The Quiet War, Part 4: The Beacon on the Hill · 11:59pm Dec 26th, 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.
This Is Me
This will be the last entry in “The Quiet War” series (Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3). And, to the surprise of no one, I’m not going to miss writing in this blog series. It’s the most invasive, most personal, most gut-wrenching thing I’ve ever posted. I know I’ve said that on stories in passing… but this? This is something entirely different.
For a lot of authors, we use our stories to process our feelings. We do it to process out pain or our problems. Sometimes about relationships. Sometimes about ourselves. Figuring out who we are, what we want, what we should be doing. As I’ve said before, Sunset’s Angry Little Pony comes straight out of my head. My personal little demon.
However, sometimes the stories aren’t enough. All too often, the stories aren’t enough. We’re hiding behind different worlds, different characters and sometimes different feelings. We can’t process them until we talk about them. Until we come to terms with the fact that this is how we feel, this is what we’ve endured, this is our reality.
It’s one of the scariest things you can do, but stepping up and showing your weakness can become not only your greatest strength, but a rallying point to everyone around you.
Everything you read in these blogs, I’ve talked about. I’ve talked about with my therapist, Kathy. I’ve talked about it with close friends. Sometimes, I didn’t talk to people I wanted to because I was afraid or prideful. The people I did talk to was because they were personal friends who I developed a wonderful relationship with.
These are not secrets that I’ve never revealed to anyone. What you’re about to read, I had to talk about a ton with the staff and patients of the hospitals I went to. It became some of the core of my therapy.
If you’re struggling, find someone. There are now free therapy apps available on the iPhone. For those of you with companies with an EAP program, you probably have 6 free counseling sessions available to you for free. If you need to pay money, do it.
Stories aren’t enough. We need other people. Real people. All too often, trained professionals (a helpful friend isn’t a psychologist).
Start with friends. But don’t be afraid to go further.
One more thing… as you read this, I’d like you to think about the journey I’ve gone through starting back in July when I was admitted for suicidal thoughts. Thinking about the journey is what makes the ending worthwhile.
I may still be walking the road (it doesn’t end, but it can get easier), but sometimes I like to look back and see the mountain for what it is.
It’s a mountain that’s behind me. There may be mountains ahead of me, but that one? That one is behind me. Then I keep walking.
You always keep walking.
BLACK MONDAY
Introduction
WARNING: THIS SECTION OF THE BLOG CONTAINS EXTREMELY DESCRIPTIVE THOUGHTS ON SUICIDE. IF THIS IS A TROUBLING SUBJECT FOR YOU, PLEASE MOVE TO THE NEXT HEADER OR CONTACT ONE OF THE RESOURCES AT THE BEGINNING OF THE BLOG.
Black Monday.
Despite my words, I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to write about this day. I don’t want to read these journals. I don’t want to go back.
But that’s the thing about mental health: if you aren’t willing to really look into yourself, you’re never going to get better. A wound needs to be cleaned out before it can really heal. Fail to do a good job… and you’ll often end up with something far worse. That’s what happened to me.
In Part 1 and Part 2, I talked a lot about a very dark day that would come after my time at an inpatient facility. A lot of that I did in dramatic fashion. I am a storyteller. It’s who I am and a part of my life I am very proud of.
For this day, the storyteller takes a backseat. The storyteller did that for the description of Gray Friday and it will do it again. No stories. Only the truth.
The following will contain most of the journal I wrote that stopped me from attempting suicide and more.
You’ve been warned.
Alto Beach PHP, Monday Morning
After the weekend I’d just had, I was afraid of going to the session at Alto Hospital. I was afraid I would instantly be put back in inpatient. As far as I was concerned, I had completely and utterly failed. I had relapsed so badly, my time at Mesa Heights was all but irrelevant.
Still, I’ve shown that I’m one who can still act in the fact of fear. This day is no different. But it started out horrifically. First, I wasn’t entirely safe while driving. I had panic attacks causing me to jerk my car around inside a lane. My mind was catastrophizing and it wouldn’t stop. I didn’t know how to make it stop.
When I arrived, there was a Post-It note with my name on it, telling me to speak to Alina, the one in charge of insurance at Alto Hospital. A few minutes later, I find out that Alina’s first call of the morning to Mercury Insurance resulted with Mercury rejecting me again.
Still, they were working on it and they wanted me to at least attend group as far as I could.
Alto Beach PHP, Goals Group & Mindfulness Group
I'm consumed by the fear of getting rejected. Things are not looking positive (Alina) is still getting the rejection of the system.
If I'm kicked out, in a day or two, I'll call Blue Shield and brawl it out with them.
She (Alina) said TWICE that she needs to get ahold of her manager to make sure I'm not charged for today. I agree...
But hearing about that makes me feel more helpless, more depressed, more hopeless.
They're talking about anger right now, and while I've had a lot of flashpan anger, I don't know how to cope or offer any good advice.
Every bang of a door is preoccupying my mind. Terrified of the next open opening door will kick me out.
I'm sweating in fear.
I don't know how I'll cope with getting turned away. Yes, there are other places... but I can't deal with another delay, another rejection....
if I get turned down...
I don't know if I can emotionally handle it. I'm already on the brink due to Dr. L pushing me back two weeks
- Transcription from Alto Beach Journal for Monday, August 6, 2018 at 9:10AM
As the first day started, it was nearly impossible to focus on the group tasks. However, I was encouraged to stay in the moment and try to get as much as I can. If I have to leave, take as much as I can. Rational, logical advice. Sound advice even.
However, there is a difference between the emotional mind and the rational mind (DBT is great at talking about this, by the way). The words were spoken from a rational mind, but I was too lost in the emotional mind for them to matter.
To make things worse, I had a rather abrupt conflict with another patient, who cussed me out for taking off my jacket.
This patient had problems of his own and looking back now, I know it had nothing to do with me, but even as they stormed out, I burst into quiet tears. I was just so overwhelmed I couldn’t take it anymore. Every new problem pushed me closer to the ledge. That person did apologize less than an hour later, though I was still reacting emotionally, terrified of him. I accepted it nonetheless.
As more time went by and I went into my second group, the pressure of my insurance slowly faded and I found myself in the moment. By 11 AM, the panic didn’t feel all-consuming. I felt that I could handle this.
Part of this was me becoming more and more comfortable at Alto Beach.
Alto Beach PHP, Psychotherapy Group
I had a total of three sessions on Monday morning. When I eventually transcribed my Alto Beach transcript, I wrote this as a header to the final session.
*(This will be the last entry for my time at Alto. It's surprising how little time I actually spent there and how much I got out of it. I remember excellent food on that single day, Friday. I remember the comfortable chairs, the dark rooms, the professional attitudes, the people who seemed much closer to the type of person I was. It was so nice. So professional, so... RIGHT. And it was taken away from me at the end of this group).
- Transcription from Alto Beach Journal for Monday, August 6, 2018 at 11:02AM
While I was in this hell, Painted was trying to help. She’d left a “We Love You” message on the whiteboard on our fridge. That morning, I had been tempted to erase it. I didn’t.
...I feel doors are being slammed in my face when I'm crying out for help. Avenues are being shut off and it's ruining my self-worth.
- Transcription from Alto Beach Journal for Monday, August 6, 2018 at 11:02AM
During these last sessions, I talked a lot about important things. About how I was trying to shove emotions into a bulging closet that’s broken multiple times. About how it doesn’t matter how old you are when you seek help, because you’re going to make the rest of your life better (be that 4 years or 40 years). I got techniques that would eventually be taught to me in a far more thorough fashion.
Even these words still fail to describe the sense of belonging I had here. I looked at this place and went “I can get better here.” I thought I could get help. The people got me. The staff was excellent (even if they couldn’t do phones right). The view, the atmosphere, the food. The facility was new, modern and well-maintained. The people were all in similar states as I was.
It felt right.
Then Ailen came in.
End of Line
*(A one-page note about what they told me.)
My particular plan is not in covers.
Blue shield "not particular"
Prior verification - that pass
Authorization - Not
"This plan is not in network"
ASK TO AUTHORIZED FAILED
- Transcription from Alto Beach Journal for Monday, August 6, 2018 at 12:00AM
I praise Alto Beach a great deal, but they made several critical mistakes, mistakes that nearly cost me my life.
First, it was the insurance secretary who told me after the psychotherapy session that they couldn’t get authorization for me to receive treatment here. This should have been done by a therapist, nurse or some other medical professional.
I could not stay for the full day. They were already ‘cheating’ but letting me stay on Friday (considering it wasn’t my fault they couldn’t get authorization since I was told by both Blue Shield and Mesa Heights that this facility could help me). They could get away with a day and a half, but two days was more than they could do. And there was no way for me to afford this kind of care out of pocket. I believe it would have been over $1,000 a day.
The room was empty when she told me these things. And she also just left. Everyone else had gone to lunch, including the staff. She acted sympathetic, but anyone with even ten minutes of training would have seen what her words had done to me.
I remember walking out incredibly slowly, as if my feet were made of lead. I took a few pictures here and there. And when I reached the parking structure, I made a journal note on my phone.
I’m actually arguing in my head now. Like actual thoughts of killing myself. Driving probably. I have to keep telling myself I can’t come back from it.
But what the fuck is the point when I can get facilities or psychiatrists to help me?
- Transcription from Personal Journal for Monday, August 6, 2018 at 12:07AM
The Drive & The Mask
When I got into my car, I think I sent a message to one or two people (this next part is rather fuzzy). And then I turned on airplane mode. I didn’t want to hear from anyone. I didn’t want to be tracked. I pulled out of the parking lot, turned on some music, then turned right on Pacific Coast Highway… and just drove.
I guess it’s a testament for my driving skills that my mind could be so lost without getting into a crash, but I did it. I just drove north, without a destination or a goal.
And it was at this point where I wondered which mask, which expression, which lie I could use to buy a gun. Likely a small pistol with ammunition. After all, I couldn’t go in there as depressed as I was. I needed to show up with a friendly smile. I had no record, after all. I would if I had been forced to go into Mesa Heights, but since I was voluntary, shouldn’t be a problem, right?
I thought about driving off a cliff, but despite it being PCH, there’s not a lot of good cliffs. And I completely refused to endanger anyone else in this.
So, you’re probably wondering why. It’s quite simple really. It might be something you’ve felt yourself.
Because I was begging for someone to help me… and no one would. I wasn’t worth helping. And it’s easy to fall into the pit of me also being hated.
I was begging and no one listened. And I couldn’t take it anymore. This latest rejection made me so convinced, I legitimately wanted to end my life. And yes, the irony of this happening after I had been in Mesa Heights does not escape me.
Mesa Heights had been a fear. But Alto Beach had transformed that fear into desperation. And then desperation turns to despair. And despair turns to destruction.
Eventually though… I decided on lunch. Why? I can’t tell you. I didn’t write it down and I don’t remember. I doubt there’s a reason, really.
Islands. Managed to get there, driving up PCH and managed to not kill myself. Bad thoughts happened. Did a long journal.
- Transcription from Personal Journal for Monday, August 6, 2018 at 12:55PM
Writing Myself Out of Suicide
Islands is a nice little Hawaiian burger place we have down in California. I’ve always loved the place. That’s probably the reason I came here. I asked the waitress for somewhere out of the way toward the back, where I wouldn’t be disturbed a lot. She was nice and did as I asked.
I should mention also that I had been in airplane mode for about two hours at this point.
In addition, some of you may have noticed that there was a time when I made Heartshine “Regent” of the Nook. That happened here and now. I turned off Airplane mode long enough to create a new role, because if I did decide to do something, I wanted the Nook to stay.
When you’re lost this deep in depression, your thoughts aren’t rational. I know every one of you would have yelled at the top of your lungs for me to stop. But when you’re this far gone… your mind does strange things. At first, I didn’t think about family. I thought about duty, like the duty I had to make sure the Nook remains fun.
Yeah. it’s pretty strange. But it’s the truth.
And now? Now comes the worst quote I’m ever going to put inside a blog (I hope). I actually took pictures of these pages, but you don’t need to see them. They were all written in a dark red pen (and no, not the color of blood) on the pages of my Alto Beach Composition Book.
I don't really want to check my phone right now. I have messages to Kathy, Mono and Painted and haven't read any of the responses yet.
I decided to just take a drive up PCH. I'm tempted to just drive. Drive and drive and drive and drive some more.
Alto Beach is reporting Blue Shield's insurance doesn't cover them. Ailen tried, but she got turned down multiple times.
If I survive the day, I'll call them tomorrow or something and demand answers and demand to get covered.
I walked out slow and hopeless. Yeah fine, there's other facilities, but I've already made so much progress here.
What's the point of constantly seeking help if I'm prevented from getting it?
While driving here, I thought about the smile I would use to buy a gun for myself to use on myself. I'm pretty sure I could get away with it. Mom...
Lenny died like that.
Fuck.
I can't do it because of the guilt of what it would do to those around me? That's dumb... and it won't last long.
Painted and the kids would be crushed, as would Mono, Swan and Jyki. Yup. A lot of people would be sad if I lost the war against the demons.
I should probably just check into the ER. Kathy would recommend it.
I have my phone on do not disturb.
Ailen had good things to say about Dr. L.
Food's here.
Jumper by Third Eye Blind played as I drove.
Why does not one care enough to get me the help I need so bad?
I don't want to feel like this, but I'm so tired of fighting.
I'm so tired of this war.
I don't have anything left anymore. I just... don't care anymore.
I'm not sure if I even care about getting help anymore.
I'd love to go to sleep and never wake up.
Then the guilt about my family comes back.
think I'll check my phone now.
1:17PM 8/6/18
*(Continues on next page)
Fuck, I just had the thought "I should do the Noble Jury stuff before I do 'anything'!
Just made Heartshine Regent of the Nook. Making her a full administrator.
Painted apparently made some progress?
Somewhere over the rainbow... way up high...
1:35PM
- Transcription from Alto Beach Composition Journal for Monday, August 6, 2018 at 12:58PM
A couple years ago, my Mom’s boyfriend, Lenny, took his own life during the month of December. He’d suffered from mental health issues like depression and they were honestly going through a rough patch. I remember attending the service, or at least part of it. That act nearly destroyed my Mom.
He’d used a handgun. No one he even owned one. By the time they knew… it was far too late.
I never knew Lenny well. I knew my Mom and him had problems, but for the most part, he seemed to make her happy. Which was good enough for me.
That’s the thing about mental health issues. You can get really good at hiding it.
That being said… as soon as my mind made that connection, I did the mental equivalent of a table flip and went “I can’t do it.” Then my mind decided to get brutal and tell me what it would do to my wife and kids or my friends.
At that point, I realized I couldn’t just shoot myself… I couldn’t do anything, because it would mess up everyone around me.
Let me make this clear: this isn’t the reason I wanted. This isn’t a long-term reason not to do something if you’re struggling with thoughts of suicide. But it is a short-term reason. It can help get you away from the edge.
When you’re on the ledge, everything else around you seems to fade away and become irrelevant. Your mind tends to skip over all the reasons why you shouldn’t take that leap. Unless one of those reasons comes out and snags you. Then you can use that reason to stay on solid ground.
I’ve since learned it’s better to prepare those reasons in advance.
The End of Black Monday
You’ll laugh a little at this, but one of the reasons I didn’t do anything was thinking that I still had “Noble Jury” hoodies to ship. So, I did that. I don’t remember if I contacted anyone before I got home, but I did drive home after that. Watched a massive fire on the mountains ahead of me.
Sadly, Painted didn’t actually have a good solution, despite her best efforts. She did try. Instead, all I could think about was how close to the edge I got.
And then, my journals tend to descend into mostly gibberish as I threw myself into Destiny 2. Anything to stay out of my head. Hell, I even stayed up until 2:09AM.
And I ended with this:
You know what this reminds me of?
The last time I was turned down for Genuis at Apple. After that, I didn’t give a damn after they finally gave me the job. I saw I was passed over 13 times, but it was really more like 9, because 4 were me trying to get into [my current company].
But yeah. I just ducking didn’t care after that.
Don’t care now either
- Transcription from Personal Journal for Tuesday, August 7, 2018 at 2:09AM
Post-Black Monday
Delusions and Confusions
On Tuesday, I had an appointment to see Kathy. I didn’t write much about our conversation save for me having to promise to get home safe. She was frustrated on my behalf, saying that I’d be the perfect patient, if someone would only treat me.
In reality though, I started focusing on Painted and the kids. That was what was stopping me… but even then, I had limits placed on my driving by my family, Kathy and myself. Nothing legal, mind you… but I wasn’t to drive unless absolutely necessary.
Other than that, mostly Destiny 2 gibberish. Again, Kathy recommended I do that in between dealing with everything else.
Wednesday was the final death knell of my hopes of going back to Alto Beach. Yes, they may have wronged me somewhat, but I wanted back in. Sadly, that wasn’t going to happen.
Instead, I was told they would cover a different facility twenty miles away.
AND SO IT ENDS.
Painted finally got the straight story from the fuckers at Blue Shield. Despite Collective Health, despite everything else, my insurance doesn't cover mental health outpatient therapy at Alto Beach.
I will not be going back. Despite the progress I made. Despite the friends I made. Despite the fact that I actually forced myself to open up. Despite ALL OF THAT... I don't get to go back because of a bunch of fucking beancounters.
IT'S OVER.
So now, I must go to Ulysses Mental Health facility in FUCKING COSTA MESA. Oooh. They have transportation. Oooh. They're supposed to have "basically" the same program.
Why the fuck would I trust them? Why would I open myself up again? Because it's going to happen again. I'M GOING TO GET FUCKING SHUT DOWN AGAIN. SOMETHING WILL GO WRONG AND PREVENT ME FROM GETTING THE HELP I SO DESPERATELY NEED AND WANT. They'll reject me. Throw me away. Some insurance jackass will prevent me from getting the help.
If I die because I can't handle it, it's on THEIR HEADS.
Insurance isn't even willing to do a one-time thing.
no one wants me. i'm just a number. just worthless. just meaningless. throw from facility to facility, ignored,
the woman who let me leave... she should have realized BY TURNING ME AWAY she was endangering my life. I could have killed myself there. I seriously thought about buying a gun. I thought about the smile I would use to fake my mental health to purchase it. And end it.
i don't care anymore.
my throat hurts from screaming.
panic, paranoia, delusion, all of it is running through my head.
i'm so tired of wanting help.
i'd be the perfect patient... if anyone would treat me.
AND NO. ONE. WILL.
this Dr. L. better be the best fucking psychriatrist in the world.
i told Painted i had her deal with all of this because i couldn't handle another disappointment, another crushed expectation. i hadn't really expected to actually get turned down. but i did, another disappointment, another rejection.
another point that i'm fucking worthless.
i really wish i could find out what happens after life... because i'm so, so, so sick of this life. maybe i can go back, be someone else
heaven's gotta be better. then i could ask some questions of god.
unless there's nothing. and that's game over.
who knows?
can't kill myself, because i can't do it to Painted and the kids.
but today... another huge chunk of my armor gone blown off. the idea doesn't seem so abhorrent anymore. and... i can't seem to care about the kids or Painted. as horrible as it sounds... i don't care about the pain of others right now. i can't see it. i don't feel it. it's meaningless to me.
i wish i didn't have to deal with life anymore.
- Transcription from Personal Journal for Tuesday, August 8, 2018 at 1:29PM
As you can see, I had pretty much given up on hope. Most of this week is a blur or is totally lost. I couldn’t drive anymore, so I played video games endlessly. Remember when I talked about how I couldn’t stop? Heh. It worked for me now.
The only exception was us taking the whole family out to the Aquarium of the Pacific on Friday. Met up with Tsitra and his family there, which helped alleviate some stress, but it was still rather intense there, especially for someone who wasn’t doing well mentally (AKA Me).
Ulysses Hospital
We’ll skip ahead to Monday, as the weekend was another blur. Monday was my first day at Ulysses. I have to hand it to Painted. She got stuff done in a snap. Then again, she had to deal with the chaos of everything.
So, I’ve shown you a picture of what it’s like to be inside my head during a panic attack. Go back up and read that… and then put yourself in Painted’s shoes. Completely helpless as your spouse is literally beating himself and screaming incoherently? That’s terror.
The problem with Ulysses Hospital is that I had rather high standards set up for me by Alto Beach. I was still insanely bitter from being sorta evicted from Alto Beach, so I was judging the entire place extremely harshly in every way.
Now, the truth? Well… heh. Alto Beach’s IOP/PHP program is in a separate section of the hospital than their inpatient ward. Hell, sometimes it felt like it was run by a completely different group. I don’t know about you, but most hospitals around me tend to be a little on the shabby side.
Ulysses is directly connected to their inpatient facility (though there’s no overlap between the programs, that would be a massive security risk). And according to information I eventually got, it used to be a women’s hospital in the mid 1900s. Because of various requirements, they couldn’t enlarge the structure.
The “rooms” were partitioned-off sections of an old common room. The therapist “offices” were also created by partitions against a automatic sliding glass door. One of the offices was formerly a bathroom (it still had the metal plumbing pieces sticking out of the wall), and it was the largest office save for the program lead’s office and the psychiatrist’s office. The food was a disaster most of the time. And the vans crammed in about twelve people and took two hours for me to get home (that lasted two days before I overrode my driving restrictions and drove myself to program. And no, no one objected).
And that’s just the setup. While Alto Beach had a generally stable patient base, the patient base for Ulysses had five categories, ranging from very low functioning to very high functioning. Very few of these people were professionals with families, kids or more. There were several who had been in the program for six months or more. There was even a gentlemen who’d been there for over four years.
The therapists, at least, were mostly professional and capable. There were one or two I really didn’t like (including this weird mystic who would bash other religions in session). But most of them were excellent and despite my shields and walls… well, I eventually came to terms with it.
The Details
The first day at Ulysses ended up with me exhausted all the way down to my soul. First of all, the intake nurse, Jill, was one hell of a bulldog. I told her about my “previous experience,” as I had come in with the attitude that they’d better admit me or they’re going to need to 5150 me.
However, I do remember one this that made me kinda despise this woman. She informed me that the reason Alto Beach failed was because they went for a “PHP” treatment instead of an “IOP” treatment. If they had done that, none of this would have ever happened. I think she was trying to make me feel better about being there and that I would be taken care of?
Instead, I was just furious that it could be that simple. I pray it’s not.
She said that “You just need to know how to play the game.” I responded with “I don’t like games where the stakes are my very life!”
As with most first days for anywhere, it was mostly paperwork. Shocker. Get used to that.
The other element was that there was about a two week period before I went into Alto Beach. In my defense, most of those days were paperwork, red tape or confirmations. But the insurance believed I didn’t need support if I survived all this time without further treatment.
Idiots.
The Help I Needed
Despite the Ulysses’s horrible state, this is where I actually got the help I needed. Now, I’ve spent a lot of words talking about the nightmare of Alto Beach, Gray Friday and Black Monday. I’ve talked about the time between inpatient and getting into an IOP program.
I’m not going to spent the same amount of time on my treatment program. Frankly, it’s too difficult to do, as it’s two months of therapy, hard conversations, lessons about myself and others… and so many other things. So, we’re going to summarize a bit before we get into the highlights.
While Ulysses never became comfortable, I approached the group sessions with the same drive I do for everything else. I didn’t stop. I didn’t quit. I threw myself into them. I questioned things. I got personal and opened up, even if I felt a uncomfortable with the people. I asked for more material to study from my point person, Brenda. I devoured information about the DBT technique and was constantly asking for check-ins and advice. I constantly wanted to see how I was doing.
The time I spent there varied from week-to-week. The first week was a full five days, while the next week or two went down to four. Then it went down to three. The last two weeks were two days a week. The reason they do this is to stretch out my time there so I can get as much as needed.
Here’s something important to remember if you ever find yourself in a program like this: you cannot slam it all out in one solid block. Doing sessions for four weeks straight won’t give you the processing time you need (depending on the schedule). And just once a week often isn’t enough for something like this. It’s too easy to get distracted and lost, forgetting why you’re doing it.
The information you get requires processing and thinking. You need to be willing to put in the work on yourself. You need to be willing to tear down the walls, face your fears and fight for yourself. Just remember, that fight is usually not against the therapist or other patients (though it’s all-too-often against insurance), but the main fight is against yourself.
My weapons were copious notes and journals. During sessions, I would write down anything that resonated with me. I would also do short personal journals when important thoughts came up to me, or sometimes reminders so I wouldn’t be distracted. It’s ironic that those damn crayons and the composition book would transformation into something so important and critical to my recovery. This became incredibly important when I was going through different medications and gauging reactions.
Now, let’s see what this recovery looked like.
A New Diagnosis
I almost started with medication, but I realized there’s something that has to come before medication: and that’s diagnosis. First and foremost, to my shock, they diagnosed me with Type II Bipolar Disorder.
I resisted this at first. After all, I didn’t think I had the mania that’s so critical to bipolar. You need to go back and forth right? Well, this is yet another example of my own ignorance. To be honest, it took weeks for me to finally go “okay, maybe you’re right.” Far longer than it should have. I fought both therapists and psychiatrists about this diagnosis.
But what is bipolar? The following is taken from the National Institute of Mental Health:
- Bipolar I Disorder — defined by manic episodes that last at least 7 days, or by manic symptoms that are so severe that the person needs immediate hospital care. Usually, depressive episodes occur as well, typically lasting at least 2 weeks. Episodes of depression with mixed features (having depression and manic symptoms at the same time) are also possible.
- Bipolar II Disorder — defined by a pattern of depressive episodes and hypomanic episodes, but not the full-blown manic episodes described above.
Heartshine added “Type 1 has full blown mania, type 2 has only hypomania with far longer periods of depression.”
Now, if you’re anything like me, you don’t have a clue what hypomania is, especially compared to mania.
Hypomania is relatively simple. It’s a lesser form of mania. Where people in full manic episodes can (try to) go for days without sleep or have ambitions include conquering a small South Pacific island, hypomania is often difficult to distinguish from just being in a good and productive mood.
Let’s use Heartshine’s example she gave me as I was writing this. I’ll just… put it here.
hypomania is like: "I'm creative, and need a bit less sleep than normal, and am a bit more outgoing, and I want to do all the things, but still need to slow down"
Mania is "WHATUP BITCHES I AM THE BEST THING SINCE SLICED BREAD YOU ALL NEED TO BANG ME THEN WE'RE GOING CLUBBING WHERE I'M GONNA SET UP A COCAINE EMPIRE AND THEN SPEND MY LIFE SAVINGS ON CRAYONS!!!!!"
Now, all joking aside, she’s quite serious.
And it took me a while to realize I had hypomanic moments. I tended to yell random things (usually complete nonsense, but occasionally dark or violent things) when I was alone in the house. Sometimes I feel like I have crazy energy bouncing around inside of me and the need to do something. These actually still happen and it’s something I’m studying right now.
Eventually, I had to agree that I did indeed have it… and what’s worse… one of my medications was making it a lot worse. More on that in a minute.
I also still had the depression, the anxiety, the suicidal ideation and the ADHD. I was never actually diagnosed with OCD during all of this, but Bipolar Type II is a pretty large umbrella. It’s common for people with a bipolar diagnosis to also have OCD, anxiety or ADHD (the depression goes without saying).
New Medications
It took a week until I saw my new psychiatrist. To my horror, it wasn’t Dr. L. Instead, it was another doctor that’s with Ulysses. However, he seemed decent enough (though all the patients had varying opinions on the various doctors). Over the next two months, we saw each other once or twice a week to fiddle with my meds and find the best dose. It took a lot of work, and some of the side effects were rough.
But we got it.
We first tried as a mood stabilizer made me so drowsy I couldn’t function. He was trying to get me to sleep better, but I don’t think I ever made it clear that I tend to stay up too late not because I can’t get to sleep, but because I’m playing games or on the computer! It took a while, but we eventually cut that.
On August 21, about a week and a half after I started going to Ulysses, I finally got my biggest wish: I went up from two 10mg doses of Adderall a day to three 10mg doses. I had explained how I couldn’t concentrate at the end of the day. While it took some time to convince them the meds lasted only 4 hours instead of the normal 6, I did it. It wasn’t everything I wanted, but it was still a huge step forward. This was one of my first medical keys to my recovery.
I was weaned off Wellbutrin, a medication I’d been taking for years, prescribed to me by Dr. G as an antidepressant. I had never thought there was a problem with it, but this was the medication that could easily be causing me trouble with being bipolar. You see, in a lot of people, Wellbutrin increases the severity of bipolar symptoms. And while there are a few effects of the medication I still miss, I found that I can quite live without it.
We tried a couple others, including Depakote and one other that’s slipping my mind. They didn’t seem to do much. In fact, we were planning on trying several others, but we ran out of time and my insurance forced me out before we could get to those.
However, we did find the other key to my medical recovery: Lithium. Lithium’s been around for a very long time (the drug, not the element), but I hadn’t tried it before. And while it didn’t do anything when I first gave it a shot, to my absolute surprise… it turned out to be one of the linchpins in my treatment.
Again, please note that these are simply my reactions to medications. Don’t assume you can take them and get the exact same responses. I did this all by talking to a psychiatrist on a weekly basis for experimentation, always getting information on what I should do if something went wrong.
New Skills
I could write 50,000 words on this subject alone. Ulysses therapists talked a ton about CBT and DBT techniques. In fact, we had a DBT specialist there. While he did the basic level only, it still helped.
I began the process of learning self-care. I learned what that looked like. I learned what the difference between self-care and selfishness is. I learned how close they can be, and how sometimes you need an outside opinion. I also learned that proper self-care is easily the most important skill to cultivate. Without it… you’ll never manage to have the fuel to handle life.
I learned how to judge my moods. To constantly be checking for my moods and being aware of what I was feeling. It allowed me to go “wait a minute, this is really why I’m reacting this way” when something went wrong. This went hand-in-hand with me analyzing my “self-talk.” Namely, analyzing my Angry Little Pony (ALP). Figure out what she was saying.
I learned how to take up tasks, as I’ve spent almost every schoolday with Primary Colour taking her to second grade in the morning. I had been afraid of this, but it turned out better than I expected. And, in reality, it meant that I was letting fear control me far too much. Fear that I didn’t understand. And fear that I didn’t need.
I learned breathing techniques and distraction techniques. I have a daily reminder to read the lists so I can have them memorized so they come up easily when I need help.
But I think more than anything, I learned to quiet the screaming in my head. Coupled with the medication… I finally started to get some peace.
The Costs
There were also struggles with Painted and the girls. Me going through recovery was hurting them all in different ways. Because of the slow process, I would often lose my temper on the girls or even Painted. Or I’d get struck down by a panic attack in front of everyone. The kids fighting might set me off far sooner than it should be. I couldn’t help around the house, as I had homework every day… or I was just out of spoons.
I won’t go into the details of this all. You’ve heard about me in all of this. I’m not going to speak for them, save for my small bit about Painted earlier. But I wasn’t the only one who needed to heal emotionally.
Honestly, reading my personal journals… they’re a nightmare. But part of killing that nightmare happened on Wednesday, August 22, when I posted “The Quiet War, Part 1” and I slowly began to reconnect with my friends. Friends on Discord and here. But even then, I still had so much to learn. However, in the next few days, as the messages came in for the first part, I remember feeling stronger. Feeling better.
But I still had more wars with insurance. I wasn’t allowed a specific time of treatment. No. Magellan wants weekly reviews and then decides how much more time I’m going to get. I get days at the program like breadcrumbs. Magellan doesn’t normally provide a ton of care (something I definitely learned). This.... is still a battle I’m fighting. The announcement (August Tuesday, August 26) that I don’t necessarily have many days left made me furious, shocked an betrayed. I raised hell about this. And while I won that particular round, i would end up losing that war. The difference is, I eventually lost on my terms.
The September Wars
As my time at Ulysses continued, I strove to learn everything I could. I tried to put things into practice. I changed my lifestyle, my routines. I found new positive influences, but still had wars to fight.
Anything that threatened my ability to get care set me off (and still does). It didn’t matter if it was medication (which happened a lot), issues with scheduling my therapy appointments or the ever-looming question on how long I would be able to remain at Ulysses. Anytime something went wrong in this section of my life, I tended to lose it. Rage, depression, fear, even SI. It still happens to this day, but it’s far more manageable.
During one of my meetings with Brenda, my primary therapist there, she told me something troubling. I may simply be one of those people who will need to endure suicidal ideation for the rest of my life. At this point, I’ve pretty much accepted it. I am one of those people. However, the difference is that I’m ready for it. I have tools and friends to help me.
Rebooting My Life
In September, I took a ton of steps toward not just getting me back to where I was, but getting me much, much farther. I finally went to see a dermatologist regarding what I had believed to be eczema, but turned out to be only dandruff. She gave me a solution that fixed the problem within two weeks and it hasn’t been back since.
I also stood up to other people when I was wronged. Sometimes this was in program (and please believe me, I was terrified). But I was encouraged to confront and repair instead of simply rolling over like I had so many times before. Even now, the strength I gained from learning how to do this right has redefined several relationships in my life.
I also made a decision to get fit for the first time in my life. In the middle of September, I was 248 pounds. I started tracking my meals, using exercise programs and even jogging/speed talking on treadmills for an hour a day. I’ve gotten that down in mid December to 214 pounds. A special thanks to Tsitra for this. If I hadn’t purchased his old Apple Watch off of him, this probably never would have happened.
In fact, I’ll zoom ahead and say that in October and November, I finally went to the dentist for the first time in sixteen years. I had full x-rays, deep cleaning on both sides, five cavities done on each side. I even had all four of my wisdom teeth extracted in one go. Dentists used to terrify me. I was convinced I had a full-blown phobia. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t fun… but I did it.
By late September… I wasn’t the same person anymore.
The End of Ulysses, Part 1
The beginning of the end happened on Thursday, September 20, when Brenda called me to inform me I had three days left…Since I was scheduled to be there on Friday… it meant that next Wednesday was my last day.
Just got a double wammy. Not only did Kathy cancel tonight (again), but I got an odd call from Ulysses Hospital that ended up having me contact Brenda... and I found out I have three days left at Ulysses according to my insurance.
I’m trying to do Mindfulness and keep on track, not spiraling into depression, but I’m freaked out. It’s only now hitting me. Headache, shortness of breath. I need to start walking, but I wanted to record it.
It’s not as bad as it was leaving Alto Beach, but I’m worried.
- Transcription from Personal Journal for Thursday, September 20, 2018 at 11:37AM
An hour and a half later, I got home so I could actually process this new information.
Here’s what the process looked like. You’ve all seen what happened after Alto.
When I talked to her on the phone, Brenda’s biggest concern is that I’d spiral. I’m fighting that spiral really flipping hard right now.
Right now, here’s what I’m feeling:
• Agitated
• Irritable
• Frustrated
• Anxious, but not panicky
• Mad at my crappy insurance
• Like I’m on the road to where I want to be, but not anywhere close to the end.
• My first statement was to say that I’m halfway there, but I’m not sure about that.
Here’s what I’m NOT feeling:
• Like everyone is abandoning me.
• Like no one cares.
• Like I want to kill myself because I’ll never get help
Here are my concerns if I’m released early:
• That we haven’t finished experimenting with my medication and I’m not sure Tetrogel (or however you spell it) is effectively working.
• That being said, I am dealing with this far calmer than I have in the past. That’s a big deal.
◦ That could either be the training I’ve had OR the medication adjustments.
• My ADHD meds won’t last me through the day as they stand. They’ll wear off by the end of the day.
• I’m worried of falling into the old habits of back to the “rat race” for lack of a better term.
• I haven’t worked out when I’m going to start exercising.
• I’d like to conquer my fear of dentists (ugh, I hate even writing that word) before I go back to work.
• My appointment with Dr. L. isn’t until October 15.
• If I have to constantly see him for medication adjustments, that’s going to be VERY expensive.
• I never felt like I got the full “scope” of DBT, only pieces.
- Transcription from Personal Journal for Thursday, September 20, 2018 at 12:58PM
These words are not the words of someone looking to buy a gun. Don’t get me wrong. I was depressed and upset. I was scared about a relapse, going back to the “real world.” Kathy was too, when I got ahold of her. So was Painted.
The next morning, I was nervous as hell as I unleashed my prepared weaponry with statements to Brenda and a few others involved. I contacted my Insurance, who claimed to start the process for the appeal. Of course, because insurance is involved, the hospital pointed at the insurance, while the insurance pointed at the hospital as to who needed to start the appeal process.
Most folks said I could use more time. Brenda backtracked a little, but I like to think that’s because she was trying to do damage control. She knew about what happened at Alto Beach and was desperately trying to mentally prepare me if things went south.
And while I did get some stuff out of the group sessions, I didn’t get a ton… and worst of all, I didn’t get any answers. I was forced to leave Ulysses having no idea if Monday was my last day or not.
The End of Ulysses, Part 1 - Saturday
Kathy’s professional opinion:
• I could benefit from a few more weeks
She’s seen a tremendous improvement
It’s important that I MAINTAIN that.
It’s important that I implement the coping skills
- Transcription from Personal Journal for Saturday, September 22, 2018 at 12:10PM
I had a good meeting with Kathy, who encouraged me and agreed with me. I made sure she had the proper contact information to make her voice heard (even if she already had it). I had some other thoughts too…
Well, the good news is that Kathy agrees fully with myself, Painted and Brenda. She believes I could definitely use more time. I need more time to prevent a massive relapse with suicidal thoughts. While I won’t relapse to the very beginning of the road, she--like me--believes that I need the time to really get it down. I have a lot of work left.
A few more weeks should do it. (3+) I’ll have to fight this war... at least, I’ll start this war. But fuck it all, I’ll win it.
I’ll win it. I’m my mother’s son. And I’m going to fucking kick their asses.
She also said that my attitude of anger instead of depression (and spirals) is a good thing.
- Transcription from Personal Journal for Saturday, September 22, 2018 at 1:27PM
Can I just say that I like this guy a hell of a lot more than the guy from August?
Even more so, I ended up driving to my Mom’s place to talk to her about insurance wars. I was honestly armed to the teeth.
Support Structures
Sunday morning, I had an important conversation with a friend which turned out great and I couldn’t be happier with the result. It was a long conversation about a lot of things, something we both needed.
I was scared, but I did it anyway. In the past, I would have just left it alone to drift into nothingness, but this whole ordeal lit a fire inside of me. I wasn’t willing to give up anymore.
Throughout this process, I ended up developing what’s called a support structure. That ended up being my Mom, Painted, Heartshine and Monochromatic. They all had my personal information and all of them checked on me on a semi-regular basis. The point of it was to make sure I knew there were people who cared, and also had people I could talk to when I needed it.
Eventually, Painted had to bow out because she was so overwhelmed with everything going on with me and the kids, she could only handle loose logistics, not full emotional support. That was a hard blow, but thankfully, Tsitra stepped in. He even made sure I came out to dinner every couple of weeks, something I desperately needed.
But what’s also great is that Sunday afternoon, after that conversation with a friend, I got the chance to drive up to LA to spent the rest of the day with Mono, Swan and Jyki. Swan made a totally awesome noodle dish and the three of us watched Ocean’s 8 (fantastic movie, by the way, go see it). They way they make me feel accepted without question is something I cherish more than words can say. It really does fill a hole in me that’s been there for a long time.
The End of Ulysses, Part 1, Monday & Tuesday
Sadly, I got nothing from Monday. Oddly enough, I can’t find any notes for comments, save for a couple entries that have no information… and I just pulled out my original notebook! Apparently, I somehow skipped transcribing this day! I’ll need to fix that… some other day.
Okay, now that I found the Monday stuff, that was a rough day for me. Even though I had prepared myself over the weekend (and also had a great time in general with Mono, Swan and Jyki), my demons were really getting at me. I had SI, depression clawing at me… all sorts of bad mojo. What’s worse, I didn’t get to see my psychiatrist that day.
In the end, it meant I left with now everything hinging on Wednesday. I was acting somewhat drunk (though no, I hadn’t actually drunk anything).
I left not exactly trusting Ulysses or it’s staff.
And Tuesday? Waiting and generally souring.
The End of Ulysses, Part 1, The Finale
Wednesday was the worst. Nothing planned and still not even a tenth as dark as August. But it was still bad.
And even then, I still could function! I had learned enough to still engage in the group sessions. The first session was about Empathy, the second Anxiety. Then, I got a boost of hope by seeing my psychiatrist, who did indeed say it was medically necessary for me to have more time.
I had another couple of sessions and then left.
Oh, did I mention that was my last day?
Yeah. Left. Without knowing anything about my fate.
Well, not until two hours later when Brenda called me in the checkout line at Ralphs and I found out I had four more days. Friday, next Monday, the next Friday and then the next Monday after that.
The End of Ulysses, Part 2
I know it may seem like a hollow victory to only get four more days after that war. But here’s the thing: I did it. I did win. I didn’t fold or just lie over. I got up and fought with every ability at my command. Could I have gotten more? Maybe. Several people suggested I fight for more days, but at that point, I wanted to wash my hands of the entire thing. I was tired of the fight. Tired of the war.
Still, at the end, I had fought well.
But the most important thing to me was that I was going to leave on my own terms.
The next few sessions were focused on me collecting as much as I could in the way of resources. I had some major highlights as well. For example, one night, Primary was being so stressful, I wanted to scream. Instead of doing that, I drove to the gym and ran for an hour. It worked.
And it’s a hell of a lot healthier than screaming.
I started writing again. A little 506-word SunLight drabble I doubt I’ll ever finish. Toward the end, we did some testing for Lithium. If you didn’t know, it’s critical to make sure your water level is right when taking Lithium. It’s actually toxic if you get really dehydrated.
And then, before I knew it, the last Monday came. I got a certificate and everything (I know, silly right?). The last four days did help me have closure for everything. And that’s what really mattered. Just this showed how much I’d changed.
Even if they did end with a horrible karaoke social activity. Don’t worry, I fixed that by listening to “This is Me” from the The Greatest Showman soundtrack
Ulysses, Then and Now
I entered Ulysses Hospital a bitter, angry person. I hated the entire place. I hated the food (okay, I never stopped hating the food), I hated the building, I hated it all. I knew I did though. I knew I hated it. But I also knew I needed help. In an early journal, I wrote the following:
I need to come back to why I'm here, getting help, getting over my anger and helplessness.
- Transcription from Personal Journal for Monday, August 13, 2018 at 1:05PM
It took me a better part of a week to make it that far and to open up. Some parts of me stayed closed for weeks after and only opened because I saw another person in desperate need of help.
But I stayed. At the beginning, because of desperation and stubbornness. Toward the end, because I wanted as many tools as I could get. I got in fights with people there, fights that went well and fights that didn’t (though all were resolved peacefully and happily before I left the program). I got in fights with insurance, but this time Painted didn’t have to fight my battles. I fought them myself. I found a psychiatrist who finally helped me work through my meds and find the right combination for me.
In a war for my very life…
I won.
A Few Loose Ends
And now, we come to a close.
A few loose ends remain.
First of all, the day after leaving Ulysses, Brenda, my case manager, had me go in to talk to a doctor who ran another IOP-type program called Advances. They had a special DBT class she wanted me into. I asked Painted to come with me… and though the place was even shabbier than Ulysses, the people were great. Dr. S (the head of Advances), was spectacular, showing serious care and attention to detail. I liked it there. While they tried to get me into an IOP there, they couldn’t pull it off since I had just left another. I actually didn’t mind.
Still, I had an appointment to see them again a week after for a follow up for the various tests I had done there. Really cool tests like “here’s a picture, write a story about it.” I’m sure you can tell I freaking loved that one. They were a little startled when I turned in sixteen pages on four different pictures. Most people do maybe half a page from one.
But hey, it’s me, right?
Also? Really good practice to get into the swing of writing again, which had been spotty despite the drabble I mentioned earlier.
I’m actually still attending the DBT class and seeing Dr. S on a semi-regular basis. While it’s not as powerful as some of the other experiences (it really is more of a semi-interactive class than a group session), I think it’s helping.
But wait, we’ve got another doctor we haven’t talked about. What about the fate of Dr. L, who’s rescheduling made the primary event that caused Gray Friday and contributed to Black Monday? Highly recommended by my therapist, who’d worked with him in the past. I did finally get to see him a week after leaving Ulysses on Monday morning.
I had to admit, I was pretty damn excited. He was close to my house. Seemed to work in a nice area.
He tried to yank me off my anti-anxiety medication and Adderall in the first session. He also refused to do any paperwork regarding my disability.
Right now, I’m still pissed off. I’m pissed off at that jackass Dr. L and his holier-than-thou instant diagnosis that tells him that the meds I’m on--which WORK--are bad. I mean, if he asked me questions about it and did his homework, that would be one thing, but he didn’t. He just declared it, likely as the side effects are known to cause them for the average person.
I’m not average.
Not even slightly.
But the worst part... he won’t even touch my disability stuff because I’m a first-time patient. Fucker.
- Transcription from Personal Journal for Monday, October 15, 2018 at 4:36PM
The guy was a total jackass and in reality, had zero interest in treating me. But, that’s okay.
I went to Advances the next day, talked to Dr. S. He set me up with one of his psychiatrists, one who listened and respected me. And that was the day I finally got back on my full Adderall dosage.
You see, if I don’t have my Adderall at night, it’s almost impossible to write. I can’t focus enough to do it. So that’s one of the many reasons I hadn’t been writing. And I had that back.
It’s absurd right? I waited months to see a doctor who dismissed me in minutes. What a bastard.
But it turned out okay because the next day, I was good!
Closing Thoughts
As of now, I’ve written over 38,000 words about this journey. Starting all the way back in my childhood with my initial diagnoses of ADHD and ODD, to the various medications I’ve been on to the intrusive thoughts in my head telling me to kill myself. It’s been a very long road from there to here.
And I have to admit… there are a great many parts I left out. Parts that are too intensely personal. Parts about my marriage. Questions on who I am as a person. These are not topics for public consumption. They’re quiet, and they’re painful and they’re intense. But do know that there are stressors that remain to this day that yet to be resolved. As I said at the beginning of Part 3, I started this on a week where I had a lot of time to myself, uninterrupted.
Just me and my shadow, so to speak.
I’ve faced a lot of shadows this year. While I often point to June and July as the beginning of all of this, that’s not strictly true. If I had to point to any date, it would be March 2017. At the end of that month, my life was shattered. The status quo was obliterated, but I’d been so obsessed on fixing things and turning it back to what it had been, that I couldn’t see that maybe it should actually be rebuilt as something else.
My time in these hospitals were some of the most harrowing moments of my life. My struggle to get proper mental health care was a nightmare that drove me to be very brink of taking my own life. My constant battle to get the right medication and to find doctors who were willing to take their time with me left me exhausted and drained.
In these sessions, I had to rip out my brain, my feelings, my emotions, my thoughts, then study every single one of them. Figure out what was worth keeping and focus on growing those. Figuring out the facets of myself I wanted.
And the best part of it all?
Today, I don’t have to struggle and fight with myself to want to spend time with my kids. I’ll bust out Uno and play a few hands with them (with Daddy’s Rules: You can’t get upset if you lose). I’ll play with Sunny Stage while Painted’s making dinner. I’ll hold onto Primary when she’s throwing a temper tantrum and keep my cool. I’m no longer screaming at the kids where once I would lose it at the drop of a hat.
I’m able to have conversations with Painted about important things without dropping into anxiety. I’m able to go “You know what, I can’t handle that right now. Why don’t we aim for tomorrow afternoon?” where I used to simply curl up into a ball.
I’m willing to stand up for myself, in relationships new and old. Sometimes, yeah, that looks like anger. But I’m not folding every time something bad happens. I don’t instantly believe that the other person is right because we have a disagreement. I talk about it. And sometimes things get heated, but if they do, I do my best to make sure they don’t end heated.
I’ve reconnected with some of my closest friends, including one in particular who I needed in my life. I’ve taken back control of my social circle, making decisions on who I want as a friend and who needs to stay at a distance.
I’ve decided to take care of my body, losing over thirty pounds in two months, working out on a regular basis, watching what I eat, cutting out soda (save for fancy root beers and the occasional Dr. Pepper, because I’m only human) and even buying workout attiree. I’ve had massive dental work done, down to getting teeth ripped out of my head! It’s left me stronger, less afraid, less guilty and more able.
I’ve even taken on my struggles with spirituality, seeking answers that I knew might make me uncomfortable and finding ways to make what I believe and what my faith says work through the kind mentorship of a very wise man.
Every so often, I speak with friends, counselors, pastors and more. People who don’t see me as often as Painted or my parents do. They tell me that this person standing before them is completely different than the one they knew only months ago. There’s confidence and strength there where there had been very little before. The passion remains, but it comes from an inner fire, instead of only a desperate need for validation.
At the end of this all, I decided that yes, Sunset Shimmer really is my pony. Because she’s a phoenix. The magic of the Elements blasted her into a crater in the center of the school, leaving her stripped of her demonic power, smoking and broken. We saw her struggle to find acceptance when everyone around her hated her, save for five special girls. We saw her try and reach out. We saw her afraid on that hilltop, but stand up her take her rightful place as a hero.
And her story only continues. We found out she’s not perfect. She still has a temper. She still misses things. But she keeps coming back for more. She reaches out to those that are hurting. And more and more, we see her not only become what Celestia wanted her to be… but surpass it.
I realized toward the end that I understood Sunset better than ever before. She is a phoenix, just like the music video showed. Reborn from the ashes of her own self-inflicted misery and lifted up by the kindness of others, she now stands like a beacon on a hill.
And so do I.
My name is Novel Idea. Thank you for your time.
Thank you for this.
Jesus dude. I read a bit and had to skip the whole thing. Legitimately the only thing that has ever "triggered" me.
But Sunset is my pony, too.
Jumper's a good song.
Jumper's a really, really good song.
This was absolutely worth reading. I feel so good for you, and it's probably getting me into the right mindset for what to expect as I come closer to my first therapy appointment. Thanks for sharing all of this. :)
Congratulations on how far you've come and all you've accomplished. However, I must disagree on Sunset being your pony for two critical reasons.
1. No matter how much you hit that gym you will never have a body like hers.
2. Sunset had seven friends to help her on her journey - you've got a lot more than that.
Thank you for sharing these and for being here with us and letting us be there for you.
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I’m grateful that you would share all of this with us. Thank you, and may God bless you through your struggles.
Thank you for sharing all of this Novel. We had no doubts that you're strong from the first post, but damn, it's awesome to see how much you've managed to change and grow for the better.
Novel Idea, thank you so much for sharing this. All of this.
What a ride these four blogs have been! Sure sounds like a tough journey, but it's been worth it. And while no one ever knows what tomorrow will bring, I'd say that, at least for now, just by being around to write out your story for us...
You won.
Congratulations.
You make us all proud.
I finally toughed it through this.
I'm happy for you, big guy.
Sunset is IMO the only reason to watch EQG, and worth sitting through all the nonsense for. Her redemption arc is the best of the entire MLP franchise.
People like you are the reason I'm still in this fan community, despite the prevalence of deplorables. Your fanfic and personal writing help make putting up with the rest of the nonsense possible.
Thank you for sharing this.
Thank you for sharing this; your experience is harrowing to read about but also inspiring. It’s so good to hear you’re in a better place than before, and that things are looking up.
Thanks for being open about this. and idk if it will help anyone, but I've found listening to some of Rachel Platten's songs to be helpful. Specifically, Fight Song, You Belong, and Better Place.
That's a hell of a journey, and you've done a lot of work on yourself, and also to record this for all of us to follow your steps afterward. I don't think I understand, but I've caught a glimpse. I hope you continue to improve, and thanks for giving us all a bit of insight into a whole different world.
But I'm glad I finally did. It... well, it was definitely interesting, in a sense, and informative (even if I'm not sure how much of what I learned will stick). But, more importantly, I'm glad you were able to get to a better place in life, and I'm glad you were able to share your experiences with us.
I hope the past month has been good for you, Novel.
Thank you, Novel, for winning the war for your life. It would have been a waste of such good writer)
The Quiet War was interesting read for me. I don't fully understand your struggles. I hope I never will experience them. But your blog gave me confidence to help others in need. If I ever encounter one, I'll do my best to help.
Keep recovering, Novel. How else will we know, how the Wavelengths will end? xD
I've never thought that a piece of bad news can drive a person to nearly takink his own life. Guess Mono was right, saying "A drop of rain can hit like a thunderstorm when you are depressed"
Please, keep fighting. This world will be darker without you.
Your blogs were a good read, but I'd like to talk to you about something else. In a sense, I'd like to talk to you about the exact opposite of your blogs.
You summarised nicely the general theme of your blogs with:
I know you believe this. Everybody believes this. But I'd like to talk to you about the opposite of this.
If mental illness is ruining your life the obvious choice is to get better. I get it. But what if there was another way?
I'd like to talk to you about my headcanon. You may be a mess, but what if Maud Pie is a hundred times worse? Do you think it would be possible? What if she keeps her experiences internally?
i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/newsfeed/000/720/126/503.gif
All the things that are wrong with her mind just never come to the surface.
I'll put it in another way. If I tossed a coin on the table and asked you to say that there are two coins on the table, you could do it. 100 different processes in your mind would convince you that there's only 1 coin on the table, but you could still produce the desired response despite all your internal processes. You could ignore your sight, your hearing, your touch, your logic, your emotions, everything, and just produce the desired response.
So, as long as you knew what the desired result is, you could produce it, regardless of your internal processes. In theory, at least. Do you think it might be possible to combat mental conditions by simply not reacting to them?
In other words, how can you be sure Maud isn't mentally ill? And if she is but doesn't let any of it affect her life, can you really still say she's mentally ill?