Tag: Mental Illness

MENTAL ILLNESS CHANGED WHAT SUCCESS MEANS TO ME

Published on by Aimee EddyLeave a comment

What is success? I once thought success was getting the highest grades in school and making honor roll. I also thought it meant going to a four-year college and obtaining a high paying job. I dreamed of becoming a famous author, buying a fancy house, and owning an expensive car. I told myself if I could do those things, I would be successful. As I struggled with mental illness, my definition of success changed.

In high school I studied for long hours and gave up fun to obtain high grades. When I made the merit roll, it wasn’t good enough for me. I was determined that I would be successful if I made the honor roll. At the end of the school year, I felt like a failure when I didn’t receive a lot of awards for the hard work I had done. I wanted to show my classmates and teachers that they were wrong about me.

I did make the honor roll, the honor society, and I had a hidden hero speech given about me when I graduated from high school. I was successful. I had big plans for my life. I would go to a two-year college and then a four-year college. I would graduate with honors and get a job at a major newspaper as a journalist. Then I would live a successful life.

Mental illness changed that.

In college just getting out of bed became a struggle, but I forced myself to do it. Going to class when I was fatigued and sick with anxiety was a challenge, but I did it. Getting good grades in college while I was depressed, suicidal, and self-injuring was a battle, but I did it. I didn’t realize it back then, but now that I think of it, I was successful. I chose to push forward when I had little strength to do it, and that was success.

I had to take a year off from college to work on my mental health. I started therapy and I began to see a psychiatrist. I was determined to get well enough to return to college in a year. I worked hard in therapy, I started making new friends at work, and in time I reached recovery. I returned to college on a part-time basis. I could have given up on college and lay in bed dwelling in my inner anguish, but I refused to do that. I made taking time off from college a successful adventure.

Three years after I graduated from college, I fell down that dark hole again. I soon learned that success wasn’t just big accomplishments; it was the small things I did to keep myself going and to battle the depression. Success was when I turned to a program through work to help me find a therapist, it was deciding to get out of bed each day, it was forcing myself to go to work, it was taking a shower when I had no energy to take one, it was taking my medication, and learning how to cope with my illness.

Success came when I sat in a mental health hospital and made the decision, I would work towards recovery no matter how hard it would be. It was a tough battle to fight my negative thoughts, to learn a new way of thinking, to find the right medication to stabilize the symptoms of my illness, and to learn coping techniques. I wanted to give up many times. I’d start climbing the walls of my dark hole, I’d be inches from the light, and I’d fall. Then I would keep forcing myself to climb that wall until I reached the light. That is success.

While in recovery, several surgeries and breast cancer threatened to push me down, but I coped and stood tall in the light. There are still days I struggle with my depression, but I work through it to stay above the hole. I make sure I take my medication and go to therapy sessions. I’m learning new coping techniques and turning to my support team when things get hard. I find strength when everything seems hopeless. I manage my illness each day and I find joy in my life. That is success.

What is your definition of success? Is it a well-paying job, expensive car, and a big home, or is it the small steps you take to work towards recovery and to stay in recovery? Did you get out of bed today after spending several days in bed? Would you consider that success? Did you struggle with challenges in your life, and you used coping techniques to get through them? Doesn’t that make you successful?

Success isn’t what money can buy or what prestige you achieve in society. It’s in the small steps you take to fight this awful illness. It’s in your determination to work towards getting better and staying better.

I’m not just successful because I published a book and won awards. I’m also successful because I decided to fight my mental illness to flourish in the light of recovery.

SOMETIMES DOING WELL SIMPLY MEANS NOT GIVING UP

Published on by Aimee EddyLeave a comment

How are you doing? At one time I thought “doing well” meant I was successful, in control of my life, and living a productive life. Living with mental illness changed my definition. Now it means making it through the bad days, finding happiness in small things, celebrating all accomplishments (big and small), and never giving up no matter what happens. Doing well doesn’t always mean that I will no longer struggle. Sometimes it means recognizing I’m struggling and knowing how to cope and when to ask for help. It’s also means knowing I have the strength to keep moving forward no matter how hard things become and to not give up.

Throughout my life the meaning of doing well took on different definitions. In grade school it meant making it through a day without being called a retard. In high school it meant working hard to get good grades and achieving my goal of proving everyone wrong about me. I dreamed of becoming a successful author and returning to my high school to give a speech about bullying. I thought by doing that I would be a success. I had many big dreams for my future and I thought achieving them was the meaning of doing well. I worked very hard to get As and Bs, make the honor roll, and national honor society. To me this meant I would be doing well. But while struggling with mental illness, my definition of doing well changed.

Now doing well has a whole new meaning. It means that no matter how hard days get, how tough life’s struggles are, and what comes my way, I have the determination to push forward. I’m too strong to let my illness take control of me. I will keep fighting to keep my illness under control. I know that recovery doesn’t mean I will always be doing well, but that won’t stop me from working hard to stay in recovery. Doing well means that no matter what happens I will not give up.

My determination helped me to successfully get through high school with a learning disability and it has also helped me reach recovery from mental illness. Even when I sat in the deepest, darkest part of my hole, something inside me wouldn’t let me give up. In college I was very sick and suicidal. I was injuring every day, but something in me kept me going. I forced myself to get up each morning and go to my classes. I was fatigued and sick every morning, but I pushed forward. It would have been easy to lie in bed and dwell in my anguish, but I couldn’t do that.  I went to class barely able to keep my eyes open and I studied hard each night while planning my death. My willpower wouldn’t let me give up.

Years later when my ex-boyfriend kicked me out and I ended up in the mental health hospital, I was determined to do what I needed to get better. I took my medication, I met with the psychiatrist, I worked on learning coping skills, and I journaled out my feelings. I was determined to get out of the hospital and to work towards recovery. I could have lain in the hospital bed and allow my illness to take over. It would have been easy to just give in, but I refused to give up.

When I was in the hospital, I decided that I didn’t want to let my illness take control of me anymore. I wanted something better for myself. I didn’t want to lie at the bottom of my dark hole anymore. I decided to climb its walls towards the light. Lots of things threatened to push me back down, but I refused to let them.  I wanted to find hope and happiness and I wanted to live a productive life. I wanted it so bad that I refused to let anything get in my way. The only way I could achieve this was to work on fighting my illness by going to therapy, fighting my negative thoughts, finding the right psychiatrist to get medication that would help me, and using all my strength to battle my illness. I knew to be doing well and to reach recovery meant that no matter how hard things got I would not give up.

It could have been easy to give up. Once I got out of the hospital I lost some of my friends and had to end unhealthy friendships. I went to work each day and then home. I had no social life and I felt lonely. I went to therapy each week and cried. My therapist worked with me to help me find ways to cope with my illness, to build my self-esteem, and to fight my negative thoughts. I would take two steps forward and then fall. She gave me homework to do, and I journaled out my feelings to discuss in therapy. No matter how hard I tried it seemed like I kept tumbling backwards. I’d be doing well and then I would go into a deep depression. I was climbing up into the light and then tumbling back down again. It would have been easy to give up, but I couldn’t. I wanted to live a better life. I didn’t want to stay in the darkness.

It took time and lots of hard work to reach recovery, but I did it. Recovery is still a bumpy road. I still have bad days, but there are fewer of them. I still fall, but I know it doesn’t mean I have failed. It is just part of the process. Each day I use coping techniques to keep me going, I take my medicine to manage my illness, and I practice self-care. Health problems, financial struggles, my loved one’s health problems, and many other challenges leave me struggling to stay above the hole, but I keep fighting. What keeps me doing well is my determination to never give up.

What is your definition of recovery? Are you going to let your illness hold you down, or are you going to keep fighting? Working towards recovery is a hard battle, but you can do it.  Staying in recovery is a rough road, but it’s worth traveling. You will fall, but you’ll be strong enough to pull yourself up. Know that setbacks don’t make you a failure. It’s just part of the journey. Take each day one at a time.  Redefine you’re “doing well” to “not giving up.”

I will keep working hard to stay in recovery, and I’ll always be doing well because I won’t give up. This is what helps me thrive in the light of recovery.

I DIDN’T HAVE TO DO IT ALONE

Published on by Aimee Eddy2 Comments

One of the hardest things to do is ask for help. Many of us want to be independent and handle things on our own. I know I thought that way in college. I knew something was wrong with me. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t keep food down, I was depressed, I was suicidal, and I felt hopeless. I thought I could handle it all by myself. I believed if I asked for help, I would be weak. I was wrong.

In college I put on a show for my family, making them think I was okay when I was not. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, and I feared if I asked for help, my family wouldn’t understand. How could they if I didn’t understand it myself? I thought I was losing my mind. I knew deep down something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. If I told my parents what was happening to me, I figured they would think I was crazy or overly dramatic. So, I went to great lengths to hide my inner pain from them.

I lived with my grandparents while I was in college. They enjoyed having me there. They went out of their way to spoil me and encourage me. The last thing I wanted was to be a burden to them. They agreed to allow me to stay with them while I went to college; They didn’t agree to be carrying the weight of a young adult who was feeling very powerful emotions and planning her death. I was afraid it would tear them apart if they knew how sick I was. I didn’t want to be a burden to my parents either. They were taking care of my brother and younger sister who were still in school; the last thing they needed was to worry about me.

I was also ashamed by what I was going through. I had no reason to be depressed: my grandpa checked the fluids in my car every morning, Grandma bought me my favorite foods, and they refused to let me help around the house. My grandma always told me to focus on my studies and not worry about helping. What reason did I have to be depressed, to feel hopeless, to cry easily, and to lie awake each night fighting with my thoughts. I was also ashamed to tell them despite all they were doing for me, that I wanted to take my life.

I was afraid that after rising above bullying to succeed in high school and to graduate with five scholarships that I was failing. I had a hidden hero speech given about me at my graduation, and here I was at college barely able to make it through each day. I fought to keep awake in class, and I threw up in the mornings and before class. I was supposed to enjoy college, make new friends, and be strong, but I felt like I was in a dark cloud. I studied hard in between injuring myself and I got good grades, but that didn’t even make me feel happy. I felt like a failure.

Now years later I think back to how I was afraid to ask for help and wonder what would have happened if I had confided in my parents sooner. I know my mom would have gone to great lengths to find me help, because that’s what she did when I finally told them what I was going through. I would have been diagnosed sooner and could have gotten help before I hit the very bottom of my dark hole. With proper counseling I could have avoided attempts at suicide and learned to cope without self-injuring. I realized that I didn’t have to struggle for so long alone.

Asking for help is a big step in the recovery process. If you don’t feel comfortable turning to a group of people, then pick one person to say, “I’m having a hard time right now.” Choose someone you trust like a family member or friend. Turn to a therapist, doctor, counselor, or another professional. If you struggle with talking about your feelings, then write them down and give them to a friend, a family member, or professional to read.

When I finally asked for help, my mom went to a nearby city to help find me a therapist. I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. I started going to therapy and reached recovery for several years. When I fell down the dark hole again, I asked for help right away. I knew that I couldn’t reach recovery again without support. I learned that I couldn’t handle mental illness alone.

Asking for help is nothing to be ashamed of. You’re not a failure for being sick. It takes strength to ask for help and it’s an important part of the journey to recovery. You can’t fight this illness on your own. Like any other illness, you need help to get through it. Don’t be afraid to reach out and say, “I need help.” You can’t carry the pain of mental illness by yourself.

It took courage for me to admit I needed help, and because I chose to ask for it, I have been standing in recovery for several years.

RECOVERY HAS DETOURS

Published on by Aimee EddyLeave a comment

With many illnesses recovery occurs in a straight line. You go from illness to wellness. Your illness is gone and you feel better. Mental illness doesn’t go in a straight line. Recovery doesn’t mean you will no longer struggle again. Instead, in recovery from mental illness, you have detours, bad days, and good days. You use coping skills and you learn new ones, you make progress, and you fall.

If you have been fallowing my blog posts, you will see that I have written about struggling with illnesses, death, becoming a caregiver, surgeries, money problems, and so much more. All these things are detours in my recovery. Each one affected me emotionally and left me struggling with my depression and anxiety. Each time I felt like I was falling backwards, but I used coping skills to pull myself up. I also learned new coping skills to help me handle these. There are also days when I feel depressed and I’m not sure why. I just want to cry and lie in bed, but I must force myself to get up and keep pushing forward.

I have had to set boundaries in my life. Boundaries with friends, family, and my job. It’s important to put my recovery first. I have walked away from friends because I couldn’t handle their dramatic lifestyles or negativity. I’ve had to take breaks from friends because what they were going through became too much for me to handle. When my one friend’s brother was very sick, I did my best to be supportive but had to take a couple days break to take care of myself. I work part-time because full-time is too much for me to handle. When I’m called into work early, I have to decide whether I can handle the extra hours or not.

I use coping techniques to not only manage my illness on bad days, but to also make it through each day. My depression and anxiety don’t just disappear because I’m in recovery. Coping techniques help me manage my sickness so I can be happy. I can live a happy life if I cope with the challenges and struggles of living in society. I cope with stressors and detours of everyday life, so I don’t fall down into the hole of darkness. I have coping techniques for my anxiety, so I don’t have an attack that leaves me physically sick. I’m also learning new coping techniques.

I take my medication each day. I have to take medication in the morning, afternoon, and at night. I put my meds in pill containers with the days of the week. I have one for mornings and for bedtime. I carry a pill box with me everywhere I go so I have my afternoon medicine when I need it. If I miss an anxiety pill, I have the dry heaves and I get sick. Once in a while I do forget, but I try to keep on track.

I keep my appointments with my therapist and psychiatrist. For a while I was doing well without a therapist and I just leaned on my support team, but when my loved one was diagnosed with dementia, I knew I needed to take care of him and get help for myself. So, I started back to therapy. Part of being in recovery is knowing when to ask for help. I knew caregiving would be hard to handle mentally, so I found a therapist. I also keep my appointments every two months with my psychiatrist. This is important so that he knows how I’m doing on my medication and if I need any modifications or changes.

I have a support team I can lean on when I don’t see my therapist. My support team listens to me, gives me advice, and encourages me. I call my friend Cheryl my first therapist. I text her almost every day about things I’m struggling with, my worries, and my bad thoughts. A lot of her advice is the same as my therapist gives me. I also lean on my friend Nicky. She’s good at telling me about new coping techniques to try. She also has good advice.

Despite all the work you do to stay in recovery, old feelings come back, you fall, new stressors set you back, and old unhealthy coping techniques can return, but that doesn’t erase the years of progress you made. These are more of those detours in your recovery, and there are ways around them. You can pull yourself back up. You didn’t fail. It’s just part of the recovery process.

I hurt my back and have been going to a chiropractor for four weeks, and I’m not getting better. I feel sad, frustrated, scared, and hopeless. I fear I may have hurt the spot where I had surgery several years ago. Hurting, not being able to bend over, and trying to work while in pain is stirring up my depression. On top of that I struggle taking care of my loved one with dementia, and my dad’s bone cancer has come back. A lot of old feelings have resurfaced. I want to lie in bed and block out the world, but instead I use coping techniques, my support team, and therapy to keep pushing forward.

I look at this setback not as a failure, but as a lesson I can learn. I look at my feelings, my depression, and struggles and think, “What do I need to do? How can I help myself? What have I learned about myself and the detour?”

Recovery is work. There are many detours. It’s how you manage your illness, how you cope, and how you take care of yourself that gets you around them. Don’t let setbacks discourage you or make you think you failed. Push through them and ask for help when you need to. Recovery can be a bumpy road. It’s not a straight line. You move forward and make progress. Then you hit a detour and fall. Next you pull yourself up and push forward. And then you fall again to only pick yourself back up. Despite the ups and downs you’re stronger now and you can handle it.

Each day I work hard to stay in recovery. I have many detours in my life, but I always manage to pull myself up. Because I’m willing to work my way around the detours, I bathe in the light of recovery.

LET’S TALK ABOUT MENTAL ILLNESS

Published on by Aimee EddyLeave a comment

The other day my husband and I went out to eat with my parents, and a past co-worker of my dad stopped to say, “Hi.” My dad told him about his struggles with bone cancer. Today I mentioned to a customer about doughnuts being ten for a dollar this week, and the customer told me he can’t have them because he has diabetes. We easily tell people about illnesses we struggle with, and people listen and show compassion. What if you stopped to talk to an old friend and he or she said, “I’ve been struggling with depression?” Would you show compassion or just act awkwardly or shrug it off like it’s no big deal?

Mental illness isn’t as widely accepted or understood as other sicknesses. Many don’t understand it and there’s a lot of stigma surrounding it. Often people struggling with mental illness hide it behind a smile. They suffer alone because they are afraid of how people will react if they tell them. Some people think those with this illness are dangerous, when most of the time they are only dangerous to themselves. Some think you can choose to snap out of your illness, but you can’t. There are many misconceptions.

I have dealt with some stigma surrounding my own struggles with mental health. When a boss found out I had depression and was a self-injurer, he said I was a danger to the customers and employees. The only person I had ever hurt was myself. When I got out of the mental health hospital people, didn’t show concern and compassion. They asked me why I was in the looney bin, they asked me if I had hurt myself on purpose when I had a paper cut, they watched me carefully around knives, and they judged me. This made me feel angry and sad. I just wanted people to care and show me compassion, but instead they made me feel inferior.

I write this blog so I can spread the word that mental illness is an illness like any other. The person struggling has symptoms, gets treatment, and works towards feeling better, just like any other illness. I willingly tell people I’m a breast cancer survivor, but I don’t tell people too often that I’m in recovery from mental illness. A lot of people congratulate me for surviving cancer, but it would be different with recovery from mental illness.

I’m starting to talk more about my recovery from mental illness because I want people to see that this illness is like any other illness. We are humans struggling with an awful sickness, getting treatment, working towards recovery, and we are functioning in society. The more we talk the more we educate people about this sickness and dispel the stigma that surrounds it.

I’m going to be filmed soon talking about my fight with depression, anxiety, and self-injury for a documentary for One Life Project. I’ll probably become emotional and cry, but it’s important to tell my story. This documentary will be on news stations and on social media. I’m excited to do this because we need to talk more about mental illness, and society needs to hear our stories so they can see we are like anyone else fighting an illness.

So, instead of hiding our sickness, let’s talk about it. Tell people you are dealing with a horrible illness and taking the steps to reach recovery. Tell people about how you reached recovery. Tell people about what mental illness is and that you deserve to be heard. Let’s defy the stigma and show the world we are just like people struggling with diabetes, cancer, heart disease, and so on. Let’s stop hiding and start talking. When someone asks how you’re doing don’t lie and say,
“I’m doing great.” Tell them the truth. Say, “Today is not a good day. I’m struggling with my depression.” If they shrug it off, then educate them about your illness.

I’m going to keep talking about mental illness and find ways to educate people so that someday those who face this illness don’t have to hide it. Talking about it also frees me from fear of judgment and helps me stay in the light of recovery.

WHEN LIFE KEEPS SLAPPING YOU

Published on by Aimee EddyLeave a comment

Sometimes it seems like life is out to get you. It keeps slapping you with one problem, heartache, or struggle after another. It’s very easy to slip into depression, especially if you’re in recovery or working towards recovery from mental illness. It can seem overwhelming and hopeless. You wonder when will things get better.

Lately it seems like life keeps handing me with one problem and heartache after another. First Esther, our dog, had a lump removed from her leg, and I had to nurse her to recovery. Next the lump’s biopsy came back as cancer, and she got a bad infection that ate through her flesh to the bone. Then finally we had to send her over the rainbow bridge. It’s a heartache my husband and I are still dealing with. But it doesn’t end there.

We took a much-needed vacation to Johnstown where my husband grew up. Before we left the “check engine” sign came on in our SUV. We had it checked and it was the catalytic converter. My dad told me to get stuff to put in the gas to clean it out. It worked. We thought we were in the clear. We drove to many places on our trip and had a wonderful time. Then on the last day we found out my dad’s bone cancer came back and when we got home the check engine light came back on.

My dad does a lot for us. He fixed our furnace, put windows in our home, repaired my cars, put faucets in our sinks, with a friend he replaced the roof on our garage, and much more. He has always come to our rescue, especially now that my husband is sick. He is always supportive and encouraging. I can’t imagine life without him.

The cancer centers in Erie and Cleveland are moving fast to treat my dad. They are worried that the cancer spread, so he got a pet scan. July 7 they are drilling a hole in his spine to do a biopsy. July 8 he’s going to Cleveland Clinic for ten days to get a series of new shots that will make his immune system fight the cancer. We don’t know what side effects he’ll have from the shots.

Fourteen months ago, my dad had a procedure done that was supposed to put him into remission for five years. The procedure involved a very high dose of chemo which has caused him lasting side effects. I can’t imagine him going through even more.

On top of that my dad won’t be able to fix our car, and the repairs and even the cost of the catalytic converter are very expensive. They are beyond what we can afford. We are living paycheck to paycheck. We can’t finance a newer car either, but we can’t keep putting money into the one we have. So, we are searching the internet and car dealerships for an older car with low mileage. My dad told me what mileage to look for.

My husband and I continue to grieve the loss of Esther and adjust to life without her while worrying about my dad. On top of that I am stressed about finding a car we can afford. I already have taken on a lot of responsibilities while my husband is sick, and now I have more. How do I cope with all this? It’s a lot to deal with. The thing that keeps crossing my mind is I can’t lose my dad. I already lost my baby girl, Esther; I can’t lose anyone else.

My therapist tells me to allow myself to cry and to take care of myself; self-care is very important. She says to do things for me. Since my husband got sick, my life has mostly been revolved around taking care of him. Now my dad is sick, I’m focused on how I can help my parents out.

I have been sneaking off to our bedroom to watch TV alone while my husband watches TV downstairs just so I can relax and be free for a little while. After Esther passed, I had lunch with a friend. It was nice to talk and laugh with a friend instead of crying over our loss. Going on a trip was a way to have fun and get us out of the house that seems empty now. I’m writing this blog post and it helps me express myself. My husband and I are going to game night on Tuesday at a friend’s house. This will help keep my mind off everything going on.

I’m doing different things to take care of myself. I’m making sure I take my medication and keep my therapy and psychiatrist appointments. I’m journaling and leaning on my support system. I allow myself to cry. I try to find the positive in my life. I rest when I need to. I practice relaxation techniques like deep breathing and grounding techniques.

I’m taking each day one at a time and leaning on God to get me through this rough time in my life. I feel like life will not stop slapping me with problems, but I remind myself that things will get better.

By practicing self-care I am holding on tight to the light of recovery.

ESTHER

Published on by Aimee Eddy6 Comments

In 2016 my husband and I went to the ANNA Shelter, a shelter for dogs and cats, to look at the dogs. Lou stopped to go to the bathroom and told me to go in and look around. I looked at the cages with dogs of all sizes inside. I stopped at a cage with a black dog with white on her paws, a strip of white stretching up from her nose, and white on her neck. I read the paper outside her cage saying her name was Esther and she was two years old. All the dogs in the shelter began barking except for Esther. It was like God whispered to me saying, “This is the dog for you.” I knew she had to be mine.

Lou came out of the bathroom. “Are you ready to look at the dogs?”

I pointed at Esther. “I want this dog.”

“But we haven’t gotten a chance to look at the other dogs,” he said.

“I don’t need to look. I must have this dog. Let’s see if we can take her in a room and hold her,” I said.

Lou reluctantly agreed. We took her in a room and I held her. I fell in love with her right away. When we brought her home that day, she clung to me. She didn’t want anything to do with Lou. Over several weeks Esther slowly started coming to him. In time she came to him easily, snuggling up on his chest. When Lou went down to watch TV in his mancave, Esther snuggled up on my lap as I stroked her ears and back. After a while she would go down and spend time with Lou.

Not too long after we got Esther, I had surgery on a torn tendon in my ankle. I was confined to the couch and used a walker to get around. Esther lay beside me and refused to leave my side. Lou had to pick her up and carry her outside to go potty, and he had to feed her on the couch. Through the years we had her I went through a bilateral mastectomy, hysterectomy, and back surgery. For each surgery she stayed at my side giving me comfort as I recovered.

Esther became more than just a dog; she became a comfort for surgeries and mental illness, and she became our baby, our child. Every time I got depressed and cried, Esther laid her head on my chest and looked up into my eyes. I’d bury my head in her fur and pet her. Her soft fur and head against my chest warmed my soul and brought light into my darkness. She knew what I needed and she gave it to me unconditionally.

She had her own anxiety. She didn’t like to be left alone while Lou and I worked. She made a mess out of the house. We had to put her in a crate while we were gone. The crate became her place of comfort. When Lou yelled at the Steelers game on the television, she retreated to her crate and she also went there when she got in trouble. She would even take her food there to eat it.

Esther barely ever barked. When she did, we were shocked. She was a very quiet dog. We knew where she was by the sound of her nails clicking on the floor and the jingle of her tags on her collar. She loved company. When people came to visit, she went up to them for attention. If we had more than one person visiting, she would go from lap to lap. She loved everyone except the mailman. When I took her for walks, she let the neighborhood kids pet her.

As she got older, she stopped sitting on my lap as much. She had arthritis in her left front leg. She started lying on the pillow I lay on when I’m resting on the couch. She would take up my whole pillow. So, I would gently rest my head on her and she was content. When my sister gave us a couch with back cushions you can move around, Esther crawled in between the cushions and the only thing you could see was her head. I would reach back and pet her.

Several months ago, I noticed a lump on her leg that was getting bigger. We took her to the vet and had it removed, but they couldn’t get it all because some of it was in her joint. I took care of her through her recovery. The vet said the lump was an aggressive cancer. Not too long after her surgery, another lump formed above the one that was partially removed. By Memorial Day her lump was open and seeping. It smelled bad. I took off from work that Tuesday to take her to the vet. Her leg was infected, leaving a hole that went to the bone. We could have had her leg removed, but the chances of her surviving and recovering were slim, or we could send her over the rainbow bridge. We couldn’t let her suffer.

The vet tech bandaged her leg up and sent her home with us for a few days. We fed her fries, ice cream, spaghetti, and eggs. We hugged her, petted her, and gave her all the love we could before taking her back to the vet on Friday. I held her tightly to my chest as the vet administered the medicine and she drifted away. I laid my head on her head and wept. Tears caressed Lou’s eyes too as he also said his goodbyes.

Now Lou and I both grieve Esther. She gave us endless love for nine and a half years. She gave us comfort. Lou found comfort in her with his illness and while he was home alone while I worked. Now our lives seem empty and sad. Esther will always have a place in our hearts. She was our therapy dog, our companion, our best friend, and our baby.

We are taking each day at time as we grieve Esther’s loss. In time we’ll get another dog, but right now our hearts have to heal. Memories of my baby girl keep me hanging on to the light of recovery.

ALL FEELINGS ARE VALID

Published on by Aimee EddyLeave a comment

We all experience life with different perceptions. We go through life’s struggles and each person’s journey is different. What may seem like a minor bad point in a person’s life may seem like a major one in another person’s life. Someone may feel sad about a situation, while another person may feel happy. No person on earth experiences life the same or feels the same emotions as another. Everyone’s feelings are valid even if we don’t feel the same or understand them.

Feelings are a tricky thing especially when it comes to mental illness. It is so hard to understand why a person with a good life could fall deep into sadness. It’s even more difficult to understand how a person could feel so hopeless and depressed that he or she would want to commit suicide.

A friend’s aunt came in my line at work. I told her that her nephew was really struggling with depression.

She looked at me and said, “What does he have to be depressed about?”

I was taken back by her response. It was like she couldn’t understand her nephew’s feelings of sadness. This happens a lot to people with mental illness. Many don’t understand those struggling and they shrug them off like their feelings are not important, when they are very important.

After my mastectomy I struggled with grief for the loss of my breasts. Many of my friends told me that I didn’t need them anyway and I should be happy they were gone. Some said they were envious of me and would love to get rid of theirs. I felt like they didn’t validate my feelings of grief and depression.  This made me feel even worse. It’s like my loss was a joke to them, and it wasn’t. I lost a part of my body, a part that made me a woman, and yes at times I wished I didn’t have them, but when it came to having them removed, it was like a piece of me was stolen from me. The hardest battle for me with breast cancer was dealing with my loss, and having friends who didn’t take my grief seriously made me feel even worse.

This has happened with my mental illness too. I had lived two years in recovery from mental illness. I had friends, I was living in an apartment with a friend, and I had a boyfriend. Then suddenly I fell down that hole of depression. I felt hopeless, depressed, useless, and worthless. Some people didn’t take my feelings seriously. It didn’t make sense to them that I would feel those emotions when it seemed like I had a good life. To them I had no reason to feel bad. This made me feel even more alone. The more my feelings were not taken seriously, the worse my depression got.

     Years after I recovered from mental illness, I went to a friend’s house for a dinner. There was a group of us. They talked about a girl we all knew. The girl got upset and locked herself in the bathroom during a party. The girl told them her life was hopeless and she felt like she had nothing to live for. The group of girls who told me about it said that she was doing it for attention. They didn’t take her feelings seriously. They thought she was a joke when she was crying for help. To the girl her feelings were real and very overpowering. By locking herself in the bathroom and telling the group her feelings she was begging for help, and they didn’t listen. By not validating her feelings and noticing her call for help they made her feel more depressed, and she injured herself.

When I was in school there was a girl who kept talking about taking her life. I knew nothing about mental illness or that I was suffering with it. I thought she was telling us that for attention. She told me she was sad, and I thought she was a spoiled child craving attention. The teachers at my school never took her cries for help and feelings seriously either. She never got the help she needed because no one would listen to her or validate her feelings. I found out many years later she struggled with mental illness and was never able to get the proper help she needed. She has been living in an inner hell since she was a kid and it led to a very rough life.

     Everyone’s feelings are real and valid even if we don’t understand them or find a good reason for them. With mental illness the darkness, the feeling of hopelessness, the worthlessness, and inner anguish is very real. Not recognizing the person’s feelings and letting him or her know you acknowledge how they feel can be detrimental. It can lead a person deeper into his or her mental illness and can lead to suicide attempts or suicide.

When a person turns to you and tells you he or she is feeling depressed, that person is confiding in you and asking for help. Say you’re there for him or her, suggest he or she gets help, and listen to him or her. Don’t brush the person off or ask them, “What do you have to be depressed about?” Never assume the person is just trying to get attention. Don’t turn that person in to a joke you can talk about with your friends. Those feelings the person has been struggling with are very real, and if he or she is telling you about them then it is to ask you for help. Don’t ignore him or her. Validate his or her feelings. Many years ago, when I confided in my mom my feelings, she went out of her way to get me help. Because people who care about me, friends, and family, validated my feelings, I got help and I dance in the light of recovery.

PROGRESS ON MY NEXT MEMOIR

Published on by Aimee EddyLeave a comment

When my LO was diagnosed with dementia, my whole world changed and my emotions went up and down. I was too emotional to work on my next memoir. I put it aside and started going to therapy to help me deal with this horrible illness my LO suffered with and my feelings. In the meantime, I stopped writing my next memoir. I found it hard to relive the past while struggling with the present. Now that I am dealing better with my emotions, I am writing again.

This past New Year’s Day, I decided to set myself a goal to get back to writing my book. I put in my phone’s calendar that I would write every Tuesday and Friday. I asked my fellow memoir writer and friend, Amy, to encourage me and remind me to write. Amy has been great; every Tuesday and Friday I get a text from her  encouraging me and reminding me to write.

I have been sticking to my goal. Each Tuesday I retreat to a quiet place, and I work on my memoir, The Years After The Garage. I struggle with a few interruptions from my husband and dog. The dog follows me upstairs and always must go out. I write in our bedroom while my husband is downstairs watching TV. However, our bathroom is across from our bedroom, and after he uses the bathroom, he pops his head in and wants to talk. I try to remind him nicely I’m busy writing. I miss the days when he worked early in the morning and he went to bed at seven PM. It was the perfect time to write.

Despite the interruptions, I have been writing. Most writers keep track of how many words they write, but I’m different. I keep track of how many pages I write. I post on Facebook and send a text to Amy each writing night, telling her how many pages I wrote. I usually write two pages each on Tuesday and Friday. I know it doesn’t sound like a lot, but I finished two chapters and started another one.

I enjoyed reliving the Summer Enrichment Workshop for writing I attended in 1991. The program was held at Chatauqua High School. I made a friend on the bus and learned a lot about writing. In the afternoon the teacher took us to Chautauqua Institute, a nonprofit education center and summer resort. The Institute was magical for me and inspiring. I loved it there. I found many wonderful spots to write.

In this new book I still spend time at my grandparents. Instead of my grandparents living at the family garage, they now live forty-five minutes away in a home on endless acres of land. My cousins, Denny and Russell, are no longer around to go on adventures with. My siblings and I must entertain ourselves in other ways. The strong bond with my grandparents is unwavering. Instead of seeing my grandparents during coffee break, we see them on Sundays. We either have dinner with them or come after we have eaten at home.

I’m still bullied in this book, but the bullying changes and I slip further into mental illness. If the garage is gone, how do I escape from the bullying? What keeps me from falling to the bottom of the hole of my illness? How do I succeed when I feel hopeless and worthless?

Right now, I’m working on chapter twelve. I’m starting tenth grade. I have written three and a half pages in this chapter. This book will go to twelfth grade when I graduate from high school. Now I have to start going back to Pennwriters so I can get critiques on the chapters I have written. Pennwriters helps me grow as a writer and improve my writing.

Writing my book helps me help others and heal from the pains of the past. It also helps me strive to stay in the light of recovery.

WHAT RECOVERY MEANS

Published on by Aimee EddyLeave a comment

Many times when we think about recovery from an illness, we think of being healed or back to normal health and strength. Those who are recovered from the flu are healthy again. When it comes to mental illness, recovery has a different yet similar meaning. Most mental illnesses have no cure.

When we’re in recovery we are in a new normal. Our minds are clearer, we’re able to live a functional life, and we are stronger. Despite being in recovery, we still have mental illness, and we must take steps each day to manage it. We still have bad days, but we have coping skills to get through them.

What recovery means to me:

  • I fought a long hard battle and climbed out of the dark hole of depression and anxiety. I struggled with my illness for many years. I used everything in me to fight it and gain control.
  • I have learned coping skills to deal with hard times. I use different coping techniques like journaling, doing hobbies, relaxation, and self-care to deal with hard days.
  • I found happiness. I have taken control of my illness, and I am able to enjoy life and the people around me. I no longer live in sadness. I have fun, I laugh and I enjoy life.
  • I’m stable. I can make important decisions, I no longer cry easily, I can function, and I don’t fall apart like I once did. I can handle things I couldn’t when I was very sick.
  • When I have bad days, I can pull myself up again. Bad days don’t leave me stuck at the bottom of my hole. I work my way through the hard days and climb back up to the top of the hole. I no longer dwell in the darkness, and I don’t let it hold me down.
  • I must manage my illness every day. I take my medication and set up boundaries. I have a support system to turn to, and I know my limitations. I take care of my physical and mental health to stay in recovery. I know that even though I’m doing well I still could easily slip backwards if I don’t manage my illness.
  • I found a new meaning to my life. Life no longer seems hopeless. My life has meaning now. I am important and I make a difference in others’ lives. Life is beautiful and mysterious. It’s a journey that I’m excited to be on.
  • I’m not cured, but my illness no longer controls me. I know my illness will always be there and at times will try to push me down, but it no longer has control over me. I know the signs of when I’m really struggling and when to ask for help. I know how to deal with my illness when it tries to take over.
  • I’m a stronger person. I am a stronger person because I fought this horrible illness. If I can fight mental illness and rise above it, I have the strength to fight any challenge life puts in my path.

What does recovery from mental illness mean to you? Fight your illness and find out what it means to be in recovery. Mental illness is treatable, and most people can find relief from their illness if they are willing to do the work and willing to fight. You don’t have to live your life at the bottom of the dark hole. You can find happiness, function in society, and live in the light. Find your determination and fight the battle to recovery.

It took me a long time to find recovery, but I’m glad I found it. I live a beautiful life in the light of recovery.