Calming the seas...

As many of you may or may not know, I am a devout Catholic. Now, this isn't to say that there aren't a few things the Church could update their stance on, but that's for another blog post. Suffice it to say, I attend Mass every week and pray daily. Sometimes it's the Rosary, and sometimes it's simply an extended period of time where I pray to those saints who I feel I am in tune with. 

Last week, I was at Mass, and the gospel was the one where Jesus is awakened in a sinking boat, calms the seas, and admonishes the apostles for their lack of faith, assuring them He will always be there to "calm the seas", metaphorically speaking. The priest then gave a sermon on the idea that Jesus is always there, calming the seas and "making everything ok". I couldn't help it. I started to cry.

If Jesus is always there, calming the seas, why has my life been such a turbulent disaster in so many ways? Why was I always bullied as a child? Why was I raped in college? Why do I have this fucking disease that doesn't allow me a real career, or more than a few months outside a psych ward? Why has my body been made so that I cannot have children? I was furious, and find that I still am. 

When I talked to Paulie about it, and he is far more intelligent and religiously inclined than I am, he said "But that's not what the gospel meant. It's telling us that Jesus will always be there to watch over us and help us as is fit, not that we'll all have perfect lives."

I understand this, and I even talked to my therapist about it. She's Jewish, so we don't often talk religion, as we don't quite see things in the same light, but she said something that struck me: "Laura, Jesus is calming the internal seas of your soul as He can. It's not about justice in the outside world. It's about inner peace." I accept that, and know that that is what I must work on next. 

The thing is, and anyone with a chronic illness might say this, it's not just about "letting yourself get better". It's about constant hard work. I have been working my ass off since age 15. I work daily at mindfulness, emotion regulation, and so forth. I must remember to take my medications and supplements every day. I must look at the world in as positive a light as I can. I must pray daily. I must attend weekly therapy sessions. I must have shock therapy on a regular basis. Oh, and I must also live my life as fully as I can as well. 

I still take voice lessons on a regular basis, I work a few days a week, I do the laundry and the dishes and wash the floors and dust and vacuum. I attend functions and see my family and friends. I sing when I can. 

I suppose what I am ultimately saying is I'm looking really hard for Jesus in all of this, and trying to see what waters he's actually calming. I'm tired. I'm still working my ass off, but I'm tired, and so is my husband and family. 

Am I in the wrong boat? Am I looking in the wrong place? 

I simply feel abandoned, and I wish that God would give me some sort of sign that this is really what my life is supposed to be. 

Maybe I need to change boats, or I'm simply not looking hard enough, but I am so very tired....

"Life is a banquet....

....and some poor sons-of-bitches are starving to death!"

This is a quote from "Mame" that my mother often quotes when I'm not doing well, or turning in on myself, becoming more depressed. 

Lately, I've been feeling FANTASTIC, as the combination of shock therapy, medication, and vitamin supplements has really been working for me. 

I have been praying to the Blessed Mother and St. Dymphna (the patron saint of mental illness) to keep this streak going. While there's been a "bump" here or there I can say with much confidence that I've been doing well for awhile.  And thank you to the "many-faced god" for that. ;) (I'm only kidding, Paulie!!!!)

This blog post isn't so much about "profound discoveries" or the like.  This is really just a place to say "THANK YOU" for all the good I've been feeling in the last bit of time.  Thank you to Paulie, and my family, and my friends, and the strangers who say "hi" when I greet them in the grocery store.  Thank you to the store clerks who share pleasant small talk with me while I buy a few items.  Thank you to the priests who have told me how happy they are that I'm feeling better.  Thank you to the St. Michael Parish Choir, who treat me with dignity and respect and fill me with laughter each week.  And thank you Biggy, for your constant prayers to the Little Flower.  (She's pretty sure that's the real reason I'm feeling so much better. ;) )

I thank you all for following this journey of mine, and don't mind any good thoughts, vibes, or prayers you send my way as I try and continue this journey of "feeling good."

I'm determined to belly up to the banquet of Life, and refuse to be one of those starving sons-of-bitches!!!

Thanks, Momma.  I love you.

Who Am I?

Of course, the first thing I want to do is sing "2-4-6-0-1!!!!!!".  Ahem.  OK, now that my Les Mis moment is behind me, I'll get to the crux of things. This post was begun when I was in McLean, being held for suicidal ideation.  So this will go from feelings of a month ago to present day. I hope it's not too hard to follow. 

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I'm in the psych ward again, and this time is different.  Well, they're always different, but this one is really kicking my ass.  I have a lot of suicidal feelings, and the staff here are trying their very best to keep my body and soul in one piece.  God Bless them for it.

I've been struggling big time with the idea that my life is really for naught, that aside from my amazing husband and great family holding me up, I've done shit with my life.  I try to get pleasure and fulfillment from my job and relationships, but my brain is telling me that I should put it all aside and just kill myself.  This is the disease talking, and as my sainted husband always says "Don't believe the lies."  I'm doing my best to follow his advice.

Tonight, a counselor asked me "Who do you think you are?"

The answer is complicated.  Well, yes, thank you Captain Obvious, but what IS the answer?

The answer is I don't know.

The answer is that I'm still trying to figure it out.

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Now I've been out of McLean's Short Term Unit for about three weeks, but I've been going there two to three times a week as an outpatient for ECT, or electro convulsive therapy. I have now had 16 treatments this go-around...so far.

The wonderful news is I feel really good from the treatments. The not-so-great news is I have to go under general anesthesia every time, so my body has physically been through the ringer. I am very fortunate to have amazing family and friends who are willing to drive me to each and every treatment. Since I must go under anesthesia, I am not allowed to drive, and I usually end up sleeping off the meds the rest of the day.

Each session is the same. A nurse brings me to a waiting room with a stretcher. I hop on and she places hot packs on my right hand and arm, to help the anesthesiologist find good veins for the IV. My blood pressure and pulse are checked, and once the treatment room is ready, I'm wheeled in. An ECT doctor, anesthesiologist, and nurse are all present. An IV is begun, and I quickly lose consciousness. I wake up in a recovery room sometime later, and there I must be monitored for at least 45 minutes. Then a doctor meets with me, verifies that I am sufficiently recovered, and sends me home. 

So lately my brain has gone back to the question of two months ago: who am I? What I have decided for the time being is that though I may not be particularly proud of what I've become, I am a work in progress. I am a person who is feeling a little better with every passing day, and I can make the best of each moment. 

For example, I decided this week that I have not gone and seen my sisters and friends in NYC in ages, so I am taking the end of this week and weekend to do just that. I will walk the streets of New York with my head held high and my brain ready to have the most fun I can. I can't wait to see all my friends and family in the big bad city. 

I am going to have another treatment on Tuesday, but then I will board a bus on Thursday and take the big bad city by storm. I may not know exactly who I am, but I'm going to have fun while I figure it out.

A passing Thursday afternoon...

My Thursdays are kind of awesome. My good friend has a bookstore in downtown Concord (come see us at Barrow Bookstore!), and I get to come help out for the afternoon. Today as I was sitting and waiting on customers, the following came to me as a little spurt of creativity. Hope you enjoy, gentle readers. 

Untitled 

Snow like eyelashes escaped,

A door to keep it from me,

Surrounded by well-meaning paper,

And all I see is the probability. 

The probability of the slush on the ground,

The probability that the door may open,

The probability that some bit of dust will keep the paper company. 

Snow that smiles as it falls,

The door that stalwartly stands,

The paper questioningly waiting,

And all I taste is new beginnings. 

Untitled Poem

Hello, gentle readers. I almost never write poetry. When snippets pop into my head, they feel false, and I can never tell if they are truly poetry or just my brain's attempt at lyrics. The following came pretty fast and flowing last week in the hospital, so I thought I'd throw it up here and see what it looks like on this page. 

I think it's safe to say I'm letting my 17 year old self out for a minute, but there you have it. 

Enjoy???

Untitled

Moments so deep they won't subside,

Breaths full of anger and shame,

Pulling & stretching, breaking & searching,

Nowhere to hide but inside the flame. 

Ribbons of pain stream through the trees,

They catch the light of my tears,

Razors cut paths through memory,

Flesh tells stories out of school. 

Take this hand and know its truth,

Let it guide you down the hall,

Each room you pass shows something new,

Something closer to the fire I know. 

Happily Ever After?

Hello, my gentle readers. Here we are again, at the beginning of yet another year.  Funny how that seems to happen at the end of every December, eh?

Whilst we are all in the midst of discarding the old and pushing toward the new, I have thought a lot in the last few days about how I'd like this year to go. I've perused my former posts about the new year. Once I was going to divest my home of all the clutter. Once I was going to charge full-steam ahead into a life without mental illness. As you may have guessed, these "resolutions", such as they were, didn't quite come to be. My house is still a treasure trove of memories past, and I'm still as crazy as I was last year.

This year I am discarding resolutions and their ilk. Each day must be taken as it comes. I was speaking with my great-aunt last week during Christmas festivities. She has terrible emphysema, and is on oxygen 24 hours a day. She said to me "Laura, you and I are not so different. We need to roll with each new day. There are some days when we feel great and can get things accomplished. There are others when we just hang on for dear life." 

I have had some "hanging on" moments in the last week or so. I've also had days where I was able to accomplish things. My Auntie is right. This really is the best way to go. 

Tomorrow I work at the library and see my Nana in the evening. I will take Friday as it comes.

Saturday I have an appointment with a new doctor, an integrative psychiatrist who combines functional and traditional treatments to cater to an individual's psych needs. He's written a great book that Paulie and I have both read. We are really encouraged by his philosophies and success rates. I will take Saturday as it comes.

Sunday I will sing at Mass and see my other Nana and my Dad for some breakfast afterwards. I will take Sunday as it comes. 

To me, this different way of seeing the world and my responsibility in it means that every day is January 1st.  Every day means new possibility, both good and bad. I am ready to roll with each new day, as Auntie said. 

Here's to a whole year of January 1sts. 

Where has she been?

That may be what some of you are asking, gentle readers. Well, since leaving the hospital last month, I've continued to receive ECT treatments while I attempt to "live life". I put that in quotes because I really have no idea what I'm doing.  I've stayed in touch with friends, gone back to my job, am doing a little singing, and am somehow managing to sort of keep my house clean.

ECT is no joke. The anesthesia is hard to take; I'm a zombie after every treatment. The thing that's really bothering me now is that I'm no longer getting a good effect from the treatments anymore. The medication I'm on is doing no good. I'm holding myself together with spit and bailing wire. 

But there is a difference this go-around. I REFUSE to let this lick me. Meds and therapies may not be helping this time, but my attitude remains forward-thinking and positive. I say rosaries to get me through the worst of the crying jags, and I am hell-bent on getting my work done with a smile on my face.

I know I have some decisions to make: should I continue with ECT? Should I be trying another med?another doctor? One thing is for sure: I'm doing this OUTSIDE OF A HOSPITAL. I will not be defeated, I will not let the depression take over.

So again the question is asked: Where has she been? The answer is actually that until the other day, I'd forgotten I even had a blog. Thanks, ECT.

Well now I've remembered, and I hope you'll hear a lot more from me in the coming months!