Mental Health And Addiction

I’ve debated for two days whether or not to post this blog post to social media for fear that it would embarrass my family and friends, but I realized today that the more I read about other people who are struggling in ways similar to myself, the stronger it makes me feel. Mental health is so important. And for so many of us it means life or death. I’ve struggled with Depression, Anxiety, ADHD, OCD and Borderline Personality Disorder so badly that I was put on an antidepressant when I was nine years old. For some of us, it’s a lifelong struggle. Not necessarily with the diagnoses, but with doctors who are willing to prescribe you medications you need, psychiatrists, therapists, and counselors who are sometimes not even willing to treat you, insurance companies that only cover some medications (I’m currently on a new medication that’s a Tier 4 for Blue Cross Blue Shield and without the manufacture’s coupon, it’s over $400 a month that insurance won’t cover), employers that are or aren’t willing to give you time away for doctor’s or therapy visits and on top of the many logistical problems, the stigma.

Nobody asks to be this way, I assure you. And it’s not always straightforward. I’m not depressed 24/7/365. There are good days and there are bad days. And for someone like me, it’s a Catch-22. In November of 2016, I posted a thing on Facebook about this, I had a full on mental breakdown. My depression was out of control, I was starting to isolate myself in very unhealthy ways and I decided to take some time off of work and work with a new psychiatrist and therapist and I was put back on medication for the first time in many years. I believe I went home from the psychiatrist’s office that day with five prescriptions. For the next few weeks, I lived off of saved vacation and sick leave time from my job, then when the new year rolled around, I was granted six weeks of FMLA leave, unpaid. The regional supervisor of my company (not my boss, my boss was the bomb diggity) required me to present a doctor’s note upon returning to work stating that I could perform my job better or with the same ability as I could before I took leave. None of my doctors believed I was ready to return to work. I lost my job.

I continued taking prescribed medications and then for whatever reason, I felt like I had been on them long enough, they weren’t making me any better and I wanted to stop taking them. Without telling anyone, I stopped taking all my medications in November of 2017. On Christmas Day, 2017, depressed, suicidal and feeling like I had no way out, I packed one bag, didn’t tell my parents where I was going, and I left. Where I went isn’t important. Who I was with isn’t important. What’s important is that I ended up in the fetal position in someone’s bathroom, unable to breathe, and wanting to die. The depression consumed me. And the thing about my ADHD, is it’s a combo ADD/ADHD. I absolutely have the hyperactivity component of ADHD, except my “hyperactivity” is mental, not physical. Hyperfocus with ADHD can sometimes be your lifesaver when you’ve procrastinated and you need to get something done, but if your brain is only hyperfocused on the most awful intrusive suicidal thoughts, you’d do anything to make them stop.

So I did drugs. Banging Crystal Meth to be exact. Go big or go home, right? When you've tried all the right things and they don't work, you'll try anything. So here’s where I’m about to get into some very unpopular opinions, but hang with me here. It saved my life. I’ve never been a drug user, a drinker, socially, but with the exception of the medications I was prescribed, it’s never been my thing. Imagine that. But, laying in that floor, wanting nothing more than to die, I would have taken anything to make it hurt less and what was available to me at the time was Meth. You know you’ve read those articles where they take about if you give Adderall to your kid, it’s the same as giving them Meth, ok… yeah, kinda. I’m not a chemist and I can’t tell you all about chemical compounds, but it is pretty close. I took Adderall for years, then switched to Vyvanse about six years ago, which, to me, is 10 folds better than Adderall.

But moving on, just like most drugs, Meth gives you all the feel goods. It floods your body with Dopamine which is what makes you feel what I call “content.” I’m not going to get all science-y here because I’m not qualified to discuss chemicals in your brain. But this is my unpopular experience with Meth, it saved my life. I think because Meth was so closely chemically related to medication I had been on for most of my life, I felt like I was breathing for the first time in a long time. I felt like this fog in my brain was gone. I felt like I could get up in the morning and not be a zombie. I felt like I could think clearly for the first time in almost two years. Yes, of course, there were downsides. I didn’t eat properly, I stayed up for days at a time, went into debt, eventually got arrested, spend a month in jail, and lost custody of my child.

So here’s the thing about mental health that’s tricky. I’ve been back home since October after spending 27 days in a 90 day rehab facility where they didn’t think I needed to be on any medication. Yeah, okay. So I came back home, got on new medication, starting seeing a new therapist and sitting here today, I can feel myself getting worse. I ate for the first time in two days yesterday. I showered for the first time since Sunday last night. I feel stuck in that place again that a year ago I felt so compelled to escape from. It’s terrifying. Nobody wants to let themselves get back to that place. Especially if you are a self-aware person and you realize it’s getting bad again. It’s exhausting to fight against yourself every day. It feels like my body wants to get up and fight and my brain is just like “nah, guh, not today.” It is a miserable battle to fight against yourself because one of you will lose.

So I plead with you, if someone you know or someone you love is struggling, not only with mental health issues, but addiction of any kind, save your judgment, your snarky Facebook memes, and harsh words for your therapist. Because if you’ve never endured the kind of hell that makes you want to end your life, you have no place to judge how that person chose to escape from it. Some of the kindest people I’ve ever met in my life were/are addicts. They put a roof over my head when I didn’t have one. Fed me when I was hungry and never asked for anything in return except to be kind to those that are struggling. Not every addict is created equal. Not everyone on Meth is outside vacuuming their lawn naked at 4:00 a.m. and planning on stealing your shit.

Addiction and mental health, more often than not, go hand and hand. Misdiagnosed, undiagnosed and untreated mental health problems are such a huge underlying cause of addiction. I’ve seen it first hand in myself and in others that I care about. So if you or a loved one is struggling, they don’t need your judgment, they need your compassion and love and company. I don’t have a car at the moment because I let my tag expire and I’m not working so I don’t have $224 to get a freaking sticker (don’t get me started), but the loneliness is excruciating here at my parents’ house. Y’all, call your friends who are struggling, unless it’s me, you know better than to call, you better text. Tell them you miss them. Instead of saying “hey, let’s get up soon,” say “hey, I’m on the way to your house, you need anything, I’ll be there in 20.” I know everybody is busy with their own lives, but take a minute today to think about the people you care about who are having a hard time and let them know you care.

I Am The Opponent

So you know the thing on Facebook, “Memories” where it recalls every post you’ve made on said date since you’ve had Facebook. That’s awesome. Mostly on this date I’ve posted quite hilarious things that my child has said because she is really quite the comedian.

January 22, 2017:

Tyler’s trampoline she got as a Christmas present went rolling end over end through our backyard and I said “Hey, Ty, your Christmas present is escaping.” And my 6 year old walked calmly from the living room to the kitchen window and paused for a second before saying “Well… shit.”

And on January 22, 2015 (Tyler was 4 years old), I posted:

Things Tyler Grace has said tonight...
"Mommy, am I still awake when my eye skin is closed?"
"Did you know sometimes my breath whistles out of my nose?"
"If I had a nickel for every time I said that, I'd be famous."

The same night I explained to Facebook world that I had to explain how tampons work to my four year old:

“That moment when your kid walks in while you're handling "lady business" and asks you what you're sticking up your butt.... number one on my list of things I don't want to explain to my 4 year old... tampons. ”

January 22, 2014, Tyler Grace was 3:

Things that are said in my house that I'm pretty sure aren't normal:
"Stop walking on my counters."
"I can't wait until I'm grown and I can have the big closet and you can have my room."
"If you don't get out of my room, I'm gonna fart."
"I'm not going to school today. It's raining and I'd rather sleep."
"Stop trying to shut yourself in the refrigerator. You're not hiding. I can clearly see you."
"Be careful, don't lock yourself in the dryer again."

And then all the other years there are some funny memes and whatnot and then I scroll down and I find a seven year old, terribly grainy picture taken on a Blackberry cell phone of me holding a sleeping Keller at a Mexican restaurant in Prattville and I just stop. I remember the afternoon we went. I remember telling Evan to take the picture. I don’t remember whether or not Ty was there. I think she was, but then again, I’d probably have a picture of Evan and Ty together because she always sat at his side of the table. Always a daddy’s girl.

I look at these “Facebook Memories” every morning. It’s the first thing I do when I wake up. Part of me wants to remember some of the good memories, part of me wants to make sure I save every picture of Keller, ever, and part of me wants to forget that I was a human being posting on the internet from the years 2006-until I became a mom. I’m very glad cell phone photos weren’t a thing in high school and for most of college and there’s not so much evidence of the stupid shit I did then.

But I look back on these memories every day and more often than not I just sit there thinking “how in the fuck did we get here?” I went from a doting wife and mother, happy to be raising two kids under the age of two in pure chaos to a depressed, suicidal, recovering addict, pending felon, who has one dead kid and lost custody of her other one. Like, how the fuck did we get here? I know losing Keller was the most detrimental blow to my mental health, but I was surviving, I was okay. I was still finding humor in Ty’s shenanigans, I was still functioning. I was still social, did brunch with my girlfriends, dated casually, made time for myself, worked full time, had my own house, a brand new car, my child went to private school, I had everything anyone my age could have hoped for, but it wasn’t enough.

I don’t know that anything will ever be enough to fill this void. And it’s not just a void left in my life where Keller was, it’s everything before that and everything else I lost with him. Everybody says “just fake it ‘til you make it,” but what if you can’t fake it forever? And what if you never “make it?” I get so exhausted pretending that I’m okay. I get tired of telling people “I feel better, maybe this medicine will help.” When really, more days than not are bad. More days than not I want to crawl out of my skin. The anxiety is crippling. Sure, I could take a Xanax every morning when I wake up, it’s written on my prescription for me to take one during the day and two at bedtime, but I’m terrified that if I start to take them every day, I will NEED them every day. Life is overwhelming, at best, on most days, and I don’t want mediocre days to require me to reach for a pill because there’s so many bad days that I want to numb, the okay days will now seem overwhelming.

And I feel alone. Completely, 100% alone. I feel trapped. I feel jaded. I feel misunderstood. I’m confused and frustrated and bored. I’ve tried to find “hobbies” as outlets to distract myself. I tried to teach myself how to crochet, that is Satan’s craft. I thought I would learn Spanish. I always wanted to. I took three years of it in high school and college and couldn’t tell you a damn thing. But after a week, my excitement for it just kind of dwindled. I used to make those really intricate friendship bracelets, but again, the contentment just goes away one day. I was reading, a lot, probably more than I ever have in my life. I was averaging 3-4 books a week, then, one day, just stopped midway through the first Game of Thrones book and haven’t picked it up in almost a month. Writing used to be an outlet and while today, I felt compelled, most days I don’t even want to open my laptop. I just now, last night, got a satellite thing upstairs in my room where I can pick up local channels on my tv, but even then, it’s just background noise to scrolling endlessly on my phone.

I don’t know how to pull myself out of this bleakness I’ve created. I don’t even know how I created it, but I did. I look back at the few years following Keller’s death and I wonder how in the hell I held it all together. And then I wonder if I was trying to, again, “fake it ‘til I made it” and I just didn’t make it. I’ve had a lot of people ask me if I was “happy” before Keller died and if these things that I struggle with now are just a product of that. Truth be told, I’ve never understood “happy.” I define happy as an overwhelming feeling of contentment and joy and so no, I guess I wasn’t happy. Then or now. I don’t remember the last time I felt a calmness in my soul where I felt like me, as a human being, was at rest. I’ve always felt restless and scared, almost haunted like I’m always standing on the edge of a cliff and one misstep, one distraction, will send me falling, so I’ve always faked this kind of carefree attitude to hide the fact that every minute of every day I’m just waiting for the one small thing that will send me over the edge. But I’ve faked it so well and for so long, that I’ve allowed all of these expectations to be placed on me, never allowing anyone to see how much I struggled to try to keep up with them.

I’ve always felt the need to live up to the expectations, whether real or imagined, whether they were someone else’s or my own, and to be in a place where I don’t even have any expectations for myself but to try to make it through the day without being ugly to anyone, I feel incredibly jaded. You know when people have those out of body experiences and they see themselves as if they’re watching someone else, that’s how I feel every day. I feel like I’m part of a team, me, my family, my children (dead and alive), my boyfriend, my friends. My life is a game and right now, we’re losing, miserably, and I’m just watching the game from the bench and it’s getting worse and worse and all of these things are happening and I’m screaming from the bench “put me in, let me play,” but the loss is too great and I’m so far from the star player I used to be, that I would only make it worse. At this point, the fear of absolutely causing more harm is greater than the glimmer of hope, of not even winning, but narrowing the gap. I feel like the game of life is just giving us blow after blow, scoring point after point; our opponent is ruthless and unyielding and I’m just screaming from the sidelines for a referee to call the game so that the one or two players that I have left in the game, fighting like hell, can rest.

They are so tired. But I needed them to come into the game for me. I needed them to come in and win for me. But I’m tired of watching them bleed out for nothing because I’m who they’re fighting against. I am the problem. I am the heartache. The disappointment. The depression. The anxiety. The lies. The addict. The failure. The sadness. Every single frustration that the players on my team feel are because they’re playing my game of life against me. I am the opponent.