Author: Aimee Eddy

  When you get married, you are inducted into your spouse’s family, like it or not. Some people dread the family they marry into. Some of the lucky ones love their spouses’ families and are happy to be a part of them. I am one of the lucky ones. I married into a wonderful family. They have filled some holes in my life made by distances in my own extended family. They gave me acceptance, kindness, love, and so much more.

   I never met my husband’s parents, but I met his Aunt Fay and Uncle Rich, two people my husband loved like they were his own parents. They became my aunt and uncle and much more. When Lou and I started dating, I talked to Aunt Fay and Uncle Rich on the phone. They lived in Georgia, so I didn’t meet them until the day of our rehearsal. Uncle Rich was a grooms man in our wedding. They arrived at the church for our rehearsal and Lou introduced me. They took me into their arms and welcomed me into the family.

   The first time we flew to Georgia to spend a week with Aunt Fay and Uncle Rich I was both excited and nervous. I feared that after spending a week with me they might not like me. I feared they would think Lou made a mistake by marrying a person with mental illness, yet I was excited to get to know them. They opened their arms to me as soon as we got off the plane. They hugged me and welcomed me like I was a long distance family member they hadn’t seen in a while.

   I had a tremor that seemed to be getting worse and problems remembering the simplest things. Uncle Rich noticed my tremor right away. He was a psychologist and worked with many who suffered with mental illness. He began to ask me questions as if were one of his patients. He asked about my illness, my medications, dosages, and diagnosis. I answered his questions and then showed him the medications I was on.

   He looked at me. “You’re having side effects from being on your medications for such a long time. You need to talk to your psychiatrist and get your medication adjusted or changed.”

   Uncle Rich was right. I told my psychiatrist and got on new medication. The tremors stopped and I regained my memory. Uncle Rich did more than just diagnosis my tremors he took interest in me as a person. He wanted to know about my family, my job, my writing, and much more. He cared about me and accepted me for who I am. When we returned home, he called me and told us him and Aunt Fay were reimbursing us for our plane tickets.

   Even though we lived miles apart from Uncle Rich and Aunt Fay, we kept in contact with them by phone and visited them when we could. Uncle Rich always answered the phone. He asked how Lou and I were doing and what was happening in our lives. If we told him our washer died and we were saving for another one, he’d ask, “How much does one cost?” A few days later we would get a check in the mail for the amount. When we offered to pay him back, he would tell us it was a gift. When we visited Uncle Rich and Aunt Fay, they spoiled us. We saved money for the trip, but they would only let us pay for souvenirs.

   Uncle Rich was a kind, intelligent, strong, and loving man. I adored him. He showed more interest in me and my life than my own uncles. He became not just my husband’s uncle, but also my uncle. He helped us out when he could in many different ways. He gave without asking for anything in return. He filled holes in my soul which my own uncles couldn’t fill. He accepted me despite my illness and follies. He loved me like I had always been his niece.

   When I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder, Uncle Rich sent me a relaxation tape he made for his clients. At night when I couldn’t calm my worries, I listened to Uncle Rich’s voice guide me into relaxation. As I gained control over my worries I needed the tape less and less. Now I pull it out to just hear his voice.

   Uncle Rich passed away September 8, leaving Lou and I deeply saddened. I have fallen into a mild depression from my grief. We have lost a wonderful man and our lives will never be the same without him. He will always remain in our hearts and souls. He made an everlasting impression on our lives. He helped us in so many ways we could have never thanked him enough.

   Uncle Rich was a blessing from God, and now he is in heaven looking down over us. He made a big impact in my life and helped me with my mental illness. Thank you, God, for allowing me to have him in my life for a short ten years.

   My depression will pass, but Uncle Rich’s mark on my life will never fade. Writing this, as well as practicing other coping techniques, will help me through my grief. In time I will once again stand in the light.

   This week my husband and I are spending time with family so I’m posting one of my old, but favorite post. Enjoy!

  After several failed relationships, I gave up on true love. The last one was the hardest. He handled my mental illness badly and was abusive. When I had an emotional episode he physically held me down. He caused my illness to worsen. My other ex-boyfriends were not abusive, but also couldn’t understand or deal with my illness. I gave up on love. I figured no man could ever cope with my illness or understand it. I believed I would spend my life alone.

   When I broke up with my abusive ex, I gave up on men for three years. I lost faith in ever finding the right man. A friend from work began pressuring me to meet a man named Lou who was renting a room from her. I was still struggling with bouts of depression and finding peace with the abusive relationship I was last in, so I resisted.

   My therapist was excited about the idea of me dating again. “Go on one date and if it doesn’t work, then you’ll never have to see him again,” she said. A friend also encouraged me to give him a try. So I told my friend at work I would meet Lou. My friend gave me his phone number and told me she would make us a dinner for our first date.

   I talked to Lou on the phone for hours and he showed up to my work the day before our date. He had a long beard and I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into. I promised myself one date and that would be it. I went on that date and he had shaved the beard off. He was handsome. During our first date he promised me he would take care of me, treat me like a woman, and he would never turn his back on me. I was skeptical, but I agreed to a second date.

   Before I knew it, we were seeing each other regularly. When we started to get serious, I decided to tell him about my mental illness. I was prepared for him to turn his back on me, but he didn’t. He told me he would do what he needed to help me continue to reach recovery. So we started couple therapy. He dedicated himself to help me through whatever I had to face.

   As we continued to become more serious, the bouts of depression began to disappear. One day I left work crying and I went to Lou’s place. Lou held me for hours until I calmed down. It was then I knew Lou could handle my illness and I would never be alone again. Within six months Lou proposed and a year and half afterwards we were married. With Lou’s help I reached recovery.

   Almost 13 years later and 10 years of marriage, Lou continues to be at my side, pulling me out of rough times, reminding me to be positive and supporting me no matter what. Lou taught me I could be loved and understood despite my illness. Lou continues to keep his promises he made to me on our first date and he continues to help me dance within the light.

 We all have dreams.  Sometimes our dreams take us on different paths in our lives and sometimes it takes time to reach our dreams. It’s up to us to make our dreams come true. Too often obstacles get in the way of making our dreams come true. Obstacles like mental illness. Mental illness can be debilitating and you lose sight of your dreams. You can feel that your dreams are just a hopeless cause so you give up on them.

   In high school I strived for high grades. I had to prove I wasn’t stupid because I had a learning disability. I dreamed of going to college and becoming a journalist. When I graduated from school I started at Jamestown Community College. While at college, I fell to the bottom of my dark hole. I couldn’t keep my food down, I couldn’t sleep, I was injuring, and I became suicidal. I tried hard to keep going to classes, but my depression increased. It made it almost impossible to continue going to college. So I took time off and started working at a grocery store.

   I felt like a failure. My mental illness got in the way of my dream. I was too sick to finish college and become a journalist. There was no way I could ever become well enough to go back to college and get my degree. My sadness seemed endless, but I vowed I was only taking a year off from college. So how would I ever get well enough to finish college?

   It was my determination that drove me towards recovery from my mental illness. I had a dream and I refused to allow my illness to stop me from making it come true. I struggled to fight my illness and in a year I returned to college part time. With my learning disability and illness, I needed a lighter schedule. It took me four years to complete a two year college, but I did it. I received my degree and made my dream come true. I continued to work at the grocery store and write.

   Since I was little, I lived in my fantasies. I told stories to my younger sister and by high school I started writing my day dreams down. When some teachers told me I was a talented writer, I began to dream of having my own novel published. I had short stories and newspaper stories published, but books are a bigger challenge. I attempted to write novel length manuscripts, but I found myself giving up. I didn’t believe I could do it. I told my family they would have to just accept I could not write anything but short pieces.

   For a time I stopped writing. I lost faith in myself and in my dream. I struggled with my self-esteem. My self-doubt and negativity overrode my dream to publish a book. Instead of fighting for my dream, I gave up on it and on myself. I sank deep into the depth of my hole and found it impossible to see beyond it.

   I kept making excuses why I couldn’t write a book. I’m learning disabled and I can’t edit very well. I don’t have what it takes to write long pieces. I was meant to write short stories. I can’t come up with enough ideas to fill a novel and I kept making excuses.

   In therapy I started working on my self-esteem. In the process I found a new confidence in my writing. I decided to turn a column I wrote about growing up around the family garage into a memoir. I decided to push past my self-doubt and fight for my dream. Now I am almost done writing the first draft of my manuscript. I’m going to fight to make my dream come true.

   Don’t let your illness get in the way of your dreams. Find a way to make them come true. Look at your mental illness as an obstacle you have to work around. You and only you can make your dreams come true. Don’t let anything stand in your way.

   Don’t be disappointed if your dream doesn’t happen exactly the way you planned. I didn’t become a journalist, yet I’m still writing. It’s taken me years to write a book, but I’m doing it. I didn’t go to a four year college, yet I have an associate’s degree. My dreams took different paths, but yet I made and am making them come true.

   I write a blog post weekly and I’m striving to finish my memoir. I’m not going to let anything get in the way of my dreams. There will be no challenge I can’t find a way around. I’m determined to make my dreams come true, no matter what, and this helps me stand in the light.

  We rush about life pushing for better and happier futures. We wonder where our lives will be in a year or in a few years. People who suffer with anxiety worry about the future constantly. It haunts them. It can ruin their day and eat at their insides. It can suffocate them. They forget to live for today. They are too busy worrying about the worst scenarios for tomorrow and so on. It becomes impossible to see the good in the present.

   I often worry about the next day, the next month, or even further ahead. Lou and I don’t have children. Most of my nieces and nephews live far away. My younger sister lives in North Carolina and my brother in Tennessee. My older sister and parents live the closet to me. I worry what will happen when Lou and I get old and need extra help. Who will help us if everyone is far away and we have no children? Who will help me out when Lou passes? Will I be alone in a group home or nursing home?

   I fear without Lou I will be unable to live on my own. If that’s the case, who will take me in and help me out? Will I end up all alone? My older sister is overworked in their family barn. My one nephew who lives close by works long hours. These worries causes anxiety attacks and fear that rips at my soul. My husband tells me not to think about the future because only God knows what will happen. I can’t help, but wonder about what is ahead of me, yet it only heightens my anguish.

   A day or two before Lou and I get paid, I start up with that worrying thing. What if we don’t have enough money to pay our bills? What if we can’t afford groceries this week? What if we don’t have enough money to make it through the week? What will we do? Lou always tells me things will work out and in the end they do.

   I often forget to live for today. I try to predict my own future and what I predict is never good. My mind races ahead of me. I forget to focus on the present and this causes inner pain, fear, and sleeplessness. Even when my friend lost her husband, I found myself putting myself in her shoes. I started thinking about what if Lou dies. How would I deal with it? I could see myself being admitted into a mental health ward or being carried away from his casket. I decided I couldn’t live without him and I would just give up living.

   Lou said, “Don’t worry about the future. Who knows what will happen? Worry about today, not tomorrow.”

   He’s right as usual. When I mulled over his words, I realized part of handling my anxiety is to stop worrying about what hasn’t come. I need to focus on one day at a time. Imagining the future only causes me more anxiety, sadness, and sleeplessness. I need to focus on today and let God handle the future.

   Today I have a wonderful and loving husband. Today I have a good job with customers I enjoy seeing. Today I have a dog who greets me with excitement. Today I have wonderful friends who care about me. Today I am happy and strong. Today is all that matters. I must live for today and focus on the good and face the bad one day at a time. I have to leave what the future holds for me in God’s hands. Only he knows what is to come. I must have faith he’ll work everything out for me when the time becomes necessary.

   My advice to you is stop looking, worrying, and fearing tomorrow. Take each day as it is and focus on the good within it and face the bad as it comes. Let go of your worries for the future and focus on today. Today is the day you’re going to take the first steps to recovery, toady is the day you will take control of your life, today is the day you will find happiness, and today is your day. Focus on it and live for it. Let God take care of tomorrow and the days ahead. Focus on living for now. Life is too short. Don’t rush; just live for the moment.

   I’m working on putting my worries about the future behind me. I’m taking the time to look at the day I’m in and focusing on it as it is. It’s not easy to do. Each time I start to think about what will happen, I remind myself of the moment I am in. Since I’m willing to work on focusing on the present, I bathe in the light.

  Since anxiety attacks are based on fears that can be unrealistic or magnified, wouldn’t you know when you’re going to have one? Can’t you just say, “My fears are overwhelming I better prepare for a anxiety attack”? Unfortunately, at times they come unexpectedly. One minute you might think you have everything under control and then suddenly you’re in an episode. You’re shaking, your hearts pounding, you’re sweating or you’re sick. You try to think why, but your not sure what it is that has you in knots. Shouldn’t there be warning signs?

   The other day I was off from work. I did laundry, read a book, went to an appointment, and went to supper with my hubby. It was a nice day. I had no stress. My appointment with my psychiatrist went well. He said I was doing great. I did the laundry a little bit at a time and there was no pressure to get it done, yet I started feeling sick and dry heaving. It came on suddenly and I couldn’t figure out why. I was having a good day. Why did I have an anxiety attack?

   I tried hard to figure out why I was having an attack. My husband asked me, “What is bothering you?”

   I looked at him and replied, “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense. Everything is fine.”

   He put his arm around me, “Are you sure you’re not telling me something?”

   I shook my head no. It just hit me without warning. I had no explanation.

   A month and a half ago, Lou and I took a trip out of town. We went to the zoo, went shopping and bummed around Cincinnati. It was fun and relaxing. We were away from home, there was no work to worry about, we had plenty of money, and we were relaxed, yet one day I started dry heaving and I got sick. It just came out of the blue. We were spending the day at the zoo. We had fun; I had no reason to have an anxiety attack, but yet I was having one.

   I understood why I had an attack when I got us lost looking for a restaurant, but there was no reason at the zoo. I was having fun looking at all the animals and spending the day with my love. It just didn’t make sense. It hit me suddenly without warning. At least when we got lost, Lou was able to calm me down before I got sick, but when it comes unexpectedly there’s nothing you can do. You can’t do relaxation techniques. You can’t talk yourself down. All you can do is let it happen.

   Maybe there was a deep down fear I couldn’t recognize that caused my anxiety attack. When the attack was over, I sat down and tried to think of what could cause my problems. When I thought about the day I had off, I realized I did have a fear that I didn’t recognize that was playing inside me. A friend’s husband died. I couldn’t help but deep down grieve for her and wonder what if I were in her shoes and it was my husband. My heart ached for her even though I seemed to be having a good day. Deep in the back of my mind she was there, and I hurt for her and feared the day I would lose my own husband.

   I didn’t recognize my feelings until later that night when I journaled and listed the things that happened that day. Even with the day at the zoo there was a hidden fear. When I listed things that might cause my anxiety, it came back to my continuous fear of not having enough money. This is a magnified and unrealistic fear that often haunts me. Even though we had enough money, that underlying fear was there. We spent money on the zoo, food was expensive there, and we had a train ride.

   So even though anxiety attacks hit suddenly and without warning, there may be an underlying fear you may have not recognized. Even though things might seem to be fine, deep within the back of your mind there may be something you’re not aware of. After your unexpected attack, list possible reason that might be unresolved that could cause your attack. Then work on that problem. The unexpected attack always has a cause even if you don’t recognize it right away. It’s up to you to find out what it is.

   I don’t have my anxiety completely under control and I still have sudden attacks, but I’m learning how to fight them and recognize what may cause them. I stand up to my attacks and I refuse to let them run my life; because I’m willing to do this, I stand above the hole in the gleaming light.

  When you’re depressed you find yourself looking in the mirror at an ugly wreck of a person. Your perception of beauty is clouded by your lack of self-esteem. Viewing yourself as a beautiful human being is almost unthinkable. You forget the meaning of beauty. Maybe somewheres in your past people put you down and made fun of a physical flaw you have. This teasing led you to hate your looks, and your illness just seems to magnify your lack of self-image. The question is what makes you beautiful?

   Growing up I was always the biggest one of all my siblings. I’ve never been skinny. Even my parents were skinny. I wasn’t like my older sister who spent hours putting make up on and doing her hair. I never cared for makeup and I was happy with brushing my hair and going. My classmates teased me about my looks. I was out of style and, according to them, ugly. I felt inferior to my classmates and siblings. I didn’t fit in. I began to believe I was ugly.

   Teachers took me aside and tried to show me how to put makeup on, wear stylish clothes, and do up my hair. I tried my best to improve my looks, but it wasn’t good enough. My teachers pointed out when my clothes didn’t match and my makeup was smudged. I even tried getting a perm, but I looked like a puff ball. I hated how I looked; I hated myself. I dreamed of being skinny like a model with gorgeous hair. I just wanted to be beautiful.

   My depression increased my feelings of self-loathing. I thought of myself as a hideous, fat pig. How could anyone ever think of me as beautiful? I was anything but beautiful. My hair was a mess, my clothes were out of style and I hated makeup and jewelry. I wasn’t like a normal woman. I didn’t even like dresses. I disliked looking at myself in the mirror.

   Even when I dated, the men didn’t even comment on how good I looked or do anything to make me feel pretty. It wasn’t until I met my husband that I started to see myself differently. From the first date on, he told me how beautiful I was and still am. He treated me like a princess. He told me, “When I first saw you, I thought you were hot.” Each day he would say things like, “You’re gorgeous,” “Hi, beautiful,” and “You’re the most prettiest woman I ever saw.” This helped boost myself esteem.

   I asked him, “Why do you think I’m beautiful when I don’t wear makeup, do fancy stuff with my hair, or wear jewelry?” He replied, “You’re beautiful just the way you are inside out.”

   Through him I learned you don’t need to fancy yourself up to be beautiful. You don’t need a skinny body or fancy clothes. Beauty isn’t just on the outside; it’s also inside. God makes everyone beautiful inside out. Maybe sometimes people are too blind to see your beauty, and sometimes you can’t see your own beauty, but it’s there. God doesn’t make ugly people. Even with our flaws, there is beauty. We are God’s creation and he gives each of us our own unique qualities that make us beautiful.

   So if you’re feeling ugly, look in the mirror. Take a good look. Stand there for several minutes until you can see something about yourself you like. Maybe it’s the curve of your lips or your button nose. Then list the things you like about your personality. Are you a good listener, are you funny, are you kind or are you friendly? If you look hard enough, you’ll see you have beauty inside and outside. You’re a beautiful unique individual and that’s how God made you. Once you find your beauty, you’ll be able to learn to love yourself.

   With Lou’s help and therapy, I have learned to love myself as I am. I now know I have beauty within and out. I am proud of how I look and who I am. I don’t need makeup to look beautiful; I am beautiful just the way God made me. Since I have found my beauty, I am glowing within the light.

  Mental illness is a constant battle, even in recovery. Recovery doesn’t mean you’re cured. It just means you have your illness under control. So bad days can and do happen. They might come on suddenly and leave you feeling like you have slipped backwards. You might even feel like you have failed at the fight to stay well, but you haven’t failed or slipped backwards. Bad days are okay. They are part of your illness. You can’t be strong all the time. You have to allow yourself moments of weakness.

   It’s alright to have days when you want to just lie in bed, when tears fall freely, when your soul sinks, and when you don’t fight the darkness in you. The important thing is how you handle that day and if you are able to stop that day from continuing on.

   I’ve been in recovery for a while. There are days when things get tough and I just have to sit down and cry. Sometimes my illness gets the best of me. For no apparent reason at all I just feel this overwhelming sadness in me. At times life and my illness are too much to handle.

   This year has been a challenge. I have faced one medical issue after another. Trying to deal with my physical health and combat my illness has been a struggle. I have to fight to stay positive while all this bad stuff happens to me. It’s been hard. I keep telling myself I can’t let this push me down the hole. A few days ago I stayed in bed until one thirty in the afternoon. When I got up I lay on the couch and allowed tears to fall. My fight to look for the good suddenly seemed hopeless.

   I turned to my husband and asked him if I was slipping backwards. He held me tight and said, “No, you’re fine. You’re just having a bad day. We’ll get through this.” I wrapped my arms around him and just cried. Everything happening to me seemed hopeless and darkness seeped into my soul. That day I didn’t want to combat my illness; I just wanted to let go and not be strong.

   While I allowed myself to have a bad day, I took time to take care of myself. I turned to my husband and friends for support. I took my medication and reminded myself this is just for a day. Tomorrow I’ll be stronger and will go on fighting. Lou reminded me things will get better.

   The next day I woke up in the morning and listed the positive things in my life. I reminded myself the medical problems were all fixable and could have been worse. I took a shower, dressed, and went to work. I kept my mind focused on moving out of the darkness. A good cry seemed to be refreshing, because that following day I felt even tougher. I took control of my illness and found the light once again.

   If you have a bad day, don’t think it’s a sign that you lost the battle. See it as a day to just let go and let your feelings flow. Remind yourself there will be bad days and that is okay. Just remember to take care of yourself during that time and not to allow the sadness to continue on for a longer period of time. You’re only human; you can’t be strong all the time. Everyone has bad days; it’s just important to know you can lift yourself up afterwards.

   I know I will have bad days from time to time, but I also know I can pull myself up. I am too strong to slip backwards. Since I am able to pick myself up after bad days, I will continue to dance within the light.

  While you’re struggling with mental illness, it seems like it would be easier to just give up and not fight. It’s hard to face another day, let alone think of a future. You can’t even see the light above the hole. You just want to lie in bed and pretend the world does not exist. When you’re fighting for recovery and everything goes wrong, it would be simpler to quit. The question you must ask yourself is, “Are you a quitter or a fighter?”

   When I hit rock bottom my senior year of school after my cousin died, I felt like I couldn’t face another day, but I forced myself out of bed. I thought frequently of just lying in bed staring up at the ceiling and letting life pass me by. When I went off to college, the depression increased. I started thinking about suicide. I just wanted the pain to end. I even planned my death, but something in me wouldn’t allow me to complete my plan. I took a bunch of pills, but only enough to make me very sick. I wanted to give in, but something deep within me wouldn’t give up.

   Years later when I relapsed into my depression and my ex-boyfriend kicked me out, I felt like quitting. I took time off from work and went into a mental health hospital. In the hospital I became determined to get out. I studied the Bible, I participated in therapy sessions, and I journaled every day. I wasn’t going to let my illness keep me down. In a week I was released from the hospital, but I still had a long road ahead of me. I asked myself, “Do I want to continue to fight or quit?” I’m no quitter.

   The therapist I was seeing at the time decided to start filing for Social Security Disability for me. She told me, “I think SSD is best for you. You’re not strong enough to work. I think returning to work would enhance your illness.”

  I looked at the paperwork and stated, “I want to work. I don’t want to quit and I don’t want to go on SSD. I refuse to let go of my job.” She went on explaining to me how I wasn’t able to work and I had to accept that. She strongly encouraged I file the paperwork, but I couldn’t allow my illness to take my job from me. I told her, “I’m not a quitter.”

   When I started going to group therapy after I was released from the hospital, the administrator asked me how I would pay if I was not working. I told her I was only on leave and I was going to return to work when I was better. She asked me, “What if you don’t get better and you can’t work?” I informed her one way or another I was returning to work. Despite the administrator’s and therapist’s lack of faith in me, I returned to work and have worked at the same job for 22 years. Why did I go back? Because I refused to give up.

   Once I decided I wanted to climb out of my hole and stand in the light of recovery, I used all the strength in me to pull myself up. I had a lot of challenges standing in my way. I wasn’t quite over the abuse from my ex-boyfriend, I felt lonely, I fell into bouts of deep depression, and I had to undo years of negative thinking and behavior. It would have been easy to hide and let my illness overtake me, but I wanted to live some kind of a healthy life. I wanted to find happiness. So I went to therapy, took my medication, and worked hard to reach for the light.

  Take this time and ask yourself, “Am I a fighter or a quitter?” Look within to find the strength to stand up to your illness. Don’t let your illness win. You are the winner. You can take control of it and live a good life. It’s a daily struggle, but you can do it. Be a fighter not a quitter.

   Why did I fight? I fought because I’m not a quitter. I will not let my illness keep me from working or taking control of my life. I know there is no cure for my illness, but I will not quit. Because I will continue to fight and never give up, I will stand tall within the light.