Author: Aimee Eddy

MY WRITING MY THERAPY

Published on by Aimee Eddy2 Comments

People have different methods of relieving their stress and handling the rough things that take place in their lives. Everyone has something they do that takes them away from reality for a bit or relaxes them. Some draw, some paint, some knit, some sew, some exercise, some do sports, some take pictures and so on. While going through mental illness, I was told by several therapists to find a relaxing hobby that to help me deal with the rough times. I was told, “When your mind is racing find a hobby, when your anxiety is high find something relaxing to do, when you’re depressed find something constructive to do, and so on.”

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In my elementary and high school years I was bullied so much that I stopped talking and sunk into sadness. In high school I started writing stories. I created imaginary worlds and people I could control. I had them go through bad things, but gave them happy endings. These were the things I couldn’t do in my own life. I had no control over the mean things kids and teachers said to me or how bad I felt inside, but in my story I had full control. I decided what happened to my characters, I chose how my characters felt, I created the worlds they lived in, and I gave them happy endings. Writing became my escape from reality.

I wrote every chance I could. I hid in my room and wrote. I went to a camp with my coach and girls from my basketball team and while they went outside to do things, I sat alone and wrote. When I sat by myself on the bus I created stories in my head and once I got home I put them down on paper. During times my classmates were teasing me, I jotted down a story in my notebook. Writing became my world, my escape, and my therapy.

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For a while my stories were pretty depressing, because I spilled out all my inner pain into them. I said on paper what I could not say to anyone in person. My mom told me I needed to make my stories happier, but I didn’t feel happy. Writing what I felt was my release. I didn’t tell my parents everything that was happening to me in school and within me. I kept my feelings pent up inside me and the only way I knew how to handle them was put them in writing.

Throughout school writing became my passion, my escape, and my therapy. I continued to use my writing to get through rough times in my adult years. When I was placed in a mental health hospital after a relapse and an abusive relationship, a friend gave me a journal. I carried my journal everywhere: to work, out to eat, to family events, and to church. I put all my feelings and thoughts in my journal. It became my lifeline. In time I stopped needing it so much and took it with me less and less. I still journal, but not as much.

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It has taken years for me to deal with what happened to me in my school years. So I decided to write about it in a memoir. I started writing how badly I was treated in school and how I found love and acceptance at the family garage. Writing the memoir has taken me three years because I had to rehash and relive some awful times in my life. I had to feel those emotions I felt as a child and teen all over again. It was hard and at times I had to take breaks from my writing. I continued to work on my memoir despite how hard it was, because for the first time in many years, I was letting go of the past and releasing some feelings I had been harboring for years. It was therapeutic.

Writing is my therapy. Even writing these blog posts is my therapy. I’m not just helping people; I’m helping myself, and self-care is very important when you struggle with mental illness, breast cancer, or any kind of illness. Find something that helps you release your feelings, calm your nerves or deal with what’s happening to you. Find a talent, a hobby, or something that helps you deal with your illness. I have a friend who finds comfort in exercising and I have another friend who keeps herself busy with crafts. Find that niche that helps you and use it to your advantage.

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My writing continues to improve and it’s helping people and me in many ways. My writing gets me through a lot and helps me dance within the light of recovery of not only mental illness, but also of breast cancer.

THE ROAD TO NORMALCY

Published on by Aimee Eddy2 Comments

The road to recovery from a serious illness or surgery can be a long one with several stages. During the beginning stage you rest at home resting, healing while you watch movies. In the second stage you’re up and getting around and slowly doing things around home. In the third stage you’re feeling good and you’re released to go back to work on light duty. In the last stage you get off light duty and start back on the path of normalcy. These stages sometimes take a while and can be cumbersome.

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I had my first surgery on July 17 and my second surgery on November 2. In between surgeries I worked a month and a half. Altogether I spent 13 weeks in the first and second stages of recovery and a lot of time on light duty. I became accustomed to light duty. As a cashier light duty meant express register. That meant smaller amounts of groceries to ring up and put in bags. There was also no lifting of heavy items. Sometimes I got put on a register at the far end of the store where it could be pretty slow. Although it was boring at times, I occupied myself by writing blog posts on receipt paper and filling out survey slips.

Light duty could be busy, but it was much easier than working the regular registers. In addition to less lifting and fewer groceries, I didn’t have to load the customers’ carts. Express was a good place to continue my recovery and to allow my body to fully heal. It gave me time to ease back into the working world and to slowly buildup my strength. I got to talk with customers, bring in a paycheck and feel useful. I liked it, but I knew it wouldn’t last forever. I knew in time I would have to return to normalcy.

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Wednesday I went to the surgeon who did my mastectomy and he cleared me for regular duty. Friday I went back on big register for the first time since July. I was overwhelmed with the endless cartloads and lines. It didn’t help that the weathermen were calling for a snow storm over the weekend. Even though in our area we have snow storms every winter, people panic. They stock up on food like they may never be able to leave the house again. It was a bad time to go back to regular duty. Luckily they allowed me to go back on express for the last two hours of my shift.

Customers kept putting their cases of water and pop on the register even when I told them not to. I tried to use the hand scanner on them and ask the customers to put them back in their carts. Some customers were accommodating and some weren’t. For those who weren’t, I had to lift the heavy items. My third customer turned out to be a three cartload. By the time break came, my body hurt all over and I was exhausted. Getting back to normalcy was hard, but it felt good deep inside to know I’m healed enough to do it.

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On full order register I got to see some customers I hadn’t seen in a while. They wanted to know how I’ve been and about my journey through breast cancer. They were excited to see me and I was happy to see them. When I told them, “I’ll see you again,” it wasn’t just a saying, but the truth. I beat cancer; I went through two surgeries within three months and was finally on both feet standing tall. In my eyes I out witted death and was going to be around for a long time to see my customers.

Not only have I gone back to regular register, I have decided to set goals to return to my writing and editing my memoir on a more regular basis. The road back to normalcy is hard, but I’m well enough to take it. I’m a changed person and a stronger person for it. Work will continue to get easier and I hope to get back to working out. My life is getting back on track. It feels good even though I ache all over.

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I have a lot to be thankful for, and as I travel down the road to normalcy I stand in the light of recovery from breast cancer with pride.

SELF-INJURY IS NOT A JOKE

Published on by Aimee Eddy13 Comments

Many do not understand self-injury. It’s hard to comprehend why a person would intentionally hurt him or herself. It just seems illogical, and some think it’s a joke or just a way to get attention, but it’s not. It is very serious. It’s a silent cry for help, a way to ease pain and for some, a way just to feel something. Self-injury in any form should not be taken lightly and should not become a source for jokes, teasing, or gossip.

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When I was very sick and injuring my mom found a therapist for me in a nearby town. At first the appointments centered on my depression and an unhealthy friendship I was in, but when I confided in her about my self-injuring, things got rocky. She asked me questions about my injuring and I answered them.

During one of our appointments, my therapist sat across from me and looked into my eyes. “Could you be harming yourself to hurt others? Like your friend?”

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I was speechless. My mind whirled. At that time I wasn’t even sure why I was injuring. I just knew I was hurting badly inside and it was the only thing that relieved the pain. I started asking myself questions. Am I trying to hurt my friend for hurting me? Am I trying to hurt my family? Was I that kind of person who would hurt people on purpose? Was I that mean?

I didn’t answer her. Tears threatened to fall, but I fought to hold them back.

She continued on. “Sometimes people feel helpless and lash out in different ways to hurt those they care about. Your friendship is troublesome and maybe the only way you can get back at her is by harming yourself.”

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My mom picked me up from therapy and I cried all the way home. That’s when my mother decided to find me a new therapist. She called a hospital to find me better help.

Mom rubbed my back and told me, “If you were doing this to hurt us, you wouldn’t have hid it for so long and it wouldn’t have taken you all this time to tell us about it. There is a reason for it and we’ll find out what it is.”

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When I found a new therapist, I learned that my self-injuring was an unhealthy coping technique I used to release the intense pain inside me. The pain of hurting myself physically took away from the hurt within me for just a little while. She said I was crying out for help without even knowing it.

Years later I went to dinner at a co-worker’s house. She had invited a few other co-workers. We went outside for some of them to smoke and talk. One of them started telling me that a fellow employee self-injured. They laughed about it like it was a joke.

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One of the women took a puff of her cigarette. “She does it for attention. When I was in school I knew of a girl who hurt herself just so people would pay attention to her. It’s all a joke. Like doing something that dumb is going to make us care anymore.”

I was angry, but calmly explained to them what self-injury was and that it was not a joke. I even told them I had once harmed myself.

Another girl spoke up. “I understand you have a reason, but I had a friend show me her cuts like it was no big deal.”

I looked at her. “She was asking you for help. Self-injurers hurt themselves in private and try hard to hide their wounds. If they become brave enough to tell or show them, then he or she is crying out for help. He or she doesn’t know how to ask any other way. Self-injuring is not a joke.”

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They all went silent.

Later I talked to the girl from work who injured. I told her how I struggled with it for many years and how I worked hard to stop. She confided in me about how depressed she was and the problems she faced within her life. Like me, she turned to self-injury to cope with the pain within her. I encouraged her to seek help.

Self-injury is not a joke; it’s not a way to hurt others or a way to get attention. It is serious. It is an unhealthy coping technique for either a deep inner pain or for the inability to feel anything. It becomes an addiction and the person can’t stop without help and support. If someone is showing you what he or she has done to him or herself, then that person is asking for help the only way he or she knows how. If you know someone who is harming him or herself, don’t brush it off. Encourage the person to get help and to tell someone they trust who can help him or her find the right therapist.

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It took me time to tell my mom about my self-injuring, but because I did, I got help. I also confided in a friend who helped me to set a goal to stop injuring, and when I reached it we celebrated. Now I have gone 17 years without hurting myself. Because I asked for help, was taken seriously and worked hard I am standing in the light injury free.

 

AUNT FAY

Published on by Aimee Eddy5 Comments

Special people come into our lives and touch our hearts deeply. They change us forever and when they leave us, they leave behind a big part of themselves deep in our souls. Losing someone so unique is hard and the grief doesn’t go away easily. The most comfort you can find for such a loss is knowing that God had blessed you with his or her sweet memories.

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Many who marry into a family dread their in-laws. I know several people who say they have the in-laws from hell, but I say just the opposite. I was lucky to marry into a wonderful family. My husband was raised by his grandma and she passed before I met him. His grandma was his mom. Lou found motherly love after his grandmother’s death in his Aunt Fay. So when I married Lou Aunt Fay became not only an aunt, but my mother-in-law.

I had talked to Aunt Fay several times on the phone before we were married, but I’ll never forget the day I finally met her face to face. It was at our wedding rehearsal. When she and Uncle Rich arrived at the church, Lou and I greeted them in the parking lot. Aunt Fay wrapped her arms around me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. She hugged me like she had always known me. She, right then and there, even though she barely knew me, welcomed me into her family.

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The first time I flew to Georgia to spend a week with Aunt Fay and Uncle Rich I was nervous. I was afraid they might not like me after they spent time with me. I feared I’d feel out of place and I wouldn’t fit in. I was totally wrong. The moment we stepped off the airplane, I was welcomed with opened arms. When we arrived at their house, Aunt Fay made me feel at home. She told me her home was my home. When I sat with her and her sons’ spouses, she made sure I was always a part of the conversations. I never felt left out. Sometimes with people on my side of the family I feel like I’m invisible to them, but I never felt that with Aunt Fay, Uncle Rich, and their family.

Through the years I adored Aunt Fay more and more. Each time we talked to her on the phone, she would always say, “Hug yourselves for me.” Those words made me feel like she was giving me a hug through the phone. I could picture her arms around me. She was always willing to listen to me and asked me about my job and writing.

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While I struggled with breast cancer last year she encouraged me, listened, and told me how brave I was. Aunt Fay told me to make sure I kept her informed on everything that I was going through: the surgeries, recuperation and treatments. Each time I talked to her, she would tell me she loved me and to hug myself. I felt very important to her and her comforting words helped me through a very rough time.

During one of our visits to Georgia, Aunt Fay took me to get a haircut. Aunt Fay sat in a chair across from mine while the stylist worked on my hair. The stylist talked to me and Aunt Fay. She asked Aunt Fay how she knew me. Aunt Fay replied, “She’s my niece.” That meant the world to me. She gave me something I had been missing for a while, an aunt (mother-in-law) who truly loved me for who I am, flaws and all. I wasn’t just her nephew’s wife, I didn’t just marry into her family, but I was officially a part of her family.

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Aunt Fay was a strong, loving, and beautiful person. Kindness radiated from her. It was in her smile, in her gentle words, and in the way she just gave to the people around her. She spoiled me and my husband with love and generosity. Whenever we needed help, she was there, even when we didn’t ask for it. She just gave selflessly to us and everyone around her.

I’m so grateful that I had Aunt Fay in my life for twelve years. She meant the world to me and I already miss her. When I was told New Year’s Day she had passed, my heart shattered. In the days following, I’ve been in a depression. My husband lost a mother figure and aunt and I lost a mother-in-law figure and aunt. Slowly I’m fighting my sadness and filling my heart with my memories of her. I thank God for putting her in my life and I feel comfort knowing she’s in heaven with the love of her life, Uncle Rich.

In time my grief will fade, but Aunt Fay will always be with in my heart. I find comfort knowing my aunt is dancing with her true love in God’s light.

GOALS NOT RESOLUTIONS

Published on by Aimee Eddy6 Comments

Happy New Years to all of you. With the holiday’s and my grandma not doing good I didn’t come up with a full post. I want to remind you all that when we make resolutions for the new year we tend not to follow them. Instead of a resolution set goals for 2019. Start out with small goals like finding a therapist or getting a mammogram. As the year goes on you can make new and bigger goals.

Your goals can help you achieve a healthier new year physically and mentally. This could be the right time to reach for the light of recovery from mental illness or the year you overcome breast cancer or prevent it. Make goals for your future too. Like finding a better job, writing that book, saving for your own home and so on. With your goals you can have a happier and healthier new year. In the comments leave your goals for 2019.

Have a safe, healthy and happy New Years!!!

MY LIFE IS CHANGED FOREVER

Published on by Aimee Eddy3 Comments

In life we go through many trials and tribulations. It’s during these rough times that we find ourselves and our strength. Life’s challenges help mold us into better and stronger people. These trying times in our life change us forever. We can never be the same again. I’d like to believe we are all changed for the better. I know I am.

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I spent most of my life struggling with mental illness. I fought it most of my childhood and throughout my adulthood. I’ll never be cured of it, but I climbed the walls of my dark hole to reach recovery. I faced the dark demons within me and pushed them down. This battle took my life and turned it around. It took me from an empty shell and filled me up. It brought forth a missing part of the person I am and showed me how determined, strong, and resilient I am.

When I crawled out of my dark hole, I came out as a new and rejuvenated person. I found the real me curled up like a scared child, and I worked hard to bring that frightened child out into the light. I learned to love again, to smile again, to laugh again, and to live again. I became an advocate for mental illness, I found I was capable of fighting for what means the most to me, and I learned that I have a lot to offer to people and to the world.

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When I was sick I buried myself in self-hate, anguish and sadness. I thought I was worthless and useless. Finding a new perspective helped me move forward in my life. I learned to see myself for the person I am and not my illness, and I learned to love myself. Learning to love myself helped me build stronger and healthier relationships. I found my husband and many good friends. My writing grew and I started this blog.

Then I heard those words over the phone, “You have breast cancer,” and once again my life was turned upside down and inside out. I fell into depression and feared the worse. I felt  frozen in place while people were going on around me. Next, they told me I had the BRCA gene and I had to make some very important decisions: decisions no one should have to make, but there was no way around them. I had to choose to lose the very features that distinguished me as a woman. I thought my life was over, but it had only just begun.

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I had to undergo two surgeries within three months. I lost some important parts of my womanhood, but I gained a new love for myself and a new pride. I’m proud to be a survivor, I’m proud of the scars on my chest that tell the story of the battle I won, and I’m proud of how strong I was while I faced this illness and the surgeries. If I had gotten breast cancer years ago, I would have been a total wreck. I fought some depression while going through this, but it didn’t drag me down.

I learned to love myself as a new woman. A woman without breasts, ovaries, a uterus, and cervix, but a beautiful woman who fought an awful battle and a strong woman who doesn’t allow anything to tear her down. My body has changed and first it was really hard to accept, but I found acceptance. I love my body and who I am. I am not afraid that others will look at me differently and I’m not ashamed to tell others about the fight I overcame and won. I grew as a person inside and out because of my struggle with breast cancer.

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Both of these trials in my life changed me forever and built me up to the person I am. It is unfair I had to face them, but they taught me lessons I may have never learned otherwise. I’m a stronger and better person because of them. I’m proud to say I’m a brave, loving, beautiful and inspiring woman. I have plenty to write about and my writing about my experience helps and inspires others. I suffered to help others.

If you are going through an illness or other trials in your life, don’t view them as the end of your life, but as a way to grow. Illnesses and hardships change you forever, but don’t let them change you for the worse. Let them mold you and lift you up. Grow from your experiences and rise above them.

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I’m a proud survivor of mental illness and cancer. I am standing in the beaming rays of a new beginning. I’m proud of whom I am and the road I traveled to get here. I am a beautiful woman, I am a fighter, and I am an inspiration. I’m celebrating my triumphs in the light of a new life.

STILL A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN

Published on by Aimee Eddy7 Comments

Beauty is more than a skinny body, fancy clothes, and makeup. Going through cancer can put your body through harsh treatments and sometimes multiple surgeries. Some lose their hair, some have only the spot where the cancer is removed, and some have both breasts removed. Radiation and chemotherapy are harsh treatments. Going through these treatments and surgeries can make you feel ugly and less like a woman.

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When I was given the choice to have a mastectomy, I thought I had to have reconstruction to keep my beauty. I thought I’d be less of a woman without breasts. After the surgery it took me a while to look at my chest or look at myself shirtless in a mirror. I was afraid to see the scars where my breasts used to be. I was afraid I would look ugly and disfigured. When I finally looked at my chest, I cried.

I told my husband, “I’m ugly.”

He looked into my eyes. “You’re still beautiful and always will be.”

I weighed my options for having or not having reconstruction. I wrote out a list of the positives and negatives of both. I listened to others at my breast cancer support group tell about their experiences with reconstruction. In the end it all came down to whether or not I could like myself without breasts or did I need to have them to feel beautiful. It’s a personal choice. My biggest fear was going through multiple surgeries to get new breasts and dealing with complications. I already needed to get a hysterectomy.

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I would stand in front of the mirror and ask myself, “Am I any less of a woman without breasts? Is Lou right? Am I still beautiful?”

I had to ask myself, What is beauty?” Is it having big breasts and a perfect body or is it much more? Is it looking good for everyone? Is beauty on the outside or in the inside? Did having scars on my chest make me less beautiful then other women?

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When I returned to work, I told a woman about my mastectomy and the breast cancer. She laughed and said, “Now you can be a boy.”

I wanted to yell, “I am still a woman and I am beautiful,” but I didn’t.

In time I realized my scars are what make me beautiful. They are proof of the battle I fought to overcome an awful disease. I don’t need breasts to be beautiful. I may have lost my breasts, but I didn’t lose who I am inside. Beauty radiates within me and outside of me. I’m not ashame of being flat chested and I’m not any less of a woman.

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I fought an awful battle and I developed a new perspective of myself and on life. I decided I don’t want to go through any more surgeries. I’m okay with living my life without breasts. I have a wonderful personality and a lovely body. I may have scars, but I am still beautiful. I lost a lot to cancer and the BRCA gene, but I didn’t lose who I am. I may have lost my breasts, my ovaries, uterus, and cervix, but I am still a vibrant woman. I am still a fighter, I’m still kind, and I’m still caring. I am still me.

Beauty isn’t about how perfect your body is or how much hair you have. Beauty is the person you are inside and outside. Your scars and loss of hair only make you look even more gorgeous. They are signs of the battle you fought and the strength you had to fight it. Beauty is your personality and the love you have burning within your heart. No person is ugly.

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Whether you decide to go with reconstruction or not, you are beautiful. God doesn’t make anyone ugly. The important thing is accepting yourself and opening your eyes to your beauty. You have to feel comfortable with yourself and love yourself. It might take time to find acceptance, but you will find it. Whatever cancer takes from you, the one thing it can’t take is your beauty.

I am happy with myself as I am. I’m proud to be a woman without breasts. I am still a beautiful woman. I stand in the light of strength and the Lord’s miracles.

 

RECUPERATING DURING THE HOLIDAYS

Published on by Aimee Eddy2 Comments

The holiday season is stressful for most people. There are meals to prepare, parties to attend, gifts to buy, and on top of it all bills to pay. Recuperating from treatments and surgeries due to illnesses like breast cancer can make the holidays even crazier. They can also make the holidays depressing. You’re trying to get better while life keeps going on all around you. It’s hard to handle. Especially when money is tight and you have limitations on what you can do.

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I wanted to have my hysterectomy in August right after my mastectomy, but they didn’t have an opening until November. I didn’t want to have surgery around the holidays. I now know waiting three months was easier on my body. The worst part for me was being off work and home alone during the holiday season. Yes, it was nice not dealing with the mad rush of customers at the grocery store where I work or lifting the heavy frozen turkeys, but it was lonely.

My friends were working extra hours and busy planning get-togethers with their families. They had no time to visit with me. My emotions ran wild. I was put on a hormone blocker to prevent reoccurrence of cancer, and it put me into a deep depression. I felt like no one cared about me. I kept thinking maybe to my friends this surgery wasn’t as important as the mastectomy. Maybe they thought because they helped me with one surgery they had done enough. My mind came up with all kinds of reasons why my friends were staying away and this made my depression worse.

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It didn’t help that my parents went out of town for the holidays. Before they left, they were busy preparing for their trip and didn’t have time to come over and spend the day with me while my husband was at work. They did have us over for dinner one night. It’s not that my parents forgot about me. They called me to check on me when they got to my brother’s in Tennessee. It just seemed like everyone’s lives were going on while mine was sitting still.

I was restricted on what I could do and I was in pain. I was in no shape cook my own meals, do housework, or do much of my regular activities. My disability check was barely enough to even buy groceries. Luckily we saved enough money from my last surgery to keep our bills paid, but we had to be careful on our spending during the week.

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Sitting around worrying about whether or not people still cared, the abundance of housework that wasn’t being done, what we were going to do for Thanksgiving, and having money to make it through the week drove me nuts. In order to fight depression and to keep from being bored, I had to keep busy. I colored in my adult coloring books, a friend sent me a word search book, I started doing our Christmas cards, and I watched lots of shows and movies. My husband took me for rides. I even did some editing of my memoir.

I still got bored, so I started up a craft I hadn’t done in a while. I decided I would start woodburning again. I have many books with patterns and a supply of wood that has gone untouched for a couple years. Suddenly my days were busy. I had to trace patterns on the wood and I woodburned the details of a picture. I started making Christmas decorations and special gifts for friends, family, and my husband. This took up a lot of my days. It also is saving me money on gifts for Christmas.

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I also used my coping techniques I learned while struggling with mental illness. I journal daily and I turn to my husband, family, and close friends for support. A text message from a friend or my parent’s voice over the phone gave me strength. I tried to point out the positives of going through this surgery like no more pap smears, I didn’t have to lift heavy turkeys, I didn’t have to put up with grumpy customers, and I could sit around the house in my pajamas all day.

If you’re recuperating during the holidays, try to keep yourself occupied. Don’t get upset with family and friends when they are busy with extra work hours and preparing for meals and parties. They still care and you’re still important. Find creative things you can do to make gifts or decorations. Remember coping techniques to help you with any sadness you feel. While you’re healing is a good time to think about what the holidays are really about and reach out in letters or phone calls to old friends or distant family members.

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We spent Thanksgiving with my older sister and family. I already have several Christmas gifts made and other projects to do. We saved money on gifts. I’m feeling good and I return back to work on December tenth. I now stand proudly in the light of recovery from surgery.