Eight days at an intensive therapeutic program at the local hospital. A change in medication. Transfer to a short-term program at another hospital. I've begun to turn the corner and hope is interjected into my spirit and emotional well-being. There were emails, phone calls, visits, beach friends and pool friends/neighbors for support and encouragement. I've collected loads of stories along the way. While many are on summer vacation, I am doing a tour of the local mental health system. It's quite an adventure!
I've learned (re-learned) many coping mechanisms and met many dedicated professionals and others like me. I feel less alone and less fearful. Knowing that I should not have waited so long to ask for help, is a huge awakening. These services and programs are for us to access. Going forward, I'll be less stoic and independent knowing that I do not have to hit bottom until I seek help. The depression is improving more quickly than I imagined it would. My heart and soul are grateful. My body is able to do more.
Thank you each and every one of you for your kindness, support and belief in me. And for those who do not get it, may you and yours never reach the level of despair I endured for so long. Peace and blessings to each of you. I look forward to having more time to write about our journey together.
You've been hearing/reading the voice of Depression lately. Many of you have shared your concerns for my well being. So today, I begin a therapeutic day program, known in the psychiatric world as a partial hospitalization program. Therefore, I'm going to occupied for a few days. Lucky me, I get to come home every afternoon. Hopefully, for a dip in the pool to cool me down. It promises to be another hot day. So, I'm going to tip-toe away gently from this blog to have myself a good cry in a safe environment. I know you wish me well. Thank you one and all for your love and support. I'll keep you posted. Pray for me.
Here's a recent email that received from one of the special lights that graced my classroom that transcended time and space. I trust she will not mind that I share some of our recent email correspondence. For having heard from Heather has been a true inspiration just when I needed it.
I have been searching for Ms. Farmer, my second grade teacher and a
person who I kept in touch with for years after but haven't seen or
spoken with in many years since. She was an absolute inspiration for me.
I found your blog and your photo bares a strong resemblance to her.
I've become a blond again with a bit longer hairstyle. Incredibly this blog is beginning to fulfill its intended purpose if you found me. That's encouraging!
Could this be you?
Yes!! It's me, Heather!
I can't believe I found you (finally!) and yes, it's quite a story how I
did so. Fate. That is the only explanation because I wasn't searching
for you specifically yesterday although you have been on my mind so
often over the years.
As you have been on mind. You have always remained unforgettable for me, too. I sensed you were doing very well because you have so many gifts and talents.Traveling globally must be an incredible lifestyle.
You really have no idea of the positive impact you had on my life.
Seriously. I could go on for hours about the intro to culture, art, the
overall encouragement. You also bought me my first computer book (it was
a pop up and my Mom still has it!). When I finished college, I actually
ended up going into technology. Then into global technology, where
culture is key and so very interesting to me. Go figure. I know that
without you as an influence during those early years, I wouldn't be half
the person I am today.
Hearing from you has been the best surprise. I look forward to becoming reunited and getting all caught up with your exciting career and life that you love. You deserve all the rewards for your hard work. That you found me to be an inspiration has touched me deeply. I cried when I heard from you and this is a very good thing.Thank you from the depths of my heart for finding me!!
When the teacher is ready, the student will come. When the student is ready, the teacher will come. - Unknown
What prophet or wise soul coined this phrase?
Once upon a time, I was a second-grade teacher in the Middleton public school system. I loved the kids and they, for the most part, loved me back. However, every so often, these special lights would appear, that would make going to work a joy. We shared an instant bond that transcended time and place. Our relationships and those with their mothers, just bloomed like roses in June. We for a time, were able to maintain these friendships, but the journey of life calls us forward and takes other tacks. However, the memory, the connection, the specialness of it all remain.
As fate would have it, really it is a HUGE blessing, our paths are crossing, merging and paralleling again. It began with a simple package left in the vestibule of our elevator building, up here on the campus. The name of the addressee caught my attention because of the spelling of this Irish name. Could this be the same woman, the mother of this exceptional daughter? So I waited for our paths to cross either at the mailboxes, in the parking lot or along the natural trails circling the drive. Didn't happen. So finally when I had to do some business with the concierge, I inquired about her. Of course, the concierge would not provide the apartment number, though by this time, I knew we were talking about the same woman. I asked for a piece of paper to write a note. Would they please see to it that the note was delivered whenever she came to pick up a package? The concierge agreed to do so. Then I waited expectantly, every so often wondering how come I hadn't heard back?
Through chance, I had learned of the sale of her prestigious and glorious floral shop and the sudden death of her beloved and devoted husband. She must be busy managing these life-altering changes in circumstances. From my own other worldly experiences, I understood this all took time. I really wondered about her special daughter, Tara, and what had become of her because she was always so perky, so intelligent and with a heart of gold being rooted in strong spiritual values. It would take nine months before we finally reconnected at the clubhouse pool. Where else would you find two goddess-princesses taking in the sun? I can't recall, who spied who first. It had to be Tara, because my vision isn't my strongest sense. It is difficult for me to spot people in a crowd without a cue or a guide. But there she was, all beauty and grace grown into womanhood. She is amazingly beautiful with piercing blue eyes and with a thousand-watt smile. If memory serves me correctly, I recall seeing her the earlier at the pool, all hooked up with an iPod while reading a book.
Soon enough, our eyes locked and large smiles filled our faces. Naturally, we pulled two chaise loungers together and didn't stop talking for hours. We had a lot to catch up on. Some of it tragic, of suffering, and health battles. There were other conversations of encouragement, acceptance, and creating fun with a positive outlook even when the cards of life have dealt us some painful and difficult situations to overcome. It is here where true courage and resilience and character are formed in the adversities of life. Soon I learned, this dynamic mother-daughter duo, who were partners a creative venture, that would make Martha Stewart look like an amateur, had sold the family home, had become roommates, and planned to stay as residents for a long time. My heart leaped for joy.
Making friends in large apartment complexes is not easy. Here we found ready made authentic friendships that effortlessly were empowering as well as nurturing. We picked up where we left off as if no time had passed. Tara had acquired so much wisdom (though I suspect she was born a wise soul) that I began to see myself as her student. She, with her mother, had become my teachers. They served to remind me to be gentle with myself and to face facts as they really stood. Not what I thought they should be, but the truth, reality. With our conversations we laugh and cut through the bullshit quickly enough. There are no pretenses at all when we are together.
Tara has brightened my life each weekend day whenever we meet at the pool. This is our second summer season here on the campus. Turnover, being what it is, having a buddy is a real plus. Having a pool mate who also loves the rejuvenating power of the sun, makes a difference. Tara makes a difference. So does her mother. We make plans to barbecue, get off the campus but find it just enjoyable to roam from apartment to apartment drinking delicious wines accompanied by cheeses, fruits, crackers and bread. As fate would have it we live in the same building, though on opposite sides where we would have been hard pressed to meet otherwise.
Recently Tara and I could be spied after work as the sun set, lounging around breaking a few house rules, drinking wine hidden in an insulation bag with discreet cups while the President (much too late) finally addressed the country about the BP fiasco in the Gulf. There is nothing like a conspiracy between friends. It was just us and the Russian lifeguard that evening. We closed the pool. Other times, we sit in the partial shade provided by the portcullis. The sun and heat help us in locating a perfect spot to plant ourselves. Have you noticed the changes in the sun? We have. But we also note the petunias that rim this sunny spot, yet it is especially the hydrangea bushes that call the attention of the three of us. They are now blooming in pink and blue. We covet these blooms. No one should be surprised if we help the gardeners thin out these flowers. It would, of course, have to be done over the cover of night, after the pool has closed. But the freshness of the hydrangeas would complement our respective homes. We may have to be discreet but I think we could accomplish this without any problem. My, lord, what has become of this teacher who may lead her former student astray? We shall see. It would all be in good fun. Frankly, I don't think anyone would notice or care.
I really love her and miss when we are not cooking up some plan. Hopefully, this weekend will prove to be sunny so our mutual adventures can move ahead. Summertime is such a short season in New England.
A blog a day keeps the boogie-man away. Time to turn my attention to those individuals and outings that are and have been bright points of joy. For although I haven't ventured too far from home or even out of my apartment lately, their love and friendship and strength of character remind me that there are mighty angels among us masquerading as humans.
The power of the ocean to heal the spirit has been understood for eons. Now that the summer season is upon us, access to the ocean beaches can be cost prohibitive, but previous generations set aside parks along the shore with benches to take in the smell of the salt air, to watch the sailboats bob on their moorings and to view the ocean and the islands that dot our coastline. Enter Paula, with her imagination and knowledge of these local peaceful spots. In the past week, she has twice coaxed me out of my shell and off the hilltop to remind me that we live in a beautiful world created for our enjoyment. Knowing what a pitiful eater I am, she packs us a picnic lunch and she drives us out to Salem Willows. There we sit under a shaded tree at a picnic table that faces Beverly Harbor. And we talk of family and her genealogy excursion to Ossipee to locate the burial site of her ancestor who fought in the American Revolution. Yes, she is a true Daughter of the American Revolution. Who among us can lay such a claim?
Less than a week later, we head off to Marblehead, the birthplace of the American Navy, to Old Town, where Paula grew up and where her widowed mother still resides in the family home. To reach her home, set among the antique houses nestled closely together, along the waterfront of Marblehead Harbor, one must go down a pathway located between very old houses. There, set in the back, out of sight of the street, is Paula's childhood home. The "right of way" is lined on both sides with seasonal plants and flowers that are all in bloom. I have always found this walk-way magical even when we were teenagers attending the local college. We've come to collect her mother who insists on treating us to lunch at the Barnacle, a small well-known restaurant, serving seafood that offers outstanding views of the harbor crowded with sailboats. It is just a short walk away to Fort Sewall, where during the American Revolutionary War, the fort protected and defended the mouth of the harbor from the British Navy. Today it is a shaded park with benches aligned along the promenade that encircles the fort. We stop at one new bench that serves as a memorial for their deceased husband/father, daughter/sister and son/brother. Why is it that some individuals and families must endure so many losses? There are no clear cut answers, of course. It simply is. Both Paula and her mother, Lois, bear it with strong faith, grace and dignity.
So we sit on this scorching hot day to catch the sea breeze and reminiscence of earlier days. Of a mother calling her children home while they fished, rowed and sailed in the entry to the harbor. I sit between them marveling at their mother-daughter relationship, the ease of their communication, and the obvious love between them. I feel embraced by their warmth, love, understanding and compassion. And I am grateful, eternally grateful, for having such a wonderful and loyal friend.
It's been a long hiatus from writing for me. Circumstances beyond my control have necessitated that I remove myself and process the seismic changes in my health, personal life, and employment. Any one of these stressful situations can upset the delicate balance achieved through medication, therapeutic counseling, a strong faith in the Divine, and a network of supportive friends and family. Not necessarily in that order. That these painful circumstances have been occurring simultaneously, has brought my body and soul to a point of sheer desperation and a dead stop. I am having many more bad days than good ones.
Those in the psychiatric profession refer to this as biological and situational depression. That I tell myself that it is the misfiring of the prefrontal cortex of my brain and the over stimulation of the amalgamen as it travels along my nervous system means very little to me in this context. I have been very physically and emotionally sick indeed. Yesterday, I reached such a low point that I was asked repeatably by the clinicians involved the same question. "Are you suicidal?" Gratefully, I can answer "No, ....not yet." This is a miracle.
When I last posted this blog, I wrote about forces that wanted to silence me and that I was detoxing from a medication that had the potential to kill me. Quite a combo to fight alone. What happens to my body and therefore, my mind as it moves through this hell-on-earth experience is devastating. The only way I know how to protect myself is to isolate myself from all forms of stimulation, especially the negative kind. But sometimes, negative circumstances are thrust upon us that are beyond our ability to resolve. Sometimes it is moment to moment survival when the blessings of life are shrouded in darkness.
This has been my mode of operation lately. Isolation. Progress is slow as I assimilate these new realities and deal, as best I can. Many of you, dear readers, have reached out to me and have provided a lifeline of faith and hope reminding me that I do make a difference. That my life and voice have a positive influence whether this illness is acting up or not. I thank you from the depths of my soul. For when I write, I pour my heart and soul into the endeavor. The results speak for themselves.
I have had neither the heart or the soul or the inspiration to write these past few weeks. It feels like months even years since I've last been here having tea and sharing my insights with you. I have been feeling deeply lonely, fearful, angry and hurt as I face hard-core facts. Aging with or without a mental illness is not a picnic. The accomplishments and relationships of the past are that...the past. They have no bearing on what's really happening today.
So what is going on? What is different now? Who or what has hurt you? What is happening to you? How can we help?
My greatest fault is not asking for or requesting help. This is the root of my problem. The habit of thinking and believing I'm not worthy of receiving help especially when I need it most. Why? How come this is so difficult for me to do? To reach out. To simply ask. I can only surmise that it is a learned response formed early in life. My fear of rejection and burdening others with any of my physical and emotional needs is, of course, wholly unrealistic. It is wrecking havoc in the present. It has finally caught up with me. Who or what do I turn to when I'm no longer or temporarily unable to care and provide for myself? In simple terms this is known as a crisis. I am in crisis. I need help. Lots of it.
Even my dreams torment me. Piles of dirty laundry surround me. Not only mine, but those of other family members. There is only one washer machine and dryer. Both requiring quarters that I do not have in my possession to do the stupid laundry. I watch the graying whites running on a cold wash through a looking glass door. They do not brighten. Over-extended, I feel only dread and defeat and frustration as mounds of clothing are continually thrown at me, as if I was a maid. One needn't be a genius or a dream interpreter to know what this dream is informing me. So what do think it means? Dirty laundry without the financial means in a situation of unending stress doing the impossible all alone.
Yesterday, I was immobile. I sat fixated in despair on my sofa looking at a sheaf of prescriptions on my cocktail table, including one with a name and telephone number for a partial hospitalization program. The day before, Thursday, my therapist reminded me I could always call him at any time. From my doctor of 15-16 years, I learned that soon he would be weaning himself away as a psychiatrist at the behavioral clinic I go to, just to maintain the doctor-patient relationship. Circumstances beyond his control are gently moving him towards retirement and so are calling him away from his clinical practice. I also learn that I am ineligible to receive visiting home nursing care or a home health aid that may have greatly benefited my well being. It could be viewed by Medicare as fraud because it only applies to those suffering from dementia. Gratefully, this is not my diagnosis. And for the first time in 15 years, a therapeutic partial day hospitalization is proposed. So is ECT. What choices! Yesterday, I debated. Do I call the crisis hotline or 911?
The loss of independence, the financial hardships endured and the inability to go for or ask for help and then trust I will receive assistance is frightfully real for me. So are the fractured familial relationships. Who among you wouldn't be afraid and traumatized when confronted with any of these? This is my reality in case you wondered why I fell silent for so long.
But I chose not be silenced from my observations, their impact on me as an individual first, then as one living with bipolar depression...of the depressive variety. Sometimes, I wish I still experienced the high side of this illness with its boundless energy, hyperactivity, hyper-sexuality, high productivity, its whirling social involvement and grandiose beliefs and plans. Then I remember the inexhaustible energy, the irritability, the indiscretions, the arrogance, the inability to stay still, the drive for perfection, the damaged relationships and the multiple careers that all ended in failure. So today I count my blessings and give thanks for the numerous friends and the individual family members who have and continue to offer their unwavering support.
Today, I blog. Today, I reclaim my humble life with gentle baby steps. Today I will force myself to eat something. Today I will put fresh sheets on my bed and do a load of laundry. Today that will be enough. Today is a little better than yesterday. In closing, I offer up these biblical quotes as spiritual nourishment.
Love covers all offenses. - Proverbs 10:12
Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, "Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well." And instantly the woman was made well. - Matthew 9:22
I sought the Lord, and he answered me, and delivered me from all my fears. - Psalm 34:4
