s been over a year since my last suicide attempt and I thought now would be a good time to share what it was like for me. Please read with caution because it may be a trigger for some of you...

A lot had been going on at the time; way more than one person should have to handle. Shit, who am I kidding? More than any person could handle! My good friend, Caroline, was weeks, if not days away from dying. She had been fighting cancer for over 4 years and although she fought valiantly, the cancer had won. I had been going over to Caroline’s place every day to see how she was doing and to find out how her husband, Rob, was handling this horrific stage of his wife’s battle.

Then there was my good friend Annette, who suffers from depression and was extremely stressed out about her kids. Her son was involved with the wrong crowd, had gone down a really bad path and was sitting in jail awaiting sentencing. Her daughter had been diagnosed with a cancer that didn’t exist in people her age.

Next, we had my friend Cheryl, and she thought her daughter was suffering from Bipolar disease and it turned out to be anti-NMDA receptor encephalitis (an incredibly rare disease), and her prognosis wasn’t good either. She was in the ICU at St. Joseph’s, had just had a pace maker put in, but still was not breathing on her own.

To make things worse, my oldest daughter hadn’t spoken to me in months and for the first time since she was born 33 years earlier, I didn’t get to talk to her on her birthday. I can’t tell you how much that hurt my heart.

Then, to top everything off, we were in the process of fixing up our house because we had to sell it. Gary, my husband, had been forced into retiring 7 months prior and we couldn’t afford the crippling mortgage we had.

We had purchased a small bungalow in 2009 but had lost so much in our previous marriages that we were only able to put down 10%. So, the house payments took up over half of the money we had coming in, which comprised Gary’s pension and my disability cheques. Sure, things might get better, but we had to figure out how to make ends meet until Gary could find someone that would hire him at the age of 55.

Needless to say, I was completely overwhelmed and so when Gary walked across the carpet without taking his shoes off - shoes that had just stepped into a pile of dog excrement - I lost it! I started yelling that he never takes care of anything and that he has no respect, and then I turned into a mad woman!

I grabbed a bucket out of the closet, filled it part-way with hot water and cleaning solution I had just yelled at Gary not to use on the carpet, and proceeded to scrub at the smelly brown stains. All the while, screaming horrible things at this man that I love so much ...saying that living with him was like living with a little child and I’d had enough. I was totally fucking done. All I’ve ever done is take care of everyone else and I just wasn’t going to do it anymore!!

...yet I kept cleaning...

I finished scrubbing the dog shit out of the carpet, headed for the bathroom to dump the water down the toilet but then thought better; the water was really hot, and so I headed for the front door to pour it outside instead.

As I walked towards the door, it opened and I almost walk right into Gary; we dodged each other like we had cooties, or something. I thought that I must look like a mad woman; tears pouring down my face with my hair all dishevelled and this detached, yet frightened, look on my face.

The next thing I knew, we were yelling at each other again. Gary was saying he was done and I was telling him that was fine. But when he opened the front door and told me to get the fuck out, it was more than I could take and I turned into a raging fucking lunatic.

I started yelling - screaming, in fact. I’m not sure what I was saying but I was yelling something at him. The words spilled out in a scream almost as if it were one long syllable. Gary looked at me stunned, said he was leaving and went out the door, slamming it as hard as he could.

That reaction was more than I could handle and I took the mop I had in my hands and started smashing it against the front door. It was one of those Vileda Bee mops that had the ergonomic handle for wringing. The first couple of times it hit the door, it held up; then it started to bend and each time I hit the door, it started to fold in on itself and then pieces of it were flying everywhere.

After I had destroyed the mop, as well as the door, I realized what I had done and I broke down sobbing.

...What the fuck was wrong with me? I felt like I had completely lost it and in a haze wrote, “These thoughts going through your head are truly fucked up. Why is that you feel that way? You have so much going for you...” on a slip of paper for later and then I was sobbing again...

I’d had enough. My life was so fucked up and always had been. I didn’t ever see that changing and I just couldn’t live with this pain anymore. The one person who stood beside me through thick and thin, had finally seen the true me and told me he was done; if I didn’t have him, I had nothing to live for. So, I headed towards the bathroom.

When I got there, I closed the door behind me and locked it. I plopped myself down on the toilet so hard that I cracked my tailbone on the seat, but that didn’t stop me. I was on a mission and when I reached down to get the razors, I pulled the drawer so hard it came off its rungs.

I was angry; angrier than I’ve ever felt in my life, and for some reason the drawer hadn’t made a loud enough sound for me, so I picked it up and dropped it again but I still didn’t feel satisfied. Maybe I was hoping Gary had come back and I was trying to get his attention, who knows?! All I knew was that I needed to quell the anger I had boiling inside of me, so I picked it up again but this time I threw it, it broke into quite a few pieces.

I reached down and grabbed one of the razors and ran through the steps I’d read in order to make suicide successful. I was sobbing, truly believing that this time I was going to do it because I knew I couldn’t continue living like this.

My head hurt so badly I felt like it was going to explode and I just wanted to get away from the pain that had become my life. I wasn’t thinking about being selfish - I was merely thinking about self-preservation - if that makes any sense? I just couldn’t handle any more rejection from anyone because I couldn’t “get over it,” and I knew from all the researching I’d done, that I was stuck with this illness for life...

But then the door burst open and Gary (my saviour) was standing there, tears streaming down his face, and I realized he was crying because I was sitting there with the razor in my hand and he knew he had just saved my life.

Stay safe and stay strong. Thanks for following.

11:11 and Its Significance to Me. (approx. 2½ - 3 min. read)

Prior to getting Central Serous Retinopathy and not being able to drive, I volunteered for a local hospice. It was one of the most humbling experiences of my life and I highly recommend it but there are people that have told me it’s not for everyone.

The hospice I volunteered at had a lot of volunteers and they did everything from gardening to cooking and from personal care to assisting with fund-raisers. We were all police-checked and we all took an 8 week training course on how to listen to the dying and their loved ones.

After we completed the course, we were placed in the kitchen as “chief cook and bottle washer,” so that we could find out if we could handle the stress that comes from working around the dying. After 8 weeks, we were given the opportunity to either stay in the kitchen, or move to another area or position.

My volunteer position was in resident care and my responsibilities were to help the PSWs and nurses give personal care to the residents, and that meant helping the residents to eat, doing their personal hygiene, etc. I loved it and all the people I met there - staff, residents, and their familie; it was so fulfilling.

About four years after I started at the hospice, I met Caroline and her daughter who was also called Caroline, and we all hit it off straight away. Caroline was quite shy and when she would see me coming with towels, bed sheets and a change of nightie, she would start up some nervous chatter and it usually started with what time it was.

I’m not sure why but week after week Caroline would greet me with “It’s 11:11.” I would turn to look at the clock to see if it actually was 11:11, and it always was; week after week, month after month...

As you know, I’m not religious but I’m spiritual and I believe in angels and spirit guides, which is why seeing or hearing that its 11:11 is important to me. There are a lot of articles out there about seeing these numbers together but I’m going to quote just one, the “Power of Positivity,” because it’s what I believe:

“More and more people seem to notice these repeating numbers on the clock, on roadside billboards, signs, and other places lately, which only provides further truth that a massive shift in consciousness and awareness is taking place. This phenomenon basically occurs to remind us of the profound synchronicities and cosmic shifts occurring during this beautiful time on the planet, and also brings our attention to our present thoughts and feelings. The underlying intention of our angels bringing our awareness to 11:11 is to make us more conscious of ourselves, and remind us that we always have guidance and a greater wisdom to rely on anytime we feel stuck, scared, or frustrated.”

I was told about this phenomenon decades ago and when I see the numbers in that sequence, it reminds me to be present; I’m made aware of what I’m thinking about in the moment. Caroline and her daughter are first to come to mind because they are both angels.

For the most part, my head is usually somewhere negative and worried about something I have no control over, but I truly believe in the significance of the numbers and that my angels are there to help me and remind me that I’m not alone.

Stay safe and stay strong. Thanks for following.

References:

https://www.powerofpositivity.com/1111-is-it-happening-to-you/

Don’t You Worry Your Pretty Little Head! (approx. 2 - 2½ min. read)

I heard something and I wanted to make sure there was no confusion ...this blog is for you - you know who you are!

I heard through the grapevine that you put in a request to make sure I don’t come to your funeral and I want to re-assure you that you needn’t worry “your pretty little head” about it.

Funerals are for people to go and pay their respects to a person who has died. A person who (if you were lucky enough), made a good impression in your life. One who taught you what you needed to know in order to be a contribution to society, instead of someone that sucks the life out of it.

Funerals are a place where we share stories about how the person who died, contributed to humanity. Whether they were a good person or if they were someone that sailed through life thinking the world and everyone in it, owed them a living.

Did the person who died make the world a better place by never judging others based on how they look, or their stature in life? Did they have a positive view of life and the world around us? More importantly, did they share that positivity with the rest of the world, or did they keep it all for themselves?

I believe funerals are incredibly important for the survivors and families of the person that died. It’s where we say our good-byes to our loved one and start our journeys without them. Something that is incredibly hard when it’s someone that made our lives that little bit easier just by being in them.

But - and it’s a huge but! - when that person was toxic, and cared more about getting a new possession than whether their child was happy and healthy, it’s a situation you need to avoid!

So, don’t you worry whether I’m going to show up at your funeral! Paying my respects to someone who has no comprehension of the word, is the furthest thing from my mind!! Although, it would be pretty awesome to stand up at the podium and (finally) let everyone know the truth about what kind of a person you really are...

Oh and just so you don’t feel neglected, though neglect was something you bestowed on me, I will be visiting your grave. It won’t be to pay you any respects because I would have to actually respect you in order to do that! My visit will probably involve saliva, and dancing, lot’s of dancing!

Stay safe and stay strong. Thanks for following.

To My Friend, My Partner and My Confidante. (3 - 3½ min. read)

I’ve been thinking a lot about how I treat you and I want you to know how sorry I am...

Sorry for all the times I have flinched when you’ve tried to show me affection.

...I don’t mean to hurt you - my first thoughts are of my abusers and how they continually crossed my personal bounds.

Sorry for my hyper-vigilance and the fact that I jump when you come into view, even though I know you’re just around the corner.

...I don’t mean to hurt you - my first thoughts are of my abusers and how they would come out of nowhere and hit me, or worse yet, force me into the cubbyhole that so commonly became my home.

Sorry for always locking you out of the house when all you’re doing is going into the garden, or to get something you forgot out of your car.

...I don’t mean to hurt you - my first thoughts are of my abusers and how I still fear their threats that they’re going to come and get me.

Sorry for asking you to do something for me and then standing over you like you aren’t capable of doing it.

...I don’t mean to hurt you - my first thoughts are of my abusers and how nothing was ever good enough for them.

Sorry for being so withdrawn and solemn.

...I don’t mean to hurt you - my first thoughts are of trying to make myself small and insignificant, so that I won’t be noticed.

Sorry for not being there as a wife and lover.

...I don’t mean to hurt you - my first thoughts are of being violated so many times without my consent.

Sorry for not being able to adult and do things like the grocery shopping, or running around.

...I don’t mean to hurt you - my first thoughts are that I might run into my abusers.

I know you aren’t the enemy and I often wonder how the heck you put up with me and all my different moods. When you approach me, whether it’s for a kiss or to ask a question, you never knowing whether I’m going to answer you back with love or bite your head off, honestly, it must be so hard for you never knowing where my head is at!

...And I know that writing this doesn’t abdicate me for being just like my abusers, but I want you to know that lately I’ve become aware of what I’m like to live with and I want you to know that I am truly sorry.

I know that I should have been going to therapy and working on getting better, but I’ve been so friggin’ scared. The memories I have in my head are almost more than I can bear and I’m so afraid that delving into them deeper will break me, but if I don’t start my recovery I’m going to break you instead and that is the furthest thing from my mind.

Honestly, it’s time I get the past out of my head and started living in the present. I want to start showing you how much I love and appreciate you, instead of treating you like I want you to leave. You are my friend, my partner, and my confidante!

From the bottom of my heart baby, please know that I’m really, really sorry for how I’ve treated you and I promise from this moment on, I’m going to work hard to show you the kind of love that you’ve always shown me. I started therapy again and I’m going to work on making myself better. I know that I can get past this and learn how to live in love and happiness instead of living in fear!

Love you baby. Xoxo...

Stepping Out of My Comfort Zone. (approx. 3½ - 4 min. read)

This past weekend I stepped way out of my comfort zone by going to a high school reunion. It wasn’t a reunion for graduating classes, it was for anyone that went to the school prior to 1979.

I didn’t finish high school or get an education until much later in life, and figured I’d never get the chance to go to a reunion, but it definitely was on my bucket list. I always thought that it would be a cheerful event and that everyone would be happy to see me, but I forgot that I made myself pretty invisible in high school.

My parents split on September 1, 1975; days before my first day of high school. With the hours my mother had to work, my brothers and I were left to raise ourselves. I won’t go into it, but I will tell you it was incredibly hard.

I struggled with high school, especially with math and science, and with my father not being around, I didn’t get much help with homework. I failed grade 9 math and science and had to take both of them over in grade 10. When grade 10 was coming to a close and I was still struggling to pass grade 9 math and science, I ended up dropping out; not before speaking to my parents about getting a tutor, but they said money was tight and they couldn’t afford it. Instead, they told me to focus on finding a husband and starting a family, so I did. I was married and had my first child before I turned 21.

But I digress...

There I was at my high school reunion, sitting with my husband; the man I had gone to school with but didn’t marry until 8 years ago. The two of us had snuck in the back door of the restaurant and instead of sitting with the group from our high school, we chose a seat by the bar; well away from everyone. Gary with his back to the group, and me sitting, staring straight at it.

As I sat there surveying the group, trying to see if there was anyone I recognized, it totally took me back to what life was like back then. Everyone was having fun, hugging each other, laughing, and saying how great it was to see each other... and there I was hiding, just like I used to. Sitting in the back corner, in the dark, disconnected from everyone.

I felt like I didn’t fit in. I had a really crappy home life and I can’t tell you how many times I ran away from home because of it. There I was, trying to be a kid and get an education when I didn’t even know where I was going to wake up! Most often, I was wearing the same clothes as the day before because I’d run late trying to figure out which bus I needed to take to get myself to school, so that I wouldn’t get written up.

Fitting in and being able to just be a kid, was difficult to say the least! I didn’t have much time to develop friendships because I always seemed to be running, but as I got older I somehow convinced myself that everything was good growing up, and that I’d had lots of friends back in school.

Four decades later, sitting in the back of the bar that used be part of my old stomping ground, staring at a group of people I didn’t even recognize made me realize something. The people I had fallen in love with were just faces in a Grade 8 graduation picture. I had made up most of my friendships because my life was so dysfunctional back then, and I needed to protect that little girl.

Sitting there helped me to realize that I’m not that little girl anymore and I haven’t been for years. The person I am now - the person I’ve become - is so far removed from that girl. She is stronger than just about anybody I know and the next time I feel the need to connect with a friend from high school, I’m just going to look in the mirror.

Stay safe and stay strong. Thanks for following.

When Am I Going to Cut Myself Some Slack? (approx. 2½ - 3 min. read)

I was laying in bed this morning thinking about the fact that it’s Wednesday and I still haven’t written this week’s blog. I started getting sick the night before last and my throat is so sore I can barely swallow, not to mention the chills.

As I laid there, I was having a battle in my head; one side telling me that I need to get some rest and the other side telling me that I’m being lazy. The latter side was not my voice at all.

I recorded two videos for my vlog this week and now they just need to be edited. I set up an account with “The Mighty,” and submitted 3 stories to them, one of which has been accepted. I wrote my bio and a story about what it’s like to live with PTSD for Consumer Health Digest, about what it’s like to live with PTSD. I submitted those yesterday. I could have waited a bit because they only approached me last week to write a story for them, but instead of giving myself a bit of a break, I “struck while the iron was hot!”

Plus, I finished reading the first part of “Mothers Who Can’t Love,” and I’m onto the working part. I’ve got my list of truths and lies written out and I’m ready to carry out the next part of the exercise and move on from there.

I’ve answered comments and notifications on Face book, Twitter and my website. Now all I have to do is write this week’s blog and I’ll be caught up.

Don’t forget that while I’m completing all of these tasks I’m having to stop, tidy everything up and be out of the house for an hour at a time while we try to sell it.

...As you can see I’m being far from lazy and I’m not cutting myself any slack at all, so why am I being so friggin’ hard on myself?

I laid there for close to two hours trying to cut myself some friggin’ slack and yet here I am now, writing my damn blog!

Why do the voices in my head make me feel like I need to be a super human? I’m doing all I can - heck, I’m doing more than I can. Hence, the reason I still have very little sight in my right eye! WHEN am I going to learn that I AM worthy and that I AM doing my best?! When will I have that “aha” moment? How long do I have to wait and how much more work do I have to do?

Honestly, I’m hoping that completing the assignments in “Mothers Who Can’t Love,” will start me well on my way.

Stay safe and stay strong. Thanks for following.

References:

http://www.susanforward.com/

The Day I Called the Crisis Centre... (approx. 4 - 4½ min. read)

I know this is going to sound negative, but I need to say it anyway... Sometimes I feel like if something’s going to go wrong, it will happen to me.

I try to stay positive and when people ask if I’m a glass half-full or glass half-empty, I just tell them I’m lucky to have a glass and that there’s something in it. Honestly though, it’s hard for me to keep that mentality sometimes.

It’s hard for me to explain what I mean, so I’m going to tell you about an experience from just over 18 months ago. It was around 8 weeks after I started writing my blog and I had been going through a really tough time with certain members of my family of origin; particularly my oldest daughter.

There was a time when we used to talk every day but around that time, things changed and I hadn’t heard from her in a couple days. I was up really late one night trying to figure out what was up, when the phone rang. It was her, and all she said when I answered the phone was, “I never said that.”

I was taken aback and asked her what she was talking about. She said she was referring to something I’d said in one of my blogs, about her and her sister being afraid to come into my room at night because of how hyper-vigilante I was.

I listened to what she had to say and then hung up the phone, crying. My husband asked me what had happened and I told him. He chuckled to himself and said he didn’t know what she was on about. He had also been present when my daughters and I had talked about it and distinctly remembered what had been said.

Anyway, it doesn’t really matter now. What does matter is what happened around the time that she called and accused me of lying; my first (and only) call to the local crisis centre.

It was the afternoon of October 8th, 2015 and I was feeling absolutely hopeless. I had hoped that once I started talking about my past and why I had PTSD, people would understand and stop treating me like the black sheep of the family. Instead, I was further alienated and that put me in a really bad place mentally.

I couldn’t stop thinking about suicide and it being my only choice out of the hole I’d dug for myself. It wasn’t the first time I’d been sent down this road, and I had done a lot of research on how to die by suicide and I started reviewing all the steps in my head.

I felt so lost - defeated in fact. I was crying so hard that I could barely breathe and although I was planning my suicide, I kept thinking that I really didn’t want to die. I just thought that if I were dead I could finally end the pain ...for myself, as well as everyone else.

I contemplated suicide for most of the day ...drifting in and out of self-piteous, pathetic thoughts about myself and when I couldn’t take it anymore, I Googled the number for the nearest crisis centre and dialed it.

The phone started to ring and I began to head into a panic attack. With each ring it got worse ...one, I started to sweat ...two, my head started shaking so badly that I felt like it was going to fall off my shoulders and tumble to the floor ...three.

After an indeterminable amount of time, I heard the distinct sound of someone picking up the receiver. I was getting ready to say hello, when the person that picked up the phone fumbled it. I heard it clank twice as it went down, and then I heard the dial tone.

I looked at the phone in disbelief and thought, “This can’t be happening.” I was thinking that I’d finally found the courage to call the crisis centre and they hung up on me?! WTF?

I continue staring at the phone in disbelief for a couple of seconds, wondering whether they’ll press call return and call me back, or if I should try again.

I felt completely numb, yet I watched my hand instinctively reach out and press redial. Once again I was waiting for someone to answer, but after the first ring it went through to voicemail and I ended up staring at the receiver in disbelief... again.

To this day, I don’t know what happened... a switch clicked in my head and I started to laugh hysterically. I guess I was having trouble believing that something so utterly inconceivable could happen to me in my time of need.

Honestly, it made me guffaw until my sides ached and my cheeks hurt. When we laugh we release endorphins, the brain chemicals known for their feel-good effect and the suicidal thoughts left my head. Left in its place were thoughts of gratitude because their negligence saved my life that day.

Stay safe and stay strong. Thanks for following.

Memories Are Just That - Memories. (approx. 1½ - 2 min. read)

I’m really struggling with this week’s blog and it’s not because I have writer’s block; I just don’t have the oomph, if you know what I mean?

I’m feeling all out of sorts and I can’t seem to control my thoughts. There’s another offer in on our house and still another one to come, so the potential for a bidding war is in the wings.

I should be happy but I’m not. My husband is retiring and we’re going to buy a piece of property and build our dream house! Our DREAM house! This is something really positive and I should be over the moon, but I’m not.

All I can think about is my safety and what this move will to do to my head. Will it set me back in my recovery? Triggers come from nowhere and they can really set someone with PTSD back; I’m so scared this one is going to be detrimental to my mental well-being.

But then, my head is all over the place right now and I wonder if I’m making it worse by thinking about it so much?! I’ve spent the last 12 years avoiding everything that would trigger my PTSD so I can stay safe ...maybe I’m hindering the healing process?

Man, I feel completely out of control of my life and all I want to do is cry. I feel like I’m sitting on the edge of a frozen waterfall and it’s crumbling beneath me. I feel powerless as huge pieces of it break off and tumble away and as I watch, I wonder if I should just let it take me. It would be so easy to just stop scrambling and let my body fall down into the abyss. I’m tired of trying to fight the fear that’s hiding around almost every corner.

As tired as I am though, I’m not ready to give up.

My life is about to change. If I could just set the fear aside a little bit, then I might be able to convince the PTSD monster that lives in my head, that life really is good, that the memories are just that - memories.

Stay safe and stay strong. Thanks for following.

I Was So Proud of Myself... (approx. 3 - 3½ min. read) *Trigger Warning*

I was so proud of myself. Not one suicidal thought in a year... and then everything changed...

We’ve had our house on the market for almost six months and all I’ve done is worry about my husband’s and my future; where we’re going to move after we sell this house.

Over the last eight years, I’ve figured out how to survive with PTSD. Being in a place I felt safe has definitely been part of the solution. We made sure our house was secure by installing all new windows and doors, an alarm system, and adding a couple of big dogs to our family.

I had been doing so well ...so well in fact that I fooled my husband into thinking that selling our house and moving was my first choice. Over the last half year, I convinced him I was really excited about becoming Nomads when in fact I was, and still am, absolutely terrified.  As you know, I’m scared of my own shadow and although I’ve made some major leaps and bounds, I honestly have no clue how I’m going to cope.

I’m so anxious about the fact that moving out of the only place I feel safe might cause a major set-back, because safety is paramount to keeping my symptoms at bay.

If I feel that the people that have been threatening me can get at me, the nightmares are going to come back with a vengeance.

Sure, some of you are going to say I’m being negative and wishing bad things to happen to me, but I’ve been living with PTSD for decades and I know what to do and what not to do, in order to keep my head in a good place.

So last week, when we got our first offer on the house, I had to be honest with my husband about my fear of moving.

He lost it.

He’d had no idea that I had been lying to him about being okay with moving, and didn’t understand the reasoning behind it.

He started yelling and I started yelling, then the PTSD took over and the next thing I knew, I had convinced myself that I was a burden. I truly believed that it would be better for everyone if they didn’t have to deal with my fucking childish behaviour anymore!

Yes, I said childish behaviour; I know it isn’t - I know it’s PTSD - but that’s what I think people are thinking when I’ve gone down the rabbit hole into Pity Lake.

It’s like a switch gets flipped inside my head and all rational thoughts go out the window; all I can think is “they” wouldn’t be so darn mad and fed up with me if I weren’t here. I know how angry and frustrated I make them, because I feel that same anger and frustration towards myself, and it makes me feel worthless.

The next thing that happened was my mouth started spewing all kinds of obnoxious crap, and in my head I could see my suicide plans coming to fruition.

I don’t really want to do it, but it’s like I’m outside of my body looking down at it, almost like an out-of-body experience. When this happens, I tell myself it’s the right thing to do and I believe, with all of my being, that everyone - and I mean EVERYONE - would be so much happier without me and my friggin’ illness.

I started to head for the bathroom because the thinking side of my brain seemed to have shut down and all I wanted to do was to end the pain - for everyone.

But, then my man brought me back to reality (again) and helped me to realize these aren’t rational thoughts. He helped me to realize that it was the PTSD making me feel this way and reassured me that there’s no way we’re going to let it beat me.

He reminded me that I’m stronger than my illness and that I need to remember that so far, every PTSD war I’ve fought, I’ve won; I’m not going to let this one be any different.

I feel ashamed and embarrassed because I feel like I’ve let everybody down. I thought about not sharing what happened because I feel like it’s an ‘epic’ fail, However, when I started writing this blog I made an agreement that there would be no more lies of omission; I would share everything about my journey, and that means sharing the steps forward, as well as the steps backwards.

 ...now I just need to find the courage to share and tweet about it.

Stay safe and stay strong. Thanks for following.

The National Day of Mourning. (approx. 1 - 1½ min. read)

This week’s blog is about recognizing a day that’s known in about 100 countries worldwide, called The National Day of Mourning.

In Canada, our National Day of Mourning is on April 28th. This date was chosen to coincide with the anniversary of the Ontario Workers’ Compensation Act, which was approved in 1914 and enshrined in national legislation by an Act of Parliament in 1991.

This special day is traditionally marked in many ways to honour and remember the people who have died, been injured, or suffered illness in the workplace. On this day, we recognize and show our respect for those people and families that were changed by a workplace accident.

For those of you that have been following me, you know that a workplace accident changed my life and I’d like to share a magazine article I wrote about that fateful day.

I know my story is different because I’m still here and there are a lot of people that aren’t, but my family still misses the person that didn’t come home that day. They’re still waiting for the person they knew as their mother, wife, Aunt and friend to come home; 11+ plus years later, they still feel as though they’ve been left with a stranger.

To read the article, lease click on the link:  http://www.davinalytle.com/workplaceincident/ (approx. 10 - 10½ min. read)

Stay safe and stay strong. Thanks for following.

Getting Over a Huge Hurdle! (approx. 4 - 4½ min. read)

This past week was a really good week and I was able to get outside in the yard - by myself! Some of you might not think this is something for me to be proud of but it’s a huge hurdle, as well as being a huge accomplishment for me.

Throughout my life, I’ve had many threats that someone was going to “come and kill me” or “shut me up,” and I coped pretty well until I was held up; then I became terrified of the outside world.

Weeks would go by in between me even taking a single step outside the front door, let alone going on a short car ride. Opening the curtains was something I rarely did because I was afraid of who might be staring back at me. So, I lived in the darkness, rarely looking beyond the curtains but feeling okay with it because I only felt safe inside the four walls that had literally become what most people referred to as my jail.

Things started to change for me approximately a year ago when a really good friend gave me a “gratitude” journal.

One of the things the journal asked each day was to name three things that would make the day great.

Right from the first day, I decided that one of my three things was “To get outside for five minutes.” Now, that might seem like an insignificant goal to some people but for someone like me; living with a mental illness, it was like climbing Mount Everest.

The first day I got up, set my alarm for 10:00 am and when it went off, I grabbed a coffee, a joint, and my faithful companion Xena, and I opened the front door. The light hit my face and almost blinded me. My heart started racing a million miles an hour as I scanned the front yard for movement and I felt a panic attack coming on.

Suddenly, a car drove past the front of the house and my immediate reaction was to look and see if it was anyone that had threatened me in the past. My head started to shake and I got that feeling I always get when a panic attack starts... like my head is literally going to fall off my shoulders. It’s the weirdest sensation ever but it’s the easiest way of describing it!

Now, I know there are going to be people that read this and think my thoughts are utter nonsense, or that these thoughts are impossible, but for someone like me these thoughts aren’t impossible at all; my brain always goes to the worst case scenario!

I continued standing there for what seemed like an eternity, trying to reassure myself there was no danger (it was probably only about 10 minutes).  All the while, Xena was circling around me and whining, almost like she was trying to herd me outside, so I looked down at her and said “Here goes nothing.”

I walked out the door, took the two steps I needed to, to get to the top step, and sat down. I glanced around me to make sure Xena and I were alone, and I felt like my heart was going to jump out of my chest. Immediately, my body temperature went through the roof and sweat started to come out of every pore of my body.

I had set my alarm on my phone for five minutes and glanced down to see how much time I had left; only twenty-five seconds had elapsed since I had sat down.

I set my coffee down on the step beside me, opened my “weed” tin, took out a joint and my lighter and proceeded to light the joint. I inhaled deeply and as I exhaled, I reassured myself that everything was okay. I told myself what day it was, where I was - and that I was safe. I also told myself that Xena was with me and that if someone came around the corner with a gun, she would bark and run at them, giving me enough time to get back inside without any harm coming to me.

That first day, it seemed like it took me forever to get through those first five minutes, but over the following weeks five minutes became ten minutes and ten minutes became fifteen. I won’t lie, there were times when I just couldn’t cope and I would skip a day, or I would only be able to go outside for a couple of minutes, but over time things got better.

Now a year later, I’m able to go outside for extended periods of time and for the most part, I think about nothing other than how beautiful it is. I also think about how happy I am to be outside blending with nature, instead of being locked inside the house like a caged animal.

Stay safe and stay strong. Thanks for following.

Having Another Pity Party... (approx. 5 - 5½ min. read )

Last Thursday when I woke up, it was apparent to me that my eyesight had gotten worse over night. I tried not to worry too much because I hadn’t had more than thirteen hours of sleep since that Sunday and I felt a lot like a zombie, but I was concerned.

I got out of bed and started to go about my morning routine, until I caught my reflection in the mirror. I was mortified. Through my left eye, I could clearly see that my right eye was bulging more than the night before and in the past, that’s meant the CSR (central serous retinopathy, also known as central serous chorioretinopathy) has worsened.

I tried to stay really positive...

Before this last flare-up, I’d had central serous retinopathy once before, but this time was different because it wasn’t gone in a matter of months.

This last flare up was diagnosed during a partial exam on June 21, 2016 and then again during a follow up appointment on July 16, 2016 to see if the CSR had either decreased or increased.

During the month in between those two appointments, it had gotten worse and the optometrist told me she was referring me to a specialist. I left the office feeling quite down. I was terrified I was losing my sight and although I was told not to stress, that news made it worse; it was really hard.

I went home and waited to hear from my optometrist’s office, but weeks went by and nothing.

After about a month, I decided I better follow up with one of the receptionists and was told that a letter had been sent out ...oh and to be patient, as it took months to get an appointment. I reminded her that the Doctor said it was important to treat this right away, but she told me it could take months to get an appointment and that I needed to be patient.

More time went by and I called again. I was told they were (still) waiting for the specialist’s office to call them back. I got really mad and told the women on the other end of the phone that I wasn’t going to wait any longer! I told her to get the Doctor to call me and hung up angrily.

I received a call a couple of hours later but it wasn’t the Doctor, it was the receptionist I had spoken to earlier. I told her I didn’t want to speak to her and that I wanted to speak to the Doctor, but she said she wasn’t in the office. She ignored my requests for the Doctor and told me they’d solved my appointment issue. Apparently, the referral letter had been mailed to the wrong specialist and had been “misplaced.”

I didn’t know much about CSR at this point, but I did know that it’s extremely important to treat it right away. I knew that if it wasn’t treated early, scar tissue could form and cause permanent damage to vision.

Needless to say, I was pretty pissed off that the first time I got an appointment to see a specialist was October 18, 2016; 17 weeks after my second diagnosis!

Once I did see the specialist, she started me on a medication called Voltaren to try and reduce some of the fluid that had accumulated, but it didn’t work. She told me we would wait it out and reiterated that I must stop stressing about it!

Really?! I’m not sure why I never thought of that!!!

I have a mental illness and I’ve told her that, but according to her I should be able to just stop stressing.

What I want to know is, how?! How do I ignore the bulging eye that has been staring back at me in the mirror for almost a year? How do I ignore the fact that I have little to no depth perception and haven’t been able to drive my vehicle in ten months? Furthermore, how do I ignore that on most days, the strongest readers (+300) in the house can’t help me see?

Which brings me to the reason why I’m writing this week’s blog...

I have some good news and some bad news...

The good news is that the hole in my retina has finally closed, but the bad news is that it closed with quite a large accumulation of fluid inside my retina.

The ophthalmologist told me that my eyesight has deteriorated dramatically but that I need to “accept this as my new reality,” that “this is the best my sight is going to be going forward.” Plus, she told me to start using the drops she previously decided weren’t working and when I questioned her, she just stared me down and repeated the request.

I just want to cry.

I used to have perfect vision and now I’m close to being legally blind in one eye. Accepting this as my new reality and moving forward is going to be really hard; especially when I can’t get correctional lenses until all of “this settles out.”

I’m not sure that she remembers me telling her that driving is impossible and sitting in front of a computer or trying to do any sort of writing is causing me to have headaches.

This has been going on close to a year and I just don’t get how the fuck I’m supposed to “move forward?!” Sorry for the language, but no other word seems to fit right now!! I need some time to wrap my head around all of this, because all I want to do is crawl under the blankets and have a full blown pity-party!

In the meantime, my husband is going to try and “jimmy rig,” me a pair of glasses so that I can back to writing. It may be a couple of weeks before I write my next blog, but if you’d like you can go to my blog list and get caught up on any you haven’t read yet - http://www.davinalytle.com/bloglist/.

I want you all to know how much I appreciate your support and understanding, as well as the follow. Stay safe and stay strong.

References:

http://occeyecare.ca

http://www.rnib.org.uk/eye-health/eye-conditions/central-serous-retinopathy

Things Really Do Happen for A Reason. (approx. 4 - 4½ min. read)

In our last attempt to keep our house, we decided to finish our basement and put in an apartment. We thought if we couldn’t rent out the apartment, it would be a great selling feature if we ended up having to sell.

Not long before the job was finished, Gary had been offered a job that he could physically handle and it would be enough money that with a renter, we could afford to stay in this house. Things were running smoothly and we thought we could see a light at the end of the tunnel.

Our tenant moved in on October 15, 2016 and on the same day, Gary was told the job had fallen through. Here we were, back worrying about how we were going to pay everything and now we had a tenant we had to worry about as well.

Gary and I had each been married prior to us getting together and we each had lost everything we owned in our divorces. Needless to say, our bills are high and we don’t have any savings, so each month we are digging a deeper hole for ourselves and the stress is killing me.

So here we were October 15, and we had to tell the tenant that Gary’s job fell through and we had to put our house up for sale. It was horrible. I felt so bad that this person had just moved in and I had to tell her a “For Sale” sign was going up and she would probably have to leave.

It took me a couple of days to get the up courage to tell her because all I could think about was how much we had just disrupted her life. She had just moved in to her new home and she was being told she would probably have to move, but she took it really well. In fact, she’s been pretty incredible. As you know, I’m not good with strangers and strange noises, and I was really worried I would be more hyper-vigilante, but for the most part it’s been good.

First of all, she isn’t really a stranger; she’s the mother of a woman I know, so I wasn’t fearful of having her in the house. Plus, for the most part she was so quiet I could hardly even tell she was down there. The only things I worried about were not being able to set our house alarm because we only had the one entry key pad, and her forgetting to lock the door. I’ve become almost obsessive compulsive with the doors being locked and for the first month or so, I checked every time she left the house.

Luckily, she only forgot once during that first month, so I was able to trust her and that meant only needing to check the locks once before I went to bed. Don’t get me wrong, I did sometimes check in the morning after I heard her go out, but for the most part, it was all good. Plus having an extra person in the house, especially in the basement where burglars usually lurk, I had little to no problem with not being able to set the alarm.

This brings me to the reason for this week’s blog...

Our tenant moved out last weekend; she moved in with her daughter and family and took everything but the heavy furniture, and will be back for that this weekend. I’ve had three days to get used to having my house back and other than the obvious things like being able to crank my music whenever I want, or not having to make sure the lights are on outside when it gets dark, things are pretty much the same ...but, and it’s a big but, I learned from her.

She is such a laid back person and during the six months she was here, no matter how many agents came through her place, she just rolled with the punches and I aspire to be like her.

For the most part I live on the edge of my seat, but she’s taught me to take a step back and look at things just a little bit differently. She’s taught me that shit happens and it’s not the end of the world. Things really do work out if you sit back and allow them to instead of over-thinking and over-stressing, and I really need to say “thank you” to her.

What they say about things happening for a reason is definitely true because I believe she was meant to come into my life at this particular time, and although I’m sorry for disrupting her life, I’m glad she “disrupted” mine. I’ve learned so much in the last six months and I have to attribute some of that to her and I want to say thanks, from the bottom of my heart.

Stay safe and stay strong, I’m heading off to crank the music and dance like nobody is watching. Thanks for following.

Moving Forward! (approx. 3½ - 4 min. read)

I’ve gotten some flack since my last blog and I wanted to clarify a few things.

I started writing a book about living with PTSD about five years ago. There have been many things that have gotten in my way, fear being one of them, but I want you to know that it isn’t fear that’s making me pause with the book now - it’s self-preservation.

You see, I’ve uncovered a lot about my past through therapy, as well as all the writing I’ve done, but unfortunately the only way I can tell the truth - the whole truth and nothing but the truth - is if I have my abusers charged and let the courts decide on the verdict.

That would be okay if I believed in the system, but I don’t believe in the system. There have been many times in my life when the system should have been there to “fix” things in my life but it didn’t. Times when the proof was there that I was the victim, with so much clarity, yet I was unprotected and I believe this scenario would be the same; I wouldn’t be protected and I wouldn’t see justice.

It would be dragged through the courts and witnesses that weren’t even living in Canada while the abuse was going on, would come forward and swear they were around for that time. Then it would be my word against all of theirs and the judge would dismiss it based on lack of evidence.

Not before cleaning out my bank account, mind you, or triggering me to a point where I would be suicidal again, but the loss for me would be inevitable ...it’s just the way it goes. I’m not being negative I’m just being a realist. There is no easy way for me and I believe that continuing to write this book right now would be like taking a step, or steps, backwards.

A year ago one of my goals was to force myself to go and sit outside on my front step, and it was hard - really hard. My alarm was set to go off at 11:00 every morning, I’d grab a coffee and a joint and I would make myself sit there for five minutes. It was weeks before I could up the ante, but I did it - first to five-and-a-half minutes, then to six minutes, and so on.

Months went by and there were days when I couldn’t muster up the guts to open the front door, but through perseverance I did it. Not only did I master sitting on the step for longer periods of time, it got so that I was able to walk around; first the front of the house, and then at the back. I’d pick up twigs that had fallen from the trees, or walk across the street to get the mail and eventually I progressed so I didn’t think about the fear.

In fact, yesterday the only thought I had about fear while I was outside, was the lack of it! I was standing in the front yard with the rake in my hands, when all of a sudden the clouds parted and the sun came out overhead. As I looked up to admire it, I saw a hawk flying across the sky and thought to myself how much I loved nature, and then I was crying.

Crying because as I looked back down towards the pile of leaves I’d formed on the ground, I realized that I was outside and had been for at least a half-an-hour and the only thought I’d had, was a positive one. This was confirmation that I’ve been moving forward, and without the inevitable steps backwards that have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember.

That's why I had to make the decision to shelve my book; not because of fear but because I'm moving forward and I can't risk going backward again if I can help it.

Stay safe and stay strong. Thanks for following.

A New Chapter. (approx. 3½ - 4 min. read)

When I first started writing my book, it was for therapeutic reasons; I knew that I had to get the thoughts out of my head and on to paper, in order to get past them.

I completed my manuscript and as most of you know, I had it edited but not at all to my satisfaction. It’s been sitting on a shelf in my office and I have tried to work on it, but it’s proving to be a daunting task and I finally think I know why.

Over the last year and a half, not only have I written over 160 pages in a book but I’ve written an article for Moods Magazine and I’ve written a multitude of blogs. I’ve done two podcasts and two interviews, both of which never made it to print, but all in all - hundreds of thousands of words.

Words about child abuse, words about domestic violence, words about a person’s struggles, but most of all, words about a survivor telling a story about what it’s like to live with mental illness.

While I wrote these words, a really strange thing began happening; I started to heal. Slowly, I was able to write about the things that happened in my life - without crying, getting upset or worse yet, being triggered. This meant I was finally able to speak openly and honestly about all of the bad things that happened to me.

Not everyone wanted to listen and I was met with a lot of adversity, especially from my family of origin, but I kept talking and I truly feel like a new woman.

Which brings me to the topic of this week’s blog. I’ve decided to shelve my book; not forever, but for now.

I’m in a really good place right now and I feel as though continuing with my book at this point would be like taking a step (or should I say steps) backward. It seems like every time I try to write about the things from my past, it’s as if the universe is sending me a warning. One that arrives in the form of a phone call from the police or emails from people who believe they know what is best for me, and I believe that none of it is conducive to my healing.

The police have told me the only way I can talk about my past openly without being sued, is to have the parties charged; allow the courts to decide whether it’s the truth or not... I already know the truth, so I don’t want to waste anymore of my life; I want to start living before it's too late.

I’m so tired of living in the past and I just want to heal. Now that I’ve gotten most of the memories out of my head, and onto paper, I don’t have to live in the past; I can finally start moving forward.

I’m going to continue writing my weekly blog, but it’s going to be more about the new life I have planned out for me and my husband. We are retiring and heading out onto the open road and as you know, that might prove to be difficult for me. It won’t be impossible, but it’s definitely going to have its challenges and I’m going to write about how I face each and every one of them - head on!

Plus, now that my mind isn’t on my book, I’ll have more time to write guest blogs for the people who have been asking me to write for them since I began my journey to #endthestigma.

I sincerely hope you’ll continue to follow along and read about my trials and tribulations, and also watch them. As promised, I’m going to start vlogging once our house is sold and we begin our new life as nomads. I think it’ll make it more exciting to see where we are, as well as read about it.

It’s not going to be easy travelling and living on the open road, especially with someone with PTSD, but my husband wants to retire and this is something we’ve talked about for years. He’s my rock and with him by my side, I really believe I can do this, that we can do this.

Stay safe and stay strong. Thanks for following.

What Are Your Challenges and How Do You Cope? (approx. 2 - 2½ min. read)

I’ve been writing blogs for just over a year-and-a-half and although some of my blogs are similiar, I try to explain what it’s like for me to live with a mental illness. I write about different aspects of what it’s like to live with PTSD and the challenges I am faced with on a daily basis, as well as how I cope with those challenges.

PTSD and its related trials, are really difficult subjects to write about and I often wonder if I’m just writing for myself, or if I’m actually making a difference in someone else’s life. It’s okay if I’m just writing for myself because it definitely helps to get on paper the shit that’s bouncing around inside my head; stinging me like a scorpion every time I move the wrong way. However, it would be good to know if I’m helping to #endthestigma.

Which brings me to the topic of this week’s blog; I want to open things up to you, my audience. What would you like me to write about that I haven’t written about yet? Or, tell me something that’s worked for you that I haven’t covered and you think would be helpful?

I’m very close to finishing my book and I really want to make sure that it’s a guide for people living with PTSD, and not just a memoir of my life. Hearing more about what my readers want and need, will help me to provide a helpful and supportive guide. The more information that I have about other survivors’ experiences, as well as my own, will help my readers to realize they aren’t alone and that there is help available.

So far, I’ve written about the tools I utilize to help me get through each day but I know there is more information out there. I’ve talked to quite a few people with PTSD, and each person has his/her own little trick or bag of tricks that help them survive; if you have some and share those with me, this guide will be helpful for everyone.

Please send me anything you’ve got; you can email me, text me, tweet me - whatever works for you. Tell me whether I’ve crossed all my t’s and dotted all my i’s. I can mention you in my book, or not - it’s entirely up to you - but let’s get as much information out there as we can, by #survivors.

Stay safe and stay strong. Thanks for following.

From Highs to Lows and Back Again (approx. 2 - 2½ min. read)

Last week was good and I really felt like I was making progress but this week is an entirely different story. I have my follow-up appointment for my eyes tomorrow and my sight doesn’t seem to be any better than it was the last time I saw the surgeon. I’m terrified of what she’s going to say and as you know, stress makes my condition worse, but I feel utterly powerless to stop stressing.

I’ve been doing everything I can to try and get my mind out of the doldrums and to think positive, but I’m really struggling.

I can’t seem to get to sleep at night and I don’t want to get out of bed in the morning. I tell myself that I need to get to work on my book because I know that not having it finished isn’t helping my stress levels, but I seem to be doing absolutely everything I can to try and avoid it.

Writing my blog this week has also been a huge challenge. The first version I wrote I had to discard because it made me feel like I was sounding like a broken record; I just couldn’t bear to share something so depressing and un-inspiring with you.

Honestly, this version isn’t doing anything for me either and I’m not sure if it’s going to get posted, but the hour is getting late and I’m running out of time. It seems I wasted most of the week wallowing in self-pity, or did I?

When I look back on what I did this week, I’m not sure that wallowing is the term I should use. I used all of my self-care techniques like watching my favourite music videos, and musicals. I wrote down my thoughts; good and bad, and instead of beating myself up for not being able to "adult," I focused on being kind to my mind and taking all pressure, especially about my book, off the table.

I was able to get through the week without allowing the voices in my head to tell me anything other than "tomorrow is another day," and that is something I need to be proud of. It might not seem like I had a good week to someone that doesn’t suffer from mental illness but from someone that does, it was a good week - one of learning.

Stay safe and stay strong. Thanks for following.

I Feel Like I’m Making Leaps and Bounds! (approx. 3 - 3½ min. read)

I’m back from holidays and I want to share something I realized while I was away.

We’ve been going to the same place for years now and there are so many people we know; between returning guests and employees that it almost feels like we’re going home.

When we are there, I don’t need Gary to be by my side at every waking moment because I don’t feel stress or uncertainty venturing out the front door. I know exactly where everything is; the gym, the restaurants, the pool, are all familiar and there are always people calling out my name.

This year started out like any other but there seemed to be quite a few changes. For the most part, I let the changes roll of me like water off a duck’s back but when I couldn’t find anything edible to eat on the fifth day, I started to get a little pissed.

As some of you know, I have wheat intolerance and for the most part I can fall back on a salad, but here I was on the fifth day of our holiday and even that was proving to be impossible. It wasn’t even an hour into lunch and there was no salad dressing left; when I spoke to the restaurant manager, she told me they weren’t making anymore.

I was astonished! Lunch had almost two hours to go and they were out of dressing! I told her about my wheat allergy and explained that sandwiches and pasta weren’t something I could eat, but she just told me there was plenty of other food, and to go find something else.

Really? I was out of my comfort zone and I felt that not being able to get a salad after all the money we’d spent, was an injustice; as you know, injustice is a trigger for me. Normally, I would have caved under the pressure, probably started crying, left the restaurant embarrassed, and gone back to my room ...but I didn’t because I felt compelled to make this right. I needed to talk to someone; something that is usually incredibly anxiety provoking for me. I requested to speak to her boss; the general manager (GM).

Days went by and although I saw the GM a multitude of times, I never had the guts to speak to him. I kept telling myself that I was waiting for him to come to me, and hoping that he’d forget, but then I heard about more changes the resort had made that would affect me, and put in another request to speak to him.

After about an hour, he came and found me and asked me to join him at the snack bar. I looked over at Gary, grabbed my beach cover-up, threw it over my bathing suit and told him I’d be right back. He asked me if I wanted him to come and I told him no, and walked off without looking back.

Had I looked back, I think I would have seen him sitting there with his mouth open in astonishment because I hadn’t done anything like that in years, and he wasn’t used to it.

When I got to the snack bar, I walked over to where the GM was sitting, sat down across from him and started talking to him like I’d grown cajones, which caught me off guard. I wasn’t sure who this person was, because the person I had become since my last trauma would have become anxious, started sweating profusely, and been stumbling over her words.

Instead, there was this intelligent, totally confident person speaking up and out about something she believed in, and it reminded me how strong I truly am. Despite the adversity, especially in the last year, I have grown in leaps and bounds and I’m really proud of who I’m becoming.

Stay safe and stay strong and make sure to share a smile with someone. Thanks for following.

#mentalhealth vs. #mentalillness (approx. 1½ min, read)

Last week when my husband was reading over my blog he brought something to my attention and I decided it would be a good topic for this week’s blog. I had mentioned mental illness as well as mental health; believing they were interchangeable but after doing some research found out they aren’t even close.

CMHA defines mental health “as a state of well-being in which the individual realizes his or her own abilities, can cope with the normal stresses of life, can work productively and fruitfully and is able to make a contribution to his or her community. Whereas mental illness is a recognized, medically diagnosable illness that results in the significant impairment of an individual’s cognitive, affective or relational abilities.”

Health vs. illness; well-being vs. ill-being; cognitive vs. confused; strong vs. impaired! Humph ...if this is the case, it’s no wonder there’s so much stigma around mental illness!

We all want to be mentally healthy because when a person is mentally healthy they aren’t as easily affected by outside stressors and can live their life to their full potential.

And that’s all any of us want; to live our life to our full potential ...even if the stigma around mental health states that people like me don’t.

We WANT to be productive, interact with other people and function on a day-to-day basis just like the rest of you, but sometimes our illness gets in the way. Believe me when I say, that I can no more get over my PTSD than a person can walk off a broken leg, but my struggle is just as real.

Instead of judging mental illness - talk about it, learn about it and understand that people like me aren’t seeking attention, we’re just trying to believe that mental health is as within our reach as it is anyone else’s.

Stay safe and stay strong. Thanks for following.

References:

http://wmhp.cmhaontario.ca/workplace-mental-health-core-concepts-issues/what-is-mental-health-and-mental-illness

http://www.mentalhealth.wa.gov.au/mental_illness_and_health/mh_whatis.aspx

Being Counter-Productive... (approx. 2½ min. read)

I’m on holiday trying to take a mental health break and I’m stressing about de-stressing. Which in my opinion is being kind of counter-productive…

All of the books and webinars say that I need to be consistent by posting weekly and on the same day, but it’s hard when there are days when it’s a struggle just to get out of bed. …And you would think that being on holiday would change that, but for me PTSD doesn’t take a holiday. In fact, being out of my comfort zone only makes it harder for me to relax.

But I digress…

This isn’t the first time I’ve had to take a break since I started my blog, so instead of cutting myself some slack, I’m beating myself up because all I can think about is that I’m letting someone down…

Maybe it’s the personality type; but I’m not sure. I’ve always been afraid of letting people down or hurting them, and it might seem like I’m being self-centred but I assure you my heart is in the right place.

…I remember what it was like when I was first diagnosed with PTSD. The rejection from family and friends was dreadful, and I’ve honestly never felt more isolated. I couldn’t get my brain to do what everyone was telling me to do and that was to “GET OVER IT!” …Why couldn’t I just get over it??? I felt so incredibly screwed up and I couldn’t get my brain to do what my parents, family and some friends said should have been so easy. It honestly felt like the whole world had turned on me and suicide seemed like the only answer; sometimes it still does…

But that’s a horrible place to be, and I don’t ever want anyone to feel that way. Hence the reason I’m having trouble de-stressing …and I know I can’t reach everyone but I believe if everyone does their part, people with PTSD won’t have to continue suffering in silence.

…Here is where I’m feeling counter-productive… I’m on the beach trying to take a mental health break and I’m stressing about de-stressing. I’m lying here worried about letting my readers down because it’s been weeks since my last blog. Plus, I’m not being a good travel companion, or partner to the person who means more to me than life itself. …More importantly, I’m not giving myself a break and I really need one; this past eight - nine months has been horrendous…

So I’m going to post this as soon as I can get a good connection and I’ll be back as soon as I’ve re-charged my batteries. If you need some support while I’m gone, or want to read some really good articles on PTSD; check out www.ptsd.com. I’ve been a member since 2006 (under the name melody) and not only do they have a great support group, they’ll make you feel like family without the judgement.

Stay safe and stay strong.