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Acceptance
2 min read
Acceptance.
It's a dirty word.
The world tells us not to accept our limitations, not to accept no for an answer, that all things can be conquered and beaten if we push hard enough.
The world is sometimes wrong.
Sometimes, limitations are what keeps us alive. Sometimes, taking no for an answer is necessary. Sometimes, there are things that can't be conquered or beaten, but simply lived with.
Disability and chronic illness can be all of those things, but acceptance is seen all too often as giving up.
It's not.
After 4 years of living with chronic migraine disorder and 4 years of trying find my limits and exceed them, I'm just now learning what I thought I already knew: that acceptance of my new normal and new reality is necessary to function as well as I can.
That it isn't giving up, it's what I need to keep fighting.
That it's not a one time deal, it's a continuous process- and some days I will fail at it.
That failing at it some days is not the end of the world, even when it feels like it.
That every day is a new chance and a new learning experience.
That I can still be happy on most days even if I'm not being a poster child for for trying to overcome my disorder.
That the only thing I really need to overcome is my own preconceived ideas of the advocate/fighter/hero/example to others I "should" be.
That acceptance is not easy, but it's not a dirty word.
That I will be okay...because I can accept my new normal...over and over again if need be.
And so will you.
It's a dirty word.
The world tells us not to accept our limitations, not to accept no for an answer, that all things can be conquered and beaten if we push hard enough.
The world is sometimes wrong.
Sometimes, limitations are what keeps us alive. Sometimes, taking no for an answer is necessary. Sometimes, there are things that can't be conquered or beaten, but simply lived with.
Disability and chronic illness can be all of those things, but acceptance is seen all too often as giving up.
It's not.
After 4 years of living with chronic migraine disorder and 4 years of trying find my limits and exceed them, I'm just now learning what I thought I already knew: that acceptance of my new normal and new reality is necessary to function as well as I can.
That it isn't giving up, it's what I need to keep fighting.
That it's not a one time deal, it's a continuous process- and some days I will fail at it.
That failing at it some days is not the end of the world, even when it feels like it.
That every day is a new chance and a new learning experience.
That I can still be happy on most days even if I'm not being a poster child for for trying to overcome my disorder.
That the only thing I really need to overcome is my own preconceived ideas of the advocate/fighter/hero/example to others I "should" be.
That acceptance is not easy, but it's not a dirty word.
That I will be okay...because I can accept my new normal...over and over again if need be.
And so will you.
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1. My diagnosis is: Migraine, Migraine with Aura, Chronic Migraine
2. My migraine attack frequency is: Daily
3. I was diagnosed in: 2012
4. My comorbid conditions include: Depressive Disorder
5. I take _0_ medications/supplements each day for prevention and _3_medications/supplements to treat an acute attack. I receive botox injections (31 in my head and neck) every 3 months. It's not a miracle treatment, but it does give me about a week's worth of lower pain days each treatment when effects peak. Do the math- 1 week of lower pain every 3 months = about 4 weeks per year of lower pain.
Is it worth it? YES. That's more lower pain days than I've had in 4 years.
6. My first migraine attack was: about age 10.
7. My most disabling migraine symptoms are: pain, allodynia, aura, fatigue
8. My strangest migraine symptoms are: numbness/tingling in my face.
9. My biggest migraine triggers are: weather changes, just living.
10. I know a migraine attack is coming on when: They're 24/7, 365. I'm never without one.
11. The most frustrating part about having a migraine attack is: missing out on life.
12. During a migraine attack, I worry most about: the things I need to be doing.
13. When I think about migraine between attacks, I think: On low pain days, I'm constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.
14. When I tell someone I have migraine, the response is usually: "Have you tried....?"
15. When someone tells me they have migraine, I think: I wouldn't wish this on anyone.
16. When I see commercials about migraine treatments, I think: I wish that worked for me or that I could afford that.
17. My best coping tools are: Reading, writing poetry, creating art, and humor.
18. I find comfort in: My supportive family.
19. I get angry when people say: "It's just a headache."
20. I like it when people say: "How are you doing?"...and mean it.
21. Something kind someone can do for me during a migraine attack is: Not touch me! Allodynia hurts!
22. The best thing(s) a doctor has ever said to me about migraine is: "We'll keep trying. Don't give up."
23. The hardest thing to accept about having migraine is: Missing out on time with family.
24. Migraine has taught me: To appreciate the things that really matter and to treasure the good moments.
25. The quotation, motto, mantra, or scripture that gets me through an attack is: "It's okay to not be okay." ~my sister.
26. If I could go back to the early days of my diagnosis, I would tell myself: "You don't have to try to be so tough all the time."
27. The people who support me most are: My sister and my son.
28. The thing I most wish people understood about migraine is: It varies so much from person to person; don't judge a migraineur based on what yours are like.
29. Migraine and Headache Awareness Month is important to me because: It affects so many people, yet is among the most under researched disorder in the world.
30. One more thing I’d like to say about life with migraine is: It's the hardest thing I've ever lived with/done in my life.
2. My migraine attack frequency is: Daily
3. I was diagnosed in: 2012
4. My comorbid conditions include: Depressive Disorder
5. I take _0_ medications/supplements each day for prevention and _3_medications/supplements to treat an acute attack. I receive botox injections (31 in my head and neck) every 3 months. It's not a miracle treatment, but it does give me about a week's worth of lower pain days each treatment when effects peak. Do the math- 1 week of lower pain every 3 months = about 4 weeks per year of lower pain.
Is it worth it? YES. That's more lower pain days than I've had in 4 years.
6. My first migraine attack was: about age 10.
7. My most disabling migraine symptoms are: pain, allodynia, aura, fatigue
8. My strangest migraine symptoms are: numbness/tingling in my face.
9. My biggest migraine triggers are: weather changes, just living.
10. I know a migraine attack is coming on when: They're 24/7, 365. I'm never without one.
11. The most frustrating part about having a migraine attack is: missing out on life.
12. During a migraine attack, I worry most about: the things I need to be doing.
13. When I think about migraine between attacks, I think: On low pain days, I'm constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.
14. When I tell someone I have migraine, the response is usually: "Have you tried....?"
15. When someone tells me they have migraine, I think: I wouldn't wish this on anyone.
16. When I see commercials about migraine treatments, I think: I wish that worked for me or that I could afford that.
17. My best coping tools are: Reading, writing poetry, creating art, and humor.
18. I find comfort in: My supportive family.
19. I get angry when people say: "It's just a headache."
20. I like it when people say: "How are you doing?"...and mean it.
21. Something kind someone can do for me during a migraine attack is: Not touch me! Allodynia hurts!
22. The best thing(s) a doctor has ever said to me about migraine is: "We'll keep trying. Don't give up."
23. The hardest thing to accept about having migraine is: Missing out on time with family.
24. Migraine has taught me: To appreciate the things that really matter and to treasure the good moments.
25. The quotation, motto, mantra, or scripture that gets me through an attack is: "It's okay to not be okay." ~my sister.
26. If I could go back to the early days of my diagnosis, I would tell myself: "You don't have to try to be so tough all the time."
27. The people who support me most are: My sister and my son.
28. The thing I most wish people understood about migraine is: It varies so much from person to person; don't judge a migraineur based on what yours are like.
29. Migraine and Headache Awareness Month is important to me because: It affects so many people, yet is among the most under researched disorder in the world.
30. One more thing I’d like to say about life with migraine is: It's the hardest thing I've ever lived with/done in my life.
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Chronic Illness and Relationships
5 min read
It's no secret that chronic illness is hard on relationships. Living with chronic pain is stressful (and often depressing at times, despite our best efforts to stay positive), and even the best relationships can be hit hard. We talk often about the impact it can have on friendships, but not as much about the impact on our relationships with spouses/significant others.
I'd like to share with y'all something I wrote last year during a particularly rough spot in my and my guy's relationship (fyi--he did give me the okay to share this, in case you wondered). We've been together 13 years, and while I've always had the occasional migraine attack, about 4 years ago they transitioned to chronic...and I've lived with daily pain since.
Chronic migraine has wrought huge changes in my life and in our relationship. Frank wasn't very supportive in the beginning. In fact, other than sitting with me through a few ER visits, he basically ignored the existence of my disorder--unless he was complaining about it, telling me to suck it up and push through it, or that if I just found the right doctor I'd be fine.
For my part, I felt a huge amount of guilt. This me wasn't the person Frank had signed up for. A good portion of our time together became time spent watching me be in pain. And intimacy? Pain isn't much of an aphrodisiac, in fact, it's a lousy one. And intimacy IS somewhat important in a relationship. We both felt the absence and both grew resentful.
Eventually, things got better. Of all things, this particular post of mine was what started getting us back on track. I was reluctant to share it without getting his okay, so I nerve myself up and asked him to read it. His reaction was the complete opposite of what I expected. When I told him I wanted to post it to this page in hopes it might encourage or help others going through similar issues, he was not only supportive, it started the first real, open discussion we had ever had about what we were both dealing with since I had become chronic and the beginning of us working on adjusting...together.
***********************************************************************************
As I lay curled up in bed last night, ice pack on my head and whimpering in pain at the slightest movement, Frank sighed and asked, "Is it going to be this way the rest of our lives?"
To say I was stunned is an understatement. In the years since my migraines became chronic, friends and family have seen what must seem like an insane amount of migraine awareness posts from me--enough of them to know that this is something that doesn't have a cure. Sure, there's a chance that I may someday find a treatment that works for me.
But there's an equal chance that I may not find one, and the more of them I try with no relief, the higher that chance goes.
If I've been a relentless campaigner for awareness online, imagine what I've been like at home. Every doctor visit, every bit of information I find, every treatment that doesn't work--my family has seen and heard it all until they're sick to death of it...and that's on top of seeing me live with chronic pain.
What part of this did he NOT get, I wondered. Has he not listened to a word I said all this time?
I reacted in a less-than-attractive manner, needless to say.
"I've been telling you this for years!" I wailed, ignoring the spikes of pain that dug their greedy claws into my brain as I cried, "Have you not LISTENED? There is NO CURE. I've TOLD you. What don't you get?"
Well, all of it. He doesn't get it, because although he's seen it, he can't feel it for me. No one can, no matter how wonderful and patient they are with us as we fight this monster called chronic pain...and often lose.
And then it hit me.
He's just now getting it because he's been in denial. If this is hard for us to accept and live with, how hard is it for those who love us to watch?
Frank is a guy who FIXES things--from walls that aren't level to personal and family problems, he's always got a solution or at least a plan of action.
To him (like to most people), you go to a doctor and the doctor fixes the ailment. If the fix doesn't work, you go to another doctor...until one does something that works.
Chronic illness doesn't work that way. It's like luggage. You own that sh*t for life. There are treatments, yes. But it's not always something fixable, and that's a hard thing to come to terms with, especially when you're a fixer.
And it's rough--because we are sometimes so caught up in fighting it and fighting our way through each day that we sometimes forget that we aren't the only ones struggling with it. Chronic illness affects more than the person it afflicts. It affects those around you, from coworkers to classmates to family. Especially family.
And relationships get hit hard. A relationship isn't easy even without adding chronic illness. With that new wrinkle comes a new host of issues to be ironed out...and for those of you who don't know, I suck at ironing.
I'm learning, though. So is Frank. I'll let you know if we ever run out of wrinkles.
I'd like to share with y'all something I wrote last year during a particularly rough spot in my and my guy's relationship (fyi--he did give me the okay to share this, in case you wondered). We've been together 13 years, and while I've always had the occasional migraine attack, about 4 years ago they transitioned to chronic...and I've lived with daily pain since.
Chronic migraine has wrought huge changes in my life and in our relationship. Frank wasn't very supportive in the beginning. In fact, other than sitting with me through a few ER visits, he basically ignored the existence of my disorder--unless he was complaining about it, telling me to suck it up and push through it, or that if I just found the right doctor I'd be fine.
For my part, I felt a huge amount of guilt. This me wasn't the person Frank had signed up for. A good portion of our time together became time spent watching me be in pain. And intimacy? Pain isn't much of an aphrodisiac, in fact, it's a lousy one. And intimacy IS somewhat important in a relationship. We both felt the absence and both grew resentful.
Eventually, things got better. Of all things, this particular post of mine was what started getting us back on track. I was reluctant to share it without getting his okay, so I nerve myself up and asked him to read it. His reaction was the complete opposite of what I expected. When I told him I wanted to post it to this page in hopes it might encourage or help others going through similar issues, he was not only supportive, it started the first real, open discussion we had ever had about what we were both dealing with since I had become chronic and the beginning of us working on adjusting...together.
***********************************************************************************
As I lay curled up in bed last night, ice pack on my head and whimpering in pain at the slightest movement, Frank sighed and asked, "Is it going to be this way the rest of our lives?"
To say I was stunned is an understatement. In the years since my migraines became chronic, friends and family have seen what must seem like an insane amount of migraine awareness posts from me--enough of them to know that this is something that doesn't have a cure. Sure, there's a chance that I may someday find a treatment that works for me.
But there's an equal chance that I may not find one, and the more of them I try with no relief, the higher that chance goes.
If I've been a relentless campaigner for awareness online, imagine what I've been like at home. Every doctor visit, every bit of information I find, every treatment that doesn't work--my family has seen and heard it all until they're sick to death of it...and that's on top of seeing me live with chronic pain.
What part of this did he NOT get, I wondered. Has he not listened to a word I said all this time?
I reacted in a less-than-attractive manner, needless to say.
"I've been telling you this for years!" I wailed, ignoring the spikes of pain that dug their greedy claws into my brain as I cried, "Have you not LISTENED? There is NO CURE. I've TOLD you. What don't you get?"
Well, all of it. He doesn't get it, because although he's seen it, he can't feel it for me. No one can, no matter how wonderful and patient they are with us as we fight this monster called chronic pain...and often lose.
And then it hit me.
He's just now getting it because he's been in denial. If this is hard for us to accept and live with, how hard is it for those who love us to watch?
Frank is a guy who FIXES things--from walls that aren't level to personal and family problems, he's always got a solution or at least a plan of action.
To him (like to most people), you go to a doctor and the doctor fixes the ailment. If the fix doesn't work, you go to another doctor...until one does something that works.
Chronic illness doesn't work that way. It's like luggage. You own that sh*t for life. There are treatments, yes. But it's not always something fixable, and that's a hard thing to come to terms with, especially when you're a fixer.
And it's rough--because we are sometimes so caught up in fighting it and fighting our way through each day that we sometimes forget that we aren't the only ones struggling with it. Chronic illness affects more than the person it afflicts. It affects those around you, from coworkers to classmates to family. Especially family.
And relationships get hit hard. A relationship isn't easy even without adding chronic illness. With that new wrinkle comes a new host of issues to be ironed out...and for those of you who don't know, I suck at ironing.
I'm learning, though. So is Frank. I'll let you know if we ever run out of wrinkles.
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Down the Rabbit Hole: Depression and Me
6 min read
Until I entered the world of chronic illness, I never thought of myself as someone who had a problem with depression.
Sure, I used to self-harm and I attempted suicide at 19, but I always considered those things to be more of a reaction to situations...to childhood abuse; to an abusive marriage; to a sexual assault; to too much stress/an unhappy relationship/a breakup/etc...you get the idea. Or maybe you don't, and that's okay, because if you do you've probably been at the same mental/emotional place, and it sucks there.
I never thought of mentioning that history to doctors who asked if I had a history of depression before prescribing a medication (because a lot of medications can exacerbate depression if you're prone to it), which in retrospect was pretty dumb--especially when I was given one as a migraine preventive when I was still high episodic that ended in my then 15 year old son sitting up with me all night to make sure I wouldn't hurt myself.
And I STILL thought nothing of it. It was just the medication, I told myself.
2 years later, I knew I was depressed. Very, very very depressed. Who wouldn't be, living in daily pain and trying everything I could to hang on to what little of a normal life I had left? Of COURSE I was depressed about it...but that was because I was sick, right?
And yes, depression with chronic illness is normal. Very normal. It's the number one reason people with chronic pain commit suicide.
And believe me, I considered it a few times when I thought of years, maybe decades, of pain ahead...of treatments that might only give me a few days of relief...of trying another and another and another treatment to see it fail.
But I'd promised my sisters I'd never hurt them like that again after my suicide attempt at 19. I had kids and grandkids to hang on for. I had people who cared.
What I didn't have was hope. And living in that gray world was becoming harder and harder when all I was doing was living and fighting for others, not for myself.
I'd like to say I was scared of the places my thoughts went...but I wasn't.
I was too far down the rabbit hole to care. I cared about my loved ones, but not myself.
I wanted to die...even hoped I would...so I could escape the pain but still keep my promises.
And still, I didn't think I was not okay. It was normal. It became my new normal.
Thank God my GP saw it almost a year ago when I went in to ask for a referral to a migraine specialist. He may not know a lot about migraine treatment, but he saw what I didn't myself--that I couldn't find my way out of the rabbit hole. That I needed help badly...and that I couldn't ask for it because I didn't know how lost I was.
He didn't suggest that it wasn't entirely because of my chronic pain, just that I try something to help. And wonder of wonders (because it can be hard to find the right medication, I learned through years of my kids fighting mental illness--it can literally take years of trial and error), it DID. Within a few weeks, even.
And only then did I see looking back just how far down the rabbit hole I was...and it was terrifying. Completely and utterly.
And it scared me to realize how familiar that darkness was...to realize it was familiar because I'd been there before and this had just been a longer stay.
To realize that dark rabbit hole has ALWAYS been here...and how easy it was and would be to fall back in--not in a leap, but in tiny increments, slipping a little more...a little more...and to not notice until it was too late.
And that while I'm cool with my dark side, I don't want to always live there. I need sunlight, too. Not only do I need it, I need to reach for it and hold it--for myself, not for others, even the ones I love.
For me.
It'll be a year in April that I've been being treated for depressive disorder.
It doesn't stop me from having bad days, it doesn’t turn me into a ray of sunshine and happiness, it doesn't change that I hate being sick all time and that I mourn my life I lost or what I miss out on due to it. It doesn't necessarily even give me hope for the future or for now.
What it does is help my thoughts and moods so I can find hope and the other side of the rabbit hole myself. It helps stabilize me so I can stay my course, wherever it may go. It helps me realize that even though I've made friends with my demons, I can't always trust them or myself to not merrily skip along a course of self destruction and isolation.
I've learned to mostly keep an eye out for the rabbit hole, even to explore it a bit. To recognize when I'm balancing on the edge of it, or at the least when I'm in it. To try to climb out on my own...and I'm working on recognizing when I can't and need to ask for someone to lend me a hand or toss me a lifeline.
It's not a magic fix any more than getting glasses will fix bad eyesight--the problem is still there. But it does help me see it better and bring it into the right perspective.
The rain isn't gone, but I'm learning to dance in the storm...and to enjoy the sun through the clouds.
It's still a beautiful life and I'm holding on to it for all it's worth.
S.M.W. 1/15/2016
Sure, I used to self-harm and I attempted suicide at 19, but I always considered those things to be more of a reaction to situations...to childhood abuse; to an abusive marriage; to a sexual assault; to too much stress/an unhappy relationship/a breakup/etc...you get the idea. Or maybe you don't, and that's okay, because if you do you've probably been at the same mental/emotional place, and it sucks there.
I never thought of mentioning that history to doctors who asked if I had a history of depression before prescribing a medication (because a lot of medications can exacerbate depression if you're prone to it), which in retrospect was pretty dumb--especially when I was given one as a migraine preventive when I was still high episodic that ended in my then 15 year old son sitting up with me all night to make sure I wouldn't hurt myself.
And I STILL thought nothing of it. It was just the medication, I told myself.
2 years later, I knew I was depressed. Very, very very depressed. Who wouldn't be, living in daily pain and trying everything I could to hang on to what little of a normal life I had left? Of COURSE I was depressed about it...but that was because I was sick, right?
And yes, depression with chronic illness is normal. Very normal. It's the number one reason people with chronic pain commit suicide.
And believe me, I considered it a few times when I thought of years, maybe decades, of pain ahead...of treatments that might only give me a few days of relief...of trying another and another and another treatment to see it fail.
But I'd promised my sisters I'd never hurt them like that again after my suicide attempt at 19. I had kids and grandkids to hang on for. I had people who cared.
What I didn't have was hope. And living in that gray world was becoming harder and harder when all I was doing was living and fighting for others, not for myself.
I'd like to say I was scared of the places my thoughts went...but I wasn't.
I was too far down the rabbit hole to care. I cared about my loved ones, but not myself.
I wanted to die...even hoped I would...so I could escape the pain but still keep my promises.
And still, I didn't think I was not okay. It was normal. It became my new normal.
Thank God my GP saw it almost a year ago when I went in to ask for a referral to a migraine specialist. He may not know a lot about migraine treatment, but he saw what I didn't myself--that I couldn't find my way out of the rabbit hole. That I needed help badly...and that I couldn't ask for it because I didn't know how lost I was.
He didn't suggest that it wasn't entirely because of my chronic pain, just that I try something to help. And wonder of wonders (because it can be hard to find the right medication, I learned through years of my kids fighting mental illness--it can literally take years of trial and error), it DID. Within a few weeks, even.
And only then did I see looking back just how far down the rabbit hole I was...and it was terrifying. Completely and utterly.
And it scared me to realize how familiar that darkness was...to realize it was familiar because I'd been there before and this had just been a longer stay.
To realize that dark rabbit hole has ALWAYS been here...and how easy it was and would be to fall back in--not in a leap, but in tiny increments, slipping a little more...a little more...and to not notice until it was too late.
And that while I'm cool with my dark side, I don't want to always live there. I need sunlight, too. Not only do I need it, I need to reach for it and hold it--for myself, not for others, even the ones I love.
For me.
It'll be a year in April that I've been being treated for depressive disorder.
It doesn't stop me from having bad days, it doesn’t turn me into a ray of sunshine and happiness, it doesn't change that I hate being sick all time and that I mourn my life I lost or what I miss out on due to it. It doesn't necessarily even give me hope for the future or for now.
What it does is help my thoughts and moods so I can find hope and the other side of the rabbit hole myself. It helps stabilize me so I can stay my course, wherever it may go. It helps me realize that even though I've made friends with my demons, I can't always trust them or myself to not merrily skip along a course of self destruction and isolation.
I've learned to mostly keep an eye out for the rabbit hole, even to explore it a bit. To recognize when I'm balancing on the edge of it, or at the least when I'm in it. To try to climb out on my own...and I'm working on recognizing when I can't and need to ask for someone to lend me a hand or toss me a lifeline.
It's not a magic fix any more than getting glasses will fix bad eyesight--the problem is still there. But it does help me see it better and bring it into the right perspective.
The rain isn't gone, but I'm learning to dance in the storm...and to enjoy the sun through the clouds.
It's still a beautiful life and I'm holding on to it for all it's worth.
S.M.W. 1/15/2016
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Mental Health Matters
4 min read
September is Suicide Prevention Awareness Month. The 6th-12th is Suicide Prevention Awareness Week, and the 10th is Suicide Prevention Awareness Day.
I grew up in abuse.
I've been a victim of domestic violence.
I self-harmed for many years and attempted suicide at 19.
I've been living with chronic migraine disorder for almost 3 1/2 years.
And in April 2015 I was diagnosed with depressive disorder as a complication of chronic illness.
Sure, it's logical that someone living with daily pain would be depressed at times...or often. How could one living with that NOT get depressed? I've lost friends, lost being able to spend much time with family, lost ground in classes, lost the ability to do simple things without paying with pain...lost so much.
The past few months (January through March), though, have been particularly rough.
I lost my 18 year old niece in a wreck.
I was dropped from college classes because of absences due to illness.
My illness has been getting progressively worse over the past year.
It's been a real struggle to care about much of anything, to want to get out of bed and fight through another day, to just keep going and hang in there.
Yes, I have a lot to hang in there for- family who love and support me, friends who have stuck around and cared, beautiful kids and grandkids...and that's what I've been hanging in there for.
But it's really hard when the reason to hang in there isn't because of an actual desire within yourself to to do so.
Hard? Actually, it's scary.
Depression is like being in a pit with greased sides...with people cheering you on and encouraging you as you try to climb out- and can't- over...and over...and over. It's not a sad mood, it's not a mindset. You can't will yourself out of it, no matter how many people care, how much you want to, or how much you have going for you.
Depression is soul killing.
I started a mood stabilizer for depression in April, which also is used as a migraine preventive. It does nothing for the migraines, but has made a significant improvement in my mental state and had no adverse side effects...which makes it totally worth it. I'd say it may have saved my life, actually.
I never realized just how deep I'd gone down the rabbit hole until I started feeling more like myself again.
It was as if I'd been seeing in black and white for so long that I'd forgotten colors even existed, until they came back into my world. And is it ever glorious to see the world in all its colors again.
Why am I putting this out there?
It isn't for pity, attention, or even sympathy.
It's because no one should ever, ever have to feel ashamed to seek help for a mental disorder or to be ridiculed for doing so.
It's because so many people don't take mental disorders seriously or disbelieve someone who is reaching out for help.
It's because mental illness is still horribly stigmatized.
It's because how many could we help save if they weren't afraid to reach out for help?
It's because I hope someone can take strength from and find hope in knowing that they aren't the only one, that it's okay to need help, that it doesn't mean they're defective, and it doesn't make them weak or wrong to do so.
It's because I have hope.
It's because my story isn't over.
~S.M.W. 2015
(Written May 2015. Edited and expanded September 2015.)
Feel free to share this story with others. You never know who might need it. If my story can help someone feel less alone and/or encourage someone to reach out for help, then I count it as worthwhile.
I grew up in abuse.
I've been a victim of domestic violence.
I self-harmed for many years and attempted suicide at 19.
I've been living with chronic migraine disorder for almost 3 1/2 years.
And in April 2015 I was diagnosed with depressive disorder as a complication of chronic illness.
Sure, it's logical that someone living with daily pain would be depressed at times...or often. How could one living with that NOT get depressed? I've lost friends, lost being able to spend much time with family, lost ground in classes, lost the ability to do simple things without paying with pain...lost so much.
The past few months (January through March), though, have been particularly rough.
I lost my 18 year old niece in a wreck.
I was dropped from college classes because of absences due to illness.
My illness has been getting progressively worse over the past year.
It's been a real struggle to care about much of anything, to want to get out of bed and fight through another day, to just keep going and hang in there.
Yes, I have a lot to hang in there for- family who love and support me, friends who have stuck around and cared, beautiful kids and grandkids...and that's what I've been hanging in there for.
But it's really hard when the reason to hang in there isn't because of an actual desire within yourself to to do so.
Hard? Actually, it's scary.
Depression is like being in a pit with greased sides...with people cheering you on and encouraging you as you try to climb out- and can't- over...and over...and over. It's not a sad mood, it's not a mindset. You can't will yourself out of it, no matter how many people care, how much you want to, or how much you have going for you.
Depression is soul killing.
I started a mood stabilizer for depression in April, which also is used as a migraine preventive. It does nothing for the migraines, but has made a significant improvement in my mental state and had no adverse side effects...which makes it totally worth it. I'd say it may have saved my life, actually.
I never realized just how deep I'd gone down the rabbit hole until I started feeling more like myself again.
It was as if I'd been seeing in black and white for so long that I'd forgotten colors even existed, until they came back into my world. And is it ever glorious to see the world in all its colors again.
Why am I putting this out there?
It isn't for pity, attention, or even sympathy.
It's because no one should ever, ever have to feel ashamed to seek help for a mental disorder or to be ridiculed for doing so.
It's because so many people don't take mental disorders seriously or disbelieve someone who is reaching out for help.
It's because mental illness is still horribly stigmatized.
It's because how many could we help save if they weren't afraid to reach out for help?
It's because I hope someone can take strength from and find hope in knowing that they aren't the only one, that it's okay to need help, that it doesn't mean they're defective, and it doesn't make them weak or wrong to do so.
It's because I have hope.
It's because my story isn't over.
~S.M.W. 2015
(Written May 2015. Edited and expanded September 2015.)
Feel free to share this story with others. You never know who might need it. If my story can help someone feel less alone and/or encourage someone to reach out for help, then I count it as worthwhile.
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