Picking Up The Pieces

First, thank you. 

Thank you Mel. Thank you everyone for your kind words and support. 

It was a low day and I’m slowing digging myself out of it. 

One breath at a time. 

One minute at a time. 

One hour. One day. 

I’m trying to be grateful for the little things. Find happiness in the little things. 

On top of the breakdown this week, last night was my last night at work. My contract officially finished. I wasn’t looking forward to it. I love my team. My team leader is amazing (she was growling and grumbling under her breath as I signed the paperwork to return my work ID). My co-workers spent the last shift pouting every time I was mentioned because they didn’t want me to leave. Even the big wigs on our floor came over to say goodbye and express how sad they were that I was leaving. To be told that my absence is sincerely going to be not only noticed but missed made me feel good. It made me feel appreciated. It made me feel like I was more than this condition eating me apart. And I needed that reminder. 

But packing up and leaving was still incredibly bittersweet. 

Today, I slept in. I made my husband pancakes (which he shared with the cat). I was lazy. I played on my new computer. I took advantage of some retail therapy with my best friend. I got new sparkly Toms and some new perfume. I used my brand new Keurig from my parents. I got to eat at a food truck that I was dying to try out for ages. I had my first Pumpkin Spice frap of the season. I enjoyed our first fall like day. The crisp, cool air felt so good on my face. I sang along with music. I gave myself and my best friend a manicure. We even caught the end of the sunset over the harbour that I used to enjoy at my job. I even bought a package of magnetic scrabble pieces for the fridge and watched at my best friend played dirty scrabble against herself (I’m pretty sure she won.)

photo

I felt alive again. 

So I’m trying to take it day by day. 

I’m not ready to give up. But I need some time away from the infertility stuff to decompress before I make any decisions and move forward. I need a breather. I want to work on my mental and physical health and then go back to this. Take some time for me before I throw myself back into the deep emotional waters of appointments, tests, and worrying about finding a way to fund it all. Part of me doesn’t want to, but a big part of me realizes that I really need this if I want to survive this. Staying this way is not healthy. I’m only hurting myself in the long run. 

I won’t say that the bad days are gone. Nothing and no one can control that. I’ll just find a way to survive them and push forward to the good days. I have support. I just need to learn to embrace it. I need to learn to ask for help. Cause internalizing it just destroys me. 

And I’ll write. 

In all of this, my writing and my need to write has come back again. I guess its the one gift that came from the breakdown. I found my will and ability to write again. It’s good to be back. I needed this just about as much as I needed retail therapy with my wifey. 

So thank you.

Thank you for stopping by. 

Thank you for the love and support. 

Thank you Mel. 

I’m slowly picking up the pieces and trying to come back to normal again. To be happy again. 

For now, I lost all my music when I synced my phone to my new computer and I have to transfer it all over before I grab some sleep. In the morning, I’m going with my mom, my best friend and her mom and we are hitting up the farmer’s market. Why? Just because. 

Plus, I suddenly find myself with a lot of time on my hands…

Sometimes…

Sometimes I just want to stop the fight.

It’s exhausting on a level I can’t even put into words.

Some days I just want it to be done.

Some days I just don’t care if I get to be a mom.

Then I feel myself fall into this pit of emptiness that scares me. Scares me to a point that I know I can’t go there yet. I’m not ready. I need to keep fighting. I need to hold my child in my arms. A child I may never have.

Then I’m left in limbo, clutching my pillow and sobbing uncontrollably.

Why does it have to hurt so much.

Why does it have to be so hard.

Today is that sort of day.

CD 82 and then it was CD 1 again. And I fought the hope. Right up until last week. Then it started creeping in. Maybe. Just maybe. And then it crashed down around me to the tune of friends and people I care about announcing their pregnancies. They get happy news and my body rewards me with aunt flow and a complete emotional breakdown.

I need a pillow and for some of this all consuming pain to stop.

I need a break.

I need to find my will to fight again.

I just don’t know how anymore.

How do you keep on fighting when your body won’t cooperate?

Sometimes, I Take It For Granted

Sometimes, I take things for granted. We all do.

The little things that are always there, a backdrop to your life. You always assume that your car will start when you turn the key. Or that the light will come on when you flick the switch.

Then there are other, more broad things that we take for granted. Like the places we live, the freedoms we have. Yet, occasionally we are reminded of these things and we see how much we take them for granted.

I live on an island.

An island I love.

But an island I take for granted.

Then I went to work today, to the new location of our team because we moved for the 2nd time since my start there in April and I see this view from my desk through the 6th floor window:

photo 1(1)

And then my breath caught at the beauty.

I live on an island. A gorgeous island.

Not everyone lives on an island.

Not everyone lives this close to bodies of water.

Not everyone has this view.

 

photo 2(1)

 

And I realize how lucky I am.

I remember how relaxing it is to watch the water.

What a calming effect it has on me.

photo 3(1)

So today, I didn’t take it for granted. I realized that others may never get to experience this and if they do its a special trip. I live here. I’ve lived here since I was born. I see this everyday.

And today, I watched the sun set over the harbour from my 6th floor office and it took my breath away.

I was grateful for something I take for granted far more than I care to admit.

And it even made me a little sad that my work contract is finished on Thursday. I only get 4 days of this. I only hope that when I go back next year, we are still there and I’ll get to enjoy this once more.

Why We Need To Talk About Robin Williams Death

Robin taught me to laugh. From a young age I saw him as the genie and grew to love him in movies and in shows. Once I was older, mom introduced me to Mork and Mindy. I watched him in Dead Poets Society, Mrs. Doubtfire, Jumanji, and Aladdin just to name a small few. He made me happy when I was sad.

Robin is mourned by so many because he touched so many lives. Many of us grew up with him and others are passing his work onto their children. But because he is loved by so many, this gives the public a chance to really open up about the reason why he died. The terrible responses in regards to his death and struggle have already started. While other have already started discussing the reality of depression.  We need to talk about depression and suicide and I’m willing to start this discussion.

If you’ve ever read an article, interview or watched his standup act, he made no effort to really hide his struggle with depression and substance abuse. Robin ended his life because he saw no way out. Someone, anyone, who commits suicide truly sees no way out of their deep hole of misery and emptiness. You would have to be so consumed by depression that you could no longer find the fight to keep living to actually take your own life.

Here’s the thing about depression. You can’t force yourself out of it. You can’t pray your way out of it. You have no control over the feelings. Depression is poorly named. The spectrum on depression runs from having the blahs for an extended period of time to the extreme of not being able to function. And yet when people hear depression, they always expect the lower end of the spectrum with no real knowledge of the extreme. In truth, its brushed off. It’s seen as something you can ‘get past’ or you can ‘shake it off’. While for some, this is the case, for most, it truly isn’t the case.

How do I know this? Because not only do I suffer from bouts of depression, but my husband suffers from severe depression, anxiety and panic disorders. My husband has had suicidal thoughts. I’ve had to listen to my husband in his lowest moments admit to me and the nurses at an ER in the middle of the night that he’s had suicidal thoughts. I’ve had to listen to a nurse ask him if he ‘made a plan’ without batting an eyelash, as if that was the next logical question. Which when you think about it, it really is the next logical question. It broke me. The first thing I wanted to ask is, am I not enough to keep you happy? Is living with me so bad? I instantly went to me and what I was doing wrong, but I wasn’t doing anything wrong, and neither was he. He has a chemical imbalance that affects all areas of his life. It has nothing to do with how happy I make him. He loves me. He loves our life. I know that he loves me more than words can express. I’ve been told that sometimes the only reason he keeps fighting is because of me and his all consuming love for me. But this chemical imbalance in his brain makes it hard for him to sometimes do basic things like getting up out of bed and getting dressed, hanging out with friends or even talking. These basic functions are sometimes impossible during what I call a low spell, an attack or an episode. So while I get mad because he won’t talk to me, the truth is that he can’t. He truly can’t and there is nothing either of us can do to fix it.

Our own infertility diagnosis doesn’t help it at all. In fact, it adds to his depression. It is the main trigger for my own bouts of depression. And when I say depression, I don’t mean having the blahs. I mean crying constantly, shutting down almost completely and not getting out of bed for days on end.

My husband is thankfully doing so much better than that night. That was his rock bottom. Now his medication has been readjusted, just as it will be readjusted for the rest of his life. We finally found a psychologist that was willing to do anything other than just medicate him until he was numb. We had to go outside of our mental health system around here. We pay out of pocket, but its worth it. He goes to physio once a week to help build his muscle strength back up. This winter was hard, extreme depression and a lot of low points coupled with a change in diet had my husband drop over 100 pounds. The physio helps his body while the psychologist helps his mind. He still has bad days, but the days aren’t quite as bad and it doesn’t last for quite as long. He’s committed to fight and I’m so proud. His end goal? To be a dad and to be able to enter the work force again and become a functional member of society. He has no grand schemes, he wants to be healthy and active again.

~~~

The reason we need to talk about Robin’s death and about depression and suicide in general is that people don’t talk about depression until someone famous dies from it. Mental Health in our country is in shambles. No one wants to talk about it and no one will recognize that this is becoming a major problem. Since it is not a physical injury, its hard to get ER doctors and nurses to take it seriously. They won’t really do anything unless you admit to trying to hurt yourself or others. Since they have no physical booboo to fix, they suggest that you go home and come back to see someone from Crisis in the morning since they only keep 9-5 operation hours. Because no one tries to kill themselves at 3 am. That’s foolishness. You can have yourself committed, but once in there, they will drug you to numb everything instead of dealing with the issue head on.

Funding and resources easily available to the public are desperately needed for mental health. I know, myself and my mother in law have begged doctors, nurses, helplines for help. What we get in return in a run around of  “we don’t deal with that, see this person”. We need more resources and doctors and nurses willing to take it seriously and treat it.We shouldn’t have to wait months for a referral to a psychologist just to have a 15 minute appointment and them suggest that you take drugs to numb yourself instead of addressing the issue and finding ways to cope and manage with the condition.  Someone dealing with severe depression needs to see professionals who specialize in depression regularly, not every 3 months. They need proper SSRI’s to deal with the chemical imbalances. They need to talk to psychologists. They need to know they have support. They need to know that medical professionals are taking them seriously.

~~~

Robin was not weak.

He simply fought so hard and for so long that he simply couldn’t fight anymore. Someone dealing with debilitating depression has to either fight through it everyday or let it take them over. Robin fought til he couldn’t fight anymore. The act itself was selfish in so much that it was something he did to himself, but he wasn’t selfish. He did not do this for attention, he did this because he was suffering and couldn’t handle it anymore.

Now a family who watched him fight for so long have to learn to live without him. To Robin’s wife and 3 children: I send love, light and peace during this heart breaking time. And know that he didn’t end his life because he doesn’t love you, he no doubt loved you more than life itself. He just simply couldn’t fight anymore.

If you or someone you know is suffering from depression or may have thoughts of suicide, please seek medical attention. You are not weak for feeling this way. People can help you. Go to your doctor, an emergency room or call a suicide prevention hotline.

Click here for a list of Canadian National List of hotlines and websites.

Click here for links to International information and support lines.

Suicide should never be the answer. But lets not let what Robin and others like him did, be in vain. Let’s talk about it. Let’s make mental health an important issue. Let’s show the world that dealing with this does not make you weak. Let’s fight for the resources so desperately needed. Let’s fight for those that can’t fight for themselves.

~~~

The academy posted a picture after the news of Robin’s death hit the media. I cry every time I see it. They sum it up in one heart wrenching image:

 

Yes genie, you’re free.

Rest easy Robin. May you finally find peace.

 

48

48 is the number of unread posts in my reader when I finally sat down to catch up.

47 is the number of days since my last post. That’s a month and a half.

I’ve missed writing. I’ve missed the release that comes with typing my feelings out and letting the outside world (no matter how big or small my readership is) to see my words.
I’ve been depressed, but I don’t have the words. It’s the same depression that always hits. The helplessness that always happen. I don’t need to explain it, read my last post. It’s the same thing, it always is.

But honestly, besides my depression, there is nothing to write. The thing is, I have a casual job with the government. For 90 days a year, I work in a government office. I work nights. I work with personal information of other people and with that comes a level of censorship when I write. I blog about my life and right now my life is my work. The people I talk to most are my co-workers about work and general office stuff. I work 4 to midnight. That’s the time that all my friends are free. I come home, I binge watch shows on Netflix to wind down (Downton Abbey and the West Wing…again, in case you were wondering) before I climb into bed by 4 or 5am and I keep this up all week. Then, my weekends are claimed by my husband and friends who haven’t seen me in ages. My friends take turns claiming my weekends. I’ve swam once. I have yet to get to a beach this summer and I living on a fucking ISLAND. I’ve had a handful of campfires, more s’mores than you can shake a stick at and what BBQ I’ve had has either been slipped in with my parents between two different get together or it’s been packed up for lunch at work the next day. There is nothing to write about and when there is, it’s usually work related or I simply lack the time.

Until I get a more permanent position down the road, my job contract finishes on the 28th of August and I’ll more than likely be called back again in the spring unless I find a better paying job by then. And while I love it there and love the people I work with, I’m almost ready for the break and the start of fall. I’m ready for my regular activities to start up again. To get back into full swing with Girl Guides. With the ladies dart league I’m in. Get back into my crafts and books. To spend nights with friends, go to movies, have game nights and get back to what I love. To have a social life again.

So while I (and you) wait for me to have more freedom to write, I will update you on what’s to come. The fall is going to be exciting. Early October I’ll be taking a trip to New Brunswick with my husband, my best friend and her husband for a couple of days. Plans have started and we can’t wait. A few days after getting home from this trip, I’ll be flying out Ontario for the wedding of a dear friend from Newfoundland. Her family and my family are very close so I’ll be flying up with my parents and hopefully see an aunt and do some sight seeing. If I have my way, I’ll be hitting up the ROM, hockey hall of fame and the CN Tower. I haven’t been there since my high school band trip in grade 12.

So bear with me over the next couple of weeks while I get back to normal. I haven’t left, I just don’t have anything to write about. At least nothing that I’m allowed to write about.

I’ll be back…soon.

I promise.