Letters to my daughter.. Part one.

You remind me of myself so much that it actually scares me.  My beautiful girl.  Here I was all those years ago thinking you'd been freed of the 'mental health' curse.  I couldn't get that lucky.  I blame myself for everything.  Your SA, your anxiety, your depression, your dark thoughts, your self harm, the constant urge to hurt someone or yourself so badly, suicidal ideation, mania - you and I are mirror images, and that scares me so much that I don't think I could ever be honest enough to tell you..

Your uncle seems to like to vilify and rehash the fact we let the ball drop and let a predator in our house.  I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for that, and each time he brings it up my tummy turns into knots.  It's unfair, yes, justified, not really, should he move on, yes but he can't.  Sometimes I just wish you had a normal uncle & auntie that loved to spend time with you without 'conditions' - 'oh you have to promise you won't do stupid shit, then you can come stay', 'oh, you're definitely not coming to stay now with that behaviour' - so much judgement from someone who was not an angel when he was young. Albeit, he didn't do things to hurt our parents, we had too much respect for them, but what they didn't know didn't hurt them and that stood firm..  The uncle I thought he'd be is nothing of which he is, that hurts me. And sadly, I know it hurts you to have so many conditions to be in his company. I'm sorry.

So far 2022 can kiss my ass.  It's been the most unpleasant start to any year since I got sick.  I know it's affected you and I am trying to keep a lot from you, I really am.  I am fiercely stubborn, but you my darling are too.  You're a warrior, I can see the fire in you - don't ever lose it.  I will be ok, I don't know in what capacity, but once I get some procedures done and maybe change up some medications and some hope I might just be able to walk properly.

Keep being you.  Do your silly TikToks, walk to the park & watch the water over the rocks, dress in your hippy pants & tye dyed shirt, sleep in your mickey mouse bedding, watch those horror movies (I'm proud of you!) eat those cornflakes and honey.. Just be you.  Don't let the assholes steal your light.

I love you,

Mumma Bear

Hospital.

Well.  What a week from fucking hell.  Tuesday.  The day was planned that my friend would come over and help me with the vacuuming after I injured my neck over 2 weeks ago now.  She said when she got to my house that I didn't look well, and I said that's funny as I didn't feel well.  I felt strange, like the calm before the storm.

Sure enough it was.  By 11am I was crippled with pain in my left side.  Unable to breathe properly, sweating profusely, disorientated, rocking myself in some sort of way that I thought would help my 15/10 pain.  My friend rang the health line.  The nurse could hear me moaning in the background, she immediately said 'I'm calling an ambulance, stand by' - that's all I really heard after telling her in between trying to breathe what brought it on (no idea) what my pain levels were and how I ended up slumped over my chest of drawers in my room.

Around 11:30 a paramedic arrived.  He was the most arrogant prick you could have ever sent.  'Stand up' - ah, I can't dickhead.  'Why haven't you taken any pain relief?' - well, as you could probably tell (or not, depending on your brain capacity) I couldn't speak, nor move and was around 2 meters from my drawer with said pain killers in it.  Asshole.

He proceeded to say 'What you have is stronger than anything I have' - good for you! That's fucking amazing.  He made me take one of my pain killers then proceeded to give me this green whistle... Well let me tell you this.  I went from crying in agony to laughing my ass off, according to my friend I was telling the dude that my son was 6 (he's 2.5) and a whole heap of other irrelevant stuff.  Apparently I was hilarious with this little whistle that tasted like I was inhaling nail polish remover.

Hospital.  Well that's fun.  Sitting opposite the nurses station waiting for a bed.. It was peak hour.  6 ambo's came in after I was placed on a chair with a blanket.  What I saw wasn't pleasant and to this day I hope the young girl that had wrapped her car around a tree is still alive.. she looked peaceful though, almost like she'd passed on and they were doing everything to revive her.. From head to toe she was covered in blood.  I'd only ever seen something like this once and that freaked me out, this time she was literally 1 meter from me.  I had to bow my head & just rock.. 

A homeless man presented to emergency in a psychotic episode.  That was scary too.  I've never seen someone in such despair, the mental health team were doing all they can to get him fast tracked but it wasn't enough.. He needed sedation before he hurt a nurse or me (he was standing next to me for around 2 minutes..)  

I was taken to acute where I had this fabulous doctor tell me that it could be a couple of things causing my agony..  A perforated bowel.  Epiploic appendagitis. Or a fucking big kidney stone.  The epiploic appendagitis mimics an appendicitis.  That's EXACTLY what it felt like, when I had my appendicitis I felt like I was in labour... So, we were hoping the CT scan would show this, we'd fix it all good.  Not my lucky day.  A cyst was found on my left kidney, but this wouldn't cause the phenomenal pain I was in..  Back to square one.

I was pumped full of pain meds.  Endone. Fentanyl. Morphine. Repeat.

The only thing that took any edge off my pain was morphine. So my lovely doctor gave me another dose and my pain went down to a 7.

I was moved to short stay, and my lovely night nurse tried to make me as comfortable as possible to try and get some rest.. She gave me valium, buscopan, and this morphine type tablet that went under my tongue.. Can't think of it's name but it was effective.. 

I couldn't shut off.  I messaged my mum (who was staying at our place to look after my kids) for a couple of hours, she couldn't sleep and neither could I..  I was still upset that my husband didn't even bother to come in and see me.  When my doctor asked if I was supported at home with my fibromyalgia & mental health issues, I looked at her and said 'No.'  She was quite sad that I could only rely on my parents and 1 friend for help & support.  That's when the tears started.. I think I cried solidly for 2 hours.  I couldn't bring myself to call my husband because as far as I was concerned, he didn't give a flying fuck about me so why call?  It took me until 10pm to make the call.  I was cold toward him, he didn't pick up on it - he's male, they only care about themselves.  His best mate was more concerned about me than him - sad huh.

The lovely nurses let me rest until 0820 because they knew I'd had a bad night (not asleep until around 3) they came to do my obs, and said I'd be going for an ultrasound and that the surgeons would have a chat to me about the cyst.  I said thank you & grateful a plan was in place.

Cue asshat registrar.  

He told me as there were no significant findings on the CT & X-Ray other than the cyst.  He couldn't give me a reason for my excruciating pain.  He basically said in his own fucked up way that I was a junkie for being on opiates to manage my fibromyalgia.  I lost my shit a little.. I started getting hot from head to toe, burning enough to tell him to get fucked.  I said to him.. 'How dare you ask me to come off something that gives me the little quality of life I have left' - 'Why would you do that?' Because he didn't know shit, I cannot take NSAIDS because of my Xarelto medication for my fucked up lungs.  He said, 'Oh that's a shame' - no shit dickhead.  He said is there anything we can do for you? I said yes, discharge me so I can get away from you.  He looked shocked but not, I don't think I was the first and I won't be the last to tell him he's a dickhead.  He wrote my letter, told the other lady opposite me the exact same thing, she was a junkie too.

Apart from that one empathetic doctor, and her getting on top of my pain for at least an hour, one nice nurse who cannulated me (wow, blood.. holy shit, a tonne of blood - someone get me a plug?) bitchy nurse who wouldn't get written up pain meds and wanted me left in agony 'they'll get to you soon OK?' - woah bitch, hold onto your hair.  I had a nice go at her too.. 

What an experience.  Of course my parents have done more for me that my husband since I got home Wednesday arvo, he hasn't really given one shit - narcissists are not empathetic so I wasn't expecting much.. 

Until next time, be kind. x 

Self Harm.

TRIGGER WARNING ~ SELF HARM...

I feel as though I have let my 11 year old, first born daughter down.  Yesterday I found out she harmed herself and told her 'boyfriend' who then told his mum as he was worried, then his mum told the deputy principal and - queue me.

I got a phone call from one of the deputy principals at school and my first thought was my 2nd daughter, knowing that my first was thriving and doing brilliantly in her last year at primary school, gold student, great respect for her teachers & peers - it couldn't be her.  It was.  Time stopped, I'm sure.  I couldn't process as quickly as I used to be able to and my first reaction was anger.  Now I am so ashamed that the first thing I said to miss 11 was - WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?  I am absolutely kicking my own guts in, I feel so disgusted that I, a sufferer of the hideous disease which is self harm, has plagued me since I was 13 - was angry at my clearly suffering daughter.

I saw the photo.  The photo that was sent to her little boyfriend.  It wasn't horrific.. but.. it was a massive trigger for me.  I felt for her.  Tears streamed down my cheeks.  She told me she used a sharp pencil and just 'scratched' at her skin (left arm) no scars were left, and luckily no blood was present.  

I felt her pain.  I got it.  I showed her my left arm, something I have shielded from my kids since they were old enough to see it.  She was shocked.  It's like she didn't realise that it was a 'disease' and the brain really fucks you over sometimes.  To cut yourself to feel better - people look at you like you need to be in a straight jacket with a psych evaluation.  The only thing that took the pain away when I was younger was to cut myself.  I used a bobby pin.  Simple.  Rarely did I use a razor, although I did have a 'stash' in my bottom drawer.  The sharpness of the end of a bobby pin actually does a bit of damage.  My arms, legs, stomach, feet - yes, feet - were covered in cuts & initials.  The only way I got relief from the relentless bullying was to cut.  I felt free.  Among the constant anxiety attacks, the tears from bad memories, the only thing that got me through was to cut.  I went for nearly 2 years before my parents found out.  It broke my mum & my nanna's hearts.  My mum still blames herself for not being 'present' enough when I was a teenager, I think that's why it happened - because a) it felt good and b) only 2 friends knew.. Until I showed my 'high school boyfriend' his initials carved into my right foot. "WHY?" "Why would you do that to yourself?" - I said because I loved him and it made me feel better.  Clearly he didn't understand how harming yourself can make you 'feel better'.

I get why miss 11 did what she did.  She was masking a horrific incident that happened to her at school and she felt she had no one to go to.  Not her teachers, the principal, me or her dad.  She was desperate.  I asked her if she looked up self harm on google, she said no.  I asked her how she knew what she was essentially doing and she said 'I just had to get something sharp and scratch myself until I felt better'... My god.  It was like mirror imaging.  Like I was talking to my 11 year old self.  So scary.  So FUCKING scary.  At that instant I felt I had failed her.  My heart is broken.  I've given her coping strategies that I've been given over the years, and I have been self harm free for almost 3 years.  It's hard, so god damn hard.  I love my daughter with my every inch of my body and I will do anything to try and heal her pain, right now I need to mend 2 hearts.  Wish me luck.

Until next time, be kind x

Suicidal Ideation..

**TRIGGER WARNING**

I get it. It took me years to understand how people become so helpless & feel they have no other option but to end their lives. I get it COMPLETELY.  I have suffered with suicidal ideation for so many years, and after suffering from clinical depression from 19, and generalised anxiety disorder at 14 - suicide has plagued me.  As I've gotten older and suffered pre & post natal depression, being admitted at 35 weeks pregnant for suicidal thoughts & a 'plan' - I had almost all but given up.

Mental health is shamed.  It is stigmatized.  It's almost like you're not allowed to be 'mentally ill' because it's not 'visible' and you look 'fine'.  Fuck stigma.  Mental health is REAL.  It's scary, it's lonely and especially when your loved ones don't want to know or understand the depth of where your brain is.  It's taken me a long time to accept that something that happened to me at 17 was out of my control and I've finally begun to heal.  That's 22 years of being shaded by this event, and I refuse to give it anymore of my life.

As I am struggling with dissociation through borderline personality disorder (BPD), it's one of the most difficult things I've ever dealt with since my diagnosis 5 years ago.  It's flared for a reason.. Something is not 'right'.  I am having this horrible 'am I alive or looking in at my life, dead?' - it certainly doesn't do anything for someone that has suffered from self harm since the tender age of 13.  Something of which I knew nothing about.  It wasn't in encyclopedias, in the 'news' we certainly didn't have internet, so I kept my arms & legs covered every day - even in summer.

I'm not looking for sympathy.  I'm looking for understanding.  Everybody deals with things differently, everyone's brains are different.  I wish mine wasn't broken.  I wish I hadn't had that first anxiety attack at 14.  I wish a lot of things.  I just hope one day we can all treat each other with respect no matter what is wrong with us.  Mental health problems are 'illnesses' whether people like to admit it or not.  Just because my brain doesn't function like yours doesn't mean you throw me away or stop caring.

Until next time, be kind x

Life after a pulmonary embolism..

So... Since the days of my PE (Pulmonary Embolism) on the 5th December, 2017 my life has changed dramatically.

I remember in a haze a mountain of doctors, dietitians, pharmacists, nurses - all preparing me to go home and heal after a 5 day long stay in the respiratory ward.  I was reminded by my doctor & head of respiratory that I was lucky to be alive as they had no idea where and what caused a sudden onset PE.

I went to my GP that morning of the 5th, it was a Tuesday.  Ironically I had cancelled my appointment for the Monday as I wasn't feeling well.  The first thing she did was check my BP, which 5-6 weeks prior it was a little elevated & I was medicated for it.  The next thing she asked is that did I have chest pain or was it hard to breathe.  I told her I was short of breath the last few days and she promptly put the oxygen reader on my finger and instead of seeing numbers 97-99 we saw an 84.  She told me that I wasn't going anywhere and that I was off to hospital and shall she call me an ambulance.  RIGHT.  Life changed in an instant.  I told her I had 3 children to organise and a husband to get home from work to take me to hospital (the kids went to mum & dads)

I remember on the way to the hospital and holding my husband's hand thinking is this the last car ride I'll have? What is wrong with me? Am I going to die? What will happen to my babies? So many thoughts to process but I felt so numb.

I was rushed through emergency and promptly had a cannula put in to draw blood & start fluids as I was dehydrated.  I was rushed through to have a CT scan, X-Ray & needed to go through a massive machine that 'lit up' & looked predominately at my lungs.  Within 2 hours I learnt my fate.  I had survived a PE (Pulmonary Embolism) and was extremely lucky to still be earth-side as I had around 8 clots sitting in both lungs.  Cue tears.  Cue fear.  Cue the unknown.  Cue respiratory ward, which was my home for the next 5 days.

Alone in a sterile room, no flowers allowed due to obvious reasons, I had a tv & whilst I couldn't sit in a chair upright until day 3, it was there to sit and watch the sunset.  I reflected on all the things I haven't done, WHY hadn't I done them?  What the fuck stopped me?  I survived this massive thing and reflection was somewhat calming.  I no longer wasted energy on the people that didn't give a fuck about me, I culled a lot of facebook 'friends' & just generally tried to get stronger each day.

With my husband having to take the week off work to look after the baby, they visited everyday - it was the happiest & saddest part of my day.  They normally stayed a little past visiting hours but because I was a top patient they didn't mind 😉

My husband would help me shower as I wasn't allowed to stand whilst washing because of possible fainting or worse.  Day by day I got a little better & although having to give myself 2 injections per day - it hurt (a lot) I didn't mind, hey, it was keeping me alive.

Day 5 (11th December) I was hoping that I'd get the 'ok' to head home to rest & recoup.  I had battled a serious fever throughout my stay and the doctors were concerned I may have had sepsis, so until my oxygen levels were steady on or above 96% & my temp went away - Monday was looking good.

Turns out I was good to go, well you know - right to go home & complete change of life itself.  I hugged my mum as we got to their place, we both burst into tears and I didn't want to let her go.  My eldest daughter (10) was crying and everyone was just emotional as they didn't think they'd see me again.

Apart from not being able to drive for 6 weeks, have a blood test every 2-3 days, take blood thinners, inject myself with anti clotting agents & get used to the fact I'll live with compromised lungs for the rest of my life - I was ALIVE.

Since June I have been given the all clear & placed on a preventative medication.  I cannot tell you how much I hated taking warfarin and what it did to my body, I'm glad (and hopeful) that I won't be on it anymore..

I have a lot to live for, I am trying to get healthy & eat properly (not just dinner) and exercise (fuck you fibro) slowly but surely I will get there.. It's a promise I've made to myself.

Be kind x

It's been a while..

I haven't posted in almost 2 years, thought I'd best 'revive' this blog and post more often! 😊

Let's start with a surprise pregnancy in 2016.  We found out we were expecting a boy, and after having 2 girls we were excited to be buying blue.  My pregnancy was hard, I had pre & postnatal depression and it hit me hard.  My complete diagnosis was borderline personality disorder, GAD (generalised anxiety disorder) & severe depression.

Our beautiful boy came along on the 4th November 2016, and he was a perfect 7lb 10oz.  I was petrified that I couldn't care for him properly but I soon got the hang of things again (there's 4.5 years between our middle child and him)

In December 2016 I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia.  This disease changed my life (for the worst) and I wouldn't wish it upon anyone.  Trying to care for a newborn and having flares nearly every day was tough.  My husband was quite supportive with my diagnosis & helped a lot with the baby.  It's been almost 2 years since my diagnosis, and I have been also diagnosed with arthritis in my L4/5 disc region, so having fibro & arthritis at 38 isn't fun.  I've been told I will get it most likely in a lot more areas of my back.  I have bursitis in both hips & shoulders.  Living with chronic pain changes you, I know I've become a recluse & don't see my friends as often as I would like too.

I survived a pulmonary embolism in December 2017.  I don't know how, but I am still here.  After a 5 day stay in hospital, thousands of needles & blood tests since, I got the all clear in June that the clots had dissolved & that I would live with compromised lungs for the rest of my life.  I have been sick every week since I left hospital. I almost live on antibiotics & cough up hard pieces of phlegm all day every day, it isn't pleasant.

I lost my beautiful Nanna to cancer last June, June 8th to be exact.  I will never forget talking to her before she passed, I cherish every childhood memory that I experienced with her and will be forever grateful for loving me the way she did.  I still have a happy birthday voicemail that I got the year she passed, I will never delete it and listen to it often, mainly when I'm feeling down and teary - missing her is hard.  I am grateful I got to see her in January (2016) when she was 8 months into fighting cancer.  We had a lovely time, talked a lot about old times and I took  a lot of photos of us both. I love her & miss her so much.

It's my husband and I's 6th wedding anniversary next Friday, time is flying by.  So much has happened in the last 2 years, some I wouldn't change (our baby boy) and some I wish I could (chronic illnesses)

Until next time.. Be kind x

The pain of mental health

Today is the 6th January, 2016.  I have not kept to my resolutions, you know - lose weight, get healthy, beat depression/anxiety/BPD/OCD/PTSD and the rest?  I guess I'm over committing myself and should concentrate on one thing or the other.

Today I had my 2nd day off work since I started 4.5 months ago.  I felt bad for having another day off (I had yesterday off too) but my head would not let me focus on anything except on how I'm feeling, and let me tell you it's not pretty.

My head feels like it's going to explode.  Actually my body feels like it's going to explode.  I cried on the way home from the chemist at a song that made me think of my Nanna, I was listening to Sam Smith's 'Lay Me Down' and some of the words, well ok, most of them, are reminiscent of how I am feeling:

Can I lay by your side?

Next to you?

And make sure you're alright, I'll take care of you

I don't want to be here if I can't be with you tonight

See what I mean? Hits you right in the throat, creates the lump then the tears flow.  

Once when I was younger and my Nanna was staying with us, she used to sleep in my bed and I would sleep on a fold up bed beside her.  One morning my stereo came on, no I didn't press any buttons on the remote, and one song by Coolio - I'll see you when you get there, came on.  My Nanna always praised me for my taste in music, and said every song I ever played her was lovely.  This came on and she said 'What a lovely song darling' - ever since then I play it and it instantly reminds me of her.  You see, my whole life turned upside down nearly 9 months ago.  My darling Nanna was diagnosed with cancer.  I have felt numb until now, when my depression has taken over and I cannot function to the fact of making dinner, heck I can't even do a load of washing let alone take a shower.

The fact that my Nanna is 94, being as strong as an ox, living on morphine as she refused chemotherapy, what once started as thyroid cancer, is now cancer of the brain stem, liver and quite possibly her bones now, we find out next week.  

My Nanna also said almost 9 months ago that she didn't want any of us going down to Tasmania to see her, as it was her dying wish.  I may come across selfish but I am going down to see her next week, to help with my mental health state.  No body knows that I am going, and it's a very low key visit.  It's not to catch up with friends, it's to be with my Nanna, going to bingo - something we loved doing when I was younger, it was our thing and I loved it.  I will take her out for lunch, not that she likes food very much but it's the thought of just being with her for one or two precious days, I feel I will improve my mental health by seeing her but it will also shatter my heart as I know it will be the last ever time I see her.  It's a cruel catch 22.  

So through the tears today, I blog this.  My inner most thoughts & fears and what I am going to have to go through next week, I feel it's the right thing to do, for me, and I know my Nanna will (hopefully) see why I had to do it all, she means so much to me to not do anything, if that makes me selfish then so be it, I'm selfish.

2015 was a shit year, I fucked up, my marriage was on the rocks - hey my whole fucking life was on the rocks.  I wanted to disappear, that didn't happen - I'm still here, typing this to the world.

So as I battle my demons once again, for another day, it brings me closer to a nervous trip to Tassie. I just wish it was my Nanna and nobody else as I cannot stand them, they mean nothing to me.