Something was Wrong

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I’ve been writing a lot lately because one of the publishers who said they were interested in my work asked for more, a 15000 word minimum. I’m almost there!

I’m really enjoying writing. I loved telling stories as a teacher too – stories that would help get my point across. A story I’d like to tell next in my blog is that of my students. The point I’m trying to get across is that I’d really like to help others, hopefully through my writing, now that I’m no longer teaching. Even if I’m able to help or inspire one person, it’s worthwhile. Thank you so very much for reading, liking and commenting ❤️❤️❤️

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                  Something was Wrong

“Psychological Issues” by JoanDragonfly is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0

In 2013, I knew something was wrong.

I thought maybe it was work. (I was a high school teacher).

My truly amazing husband, who knows me better than anyone else, thinks my troubles started after the birth of our first child in 2009. Like it was caused by untreated postpartum mental health issues that never went away and then got worse with the birth of our second child eight years later.

I honestly (and mistakenly) thought I was fine.

I was finally given a diagnosis in 2016, but still wasn’t convinced that I was ill. I still didn’t fully accept that I was ill until months after my Suicide Attempt in 2017. I was reading a CBT book recommended by my psychiatrist and it finally all made sense. I was finally able to accept that I was unwell.

I’ve tried several medications, seen several counsellors and been given two related but different diagnoses. I’ve tried everything from getting an MRI of my brain to “floating”. Finally it all just clicked together. That book, and time, lots of time, were the last pieces I needed to solve my puzzle. One thing I’ve learned for sure through all of this, is that whether it’s mental or physical, healing takes time.

Back in 2013, on the advice of a dear colleague, I spoke to a member of my administrative team, whom I really respect, about how I was feeling at work.

They were understanding, supportive but also encouraged me to try to get over it and move on.

I heard from another colleague that this administrator said behind my back that

“it was all in my head”.

That hurt!

But… it was my first clue that I was unwell. I’m very, very grateful for that comment and for the person who repeated it to me. That comment made me take a day off work to see a doctor, call EAP, and try to sort out what was going on with my health. It was the push I needed to start seeking help.

Another couple colleagues recommended a stress leave. This was when I started seeing my doctor more regularly, taking medication, seeing a counsellor, doing more yoga, meditating, reading self help books, taking much better physical care of myself etc. I was doing everything I could to get healthy and strong enough to be able to return to work. I feel mentally ready to return to work again now. I want to return to work as soon as I’m physically able. Again, I’m very grateful for these colleagues’ suggestions. I was suicidal during this time and I credit these colleagues and this doctor with helping to save my life back then.

The day I took off after the “all in my head” comment, I rested and watched ‘Silver Linings Playbook”. (https://m.imdb.com/title/tt1045658/)

I remember the sick feeling in my stomach when I realized I might be ill, mentally.

“Jennifer Lawrence – TIFF 2012” by Josh Jensen is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0

Was I right and everyone else wrong, or I wrong and everyone else right? Was it really all in my head? If that were true, then I was sick. But what if I wasn’t sick, then why did I need time off work? Was I faking or was I really sick? I was so worried I was sick and so worried I wasn’t sick at the same time. If I was sick that would explain what was going on, but then that was too scary to accept. I kept oscillating between thinking I was sick or thinking I was just behaving badly. Either way, something was wrong. It didn’t help that the director of my movie, my life, was my unwell mind. It’s hard to sort things out when your mind is not thinking clearly. I didn’t apply for LTD like I should have, for example, because I had trouble believing I was really ill, so I just resigned.

Why did I find work stressful?

Well, where do I begin. How about the beginning of class. Sometimes I would have a student tell me she was pregnant, another student tell me he was now homeless, another student tell me his backpack was stolen at his youth shelter, and yet another student say she was starving all before I was able to take the attendance. Then a student would arrive late with their parole officer who needed to talk to me. I just wanted to deliver the curriculum.

I wanted to help my students earn their credits & follow their dreams. A guidance counsellor warned me that a student I was trying to help was a “kingpin drug dealer”, (her words), I don’t know if this was true, I thought you had to be much older to be a “kingpin”, but I think her point was that I shouldn’t be trying so hard to help him. I thought this information was irrelevant. He was my student, he needed the credit, it was my job to help him. I deliberately chose to work with the most challenging students and classes in the most at-risk neighbourhoods during my career as a teacher.

That was My dream.

Some of the kids’ stories really got to me.

Once, at the same time that I was writing his IEP, a Sunday afternoon, a student stabbed someone in a parking lot. The person survived.

This made me feel that the work, especially the paperwork, I was doing was utterly useless.

Another student, in and out of juvenile detention centres, I tried hard to help – negotiating deals with his other teachers to let him make up the work he missed while doing time… But one day, when he was bullying another student, I tore a strip off him & unintentionally made him very upset. I felt horrible. He was sent back to ‘jail’ for something he had done months before. Stolen a bike I think. He had also assaulted a taxi driver, and this was rumoured to be some kind of initiation. Years later, I saw him in the news. He had shot and killed a man. I wondered if this tragic story would have turned out differently if I had tried harder. I definitely could have done much, MUCH more when I was a teacher.

My students told me they got used to the sound of gunshots while they were trying to sleep.

Some of their stories. Oh my God.

I went home everyday to my safe, luxurious life, but I started to question ‘why me’? Why did I have this great life, and they had so many struggles? Why did I have so many more opportunities? Why did some of them not have parents, food, furniture…? How was it fair?!?!

This epiphany/breakdown/burnout reminded me of the film ‘the fever’. (https://m.imdb.com/title/tt0368725/)

This realization that the haves and the have-nots is so wrong and unfair. That there still is so much suffering, prejudice and privilege in the world, even here in Canada. I suddenly fully understood that film. I suddenly started to better understand the complaints of my students. It felt like an emotional fever. Once I thought this, I couldn’t unthink it. I couldn’t go back to my blissfully ignorant state of believing that our education system was fair for all, and that everyone could be whatever they wanted to be in life, if they just tried hard enough. No, no, life is actually very, very unfair to many. I started to feel guilty for what I had and how I lived. I should have addressed this sooner because guilt is unhealthy, and can play tricks on your mind, like a fever.

“100.7 fever” by woodleywonderworks is licensed under CC BY 2.0

This ‘fever’ got worse once I had a child of my own & could imagine even more what I would feel like if my students were my children. I kept thinking: “What if that was my child?” “What if that was my son’s life?”.

“Tenderness” by _Monica__ is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0

My son had so much and so many of them had so little. I gave my son so much and gave them so little in comparison. The guilt went the other way too. I left my child to go help other people’s children. I went to work refreshed and I came home pretty drained. Teacher-guilt and mommy-guilt combined I guess.

Another belief I was forced to let go of, which was also disillusioning, (and letting go of this didn’t help my ‘fever’) was the belief that there is good in everyone. I used to believe that with enough caring & searching I could find good in anyone. Now, after the stories I heard while teaching, and some of the experiences I had, unfortunately, I believe that there are some just truly, purely horrible people in our world.

That said, there is some seriously beautiful resilience and strength among us too. I met some truly inspirational people – students, staff, parents… Most of my experiences as a teacher were positive ones, but I am sensitive, and the negative ones really had an impact on me.

I still question our system and it’s fairness, but I no longer feel like I have a fever, like a “brain on fire”. (https://m.imdb.com/title/tt3704700/)

Something snapped in my mind,

and then I snapped out of it.

I went ‘crazy’ and came back.

My ‘fever’ finally broke.

I do believe some of my experiences as a teacher were a trigger for my mental health struggles, but work wasn’t the only problem.

There were many other factors.

It’s such a relief to finally understand my struggles now. The writing is deepening my understanding. I do hope my writing will help others as well.

The Fever film:

https://m.imdb.com/title/tt0368725/

https://tv.apple.com/ca/movie/the-fever/umc.cmc.1779zr388lwlu0ed6phhsi31c

Some books & other movies I recommend:

Books:

Mind over mood

https://www.amazon.ca/Mind-Over-Mood-Second-Changing/dp/1462520421/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?keywords=mind+over+mood&qid=1576350842&sr=8-1

https://www.torontopubliclibrary.ca/detail.jsp?Entt=RDM3363078&R=3363078

The worry workbook

https://www.amazon.ca/Worry-Workbook-Overcome-Anxiety-Uncertainty/dp/1684030064/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?keywords=the+worry+workbook&qid=1576350765&sr=8-1

https://www.torontopubliclibrary.ca/detail.jsp?Entt=RDM3683548&R=3683548

Thinking, fast and slow

https://www.amazon.ca/Thinking-Fast-Slow-Daniel-Kahneman/dp/0385676530/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?keywords=thinking+fast+and+slow&qid=1576350890&sprefix=thinking+fast&sr=8-1

https://www.torontopubliclibrary.ca/detail.jsp?Entt=RDM2862264&R=2862264

Movies:

Silver Linings Playbook

https://www.netflix.com/title/70244164?s=i&trkid=13747225

https://m.imdb.com/title/tt1045658/

Helen

https://m.imdb.com/title/tt1012729/

https://tv.apple.com/ca/movie/helen/umc.cmc.67g9f0syqgr8d9gv8j0n63213

Girl, Interrupted

https://m.imdb.com/title/tt0172493/

https://www.netflix.com/title/60000428?s=i&trkid=13747225

Brain on Fire

https://m.imdb.com/title/tt3704700/

https://www.netflix.com/title/80128245?s=i&trkid=13747225

The Incident

I don’t even remember if I jumped or fell.

“Are you ok?” by ankxt is licensed under CC BY 2.0

I’m writing about this in the disjointed way that the memories came back to me, to give you a glimpse of how it felt when I finally woke up for real and tried to figure out what was happening.

I really don’t know if I did in fact jump.
I know I intended to jump. But I don’t know if I followed through or just slipped. I don’t remember how I got over the barrier. Maybe I changed my mind at the last minute and fell by accident then? I have absolutely no idea. I had almost attempted several times before and stopped so it’s possible.

I wish I could remember. My hospital-Psychologist said it’s good I can’t remember so I’m not haunted by the traumatic painful memories.

I wish I could tell you more about what exactly happened & exactly why.

The last thing I remember was trembling, feet still on the ground, behind the barrier, looking down at the highway thinking of how much I loved my family, but feeling I had to take my own life, and thinking “this is it…” Then it’s completely blank until I’m in the hospital, quite a while after being there, realizing I’m still alive, being devastated about still being alive, worrying I had caused an accident, and worrying about my family.

I was shaking. Shaking as I said goodbye. Shaking as I drove. Shaking as I looked down.

It was terrifying.

I don’t remember being rescued, but now, every time I’m on a stretcher looking up at a light, I shiver.

The hardest part was not attempting to take my own life; the hardest part was saying goodbye. The most painful thing was not the injuries; it was those last hugs goodbye.

My mind was so dysfunctional at that time, when I looked down at the highway, the cars just looked like blurry little shapes. I didn’t want to hurt them so I moved to the side.

They found me on the side of the highway.

Thank God I didn’t injure anyone else!

My licence was destroyed by the fall, my clothes & shoes were bloody, I needed multiple large blood transfusions, my keys in my pocket had stabbed my leg, just about every bone was fractured, including a burst fracture in my spine, my vision was blurry for days. It took small groups of staff to safely move me. The destroyed ID and someone else’s blood in my body, makes me question again who I was then & who I really am now.

The report said I was conscious and responsive at the scene. I cannot remember this. I guess my brain is protecting me from the traumatic memories.

From the flashbacks I sometimes have in my sleep, I think I hit the ground in a sort of air-running position. These flashbacks are very frightening, brief, unclear, and so upsetting they wake me up. It takes a few minutes to calm down after experiencing them.

I feel like I would like to know exactly what happened. Wanting to know is just my personality. Maybe it will come back to me & I’ll be able to piece it together someday. The hospital report said bystanders saw me and called 911. Someone might know what happened.

Years ago, I was on a subway train when someone jumped; it really affected me. I’m so sorry to any bystanders or first responders who I may have affected. I tried to reach out to the paramedics – they have a feature where you can thank the specific staff who helped you on their website. I didn’t hear back from anyone yet.

I was so careful to keep my intentions secret from everyone right until the last moment. I tried to look as though I was just going for a walk, on my way up the bridge.

I had said goodbye to the kids & hugged them so many times, but in a way my husband wouldn’t notice that I was acting strangely.

I didn’t want anyone to try to stop me.

I discreetly left prepared formula bottles on the counter & had been slowly, secretly, broken-heartedly switching my baby to bottle-feeding so I knew she would be ok without me.

I said I was going to fill my prescription at the pharmacy & that I would be right back. A prescription that I had stopped taking because I worried it might hurt my baby through the breastmilk. I drove to a parking lot near the bridge. I parked the car safely so it could be returned to/found by my family – I didn’t want them to be without a car. I didn’t try to end my life at home because I didn’t want my family to be traumatized by finding me. I thought it would be less upsetting for a stranger to find me.

I brought my drivers’ license because it’s illegal to drive without it, I didn’t want to do anything illegal, & also to help the paramedics identify the body. I felt like I was trying to be considerate to others who would be affected.

Now, I would like to thank, but also apologize to everyone involved.

Months later, I read the hospital report. I felt sick when I read it – I remembered how ‘sick’ I felt that night. The report was so clinical & factual. It was very hard to read. There was no mention of how I or my family was feeling or how we were affected by what unfolded. It was written in such a cold, unfeeling way.

When I see the last photo of me before this happened I remember all the feelings so vividly. It feels briefly like I’m back in that headspace again.

I wish I could tell you more of my husband’s & kids’ sides of the story, but I don’t know their whole story yet, and what I do know is just too sad & awful for me to write about. It’s horrible what they went through. That night & the time after was very traumatic for all of us. My husband said when he was called to the hospital it was basically just to identify the body. It’s still hard on us. My son still gets nervous any time one of us goes out. My daughter is still very attached to my husband who for a long time, became her only parent.

I deeply regret attempting to take my own life.

Please… if you are, or anyone you know is, having suicidal thoughts:
please realize that losing you will hurt others. Hurting yourself does hurt others. Please, please reconsider. You are needed. You are cared about. As someone who understands what it’s like to feel suicidal, I care about you.

 

Hospital Life

After my Suicide attempt, I was in the hospital for four long months. It felt like a lifetime. It feels like I’ve had three lives: before my attempt, the time in the hospital, and now since coming home. It’s like I had a rebirth & being in the hospital was like being in a cocoon. I’ve been rebuilt, reinvented, reborn. For the first little while in the hospital I couldn’t move anything except my left arm (I’m right handed). I needed to be fed, I needed a catheter. At the very beginning I had external fixators on my legs. That was some serious pain. They gave me lots of pain medication and a morphine pump. I remember the external fixators from each leg clanging together when they rolled me over in bed. What a horrible strange vibrational painful feeling. I couldn’t really hold my baby or hug my son & husband when they came to visit. For two months I was bedridden. I needed to be lifted with a Hoyer lift into the wheelchair & could not move the wheelchair on my own. I took my first step again after two months. Again, that was some serious pain. After a few days I took two steps (on the same foot, with a high walker). It was four months until I could step on the other foot. I’ve had so many surgeries I’ve lost count. Eight, nine, maybe in total? After my subsequent surgeries, my hospital stays ranged from two days to one week. I was in the hospital after a surgery when my daughter started crawling, but my husband caught in on video. I was in the hospital for Christmas & stared at this picture all day every day:

Being there for their Santa photos the subsequent two years is SO important to me.
I had a four bed room to myself at Christmas and it was very lonely. I will never ask for a private hospital room. A roommate can keep you company, and use their call bell if you can’t reach yours. They snore & have other annoying habits sometimes, but the company is much more important. I had many great conversations with wonderful people through the hospital room curtain. The five weeks I was on Suicide watch I had a staff with me 24hrs a day. I had zero privacy, but this was a tremendous blessing.

Being away from my family was by far, hands down, the hardest part of being in the hospital. Not being there for my children was crushing emotional pain far greater than any physical pain I experienced. Liam bumped his head at school one day, he was ok after, but not being able to be there for him, I had a public tearful breakdown in front of everyone in the physiotherapy gym. They called in the ward supervisor to help me & then when I explained why I was so upset she started crying a little too.

I Skyped with the kids every day & looked forward to it all day. I was able to be there in a way by talking with my son, but my daughter couldn’t talk yet so I felt I wasn’t ‘there for her’ as much. One time, when she was teething, I could hear her crying inconsolably & it felt like my heart was being ripped from my chest that I couldn’t help soothe her.
I missed my kids so much I actually longed for the day I could change my baby’s poopy diaper again!

Another painful part of being in the hospital was the boredom. Subjecting someone to the level of boredom I experienced while in the hospital should be a UN banned war crime. I love being busy so found this especially torturous. I did have a window thank goodness. I stared at that flock of pigeons on the top of the neighbouring building for months. I began looking forward to meals, because eating was really the only thing to do. I longed for the day I could have a snack between meals, or choose what I wanted to eat. (There was some limited choice in the hospital). I even looked forward to having my bloodwork done, because it was something to do & involved interacting with someone. I pressed my morphine pump a couple times not for pain relief but just to do & feel something.

Once I got to the rehab hospital, I could use my wrist more & was able to use a wheelchair. This was amazing! I went to activities & toured the building, went to the tv lounge, to the fish tank, the chapel… Most of my time in rehab was spent in the physio gym, trying to hop with the parallel bars (hopping is hard with no ankle movement & my knee wouldn’t bend much yet either), practising on the little box steps (I fell once doing this), & doing little weights to get strong enough to be able to go home. The staff said “if you’re looking for Kelly go to the gym”. Even though I’m not yet really religious, I went to their various church services for something to do. I ended up learning a lot & being very inspired.

Once I got home, it wasn’t all rosy. I still had lots of physio & surgeries ahead. I needed all kinds of medical & mobility equipment & lots of help from others. I’m still recovering and it’s been over two years. The surgeon predicts that I should have significant improvement in my recovery by 2021. The incident occurred in 2017. I will never recover fully physically.

After my most recent surgery, I was obsessed with watching ‘Orange is the New black”. I realized why I found it so personally relatable, why it spoke to me SO much. Being in the hospital was a little like what I imagine being in prison is like. First of all, I could have caused an accident. I thank God & everything there is everyday that I didn’t. That could have been an unintentional crime. If anyone feels I should be punished for what I did, I don’t blame you. I think that sometimes. Believe me, I’ve been & continue to be punished in a way. With EVERY step I take, I’m reminded of what I did. Walking now feels (when I can walk that is) like walking in ski boots and ankle shackles at the same time. This is permanent.

That said, with every step I take, I’m reminded I’m still alive. It reminds me of how when I used to run, I would feel so alive, aware of my breath & heart beat & all the living nature around me.

Here’s how I can relate. I did “time” in an institution, waiting & waiting to get out. I’m on a form of ‘house arrest’ now. I was and still am full of regret. I felt powerless & helpless in the hospital. 95% or more of the staff were incredible, but there were a few… well, I had to learn to navigate ‘bullies.’ I had to choose my battles. All that kept me going was hope. I was away from my husband and kids. I was subjected to a cruel level of boredom. I was and still am sometimes (eg on wheel trans) at the mercy of staff. I found a new level of faith to keep me going. The hospital food was, well, institution food. I was fortunate to have a window. I became somewhat institutionalized: after first arriving home, I actually missed the hospital a little. I missed the comfort of being able to use the call bell to get a nurse’s help right away. I had room mates, and there’s something special about hospital room bonding. My situation could have been much worse, at least I was still alive. It was as though you could be rewarded for good behaviour such as how quickly staff would respond & what supplies they would give you (eg hand sanitizer). There was nowhere to secure valuables or belongings, things went missing. I slept on top of my phone to keep it safe. I did spend three days in a locked psychiatric ward. I was held in hospital (couldn’t leave even if I was physically able) against my will for over a month. I asked for a transfer to the mental health ward because I wanted a change of scenery. I wasn’t transferred – my medical needs were too high. There is judgement out there surrounding what I did. Some people have very strong opinions about Suicide. They had activities in the hospital similar to other institutions- prison, nursing homes, schools… like Bingo. You’re your ministry of health number rather that your name sometimes. Self advocacy is a must! I feel so, so sorry for those in the healthcare institution who cannot self-advocate. You have a somewhat removed case manager. You need to find purpose. Mine was getting home to my family again. I was a lost soul. I had a weekly shower. I had weekly visits. There was a loss of dignity, of hopes & dreams. There was a loss of previous activities, lack of physical activity. I never went outside for months. There were cliques. There was privilege, there were private, semi-private and ward rooms. Men and women were somewhat separated. There was loneliness & isolation. I got a day pass to visit home & see how I would do on the ‘outside’. My experience made me want to give back. I couldn’t & still can’t yet work. There was a loss of independence. The “drugs” they gave me made it more bearable. I waited in anticipation for my ‘release date’. I had to share a washroom with relative strangers. I became what I did, what I was in for – I was “the Suicide attempt”. I mingled with people I never would have otherwise met. I met a homeless man, and when we were in the hospital together, we had the same quality of life. There we had similar struggles & supports.
I also went to Jean Tweed quite a while ago to address my drinking – I felt I was drinking too often to self medicate my depression. There I met women who committed crimes or had illegal professions to support their families. I learned I had more in common with them than I thought. These experiences have really changed my perspective on a lot of things.

“skeleton” by FantasyClay is licensed under CC BY-ND 2.0

I want to emphasize though how tremendously, eternally grateful I am to live in Canada and for all the medical and other support I’ve received. The hospitals I spent time in felt like second homes. I was and still am overwhelmed by the kindness of all those who’ve helped me & my family.

I am also eternally grateful for being rebuilt; for this Second Chance.

Here are my rebuilt body parts:

Right ankle

Left ankle

Right knee

 

Right wrist

 

West Park Rehabilitation Hospital, Toronto

This place feels like a second home. Liam enjoyed visiting me here more than at St. Michael’s.

 

St Joseph’s Hospital, Toronto
Where my daughter was born and where I go for psychiatrist appointments.
(Liam was born at women’s college hospital – where I also found a great online postpartum support group, unfortunately not until after my attempt.)
I also spent 3 days in the psychiatric ward here at St. Joes & completed a three week mental health program with them.
Unfortunately, the postpartum support group
I had signed up for here was cancelled due to low enrolment.

 

Sick Kids Hospital, Toronto.
Both our son & daughter have had to go here but are thankfully both ok now. Great Hospital!

St. Michael’s Hospital, Toronto.
I was here for two months and have many appointments & surgeries here still.
This place feels like a second home too.  My surgeon, Dr. Nauth, and his team put me back together again.

 

My daughter was born on my son’s birthday – they share the same birthday 🙂 He spent his eighth birthday at the hospital, but what a great birthday gift!

The birth went much more smoothly the second time, but I remember being extremely terrified I was doing something wrong when I was taking care of her by myself in the hospital room.

This picture was taken the day of the night that I tried to take my own life.
I still can’t believe it.
Though it doesn’t show in my face, I remember how I was feeling here. This could have been the last picture ever taken of my daughter with her mother.

Feeling Human Again

In my last blog, I was writing of my recent identity crisis: if it wasn’t me who jumped off that bridge…who was it then?

I wonder if identity crisis is a significant part of suicidal thinking and that’s why it’s more common in teenagers?

Postpartum, I felt like I had given EVERYTHING, blood, sweat, tears, body, heart, soul, during my pregnancies & labours.

I felt after like an empty shell left behind. Like I had given birth to my whole life. The love I feel for my babies was so overwhelmingly powerful postpartum, especially during the connection of nursing, I got lost under the waves of its force. My identity was so intermingled with my daughter’s that when someone asked me in the hospital what my name was, I said Jacklyn. The love was so strong, my soul had become hers. This kind of identity theft was greater with my second child, my daughter.  Myself, my awareness, my consciousness, felt like right down to my heartbeat & breath, had shifted entirely to my kids.

I felt like an empty shell. I didn’t feel human.

Not keeping up with self care didn’t help.

I’ve been taking better care of myself. The love is still powerful but less overwhelming. I’ve found myself again. It reminds me of that Sex and the City episode when Carrie loses her name-necklace & finds it again. I’ve been thinking of getting one of those name-necklaces as a symbolic reminder of who I am so I don’t forget again.

I had been experiencing suicidal thoughts for years. While I was pregnant, I was not suicidal. Then the thoughts returned with a vengeance after birth. The birth was like a loss as well as the greatest gift. A loss of some degree of the strongest connection there is: mother-child, and a loss of the freedom from suicidal thoughts.

Although sometimes I feel like I’m just barely surviving survival, I’m not suicidal now.

I feel human again now.

There is definitely a connection between feeling suicidal and not feeling human.

I’ve been thinking about what it means to feel human.

In my favourite Christmas show, the old animated “Jack Frost”, Jack Frost (immortal) falls in love with a mortal & wants to become human to interact with her. Father Winter tells him to become human he must have a house to shelter him, a horse to carry him, gold to sustain him & a partner to make it all worthwhile. I love this show, but I’m pretty sure a homeless, single person is still human.

Humanity is defined as

Humanness, human beings collectively, mortality, compassion, love, goodness…

Being human is like being humane, to yourself too.

I definitely think it has something to do with social interaction. That’s why isolation is so dangerous, and segregation is so wrong.

What sets us apart from animals is our complex language, bipedal locomotion, higher thought, and advanced societies. I definitely think the advanced societies is the most important part. I was so disappointed when a postpartum group I had signed up for was cancelled due to low enrolment. I’ve worked with people with disabilities who could not walk, and/or not communicate, but being part of a society was essential as they were dependent on others.

Jean Vanier’s life’s work is with people with disabilities.

“At the heart of Jean Vanier’s theology (in Becoming Human) is the human desire to belong. Human beings are made for deep relationships; they are made for community.”

“Every child, every person needs to know that they are a source of joy; every child, every person, needs to be celebrated. Only when all of our weaknesses are accepted as part of our humanity can our negative, broken self-images be transformed.”

The people with disabilities who I worked with at the Huronia Regional Centre in Orillia taught me the most about what it means to be human. I think that even those most fragile clients with the highest support needs still need a form of interaction – caregiving. Their vulnerability & dependence force a caregiving social interaction. Sometimes I think disabilities are like superpowers, like a vulnerability superpower that leads to beautiful human interactions. I learned SO much from the miraculous clients & inspiring staff at the HRC. I witnessed humanity at its worst & best there.

I learned of some of the worst violence & negligence, but also of some of the most beautiful & inspirational stories I’ve ever heard.  There was one basically completely amoral individual, some less than admirable staff, and some less than desirable situations, but most of the people I met there were wonderful human beings.

I have to admit that I became frustrated by students with relatively minor disabilities who would use their disabilities as excuses to not try & to treat other people badly, when at HRC, people with relatively severe disabilities tried so hard & treated others so well.

The clients lives in an institution at HRC had been stripped of everything beyond basic needs from fancy cars to having a family of their own. They still found joy & love. They still enriched the lives of those who knew them. 

(Photo: The tragically sad unnamed graves at HRC)

I witnessed basic human needs & instincts not veiled by higher consciousness.

I observed unique individuals not worried about conforming.

I saw nature versus nurture in action.

It was revealed to me what humans really need: basic survival needs & human interaction.

The clients’ humanity wasn’t complicated by the acquisition of material things, career goals and so on. I witnessed humanity there in its purest form.

I met one man, B, who preferred to get himself out of bed and ready for the day, it took him hours, but his independence was important to him. He was amazing! He still required a lot of caregiving, but tried so hard to be as independent as he could. He was so kind in spite of all his challenges and maintained a great sense of humour. A true inspiration to all who knew him.

Another client, L, who was like one of the characters in Skallagrigg, with similar disabilities to B was another beautiful human being. So kind, patient, funny & gentle. He was so admirably strong & perseverant in the face of adversity.

Both B & L had relatively severe physical disabilities. They were both medically fragile. L, in spite of this, went to camp each summer & after getting to know B, inspired him to do the same. It was a great experience for both!

That was some inspiring humanity!

One woman, M, was believed to be dying & wasn’t able to do anything for herself. A couple beautifully determined staff believed otherwise. Soon she was up & about feeding herself etc, enjoying her life. That was some beautiful humanity!

I met clients in one ward who were unable to move & unable to communicate, they were so fragile & their support needs were so high that it almost took the whole twelve hour shift just to make sure their basic needs were met. But, once a day, in the summer, we would put sunscreen on them & take them outside. They had lots of caregiving & felt the sun on their skin every day. I hope they felt cared for & enjoyed the beautiful nature on the site. Although they could not move or communicate, they interacted socially by receiving caregiving. They were definitely very much human. Caregiving helps the caregiver too. I felt I was doing something good, and was reminded by them of what’s most important. They woke up each day to breathe, eat, sleep, feel the sun and “interact”. Sometimes I thought I saw something in their eyes too, a look of contentment or gratitude. I’ve always found the eyes of those who can’t communicate to be extra expressive.

It’s that human interaction that’s key.

“Everything seems futile here except the sun, our kisses, and the wild scents of the earth.” Albert Camus

That’s one of the reasons the postpartum period is so delicate. The newborn baby doesn’t interact that much. So, you need to feel confident in your caregiving. I didn’t feel I was doing a good job. I was having trouble breastfeeding, my baby had diarrhea, my attention was now divided between two children. I had enough love to go around, but there were still only 24hours in the day, and suddenly my attention was divided. I would love to somehow support new moms by encouraging them to be confident in their parenting and providing opportunities for social interaction. I joined an online postpartum support group after my suicide attempt, and it was very helpful.

Judith Snow said: “We all have limitations even those who are not ‘disabled’…we all have gifts and contributions to make.” Contributions are not necessarily ‘work’.

A great contribution is making a caregiver (or new mother) feel needed & letting them know somehow that they are doing good work. ❤️

“It reminds me of that old joke- you know, a guy walks into a psychiatrist’s office and says, hey doc, my brother’s crazy! He thinks he’s a chicken. Then the doc says, why don’t you turn him in? Then the guy says, I would but I need the eggs. I guess that’s how I feel about relationships. They’re totally crazy, irrational, and absurd, but we keep going through it because we need the eggs.” From the movie Annie Hall

It Wasn’t Me

Someone told me in the hospital: “it wasn’t you, you know that, right?”, when I was wondering how I could have done what I did. These words comforted me so much. Thank you. They got me thinking too though. Who was it then? Who was I then? Who am I now?

Who am I?

An X-ray technician said to me: “are you the ankle?, what happened?! That’s a nasty fracture!” To the X-ray technician, I’m a nastily fractured ankle. (To me, he’s an X-ray technician who talks too much.)

Is it relative then? Who we are? Relative to who we’re with, what we’re doing, where we are?

John Kabat-Zinn says no, “wherever you go, there you are”. I think I agree with that.

I feel like I’m still me in any situation.

Yet I didn’t feel like me the night I jumped off a bridge. Or did I?

Preferring to harm myself over anyone else, that’s me. Doing anything I believe is best for my kids, that’s me.

My dad has Parkinson’s & dementia and asked me recently: “am I still me?”. I comfortingly replied, yes of course. But is he still himself? Sometimes he really doesn’t seem like the dad I used to know. So, who is he now then? Is the old him still in there? Is the old him gone?

Who are we?

Are we our brain? The brain stays active even after the heart stops. What if someone is in a coma? Are we our mind then? What is the mind? Where is it? How can I keep it healthy?

I think therefore I am? Are we our thoughts?

Michael A Singer explores this issue of who we are beautifully in The Untethered Soul: “There is nothing more important to true growth than realizing that you are not the voice of the mind – you are the one who hears it.”

Michael J Fox, said of his Parkinson’s that it was like his mind and brain got divorced.

I think my mind and my brain were temporarily separated and my mind travelled to a dark place. Where was I though? How can I keep my brain and my mind together so something like this never happens again?

It felt a bit like a wizard of oz dream, that I’m back to myself, and there’s no place like home. But what does that mean? How do I know I’m home?

Are we our soul? What if you’re not religious? Who are you then? I flirt with being religious sometimes, but am just seeking at this point. So, being a soul still doesn’t answer the question for me. While it’s true I don’t necessarily believe in God, I believe in good. I believe in this energy that’s a collection of all the good we share with each other.

Like y is a function of x, Like the mind is a function of the brain, like “Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus”, like our lives are a function of the collective love we give & receive, I am a function of the collection of all of those things that make me who I am.

I’m me no matter who I’m with, but I’m not me alone. I’m me connected with those I love. I’m me because of those I love and those who’ve loved me.

I believe all I truly have is my life.

Love made me want to give all I have.

Love made me want to live again.

I love, therefore I am.

 

“Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus:

Dear Editor—

I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O’Hanlon

115 West Ninety Fifth Street

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.

We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! He lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.”

Happy Holidays! xo 💛

Hope

Hope.

I Lost hope.

Hope Kept me afloat for so long, and is keeping me from going under again.

Hope is so powerful.

“Hope. It is the only thing Stronger than fear.”

Unfortunately, Losing hope is powerful too.

I had to FIND hope again – sometimes it’s all that keeps me going. All that kept me going in the hospital was the hope that I would again be home with my family.

I had to really look for hope & dig deep inside my soul. My family gave me hope.

I noticed an interesting connection between my past addictions & hope. I often felt hopeless, but at the same time, kept believing that the next day would be better & that I would be in more control tomorrow. That’s hopeful. I realize now that my Hope needs to be for TODAY as well as tomorrow.

Hope has been up & down in all aspects of my recovery, on a continuum. Thankfully, It’s renewable. Contagious too.

I wish to turn my difficult past into a hopeful future.

I wish to inspire hope in others.

I hope you will remain hopeful & give hope to others.

Of all the advice I’ve given on this blog, “Above all, don’t lose hope”.

If you’re losing hope, find hope for something, anything, even just the hope that you’ll feel hopeful again, and hold on to it as tightly as you can.

What is hope?

Hope:

“Feeling of trust”…”Faith in God”…

“the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best”

“Hope. It’s a simple word and yet can mean so much to anyone going through a difficult time. It can mean the difference between hanging on and giving up…It’s one word with no true definition — hope can mean anything you want it to.”

Losing hope? “Hope can mean anything you want it too”. Redefine hope so you can find it again.

Losing hope in yourself?

Be hopeful for someone else.

I’m hopeful for you, dear reader,

I believe that things will turn out for the best for you! ❤️

 

 

 

 

Life and Death

“Life and death are one thread, the same line viewed from different sides.”

Lao Tzu

 

     For so long, I was focussed on death.

Lately, I’ve been focussing on life.

It really makes a difference. Not just in a the glass is half full rather than half empty optimism way. More in the way of being more present in the moment.

I had to face my death when I intended to die. I no longer fear death. I’ve already accepted that I will die. I made my peace. I had come to terms with that being the ending. It was a paradox to be afraid of something I intended to cause. The beauty is that now every moment of my life feels like the gift it should feel like. If only I had been able to come to this understanding without my attempt. My heart breaks for anyone who didn’t survive to experience this change in perspective.

My life feels more valuable now than before even though it’s now more difficult.

I’m reminded of this poem I love:

It was as though my mind was an artificial flower before and now it’s a real one.

On Real and Artificial Flowers

by Chengde Chen

If an artificial flower is made

more beautiful than a real one,

more fresh and bright,

more lively and touching,

with more charm of spring,

and dignity of autumn,

more tenderness of love,

and fragrance of imagination,

– it is more real than the real one,

so that in comparison

the real one looks artificial,

…

then,

why is the real one still preferred?

The only reason is that

it will wither and die.

So,

the possibility of death

is its ultimate value,

although no one realises this.

Man appreciates living things,

because he himself dies.

The sense of life, like that of sex,

is something within the perceiver,

through which that of the object

can be felt.

Those that have it respond to it.

Those that don’t won’t.

The charm of real flowers

is in living men.

CHENGDE CHEN 2004

“Every Rose has its Thorn”. 🎼

 

Disability

“dis·a·bil·i·ty

/ˌdisəˈbilədē/

noun

1. a physical or mental condition that limits a person’s movements, senses, or activities.”

I’ve worked with a lot of people with a wide range of disabilities, so I’ve often thought about what disability means. Now that I qualify for an accessible parking pass myself, I’ve been thinking about it even more & from a different perspective. 

I strongly believe that accommodations for people with disabilities are good for all of us. For example, wheelchair ramps help people pushing strollers. My daughter and I were learning to walk together.

Our weaknesses can help us build on our strengths; individually and collectively. I’ve noticed that since my legs are weaker, my arms have had to get stronger. Like how the sense of hearing is stronger in people who are blind. People with disabilities can still contribute just as those without disabilities, just in different ways sometimes. 

I have a physical disability now, I’m fortunate that it’s minor, but I also have the mental health issue. I’ve been thinking about different kinds of disabilities – cognitive as well as physical. Understanding another’s mind is like trying to see the quality of another tv on your tv. This is what it was like trying to understand my own mind for a while. 

After the first ankle fusion, the surgeon said I would never run again. He explained that there are restrictions and limitations. That I just wouldn’t be able to run, not that it just wouldn’t be recommended. I was determined to find a way & thought of Terry Fox, how he ran with a limp. What an inspiring person with a disability! 

Unfortunately, after the second ankle fusion, running with a limp won’t be possible. So I tried riding a bike – during a period in between surgeries when I had both air casts off. Getting on and off the bike is very challenging, but I was able to pedal. Now I’m determined to make cycling my new running, at least maybe with a stationary bike. I found a way to “run”. I’m not dis-abled, I just have different abilities now. 

I think some disabilities are like super powers, especially ADHD. Right now, I have to say I don’t feel my disability is a superpower for me. Realistically, it limits what I can do and makes things more difficult for me than the average person my age. I say this because I remember trying to be very positive about learning disabilities with students. I hope that in my attempt to be positive, I wasn’t dismissive of their very real struggles. 

I love movies & tv shows that normalize disabilities like the movie “Downsizing” where one of the main characters has a prosthetic leg, and Barbie Dolphin Magic where one of the characters wears an air cast and rides a knee scooter. Barbie also has new dolls coming out – one who has a prosthetic leg and one who uses a wheelchair.

“Weakness carries within it a secret power. The cry and the trust that flow from weakness can open up hearts”….”those we most often exclude from the normal life of society, people with disabilities, have profound lessons to teach us. When we do include them, they add richly to our lives and add immensely to our world”. Jean Vanier from ‘Becoming Human’

Anger

I’ve read that Depression is anger turned inwards. I can totally relate to that. I find it easier to move from sadness to anger than from sadness to happy, (like in the kids’ movie Inside Out) but I rarely ever get angry so end up stuck in sadness. When in a “fight, flight or freeze” situation, I never choose fight. I think I was raised to not get angry & socialized as a girl to not get angry. Allowing myself to feel anger is something I’m working on. I don’t want to ever become aggressive, I just need to be more assertive and allow myself to feel & express anger. A psychiatric nurse in the hospital had me write an angry letter to myself about my attempt & then crumple & tear up the letter after. I had a lot of unvented anger at myself for leaving my family without me for months. This was a good exercise. 

Anger can also be very motivating & help you out of feeling hopeless. It can increase your energy. 

There’s a great place in Toronto called the Rage Room where you can release some anger:

http://www.battlesports.ca/rage-room/

I tried this and it was a good experience. My son took an archery lesson while we were there. I highly recommend that place. 

“Anger is my cardio” ~Rick Mercer

Pain

Throughout this journey, I have experienced a lot of pain – both emotional and physical; both suffering and effort. The journey has been painful for & required great pains from my loved ones as well. 

In the movie GI Jane, it is said that the good thing about pain is that it reminds you you’re alive. When I started to feel emotionally numb, I was dying, this was a warning sign. While my depression is now manageable, I still feel sadness sometimes and this is normal & healthy. I don’t get stuck in the sadness & can feel happy too. 

I took Advil often for headaches before I began taking an antidepressant. I think I was trying to treat emotional pain. Now that I’m taking an antidepressant, I don’t get so many headaches. Physical & emotional pain seem to be connected for me. 

I have a lot of physical pain now in my recovery from my injuries. I find it easier to manage than emotional pain. I used to find teaching, an emotionally draining job at times, more tiring than physical labour such as lifting clients as a personal support worker. Emotional strain is exhausting. 

I used to use a strategy for pain while running where I would count how many times my right foot hit the ground, then the left… It kept my mind off the pain so I could keep running. In the hospital, I would stare at the clock and count the seconds, by 1s, 2s, 5s,… 

Breathing, ice, heat, elevation and meditation help me now with pain, as well as medication. I’ve tried Tylenol, Advil, aspirin, morphine, hydromorphone, OxyContin, a cortisone shot, topical creams, and I was given fentanyl & nerve blocks for a couple procedures. These were complicated by interactions with my treatments for the blood clots. I was taking morphine for months & struggled with withdrawal symptoms when I stopped taking it. I had to take a sleeping pill for a while because I couldn’t fall asleep without the morphine. Now I just use Tylenol & sometimes Advil and that helps. There’s still a lot of pain in the sites of my injuries and there will always be some. 

I used to think childbirth was the worst pain ever. I still do, it’s at least almost as painful as the injuries from my fall. What’s different is the childbirth pain is temporary and the pain I experience now is chronic. I have a new empathy for elderly people who have chronic aches & pains. It’s relative too – I burned myself on the oven the other day, pretty badly, but it didn’t really bother me because it was so much less than the pain I’ve felt with the injuries. 

I wonder if that’s how we can become numb, the emotional pain is so great sometimes that we don’t feel the normal, lesser sadness properly. 

Movement actually helps with my pain & I wonder if that helps similarly with emotional pain – being able to move freely between emotions, not getting stuck. 

While I’m not stuck in emotional pain right now, I have chronic physical pain and limited mobility. I find the story of Alexander Zass inspiring & helpful for any kind of pain or feeling stuck/oppressed. He was a strongman, who was also a war prisoner. He used the bars & chains that held him captive to exercise & grow stronger. I like to think of using the restrictions I had & have to build greater emotional and physical strength in that way. 

The journey & recovery has also taken a lot of pain in terms of effort and struggle. I like to think of Sisyphus. Stuck with pushing a boulder up a hill only to have it fall back down and having to do this over and over for eternity, the author wrote of him: “one must imagine Sisyphus happy” as “The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart.”