The Quiet War, Part 3: At the Edge of the Abyss · 4:37am Dec 23rd, 2018
WARNING: The following blog has very frank discussions about mental health, psychiatric medications, the side effects of psychiatric medications, suicide, suicidal ideation, and similar topics.
If you are in an immediate crisis where are you struggling with any of the above, please contact a professional psychiatrist, go to your nearest Emergency Room or contact National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.
Then and Now
The last time I wrote in this blog was October 23. It’s now December 16. A lot’s changed in that time, and yet, there’s a lot of things that are still the same.
First, I’m writing this on a very depressing day to me. Painted and the fillies are currently (as I’m typing this), driving up to Reno, while I’m staying home. There’s many reasons why this is happening this way and honestly, I don’t want to get into them. Needless to say, it’s left me very lonely and very depressed. I’ve had recurrences of severe depression, leading up to short bouts of suicidal ideation.
I spent most of the afternoon with my Mom, seeing Mortal Engines (more on that in another blog, but short version: it’s fun and recommended and GORGEOUS. Someone buy me a Jenny Haniver! (Red airship they show off often in the trailer).). Being with others helps. Watching fun new movies definitely helps.
But I’m home alone now. And yes, I did this on purpose. I’m about to reveal the darkest parts of my mental health recovery, the parts where I almost leapt off the cliff. It’s the closest I’ve ever been in my life.
Originally, this was going to be Part 3 and Part 4. They were going to be separated by some time. However, I don’t want to enter the New Year with this hanging over my head. So instead, I’m writing this all out in one fell swoop and then splitting it where it needs to be done.
If you haven’t read “The Quiet War, Part 1” or “The Quiet War, Part 2,” I strongly recommend you do that before reading this. You’ll need it. Because we’re jumping right in.
Where I Was...
We left off last time with me finally getting out of inpatient care at Mesa Heights. Painted and I celebrated by going to Benihana's and then finally driving home. When I was in the hospital, my father had taken the kids for half the time (the other half my mother had taken them). They did this to give Painted some desperately needed personal time.
Thankfully, we didn’t have to worry about them for a few more hours. Exhausted from my ordeal, I tried to take a nap, but that wasn’t in the cards. Instead, I rested and just listed to Wise Man’s Fear by Patrick Rothfuss on Audible. Being outside my head helped, but in reality, I was just delaying things. After some time, I got up again and Painted and I watched about half of Ready Player One, a movie I’ve wanted to see again for quite a while. It was actually really hard, because my ADHD meds had been adjusted to such a low dosage through the day, I couldn’t even really enjoy that.
When the kids came home, I tried to help with them, but just having Primary Colour (my eldest) showing me things turned into a panic attack, forcing me to leave. That was hard. I did tell my father about it all before he left though. That helped a little.
In the end, I wasn’t much good for the kids, but Painted didn’t expect much. I simply didn’t have the emotional strength to deal with them even through the night. Painted had to handle them both. While we both watched the end of Ready Player One, my thoughts were a jumbled mess.
It was a relief when I finally went to bed.
A Short Reprieve
One would think that after I left Mesa Heights, I would be “all better.” The reality is that after leaving inpatient care, things actually became more difficult. At inpatient, your whole focus is supposed to be on stabilization, medication and making sure you’re ready to transition back to some semblance of normal life. While I may have started the transition, things were definitely going to get worse before they got better.
And there was nothing I could do about it.
My First Day Home
In truth, the entire experience at Canyon Ridge Hospital... it's surreal now. My life there and my life at home are so different to be... well, the facility seems like a dream. I can barely remember most of it. I... don't know why. Was it really that stressful that I'm suppressing it?
Or is it a side effect of my meds and now that I have many distractions, I can't keep focused on anything long enough to actually do stuff?
I'm not sure.
- Transcription from my Mesa Heights for Sunday, July 22 at 9:50PM.
The day after I got home (Monday), my mind and body were a mess. It was hard to think. My mind bounced from one topic to another without remembering what the previous topic was. I hadn’t learned much in therapy, so I didn’t know how to deal with things. And to make things worse, my primary medication, Adderall, had been changed dramatically.
A Quick Medication Lesson
Before entering the ER, I had been taking one 10mg pill of Adderall roughly every 4 hours. My latest dose tended to be around 7:30PM.
The thing is, the standard effective dose for Adderall lasts for 6 hours. Well, it doesn’t work like that for me. Adderall is only effective for 4 hours for me.
However, at Mesa Heights, they thought that was FAR too late to be taking medication. Originally, they only had me on two 15mg pills, one at around 6, the second around 2.
Because of all of this, I was constantly at war with my own mind to pay attention (this is also the reason I couldn’t really write creatively). If you’re wondering how I could keep a journal, it’s because I had a little secret that can help me get through intensely stressful times while being very stressed: hyperfocusing.
Hyperfocusing acts at a super-Adderall. Honest-to-God, I got my AAS (Associate of Applied Science, basically an AA) completely without any sort of ADHD medication because I hated where I was living and basically lived at the community college. When I found a happy place to life when I moved up to the University level, that all fell apart.
And in case you’re wondering, no, I don’t recommend it. Hyperfocusing isn’t something you can depend on. I didn’t realize I had done the hyperfocusing thing in college until many years later (mainly because it’s the only explanation).
I wouldn’t get my meds straightened out for almost two months.
Back to the First Day
A ton of errands were left for me on that Monday. One of them should have been to contact the two “intensive outpatient program” facilities early in the morning, but I’d decided I would take a day off. This was such a massive mistake.
I did end up calling them at around 5:30, after they were closed, leaving a message at Alto Hospital and another place that would turn out to be Alto Beach (as I described in Part 2). I also left a message with my Mesa Heights case worker, as I was rather confused. By the end of the night, I got a call back from one of the departments, only to find out that I’d contacted the Chemical Abuse program, not the Psychiatric program. I left another message with the right people.
Even on this day, I was trying to figure out the solution for my leave.
You see, a great deal of my programs tended to be logistical. But when you’re tired, weakened, desperate and basically begging for help, those logistical problems become something else entirely. They become nightmares.
Thankfully, we did have one problem solved: Painted had reached out to some friends and had dinners delivered to us (usually they were nice homemade things). This was a lifesaver.
One Week After Going In
Tuesday marked the one week date after I got checked into UCI Medical Center’s ER and eventually shipped off to Mesa Heights. I woke up to Sunny Smiles (the youngest girl) screaming her head off. Decided to actually get up to find out the fuss… and get ready for a day of phone calls.
This time, I actually got to talk to real people. That was a nice change of pace, because seriously, their phone system was horrible.
I got a hold of Alto Beach and I got to learn about the two different kinds of Mental Health Therapy.
Intensive Outpatient Programs
The first kind of treatment is called either “Full Day” or “Partial Hospitalization Program” (PHP). That’s when you’re there for the full day. In Alto Beach’s example, it would mean 9:30 to 3:30. Basically, you’re still doing treatment like you would if you were Inpatient, but you get to go home at the end of the day, and the hours tend to be shorter.
The second—and the one I would be using—is called “Intensive Outpatient Program” or IOP. It actually sounds a lot worse than it is (both do, really). Even after going through it for months, that title sounds intimidating. In Alto Beach, IOP programs were based on time. For example, there was one set that was 9 to 12:30, while a second set was from 12:30 to 3:30.
Alto Beach had a great sounding program. People are split up by their diagnosis (chemical abuse, bipolar, schizophrenia, anxiety, depression) and combined with the best set of others. Everything’s group therapy (wasn’t thrilled about that). You’d be assigned a point person therapist. You would see a psychiatrist once a month (definitely not thrilled about that), and you’d see them more if it was required. Heck, they even had a family day where you bring a family member (just Painted in this case) to see the program.
Plus, it was on Pacific Coast Highway and you could literally see the ocean from some windows in the program. Driving out of the parking structure, the entire Pacific is in front of you.
Sounds great right? Well, there’s a few complications.
Delays
First of all, my insurance, Blue Shield, contracts out their mental healthcare to a group known as Magellan, who are, frankly, bastards and that’s probably the nicest thing I’ve ever called them. The way it works is that the insurance company gives a certain amount of days, then the hospital needs to contact them to get more. And this happens until the insurance company finally cuts me off. So, I’ve got that hanging over my head.
It’s funny. I’m looking back at this. The Novel back then had no idea how insane this would all get. He didn’t know or understand. The Novel today… well, I frankly feel sorry for the poor guy.
I made an appointment to see someone at Alto Beach the following day (Wednesday). I also called Kathy, my therapist, asking if I could move up my appointment. Plus, I contacted Mesa Heights because I was really confused if I was supposed to go in under PHP or IOP.
You see, what I didn’t know at the time, is that PHP and IOP are vastly different levels of care when it comes to insurance companies. In fact, according to a nurse I met at a later date, if things had been handled differently at Alto Hospital, Black Monday never would have happened.
During all this, I was also transcribing my Mesa Heights Journals into my computer so I didn’t lose them. This tended to emotionally wreck me again and again, because I was reliving all of that pain. It sucked.
What I didn’t know was I was whittling down my defenses. Not to nothing, of course… but to a point where I was completely unprepared for what happened in a few days.
Wednesday
Wednesday was another day of errands. I hadn’t been out of work for more than two weeks, but I was starting to feel the pressure. I had to contact my leave company, I had to deal with my insurance and more importantly, I had my first meeting with the folks at Alto Beach.
The appointment at Alto Beach went very well. There was a short psychological interview, then I got a description of the program and the expectations. I was warned time and time again that it would be very intense. Brutal, even. Ha! If only they knew.
What the woman tried to prepare me for is what these programs are designed to do: help you analyze yourself in the most invasive and intense way possible. To break down the boundaries you’ve spent years or decades building and get to the root of your issues. If they need to beat those walls down, they’ll do it and often, they’re not subtle. Their program lasted 3 months and they didn’t recommend people go back to work until toward the very end, because it was just so emotionally exhausting.
I was a little intimidated, but the rest of me was going “bring it on.” I knew what I was doing wasn’t working. So, I was going to do something else.
The only thing that stopped me from signing up right then and there was me wanting to consult with my therapist, Kathy and she wouldn’t be available until Thursday night.
But even with this looming, the thoughts were now back in full force. Depression, suicidal ideation and more. At one point in the night, I heard Painted trying to discipline the kids and I literally had an image of me shooting myself in my chest, because I was so frustrated at being useless.
Wednesday night was another battle with the kids, sadly. And, ironically to a lot of you, it was me trying to figure out the Nook and a few of my friendships. Don’t get me wrong, no one judged me or made me feel bad for leaving. Those who I trusted I told the truth. Those I didn’t I simply said I was on medical leave and/or in the hospital.
I just felt there were people I should have shared more with. And I should have. Thankfully, that’s a lesson I’ve gotten much better at over the last few months.
Shipping the Noble Jury
I want to give a special thanks to Arcshod here. While I know I don’t have a massive number of Austraeoh followers, before any of this started, I took up the mantle of the 2018 Noble Jury Hoodie. For those of you who don’t know, several years ago, the fans of the massive Austraeoh series (the Jurists) created a “Band Tour” like hoodie. I’m friends with a good number of Jurists and I really liked the design of the hoodie. And since they were all custom printed, I couldn’t get one until the next printing.
The last guy to print them had sworn off ever doing it again because it’s a logistical nightmare. But I still wanted one.
Originally, I was just going to do another print run. Then I had the crazy idea (and sadly, no, I don’t know where this idea came from), of doing an updated version of the hoodie! After all, it had been a few years and the story had progressed quite a bit from where the hoodie had ended at the time. So, after a long process, I updated them with new names, locations and a slightly altered design on the rear, including different colors that I felt fit the theme a little better.
If anyone wondered why there was a delay between me receiving all of the hoodies on Friday, July 6 and not start packing them until July 26… well, here’s the truth. I was having a massive breakdown. But I did start packing them here. It didn’t turn out right the first few attempts, but I got it down. Sadly, there would be a hiccup coming real soon.
Kathy
As most of you know, Kathy had been there from the beginning of this process. She’d recommended I go into the ER. So, I wanted her go ahead before I went into the IOP/PHP program at Alto Beach. Thankfully, she approved me going full-on. However, at the time, my reaction was rather passive. More of a shrug and a “okay.”
I’m going to give you a few quotes here.
...this is going to be f[lipping] brutal. The person who did the initial interview thingy used the word "intense" at least 5-6 times. I'm not really looking forward to it, but I told Kathy today that I've really become rather passive to the entire thing.
Me driving wasn't working... so I think I've just sort of given up the reins to the medical professionals. I'm just sort of going with the flow, while still being proactive on getting the help I need.
I'm tired. I'm just emotionally and mentally wrung out. Every day this week, I've worked my ass off on something or another. I hope I'm not actually running from my issues.
I don't really think I'm actually suicidal anymore. The SI (suicidal ideation) is passing at most, though it's winding up a little bit. Depression seems to come and go and the anxiety really only gets triggered around the kids (that needs to be an area of focus).
- Transcription from Personal Journal for Thursday, July 26 at 7:29PM
That very same night, I was slammed by SI because of the kids and feeling helpless to help Painted. Phrases like “you’re useless” and “you’re a failure” bombarded me. Panic attacks crashed into my brain. Even the concept of shooting myself wouldn’t let me be.
I made it through the night by writing stories where I didn’t have to be me.
Friday & the Weekend
Friday was a mostly low-key day. I was excited to contact Alto Beach to tell them to sign me up, but I just left a message. I think I called during their lunch break. If I had called them back, things… wouldn’t not be as they are.
I did send out the first twenty of the Noble Jury hoodies on Friday, too, so yay.
There wasn’t a lot of things that happened this weekend. I sent out Noble Jury hoodies as I got the information I needed. The girls even helped. However, there were a fair amount of family stressors (including car stuff. I hate car stuff.)
Tsitra did come to my rescue Sunday night by having dinner with me though. That helped to talk to someone knew about everything leading to my hospitalization. That being said, Sunday had a minimum of 25 panic attacks… probably more.
You Don’t Stop Taking the Medication Because It Works
In the last few days, my emotional stability has been tanking horribly. I’m extremely irritable. The smallest things get massive reactions. I feel panicked and rushed. I start screaming nonsense. Depression kicking my ass. Panic attack and a ton of SI yesterday. Maybe it’s the end of the Prozac finally wearing out. I’ve noticed my behavior seeming more compulsive.
Somethings definitely wrong, because I feel far less stable than I was. Tomorrow Primary has a critical ADHD neurophysiological appointment, but after that, I’m doing some serious writing and blogging, then calling Alto Beach and getting the f[lipping] help I need.
- Transcription from Personal Journal for Tuesday, July 31, 2018 at 12:13AM
It had been over a week since I left Mesa Heights and things were actually getting worse. Panic attacks, SI, stuff all over the place. I remember several of us thinking seriously about getting me readmitted to an inpatient facility. Each day had further stressors. Both Monday and Tuesday were messes, with tons of stress on Monday and an important doctor appointment on Tuesday, both of which dominated the day, though I did manage to get more and more hoodies shipped. I was so overwhelmed, I waited for someone to contact me from Alto Hospital until Wednesday (I think I was going to call them that day if they didn’t call me).
This is what nearly damned me.
Confirmations
On Wednesday, August 1, I finally got ahold of someone at Alto Beach. I had to admit, I was pretty pissed that they hadn’t returned my damn call earlier. I hate phone calls. Always have. So calling them back was difficult, but after the weekend and Monday and Tuesday, I needed help. They called me shortly before I called them.
I was also foolish, thinking I had a nice few days where I didn’t have to think about my issues. But as you see above, that was a lie. I was absolutely thinking about my problems. I was a mess. A total disaster. I was barely a Daddy, wasn’t much of a husband and could barely stand being myself.
God, it’s amazing how deluded we can make ourselves. Absolutely amazing.
But I remember still being terrified of going into admissions for this. I was set to start on Friday at 8:30 AM. It would start soon… and I started to get scared again. It was different than going into the ER, somehow.
When I went into the ER, I… was so lost I would take anyone’s outstretched hand. But this time, I had to make a choice. I had to think about it. And I could see beyond the next few minutes. Anxiety is most often caused by “What Ifs.” Screwed up, but there it is.
And I was drowning in What Ifs…
Something’s wrong. EVERYTHING is wrong.
That’s the name of my main blog from Thursday. It was about the goals I wanted to achieve but couldn’t. This was during the Destiny 2 “Solstice of Heroes” event. There were many times where I wanted to stop playing and do something else… but I couldn’t. I actually couldn’t stop. One of my best friends contacted me that day, but instead of stopping to TALK to her… I kept playing.
This may not sound like a big deal to you. After all, it was just a video game, right?
Well, imagine anything you’re doing. Imagine thinking that “Hey, I should do something else, I’ve spent too long on this.” And then finding your body unwilling to move. Your mind unwilling to stop. Honestly, I don’t think I can convey this properly. Those who’ve experienced will know what I mean. And yes, it’s part of OCD.
Painted’s tried to be there as much as possible, but once again, I’m beyond her reach, floating and lost... and so tired and so scared of tomorrow.
- Transcription from Personal Journal for Thursday, August 2, 2018 at 5:49PM
I remember talking to Kathy that day about the potential need for me to go back to inpatient. I think I told her to wait.
I wanted to see what would happen next.
GRAY FRIDAY
Alto Beach PHP Program
Gray Friday.
I’ve been dreading talking about this day. Been dreading this part in the blog. Right now, it’s 10:43 PM. I could be relaxing. Trying to unwind. But I know if I manage to get through this… it’s another demon off my shoulder.
I don’t know if I’ll make it to Black Monday tonight. But I’m going to push through for today.
Because Gray Friday, my first day at Alto Beach PHP/IOP, was actually awesome.
That’s what made it so bloody horrible.
I started out scared and lightheaded (some of that was because I only got 4 hours of sleep), but going through all the needed paperwork and short interviews. However, within minutes, I was escorted back and sorta just thrown into one of the programs… and my first exposure to a type of therapy I’ve never seen before called DBT: Dialectic Behavioral Therapy.
Here are my notes from the first session at Alto Beach:
Mindfulness, Distress, Emotion, Interpersonal Tolerance, Regulation Effectiveness.
"Yeah, but..." is a dangerous rationalization
- Denial, minimization
- Shift to a "Yeah, and..."
Very tired, having trouble concentrating.
Intimidated by the very real challenging conversations I'm already walking into
Practical Actions
- Telling the kids "I don't respond to yelling." and holding out. They'll need to change to get what they want. (It won't always work though.)
- Ability and permission to set internal boundaries to limit external impact.
- Internal boundaries is also about letting good things in.
- DBT is an antidote to co-dependency.
- Transcription from Alto Beach Journal for Friday, August 3, 10:05AM
I really engaged with this. I didn’t get a lot of time for good notes, but unlike the people in the inpatient program at Mesa Heights, the patients at Alto Beach were… well, like me. Many of them were professionals with lives, jobs, families and more. Hell, most of them were a hell of a lot better off than I am. I even found out that people in my company had come here. I got to talk to some folks about that.
The very first day… I actually made friends. The therapists were completely prepared to call patients on BS and they did it in this very aggressive manner, forcing patients to dig deep and find out the real truth behind what they were saying and doing.
I looked around and went… I can find the truth here. I can figure out what really makes me tick. And if you know me well, you know I’m always craving the opinion of people I care about and trust. Even after everything I’ve gone through, I still don’t really trust my own judgement, especially when it comes to my views on myself. So having someone tell me what they see, as long as it’s done with love and kindness, is almost always welcome.
(Now, this could be misinterpreted, so I’ll clarify for a moment. I’m not saying I want everyone to give me brutal opinions on my flaws or only tell me what’s good. Usually, I’ll ask for this, privately and quietly so no one will ever see or know. This isn’t about ego, or even protecting my ego, my goal for these moments are glimpses of truth, perspective through another.)
The key is that I was going to get this from professional therapists, as well. That’s a big deal.
That first day, we explored codependency, general psychotherapy, self-esteem… and every one of them spoke to me. I engaged instantly. It was fantastic.
Hell, even the caferteria food was amazing! (Seriously, it was epic. So much so that people later would get sick of hearing about it).
I was so excited. I couldn’t wait to come back.
But… as always, there was a catch.
Insurance Wars, Part I
As I’m sure some of you know, most insurance companies don’t deal with mental health issues well. A broken arm is medically simple. Doctors know what to do and when it’s healed. But a broken spirit caused by depression? That’s not nearly as easy to quantify. And if drugs don’t help you off the bat…
Then you require programs like what I went to. They really don’t like that.
Let’s get this out of the way.
Magellan, my mental health insurance provider through Blue Shield, refused to cover me at Alto Beach. Yes. Despite the fact that the case worker at Mesa Heights had referred me to this place. Despite the fact that I called another part of my insurance (Collective Health, who is sort of a go-between group, I think) and they swore up and down that Alto Beach was indeed covered under my insurance.
I worked with an RN and their main insurance clerk, a woman named Alina. At the end of the day, it was starting to sound like Alto Beach wasn’t actually in network. And to make it worse, I had to skip the relaxation group to call my insurance and try to get it straightened out.
In honesty, I want to go back. I don't know if I'll get to. I may have to go somewhere else, because of this mess with the insurance system, how Alto Hospital (the main one) isn't in-network, but Alto Beach is, as of May 1, 2018. Worse, they use similar coding, so most likely it's caused by the people being talked to at Blue Shield Insurance not realizing they're different groups.
The situations were tough, but the food was good and I struck up good conversations with a few people.
However... even though the insurance thing was a punch to the gut, I got my fire back and called them myself, determined to make it work, and I got what I needed to have pieces in motion.
- Transcription from Alto Beach Journal for Friday, August 3, 11:00AM
It seemed like a clerical error. But if it was a clerical error, I was sure they would fix it on Monday. I didn’t need to worry about it.
Still, clerical error or not, it took a lot out of me. Far too much. Between the emotional drain of the classes and the chaos of everything involved with insurance… I wasn’t ready for what was next.
Rescheduled
Because of my stressful day, I decided to stop at Yogurtland for some comfort food. At 3:04 PM, I received a phone call that I didn’t get until almost an hour later. It was from the office of who was supposed to be my new psychiatrist, Dr. L. Recommended to me by Kathy, I’d been looking forward to seeing him for some time and considering I was still on only two Adderall a day, I desperately wanted to see him.
I didn’t see it at first. Took me some time. But when I realized who it was--the message was somewhat garbled--I got my yogurt to go and raced home.
I scrambled back into my bedroom for privacy and immediately called the office again. Dr. L had some sort of medical thing that would last an entire week. I needed to reschedule for later that month.
He has some sort of medical thing. His receptionist just got a call today telling me I need to reschedule for... later this month. I admit to being nearly in hysterics and trying desperately not to take it out on the poor receptionist. I begged to be put on a cancelation list, but that's not going to happen until the 13th.
...as it stands, my appointment got shoved back 2 weeks to August 20th.
It was supposed to be this Monday.
- Transcription from Personal Journal for Friday, August 3, 3:51PM
Broken
Warning: the next part is very intense.
Because of the insurance, the exhaustion of the various sessions and more… I shattered.
Below is a direct quote of my journal that I wrote. The time doesn’t make any sense, but I can only assume I added to it throughout the rest of the day.
After getting off the phone with the receptionist... I started screaming. The deep, shrieking, enraged, hysterical panicked shriek at the very top of my lungs, that I haven't done in months. Usually, it's once or twice.
It was at least five times.
I collapsed into bed, thrashing, convulsion, in the throes of a full seizure. Painted rushed in and tried to help, but I was frankly out of my mind. I felt like I had a full psychotic break. I was constantly hitting myself in the head, punching my chest (and my head). I kept screaming. I was sobbing hysterically. I was...
It was--by far--the worst panic attack I've ever had in my life. Far and away worse than the one I had at Apple that drove me to part-time disability.
The thoughts in my head were horrific. I had images of taking a basic steak knife and driving it into my throat. Of cutting myself horizontally along my left arm (which may have been planted by someone talking about cutting themselves in a group today). There were... other things, I think, but those are the two I remember clearly.
More than anything, I just wanted it to STOP.
Painted was beside herself with panic and fear. I knew she was crying herself, but I was thrashing so hard she had to pin me to the pin to stop me from trying to punch myself, slap myself or do other things. I was sobbing my eyes out, my throat raw from screaming and weeping. I remember screaming "I want this to stop, why won't it stop?" and "I can't take it anymore. I can't handle this. I can't do this anymore," over and over and over again.
Painted, desperate, tried to get the story out of me. I have a tendency to repeat two or three word phrases when I'm in a panic attack, and I tried to get it out, what happened with Dr. L, what happened with the Insurance, I was repeating "I called them" for a good 3-4 minutes. Maybe longer. I don't remember specifically. Time lost all meaning in this thing. I repeated other things, even to the point of me losing my breath and still going.
There were multiple points where I couldn't breathe. Times where I tried to actually strangle myself. I didn't... I know I can physically overpower Painted if I need to, but I did let her stop me. The few times I found myself calming was when she intertwined her fingers with mine, pinning them both to either side of my head.
It was 20-25 minutes long, constantly sobbing, screaming, sometimes calming down, then winding back up again. She held me against her side, she tried so many things trying to calm me, but I think in the end, it was just having here there until I was spent... that what was I needed.
I kept going on and on about me desperately trying to get help... and no one will help me. I won't go back to Dr G. He'll just fuck me up again. I won't.
Eventually, I ran out of fire... and I just... collapsed back on the bed. I was so hot, Painted had to strip me out of the Noble Jury hoodie. I couldn't do it myself. I was sweating like mad. Thrashing, like I was being tortured.
And then, according to my Fitbit, I fell asleep around 4:29PM, and save for 15 minutes or so... I slept until nearly 7:30 PM. (2 h 41 minutes sleep according to my Fitbit). I got up briefly (at 6:30PM my alarm for meds woke me up) and went back to bed, not caring about anything else. I remember hearing Painted and the kids, Painted getting them down to bed.
Within minutes I was out again.
I woke up to Mom being there. I fell asleep a few times with Mom stroking my arm or hand, just trying to be there, trying to find out what had happened. Painted had told both Kathy and Mom everything, as I wish I could have asked, but didn't have the ability at the time.
Eventually, between fading in and out with Mom, Painted came in to check on me... eventually called Kathy, I took Painted's appointment for tomorrow. I told Mom about a few of the SIs... which were almost plans.
There were points in there where I really did want to kill myself, just to make the pain stop. Just to stop feeling so hopeless and helpless. Just to make it STOP.
Eventually, I ordered food. Painted came in, we talked, I chatted with Mom a bit... and then I asked to not be left alone tonight. No RP. No nothing. I had already said I wouldn't be doing D&D tonight after the mess with the insurance. Kathy recommended I try to just ground myself, get out of my head.
Painted and I ended up watching the Hobbit (Part 1), and I got to deal with some parking pass stuff from the association.
But eventually, we were both too tired. I still need to get fully ready for bed... but I have little doubt I'll pass out in seconds.
I'm so tired.
Part of me wishes I'd never wake up... but I just need to stay intact until 12:00 PM tomorrow... when I see Kathy.
I hope Sunday doesn't see me in the ER again.
- Transcription from Personal Journal for Friday, August 3, 4:10PM
Looking back at that… and I haven’t read it since I wrote it the first time… well, I only changed a few names. I’m leaving it otherwise, at least for now.
This is the clearest picture I can give of my worst panic attack to date. I hope you believe me when I say that I’m not exaggerating or making any of this up. To do so would be to completely defeat the purpose of these blogs. No, this is the truth. The horrible, evil truth of someone who cracking under pressure.
I will remind you that not everyone experiences panic attacks the same way. Primary Colour (my eldest daughter) has panic attacks and they look pretty different. All I’m doing here is showing you what mine look like. What others endure… only they can tell their story.
You see now why I call this day Gray Friday.
You’ll see shortly why I call Monday Black Monday.
Weekend
That weekend, I indeed saw Kathy. I was under instructions to basically stay out of my head. She wanted me playing Destiny 2 nonstop. I was to minimize stressors, try and stay away from the kids, until I could get help at Alto Beach.
I did some more Noble Jury hoodie stuff, but it didn’t help much. Suicidal ideation started to get scary. Giving me reasons to do things permanently. In fact, I almost walked in front of a moving car, according to my journals.
I read these and the deeper it goes into the weekend, the more nonsensical they get. And I’ll admit, they get dark. Really dark. Me screaming things in the car. Bad things.
A Pause
At this point, I wonder if I should keep going. Do you really need to see how black things get? Do I really need to go through this all over again, feel it all over again, remember it all over again?
Do I?
No. I don’t.
I could stop here. I could decide to never publish this. Hell, I’m still scared about that panic attack I described. Reading that put me back in that body, remembering hitting myself or trying to strangle myself.
I could stop right here, right now.
But then… how does anyone get to learn the truth?
Some of you, maybe even a lot of you, have dealt with mental health issues. Maybe not you personally, but a friend or loved one. Maybe you understand what they’re going through. Maybe you only think you do. Maybe you don’t at all.
And that’s something you should be thinking about: do you actually understand?
People throw around terms like “I understand” a lot these days. Well, I’m going to be a little harsh here, but chances are you do not understand.
Some of you know me in person. Some of you know me from the Nook. Some just from my stories and some have just happened to wander by. No matter how you know me, I hope you see me a little differently today. Not someone to be pitied, but someone who decided to fight.
I don’t pretend to be perfect. Perfect people don’t write blogs like these. But I did fight.
What you take away from this blog is really your business.
What I want you to take away is a better understanding of mental health. How the stigma that having ADHD, Autism, Bipolar, Schizophonia, Dementia or any one of a hundred other conditions needs to die forever. The stigma must end. Just like the stigma against transgender people. Just like the stigma against any kind of sexuality, straight, pan, bi, gay, lesbian, whatever.
Stigmas tear people apart.
These people, people like me, people like your neighbor or coworker or that odd guy down the street… we all deserve respect, kindness and help.
You don’t need to pour money into someone’s pocket. But treat them like a human being. Reach out. Show some goodness.
You’re a fan of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. A lot of people have forgotten the message of the show. The core of the show. It’s that friendship is the actual point. The Elements of Harmony are the core values to make them work.
Recently, I talked to Heartshine about what Element I am. What I decided on--what we agreed on--isn’t relevant here. But these blogs do show a couple Elements. Like honesty. This is the truth as best as I can remember or as best as I recorded it. It’s also generosity. I’m giving you my experience freely. I’m giving you the most important thing I have.
And the reason why?
Because even if this blog was hell to write, even if reliving all of these give me nightmares for a week, if it helped one single person...
Then it’s all worth it.
A Pause, Part II
When I originally wrote this, I had intended to do this as one massive blog. But at 16,000 words, I think that’s a bit excessive for one read. So I’m cutting it into two parts. It’s fitting for one part to cover Gray Friday and the events leading up to it while the second part will cover Black Monday and the aftermath, as long as the slow recovery.
Either way, I’m glad to have this done. This will likely go up shortly before Christmas, with the fourth and final piece of this blog series coming out shortly after Christmas.
I admit, this isn’t the kind of message I wanted to share near Christmas. It’s dark and almost too tragic. However, it’s part of the story and part of my healing. For those who read it, I say thank you. I know it can’t be easy to read this sort of thing.
But as I said before, if it helps one single soul… then it’s worth it.
Still, I will wish you a Merry Christmas anyway.
Thank you.
-Novel
If you are in an immediate crisis where are you struggling with any of the above, please contact a professional psychiatrist, go to your nearest Emergency Room or contact National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.
Thanks for sharing part 3! Every one of these has been pretty eye-opening and it's absolutely a story worth telling in all its vivid, harsh, and gory details.
And if it means anything, I've known you were a fighter since part 1.
Very little I can say other than thanks very much for sharing this. Unfortunately, I have no training or experience in psychiatry so there isn't much I can do beyond hoping things get better for you.
We haven't always seen eye to eye, Novel. But this is one of the most important things I've ever read. I've been where both you and Painted are, and it's so refreshing to hear I'm not alone. From the bottom of my heart, I wish you all the best.
guhh, I feel so bad for you D:
No one deserves this shit.
Thank you again for sharing this. I don't really have much to say that wouldn't sound wrong or stupid, so I'll just say that reading about your struggles with mental illness have been helpful for dealing with my own.
4984492
Thanks Winston. It's been a nightmare to tell it, but I always knew it was worth telling. And... it wouldn't be worth telling without the horrible details. That's when you realize the impact, right?
4984506
I don't post these seeking help, though I do appreciate the sentiment. I have professionals who are still helping me to this day and will likely continue to do so for years to come. My goal here is to show others that the road to help exists. It's a brutal nightmare sometimes, but it's there, if you're willing to walk it.
Nonetheless, thank you.
4984525
I have to admit, I wasn't expecting to receive a comment from you, but I'm very happy I did. You're right. We've had our differences, but the fact that you reached out and gave me praise like this:
I can't say what that means to me (but I'm going to try anyway). That means a lot. It stunned me and it made me smile (and maybe geek out a little that anyone could think that!).
I did cover a lot in this blog, and I don't want to assume I know exactly which topic you're speaking of, but I am very glad it gave you some comfort. I know when I eventually made it into certain parts of my therapy and learned I wasn't alone by hearing other people's stories (instead of just intellectually "knowing" other people like me were out there), it resonated with me.
As you wished me all the best, Beta, I wish the same to you. I wish no one had to suffer through anything here... but I know people will. Knowing we're not alone seems to help a lot.
4984538
No. They don't. But tons do, sadly. And there are a ton a lot worse off than me.
I survive, thank God. And I'm going to do my damnest to help those still fighting.
4985015
Intent matters. I know it's hard (or scary, difficult, terrifying, confusion, pick a word here) to talk about, but your intent matters. And you conveyed that well. Thank you, and I certainly hope it does give you hope.