Author: Keith Anderson

Worth Living Ambassador Beca Wilson

“My name is Beca Wilson. I have a loving and supportive boyfriend, who is my lighthouse; always guiding me back home. I have three fur-babies, who bring me so much joy and are the best cuddlers. I have Bipolar Disorder type II, but I hate labels. I am a lover of all things light and am hoping to inspire some open conversation. No one should ever feel alone in a world with 7 billion people.”

Dear 21 year old Beca,
First off, please remember that you are still young and you still have so much to see in this world. You are by no means “stuck” and patience is something you would do well to learn. Second, and probably more important, don’t push Kody away. He is going to wipe a lot of your tears. He is going to be your best friend and at times, your only one. He is going to try his damnedest to make you happy, cut him some slack sometimes He is trying. He is going to make a lot of mistakes, but he is human and so are you. Please, please, remember that he loves you so much.
Sincerely,
25 year old Beca

 
When I first met my boyfriend 4 years ago, mental health was the last thing on my mind. I was falling in love for what seemed like the first time. He was new. He was funny. I wanted to get lost in his eyes. We did, in fact, quickly fall in love.  I could tell you the moment I knew I was hopelessly smitten, but that is a story for another time.

 
We began to build a beautiful life together. We adopted our second dog, Jet. We bought our house. We got our third baby, Rush. We went on countless adventures, some just down the street and others countries away. We were the best of friends and life was going pretty well. Of course, there were hiccups and some heartbreak, but we loved each other and wanted nothing more than to share our lives together.

In January of this year, I began to question my mental health once again. I had always known that I was “different”, I was the feeler.  Actually, I had a family member once tell me they couldn’t be bothered to spend any more time with me because I am “too emotional” and I cry too much. It was like I walked around either feeling way too much or not nearly enough.

Kody and I were in Mexico for a 2 week holiday last January and I had a panic attack. That was the day that I finally spoke the words to Kody that I think something is “wrong with me” and that I think I need to see my doctor because I was starting to lose control.  Let me tell you, that first visit to my family doctor did not go well. There was a lot of shaming and I left his office crying. There is more to that story, maybe for another time.

The second visit didn’t go any better. He was not helpful. He did not suggest any direction really, good or bad. I was just left with “Well, you are obviously depressed” and forced to sort out the rest for myself. I felt helpless; I felt hopeless; I felt alone.

Kody tried his hardest to be there for me. He was always supporting me and encouraged me to seek another “opinion”. Essentially, find someone who will help me. I, on the other hand, was not doing well. I was lashing out at Kody because how could he possibly understand? I really began to withdraw from everyone. I no longer wanted to spend time outside of my house unless necessary. I really only left the house for work or grocery shopping. I stopped showering, which was not my best moments. All of the withdrawing did not help my self-esteem and I honestly began to resent Kody.  As my world seemed to be shrinking away (which was my own doing), he was still leading a happy and healthy life. I was mad! How was this fair?

A little tidbit before we go much further:  life isn’t fair. Life owes us nothing. We have to take each struggle and battle we are given in stride and in the end, it won’t matter that it wasn’t fair. All that will matter is that we survived. Back to my story, so my life was in a tailspin. I was losing grip on my life. I was stinky.  My boyfriend was trying. He would draw me baths that I would never get into. He would ask me what he could do and I would yell at him that there was nothing he could possibly do! He would encourage me to go to the gym to help blow off some steam and I would cry because I thought he was calling me fat and attacking me. Really, the guy couldn’t do anything right in my books and I was driving a giant wedge between us.

Beginning of May, I finally reached out and found a new doctor. Now, let me tell you before we go too much further, I am thankful for her almost daily. She is one of the most compassionate and caring women I have ever met.  She was very open with me about how I can go about managing my depression and anxiety. She actually listened and I felt heard. I was not crazy!!!  I had finally found someone who was putting their faith in me and backing me.

 
Things were starting to look up, I began to shower again (not everyday… but progress is progress!). I started to see a Mental Health Counsellor who I have learned so much from and I look forward to our bi-weekly talks. He is a life jacket on the stormy days. In the meantime, as I thought I was making tremendous leaps and bounds, tragedy struck my  relationship with Kody. I am not going to go into details, because quite frankly, the details mean very little in the big picture.  Our relationship hit some rocks and our ship was taking on water quickly. It was in those moments that I decided I wanted to die. I no longer wanted to be on a world where I didn’t have Kody.

I am not going to go into my suicide attempts right now. I am going to save that for another post. I will tell you though, I am still coping. I am still learning to be “okay” with it. It is now forever apart of my story and I feel no shame about it. It has shaped me into who I am now and I honestly would never change that for anything. It is still sometimes something that pops up in my mind and I get scared, but luckily I have a fantastic support system.

It took me a few months to realize how my suicide attempts affected Kody. In those months, it was all about me: Does Beca feel safe? Does Beca want to die today? Does Beca have an appointment today? Is Beca sleeping too much? Are Beca’s medications working? Does Beca need to slow down? I think I got sucked into the idea that only I was affected  by this. I was the one who wanted to die, no one else was hurt. It took me a few months to realize that Kody blamed himself.

When Kody and I had finally reached our limit one night and were yelling and screaming at each other, it came out. There was a moment of silence where it sank in for both of us what he just said. I cried. I cried for a long time because I realized how selfish I had been in our relationship. I was not being a very good girlfriend. We are supposed to be a team, but instead, I was relying on him for love and support but I wasn’t giving it in return. That day was the day our relationship shifted once again. It was the day that we both realized how much of a team we are. We both need each other, for different things, but nonetheless, we need each other.

I wish I could say our relationship is perfect and that we communicate well all the time and that we never fight.  The truth though is that sometimes we don’t communicate at all. Sometimes we just can’t seem to get the correct words out  for whatever reason.  We take a timeout at those moments and go our separate ways to re-group to then come back and try again. It takes a few timeouts at times but we never give up on each other. Our relationship is not always pretty and angels do not sing our names but we are still as much in love with each other as we were when we first met. I get lost sometimes, but I always find my way back to shore thanks to my lighthouse.

“Suicide doesn’t end the chances of life getting worse, it eliminates the possibility of it ever getting any better.” – Unknown

You can follow my personal blog at www.diaryofa20somethingnormalgirl.wordpress.com

Worth Living Ambassador Lisa Anderson from Texas

“My name is Lisa. Formerly a successful marketing manager for Fortune 50 corporations, I am now passionately dedicated to advocating for mental health awareness, chronic pain education, and suicide prevention.”

I had been successful at almost everything in life except for coping with negative emotions. I spent years shrugging off sorrow and burying despair. They would be dealt with later. I ignored the physical warnings that signaled an inevitable world-class meltdown as I artfully dodged processing any trauma that I encountered.

After a two-year period of tragedy, my “safe” emotional bubble burst and I landed squarely on my ass.

The downward spiral began when the love of my life, Richard, was diagnosed with throat cancer. I watched my strong, vibrant man dwindle to a shadow of himself through chemo and daily radiation. When he was no longer able to eat, I fed him through a tube inserted in his stomach. I stayed awake at night to watch for signs that he was still breathing. Those were dark days.

Thankfully, he overcame the cancer and life began to return to normal. We were engaged to marry on a bright, chilly Christmas morning and our home was once again filled with hope for the future. Until the call came on that fateful spring afternoon.

Richard’s son, at the age of 23, had died by suicide. Harry was bright, devilishly handsome, and oozing with charm. He could sell ice to an Alaskan. To meet Harry, you could immediately see the potential for a bounty of great things in his future. The problem was, he could not. Under all of the joking and young male bluster, Harry hid a terrible secret. He was in pain. The confidence that he portrayed was a symptom of that “selling ice” thing. We never imagined the depths of Harry’s depression. We never imagined a world without him.

Life marched on and we wed in the fall. Shortly afterwards, the pain began. As a new bride, I chalked it up to the busy months before the wedding and the “normal stress” that was an ever-present part of my life in the corporate arena. Surely nothing that happy hour and a nice massage couldn’t remedy. Well, that wasn’t to be the case. My body and my mind betrayed me.

After months of being unable to work due to the chronic pain, I was out of a job. The career that had defined me for so many years was gone, along with my healthy salary. My perception of myself was trashed. I had always self-identified with the “professional me.” My sense of guilt increased as our bank account decreased.

By that summer, I felt that there was nothing to look forward to but endless, debilitating pain. The life that I had known – the PERSON that I had been – was gone. The downward spiral continued as I started losing my words and became unable to think in a straight line. When I became anxious, I’d stutter, so I stopped talking unless I had to. I felt stupid, worthless and a huge burden on my husband.

There were so many doctors, it was hard to keep track of where I needed to be on any given day. I was a human pin cushion after having blood drawn so frequently, yet no one could identify exactly what was wrong with me for quite some time. Remaining undiagnosed for so long left me frustrated and afraid. New symptoms rained down and I never knew what was going to fall off next. My roller-coaster ride with various meds had left me ruined. For months I ricocheted between lying incoherently in bed for days, and sleepless nights where I struggled to take a breath. Every empty day ran into the next.

On August 21, I was ready to die. I had a drawer full of pills within reach. I didn’t even need to get out of bed to end all of the pain and loss. As fate would have it, I also had the suicide prevention number within reach as well. In that one critical moment I remembered what I had learned from losing Harry.

There are always ripples. The split second action of one person will reverberate through others for the rest of their lives. The end of one person’s pain is the beginning of sorrow for so many. It is like passing the baton of despair, handing off the pain to those left behind. How well will they run the race? How will they face each day?

I chose life. For my husband, for my mother, for my daughter, for my friends. I summoned the courage to try – just one more day.

My experience at the mental health facility, which I lovingly call “my week at Band Camp,” was the best thing that ever could have happened to me. I found that I was ready to heal, and learned valuable coping skills that would carry me through to the next phase of my healing journey.

When I came home I immediately began working with a therapist. Over time, a whole beautiful world of opportunity opened up to me. By incorporating guided imagery, meditation, Emotional Freedom Technique (EFT), and other mindfulness-based coping skills into my toolbox, I began to relish every session. Between visits I would pour all of my thoughts and feelings into my journal, which helped to purge the pain and shine a light on my healing path. I was learning to love myself and to value the miracle of life that I had almost thrown away. I was able to take back my personal power and change my relationship with pain.

I was hungry to understand more about my physical and emotional pain and how the two were intrinsically intertwined. The more I learned about the Mind/Body/Spirit connection and the role that the brain plays in processing pain, the more I could see my way to WHOLE HEALTH.

Am I pain-free today? Nope. I still have some bad days, but I have far more GREAT DAYS. I continue to use the tools that I’ve learned and I gain new strength and insights each day. My quest for knowledge of healing through modern medicine and ancient practices continues and my life has become a more amazing journey than I ever could have imagined.

That place in my soul that used to hide my pain is now overflowing with joy and gratitude. Now it’s my turn to give back. Moving forward, my focus is on advocacy. I’m currently creating a resource to “speak my truth” about mental health and suicide and to share my insights, my sources of inspiration, and the tools and resources that made the difference between life and death.  My story of Power Not Pain. Perhaps someone who has lost their way will find it as a way-sign. And, at that critical moment they will remember my story and choose life.

Please visit my facebook page – www.facebook.com/powernotpain

Worth Living Ambassador Jaymi

“Hi, my name is Jaymi.  I am 22 years old and live in North Las Vegas. I love karaoke but according to my Dad, I could kill birds with a voice like mine (it takes talent to sing this badly ). I love being outside and I am currently learning to get out of my comfort zone. Did I mention I am a dork?!”

Raising awareness for mental health is so extremely important and that is why I am writing this today.
I can’t speak on behalf of many mental illnesses, but I can openly tell you my story and the struggles I still face today with memory loss.
In February 2015, I had noticed a change in myself.  I had become a little more forgetful throughout the day than usual. I didn’t speak up about it at first because I figured everyone becomes a little forgetful sometimes (I was wrong).
A week or two later a friend comes by to take me to work.  During the car ride we are talking, laughing, but suddenly I  questioned  my surroundings and where I’m going. So I stop her mid-sentence and ask her “Where are we going?” she replies “I’m taking you to work and sometimes we take the freeway”.  She asked me “Why?”    I look at the day, date, and time on my phone which would make sense for me to be going to work on that specific day at that time. I look at my clothes and noticed that I’m wearing my work uniform and instantly tell her nothing. As I looked out the car window for those few moments,  I was confused and everything looked new to me (which is extremely unusual because I was born and  raised here).
I lived with my dad at the time so once I got home from work I told him about the incident that happened earlier that day. We agreed to bring it up at my upcoming neurologist appointment. A few weeks passed and my appointment day was finally here. I was beyond nervous and I had every right to be. When the doctor called my name,  my dad and I  stood up and we both walked back to the  examination room.  The doctor asked me how I was doing and I said I’d been better.  I told him that I’d become more forgetful than usual lately. He got a smirk on his face and did this half laugh half chuckle. He told me it was a side effect from my medication. He said in the old days it was called dopey lopey because people were always forgetting things while they were on this medication. My heart immediately sank to my butt (that is just a metaphor I use when I’m being dramatic) and my mind was going 100 miles an hour. I told him I wanted to be taken off this medication because it causes memory loss. He explained to me and my dad that I couldn’t just be taken off the medication, that with time I would slowly stop taking one pill at a time.
I was in tears the whole car ride home.  Once there, I had the pill bottle in my hand ready to flush the whole pill bottle down the toilet. My dad saw me and said that we should follow the doctor’s steps and in a while I would no longer be on that medication. My dad was right, in time I was taken off that specific medication completely and I was doing good….for a while.
One morning I woke up to get ready for work. I picked up an earlier shift than usual so I was like a walking zombie HA! Anyway I went into the bathroom, when I got up I just fell on my knees. No one heard it so I said to myself brush it off, I started to brush my teeth and out of nowhere my chin hits the counter top really hard. I lost control of my body and I couldn’t even tell you how. My dad knocks on the bathroom door to ask what that was and if I’m okay. I tell him it was nothing and I’m fine, I finish brushing my teeth but I fall again and at this point my chin and knees hurt. I sit down to put on my uniform, and do my hair but the challenge is I have to walk down stairs to get to the car. Dad asks me if I’m sure I’m okay, I say yes. I remember taking a few steps past the bottom of the stairs and  I fell face first into the concrete. My dad helped me up.  I can’t remember too much after that other than waking up in an ambulance and a man telling me I had two seizures. I go back to my doctor and I end up back on the prescription that causes memory loss. I cried for days and to this very day I am still on that very medication.
Although my memory gets worse with time , I get great pep talks from my Dad & cousin Daysia. I keep FAITH, HOPE, & MEMORY JOURNALS (two Memory Journals so far). There is so much more to my story but I’ve already written enough so I’ll end it on a happy note

Worth Living Ambassador Mike Mousseau

“My name is Mike and I’m 24.  I have a career in correction services. I have confronted depression and anxiety the majority of my life. I’ve never been truly shy about my struggles, but it’s also hard to find the words to explain the struggles within your head. So let’s take a trip into my world.”

I had always been anxious as a child. I remember being terrified to go to sleep if I couldn’t hear my parents in the house. If they let the dog out, I would sit on the edge of my bed and wait until I hear them close and lock the door. I wouldn’t say it ever severely affected me. I had a great home life with tons of friends, but at the end of every day, I was always a scared little boy.

Fast forward to 12 years old. I had what I thought was your ordinary sleepover with a few friends. When I woke up, one of those friends was taking advantage of me. To spare details, this wasn’t a one- time thing, it happened over a span of a year or so. And what had really haunted me, after so many years, was the fact that I let it happen for that long.

It’s complicated. You know it’s wrong, but at the same time, you’re muted by all of these different questions, “What if nobody believes me? Will he deny it? What if my family disowns me?” And the two biggest for me, were “Why me?”  and  “Why did part of me enjoy it?”

Entering high school was pretty rough. As these thoughts still flooded my head,  I would rebound back and forth between happy and sad. Depressed and content. It wasn’t until my final year, when I would have trouble breathing, that I thought something may be wrong. That started my first experience with anti- anxiety medication. Although I didn’t stick to them. I was a firm believer in not relying on something to make me feel normal.

Life still happened though. I had girlfriends, grew up, attended college, all normal people things.  But  time and time again, my mind always wandered back to what happened to me. No matter how many times I spoke with friends, even if they could relate, it didn’t really make the feelings dissipate.

I was always heavily complimentary on the fact that I never turned to alcohol, drugs, or self- harm to cope with these feelings;  and the truth is, I never saw myself doing so. It just didn’t make sense. As unbelievably frustrating as it was, I knew I just had to cope with things.

I didn’t tell my parents until I was 20. And even then, I didn’t technically say anything. I was in a dark place, and sat down with my mom one night until she probed the answer out of me. I have never seen anybody in my life look at me the way she did. She was heartbroken. But she loved me, and wanted nothing more than to make me feel safe and secure, which to this day she still does. I never really told my dad. He ended up reading about it online when I posted it for Bell’s Let’s Talk Day. We’ve never been the type to be emotional with one another, but he’s just happy that I’m in a much better place.

I was 23 when I actually confronted the individual. Every time the thought crossed my mind prior to this, I was still angry and hurt. Though, one night I was speaking to a friend, and said “I think it’s time”.  She walked me through it, and left it at that. I wasn’t expecting a whole lot. I woke up the next morning with a massive apology. We spoke most of the day, and he – I truly believe – was sorry. He told me that he had still regretted it all these years later, and sought help for himself as he got older. I told him at the time I wasn’t ready to forgive him.  I may never be able to, but that’s OK, I still had my closure.

In 2013, I also lost my best friend a month before he turned 22. It was a work related accident, and one that was easily preventable. The utter devastation of receiving that phone call was life changing, even more so when I had to tell my girlfriend at the time who also shared his friendship. Alan was the most genuine and influential human beings to grace this planet. He lit up a room with his exuberant personality, and knew exactly how to cheer you up if you felt like a sack of trash. That being said, the night I found out he died, was the night I found it he was dealing with demons and had previously considered suicide.
Over the course of the next year, I had two of my closest friends move out of province and country, and the relationship I was in ended the following spring. That left me feeling more alone than I have ever felt.  Almost instantly, I cut out most of the people in my life. I forgot how to talk and open up, and while in-between jobs, became a prisoner of my own thoughts.

Because of this, poison festered in my head. Feeling depressed, and having such intrusive thoughts spill into your mind like a conveyor belt  is bar none the most awful thing to endure. You convince yourself you’re  going crazy. One of the scariest thoughts my mind produced, was “if Alan felt like this before he died, does this mean I’m going to die too?” And I remember crying to my mother one day, and blurted that out. She hugged me, and said “it all makes sense now.”   I believe that was my defining moment. Slowly but surely, things started falling into place.

I started seeing a counselor, who truthfully, was one of the biggest crutches to my stability. She convinced me that I wasn’t crazy, and gave me multiple grounding techniques to do when I have troubling days. She also didn’t feel the need to see me on medication, although my doctor wouldn’t stop pushing them. I met new friends, who were more supportive than anybody I had ever met. There were a few friends I slowly pulled closer, and learned to open up and talk to again. I’m now in an amazing relationship with a woman who’s more patient and understanding than I could have ever imagined.

Am I cured? I wouldn’t consider myself so. I’m still anxious almost daily. I still have days where I think I’m going insane. Intrusive thoughts still muster their way into my head when I’m over tired  by which time I barely have the energy to cut them off.

You know what?

Let the thoughts come because as absurd as it sounds, it’s normal. Anxiety is normal. Mental illness is normal. You’re not crazy. One of the most important things I’ve heard in the last three years came from Corey Taylor (for those of you unfamiliar, he is the frontman for Slipknot and Stone Sour) who said “Nothing on this planet is worth going away for. Nothing on this planet is worth ending your life for.” I held onto these words and repeated them to myself every time I had I thought that the world was too much for me, and I just wanted to escape it all.

Ultimately, all I want in life is to change lives. If I can convince somebody that life is worth living, that’s wonderful. If I can convince somebody that prison isn’t worth the time, energy, and loss of truly living, then I’ve done my job. No matter how dark and dreary your road is, there is ALWAYS something to make it all worthwhile.

Worth Living Ambassador Ann Ottaway continues to share her journey.
Ann is a 30 year old former legal assistant, animal lover, and a believer in new beginnings. Ann shares her recovery journey with the hope that her story allows others to realize they are not alone.

My sobriety journey has been one of the most difficult challenges I have ever faced.  This is mainly due to the fact that it is a challenge that I have to face every day.

 
My substance abuse started as a means of managing my social anxiety.  I felt relaxed, more outgoing and far less shy than my standard self- conscious state of being.  One hit or one drink would be good, so I figured another would be better.  If two were good, three must be better and so on.  With the highs came the lows, groups became isolation and what started as something seemingly harmless became dangerous.  I began to use substances as a means of coping with any and all unpleasant emotions.

 
I figured if I felt better using when I felt socially anxious, then it would help me feel better in other situations. For example, if I was sad, angry or stressed.  Sure, I felt better in the moment but later I was filled with regret, guilt, shame and depression.

 
The extent of my issues with substance abuse were a surprise to many.  It was not something that I was proud of, it was something that I kept hidden and it was something  about which I was in denial.  It took my being open to my own feelings and listening to the stories of others for me to realise that I had a problem.  I had to first admit this problem to myself and then to my family and friends.  I had to be honest with doctors and counsellors and with the support and encouragement of those around me. I participated in group and individual addictions counselling.

 
Since making the decision to abstain completely from substances, especially alcohol, I have safely participated in a number of triggering events such as sports games, concerts, and birthday celebrations.  I have developed a number of coping skills such as having a plan with respect to dealing with cravings and urges but I continue to face challenges.

 
One of the most difficult challenges I continue to face is adapting to social situations now that my go to social anxiety defence mechanism is no longer a part of my life.  Those same unpleasant feelings still occur and continue to be amplified as I often find myself in social situations where alcohol is involved.  I often feel like I am missing out on the fun as if like I am no longer included. I find myself feeling awkward and uncomfortable when I am the only person not drinking, I feel guilty when I have to ask others to help me not drink and when others ask if it is okay for them to drink in my presence.

 
It is when I am overwhelmed with these feelings that I have to remind myself of an important lesson I learned in my addictions counselling. I don’t ask myself what am I losing out on by not engaging in substance use, but what am I gaining?

 
Yes, I feel like I am losing out many things but I have to weigh the losses with the gains. What do I feel like I am losing by maintaining my sobriety? I feel like I am losing out on events to which  I don’t get invited.  I feel like I am missing out on the party when I am too shy to get up and dance when everyone else is.  I feel like I am losing opportunities to get to know others when I am too shy to mingle.  I feel like I no longer have fun now that I have chosen to let go it of my former habits.

 
What am I gaining by maintaining my sobriety?  I am gaining control over my body by not inhibiting my decision making.  I am gaining pride in myself through self- control and discipline.  I am gaining a better state of physical and mental well- being by not ingesting substances that compromise my health.  I am gaining a greater sense of security by not compromising my safety.  I am gaining pure and honest friendships based on openness, honesty and heartfelt and pure conversations.  I am gaining a stronger sense of true friendship through my support system.

 
Being four months sober and only now discovering who I am as a person, I know that I can discover new hobbies, healthier habits,  and strong supports with those who want me in their lives because they like me for who am I am as a person. When I feel overwhelmed by the losses, I remind myself of the gains and I know deep down that the gains will always outweigh the losses.

Worth Living Ambassador Ann Ottaway

Ann is a 30 year old former legal assistant, animal lover, and a believer in new beginnings. She shares her recovery journey with the hope that her story allows others to realize they are not alone.

When I made the decision that I wanted to end my life I was adamant that my only option to stop hurting was to cease to exist.

 
I was hospitalised by law, not by choice, and I was furious.  I wanted nothing to do with anyone who interfered with my plan and spent the first few days of my hospitalisation in bed out of protest.  Eventually, I became worn down by this as I realised the longer I remained in bed, the longer I would be forced to stay.

In my mind, I was playing their game – if I pretended to co-operate they would let me leave and I would be able to follow through with my plan. Unfortunately, I was not in a hospital that specialised in mental health so the days were long and tedious as there was no programming.  Nurses would check in and if I was lucky I would see my doctor briefly.

 
Fortunately, all of this free time allowed for me to get to know the other patients.  Prior to being hospitalised, I wasn’t very open about my mental health issues. Close friends knew but otherwise I had made the decision to keep it quiet.  The hospital was different, everyone was there because they had mental health issues of one sort or another.  For the first time my mental health wasn’t invisible; I was in a gown so that I could be identified as someone who was being kept on the ward legally.  It was as if I was wearing a mental illness uniform and everyone could see what was invisible for so long.  I was surrounded by other people in the same situation as myself, what did I have to lose?

 
It didn’t take long for me to get to know the other patients and before I knew it, I started to think my life wasn’t so terrible after all.  If the other people there had experienced the same hardships as I  had, and could find the strength to go on, then so could I.

After a few days, my mornings were made brighter by the warm smiles and friendly hellos from other patients who took the time to get to know me and share their stories.  It felt like a small family, we were all in it together.  I saw how everyone supported and encouraged one another and before I knew it, I was joining in.  I no longer stayed in bed all day.  I wanted to get up, I wanted friends and family to visit and eventually I wanted to get better.  I connected with a close friend whom I met in the hospital and we would spend our days sharing stories and even laughter. Through brief intervals of time,  I was able to let go of how unhappy I was.  If I could make a friend in the worst of times, surely I would be okay.

After a weeklong stay, I took a week off from work and then tried to get back to “normal” life with plans to attend regular counselling and new medication in the works. On the Monday, I felt rested and started the work week strongly.  By Friday, I was suicidal all over again and went to the emergency centre of a psychiatric hospital.  I packed a bag and showed up prepared; I wanted to be admitted and I wanted to get better.

 
In this hospital, I made more friends, heard more people’s stories and was encouraged all over again.  I had groups to go to every day and I had a safe place where I was taken care of while I sought further treatment.  I knew this was what I needed to do.  I ended up leaving my job and my plans to move to the city.  I went back to my parents’ home and enrolled in a Partial Hospitalisation Program.  It was there that I really discovered myself.  I went into the program not knowing who I was or what I wanted from life.  I just knew that I didn’t want to feel worthless anymore.  I was ready and dedicated to getting better.  I worked hard, I practised the tools that were given to me and one day, I felt happy.  Genuinely happy.

After 15 weeks of treatment I am now enrolled in school to embark on a new career.  It is terrifying at times to know that have started my life over again but I have a life to start over.  I almost didn’t have that chance.  Had I not been suicidal and had I not been hospitalised I would still be stuck in the depths of my illness;  I would still be miserable, I would still have low self- esteem, I would still be abusing substances and I would still be pretending to be happy while feeling lost inside.

 
I strongly believe that every struggle and awful feeling that I experienced brought me to where I am today.  Had I not hit rock bottom I would not have been able to lift myself up.  I have a new outlook on life now that would not be part of who I am had fate not stepped in and put me in the hospital, introduced me to the amazing friends that I have met, strengthened my relationships with family and long-time friends and put me in a treatment program that gave me the tools to manage my symptoms.

In an odd little way, being suicidal saved my life.

NOTE

If you , a family member, friend, or colleague is experiencing  thoughts of suicide or distress, call 911 now.
Other resources :
Canada- Canadian Association for Suicide Prevention  www.suicideprevention.ca
USA – National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-8255
United Kingdom   www.nhs.uk

Worth Living Ambassador Ashley Shaw

“My name is Ashley Shaw.  I am originally from Halifax, Nova Scotia. I am currently in my second year of nursing at St. Francis Xavier University.  I chose nursing  because of my own personal struggle with mental illness that I want to share with you.”

At age 16, I was raped.

 
I was in such a state of shock that this could ever happen to me. So I refused to admit it. I didn’t tell my friends or my family. I spent the next six months pretending it didn’t happen. I would drink excessive amounts and take too many drugs until I was in a state that I couldn’t remember for a while. But as soon as it wore off, it would all come rushing back. I would take more, and more and more until all I was doing was self-medicating. After a few months of doing this my parents started to notice.  I wasn’t going to any classes, I was failing pretty much every class, and I never came out of my bedroom. I think the turning point was when I started refusing to go to dance. Dance was the one thing that had always been my happy place – no matter how sad or mad I was I could go there and I would just forget. So when I stopped wanting to go, they knew something was up.

 
They sat me down and talked to me about how I was acting and told me they were worried. But being a stubborn 16 year old, I refused to let them into my personal feelings- feelings I hadn’t even come to terms with myself yet. So they had no choice- they started watching everything I did. Made sure I was going to my classes, made sure I wasn’t doing drugs (as much as they could) and continuously tried to get me to open up. But I wouldn’t.

A few months later, I got to my breaking point. Pretty much everything in my life was falling apart. I had pushed all of my friends out of my life (except the ones who were giving me drugs). I was fighting with my parents pretty much every time we spoke to each other.  I was failing all my classes. Then a boyfriend ( I can’t even remember his name now) broke up with me and I guess that was just my tipping point. So I did my usual- self-medication so I could get the courage to take out my rope.

 
Everything after that was kind of a blur- maybe because of the drugs, maybe because I had just cut off all the oxygen to my brain, or maybe because I just didn’t want to remember. Either way I remember my parents finding me.. being in the car.. my mom crying.. my dad trying to comfort her.. and then the hospital. I remember being hooked up to machines and doctors and psychiatrists and crisis nurses all attacking me with questions. Then  someone at some point decided I wasn’t going to be going home.

Instead I was admitted to 4-South. Where all of my things were taken away from me. I couldn’t have my phone or most of my clothes or makeup because they had a string or a mirror or something I could use to harm myself. I remember how much I hated it in there. People always trying to but their way into my head. Being forced to talk to a psychiatrist.  After about two weeks of this,  I decided the only way to get out was to lie. So I told them I was feeling much better and that I wasn’t going to hurt myself.  I even put on a fake smile until they finally let me out.

My mom took a month off work to be with me and make sure that I didn’t hurt myself. It made me so angry. I thought she didn’t trust me. I felt like a child. But the truth is she couldn’t trust me to be alone. Every second all I could think of was how to do it, and be successful this time.

Going back to school was awful. People would stare and whisper. It was pretty hard to hide the fact I had been out of school for so long. People were coming up with their own stories- ones that were worse than the truth. So I sucked up my pride and told them that yes I had tried to kill myself but that I was okay now and coping. I didn’t tell them why I had tried to kill myself- in fact I still wasn’t really admitting that to myself yet. I still believed it was just because of some silly boy.

I don’t even know at what point I started realizing what had really brought on all of this. Maybe after months of therapy and group therapy for drug abuse. But at some point the two pieces really clicked. I mean how could I have thought about the night I was raped every single day without realizing that it was what caused me to start using drugs, and cutting, and to become so depressed. I decided life wasn’t worth living? How could I miss that? When I finally came to terms with it, I told my parents.

I can’t get over the look of hurt in their eyes. Someone had taken advantage of their little girl and I could tell how much that hurt them. My dad went from hurt straight into anger. He wanted me to press charges, he wanted to kill the guy. But I wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t want to have to sit in a court room facing the person who ruined my life and describe what he did to me.  I thought no one would believe me. I had no proof, I didn’t get a rape kit that night. Instead,  I showered  for hours until I couldn’t stand how hard I had scrubbed my skin any longer.

And besides, what good would bring up the past really do? I was finally starting to heal myself. I started opening up to my parents and they became my rock through the next three years. I got clean- no more drugs and no more cutting. I made a new group of friends and I focused myself on my last two years of high school. I took advanced classes and got good marks and I decided that life WAS worth living again.

 
I decided I was going to go into nursing and specialize in mental health. I wanted to help people- I wanted to have some meaning in my life that made me feel like I wasn’t just living that I was really doing something to better the world.
And so here I am- six years later in my second year of nursing and I couldn’t love it anymore. Yes I still have bad days- in fact I still have a lot of them. And sometimes I lose sight of it all and wonder why I’m here.

I can’t say I haven’t thought about killing myself or that I haven’t slipped up and cut or done drugs.  Though I can say that every time that happens I jump back on the horse. I don’t let that one slip up hold me back.

I may suffer from PTSD, depression and anxiety but that’s not for what I want to be remembered . I want to be remembered for someone who overcame all of that and decided to do something good. I want to be remembered as a nurse.

NOTE:

If you , a family member, friend, or colleague is experiencing  thoughts of suicide or distress, call 911 now.
Other resources :
Canada – Canadian Association for Suicide Prevention   www.suicideprevention.ca
USA – National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-8255
United Kingdom –  www.nhs.uk

My social etiquette was lacking. Years in the darkness had that effect.

I consider myself fully recovered from mental illness – depression, OCD, and anxiety.

Reflecting back, I knew by the autumn of 2007, I was going to regain my good health. It didn’t take much longer to recognize that l had recovered from 16 years of darkness. To see the brightness of life was overwhelming in the best possible sense.

The four years between my breakdown and recovery were spent in semi-isolation. I interacted with my family, two friends, and my doctors.That was all. Oh, a few online connections too.

Venturing into the world presented certain challenges.

Though healthy, I found myself lacking in certain social skills. Social demeanour had to be re-learned. Now I wasn’t completely inept or ignorant!

I was invited to speak at a mental health conference in my home town. The organizing committee and the conference speakers spend the evening before the conference at dinner. It’s a great idea to help calm one’s nerves and concerns about the conference. It was my first dinner at a restaurant in my home town in six years.

I found myself sitting at the table looking at a full setting – plates, dishes, and cutlery. I wasn’t sure which fork to use first, which plate to use for my bread! There was a time in my life when such dinners were common place. I did figure it all out but for those few moments, I felt out of sorts.

It sounds simple and even petty, and that’s the point, it is. So the fact that I struggled was even more pronounced to myself.

Travelling brought a new set of circumstances. I was invited to volunteer with a Mental Health Commission of Canada project being organized by the Canadian Mental Health Association Manitoba Division. The Project Committee met a few times in different cities across Canada. Our first meeting was held in Winnipeg. I hadn’t flown in years. I asked my sister what was new at the airport. Check in was being completed at a kiosk. I had to read the airline’s site to learn was allowed in carry-on luggage. The security was more stringent. How much do I tip the cab driver? So much to consider.

All new to me! I always had a certain sense of pride that I was a seasoned traveller, but no more.

Making new friends was difficult enough let alone throwing texting into the relationship.

I was late to texting. I couldn’t afford an up to date cell phone until 2013. I learned quickly that cell phones were no longer used to talk. Hearing a voice was rare. Everyone texted. My problem was I didn’t know when the texting conversation ended. I would exchange a few text messages. Then I would read a text and wonder. Do I text again? Would it be too much? Is the other person gone? Not a clue what to do.

Oh and I don’t type very well or very quickly. It would take some time for me to send a text message. I would get a response in seconds that was five times as long as mine. Trying to discuss a matter on which there was a disagreement
, ok, an argument, was the worst. I simply couldn’t keep up.

I still wonder what to do texting ! I have awkward moments when I really don’t know how to respond.

One important change in my life was a job. I had volunteered with the Canadian Mental Health Association Nova Scotia Division for a few years. A position became available and it was offered to me. I hadn’t worked in eight years. Many aspects about returning to a work environment concerned me. This may sound silly, but I did not know what to wear.

As a lawyer, I knew. I had a closet full of white shirts, jackets, and neck ties. I was comfortable wearing a jacket and tie so I stuck to my comfort zone. I was the only one so dressed at the CMHA Offices, but I was felt good! Though I had a few moments of self-doubt and second guessing especially as I sat at meetings with others wearing sweat pants and tee shirts!

With my life becoming more hopeful, happier, and healthier, I was trying new activities that to most were simply common place.

I usually look at life events through the prism of self-confidence, self-esteem, and self-worth. Those three self’s dictate so much in how I think, feel, and dream and thus in what I undertake in daily life. Without those in our minds and hearts, the slightest of challenges can become insurmountable obstacles.

We should always look at others and appreciate that their life context may be different. What is simple and easy for you, may not be for me.

“Don’t think we feel hurt or wounded
Or our egos are showing thru
It’s our world that’s been disrupted
was And our strength reflects from you
Well it’s true
Not Fragile, over you
Try us when you’re getting down
Feelin’ high or just hangin’ round
Not Fragile” Bachman Turner Overdrive (my first rock concert)

This post originally appeared on The Good Men Project, www.goodmenproject.com

I consider myself to be fully recovered from depression. It took years of support, therapy, and my own hard work to arrive at this special place. Here I am – hopeful, healthy, and happy.

What is amiss though?

My past still surfaces. I remember how I behaved, not always properly. I didn’t treat people well. My depression twisting my mind. I made some terrible decisions. Most of the time I understand and accept that it was all caused by depression…but the past picks at me.

I remember the mental pain. I often compare mental and physical pain. I have a reference point.

I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis when I was 11 years old. I spent two weeks at the Childrens’ Hospital. My teen age years were spent going to weekly physiotherapy, doing sets of specific exercises, and wearing plaster splits from my fingers to my elbow to bed each night. All in the hope of containing my RA. It impacted my hands and legs. But I am fortunate it hasn’t progressed too much all these years, but I still have pain. Standing for long peperiods is painful, writing is difficult as my hands cramp. Even typing isn’t easy, and so I type with one finger.

Knowing both mental and physical pain so well, I can readily conclude that mental pain is more intense and extreme than physical pain. No comparison. To overcome this pain takes time.

Back to the memories. Even now when a dark, sharp memory appears, I hurt.

It’s as if the thought of the old pain creates a new feeling. Though painful it’s not depression. I feel unsettled.I am not talking about self-confidence, self- esteem, or self-worth. I have written about them in previous posts here. I have those on a good path now, though the self-worth still needs some improvement.
It`s not how other people perceive me. It’s rather how I see myself, but with a narrow vision – the past and how it still permeates my mind. Others have accepted me and understand what depression caused. I recognise that as well, but at times I find myself thinking.

Each day, something reminds me of the pain. I need to escape.

Perhaps people with no history of mental illness experience similar pain.

In time, we will see how I feel about myself. I came a long way from years of depression so I fully expect to have that full life without this pain.

Check in next year for an update!

“I have kissed honey lips
Felt the healing in her finger tips
It burned like fire
A burning desire.

I have spoke with the tongue of angels
I have held the hand of a devil
It was warm in the night
I was cold as a stone.

But I still haven’t found
What I’m looking for.
But I still haven’t found
What I’m looking for.” U2

A Guest Post from Worth Living Ambassador Justine McNeil

Originally posted on Justine’s blog – www.https://jsdaze.wordpress.com

You never know just how quickly things can change until it happens to you. Going into my volunteer trip to India I saw myself as a happy, healthy individual but when I was taken to the ER on my last night there, not being able to move my swollen and extremely painful left leg I had no idea just how drastically my life was about to change.

Returning home and going to doctors’ appointments, it never crossed my mind that my life was about to change; just like everyone else I thought that it was just a small virus or something with a quick and easy fix. So when the pain and symptoms of a still undiagnosed disease continued to get worse after more than a month of being home I started to know, in the back of my mind, that what was happening was not going to go away as quickly as it came. Even still, nothing prepared me for the moment I found out that I have Complex Regional Pain Syndrome, a chronic pain disorder that is very tricky to treat and has no cure. There had been no predisposing injuries and not warning signs, yet in the blink of an eye I was left unable to walk, in constant pain and with a leg, ankle and foot that would randomly swell and turn blue.

There are still days when I wake up and think that everything that has happened over the past two months has just been a horrible dream but then I try to stand and am brought back to the reality that is my new life. Until now, as I am learning to accept things that I can no longer do, did I realize how much I took the small things for granted. I long to be able to go for a run or even just a hike but the long distances are agonizing even with my crutches, my new best friends, supporting me. There are times when all I want to do is wear jeans but the tight fabric causes even more agonizing pain, and I can’t even think about wearing shoes that touch the top of my foot. So quickly I have had to adapt and learn how to do everyday tasks in a way that is less painful and I constantly find myself frustrated and exhausted from the pain and trying different types of treatment.

Although it is tough and at times I want to quit, I have decided to not let this stop me from living my life to the fullest. Sure, I have to make some adjustments now but I am going to continue to find ways to keep doing the things I love as much as possible, as over the past two months I have learned that you never know when things may change.