Nearly 7 years ago to the month...

A friend of mine recently started her own blog post as well, and as I read it, it inspired me to write about my own experience on the topic that she had written about. Before I get started, I just wanna state that this will NOT be an easy read like my first post. It's a bit of a novel, but it's my blog, so I can write as much as I choose. You don't HAVE to read it. Moving on...

Nearly 7 years ago to the month, I was admitted to one of the local psychiatric facilities here in Saskatoon. A lot was going on at the time. For one, I had just recently gotten rejected by Canadian Idol; being told I couldn't sing was the most devastating things I could ever hear because it was the only thing I thought I was actually good at... it was also the only thing that made me happy. I thought it was my purpose in life to be a singer. So, that basically tore me apart. On top of that, my soon-to-be ex-husband and I were going through the beginning stages of our divorce. It was, as many are in the beginning, messy. There was a lot of drama, and there was also a lot of money issues on my part... being that I had none. Money, that is. I was also seeing someone. We didn't have the healthiest of relationships which I suppose is what's to be expected when one of those people is still legally married.. But if you remember my first blog, you'll remember I mentioned reasons for staying, and for coming back any time I'd leave the country. The boyfriend I mention throughout this post was that reason. Anyways, all of these issues combined with my anxiety and depression made for a potentially lethal cocktail of problems, but it was only about to get worse...

I had just been admitted to the psychiatric facility for depression, which I need to add briefly, was not my first time since I'd moved to Canada... It was more like maybe my 3rd or 4th (I don't say that with pride, just stating a fact) and this time was a little different. This time, the drama didn't stay outside of the walls of the hospital because even though there were a multitude of things that had brought me there in the first place, many of them needed to be addressed as soon as possible. I couldn't escape my issues even though I was supposed to be kept safe and take a break from them in these hospital walls, and many times, I wished I wasn't there so I could have had the opportunity to carry out the plan I had had to end my life. It was all too much!!!!

Before I went into the hospital, I had been taking clonazepam on and off for about 5 years. Anyone who knows anything about benzos will know that they're not meant to be taken for long term use. Also, anyone who knows anything about benzos will also know that the withdrawals for them are absolutely miserable. I took them because I thought they were helping my anxiety, and I'm sure they did at one point. But then came the day, in the hospital, when suddenly the administration of that particular medication would stop coming in the little plastic cup that came with the rest of my meds. I didn't understand what was going on, so I asked a nurse about it. She had to look into it a little bit, but I was later told that my psychiatrist would no longer be giving me clonazepam. At the time, I had no idea what I was in for. I was mainly concerned about not feeling anxiety anymore. I would like to name off some of the symptoms my anxiety would cause in order to try and help you understand why this news was a bit scary to me:

Uncontrollable tremors (that resembled seizures)
The inability to swallow
Nausea
Stomach pains
IBS
Dry mouth
Racing heart
Sweating
Feeling like the walls are closing in
Feeling flush
Racing thoughts

all of which can graduate into a severe panic attack which is basically the same symptoms listed above, PLUS feeling like you're literally about to die. Many people (those who have no idea what anxiety feels like) think these feelings are easy to brush off or "will away".... but once they've already gotten to a certain point, there's no reversing it. It just has to run its course. Without my medication, I had no idea what I was going to do. Then one day, I knew exactly what it meant to be taken off of my medication cold turkey... And it would be a LONG 5 months of torture...

While I was in the hospital, I started getting sick. I thought it was my anxiety. Little did I know it was actually withdrawals. I started dry heaving. Not too often just yet.... only a few times in the span of a week. I wasn't a fan of it though because something many people don't know except for a few select people is that along with my anxiety (In conjunction, actually) I suffer from a phobia called emetophobia. Emetophobia is described (on Wikipedia) as "an intense, irrational fear or anxiety of or pertaining to vomiting. This specific phobia can also include subcategories of what causes the anxiety, including a fear of vomiting in public, a fear of seeing vomit, a fear of watching the action of vomiting or fear of being nauseated" Click hear to read more on the phobia for a better understanding! So you can maybe see why this was the worst thing that could possibly happen to me. It wasn't the best time for all of this to be happening, either. I'll explain in a bit. I had asked to be discharged AMA (against medical advice) because I felt that if I was going to be getting sick like this, I wanted to be somewhere comfortable. The hospital was providing no relief for me, so I wanted to go home. They did release me, and as I was waiting for my ride "home" (I was going to be staying with my boyfriend for a bit), I started dry heaving again! This was the beginning of my fear of riding in cars/buses, etc. and I had to bring a plastic bag with me just in case the dry heaving evolved into more. I was absolutely miserable. I honestly didn't know when it was all going to end. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I could barely drink anything... I started growing weak! I couldn't even go anywhere without needing to bring a bag along with me because I couldn't control the dry heaving anymore. Like clockwork, it would start every few minutes. I had to sleep sitting up so that I wouldn't have to rush to sit up when it started! I had to sleep with a garbage can beside me! I was getting desperate. So much so, that I started making frequent ER and medi clinic visits where they'd inject me with gravol (which hurt like crazy, btw) and then send me home with medication to take the edge off. I remember not long after being discharged from the hospital, I had asked my boyfriend's mother to drive me to the medi clinic. She did... and while we were there, my boyfriend was in the room with me as I blatantly lied to the doctor stating that I had ran out of clonazepam... I failed to mention that my psychiatrist took me off the medication on purpose. The doctor prescribed some for me though, and I was happy... Until I saw that my boyfriend wasn't. His mother, who was waiting in the car asked what happened, so of course, he told her. She had advised me that if I continued to do this, I would end up being listed as "DS" on my medical charts, and doctors wouldn't want to prescribe medication to me anymore. "DS"... Drug seeker. Why was it at that time when it suddenly hit me that I was a drug addict? As I was about to type that out just now, I had to take a moment... because writing it was a little intense. I was a drug addict... And at first, I heard the words "Drug seeker", but I didn't care... I just wanted to feel better. I wasn't even taking clonazepam because it was helping my anxiety. I had been taking it for, God knows how long, because it made me feel normal. My boyfriend had to lay down the law and the tough love and give me an ultimatum which was that if I filled that prescription, he would never speak to me again. I took a moment to think about it... Why did I take a moment to think about it? What's there to think about? It's someone you love versus the addiction...??? Ultimately, I made the choice to not fill the prescription. In making that choice, I went through months of agony. BUT, it was the right choice. The sad thing is, it's not the first time or even the last time I've been addicted to a medication. Anyone ever hear of a well-known sleeping pill called Ambien? That stuff could be (and probably is) sold on the streets because it's basically just like any other drug that makes people do crazy stupid things.

As I mentioned before, I was so sick from my withdrawal that I couldn't eat and was carrying around a bag everywhere I had to go. I rarely went anywhere, but there was a meeting I had to make. It was with the divorce lawyer. My ex husband had made it/was paying for it, and I couldn't miss it. I lived in an apartment building with an elevator at the time. My ex husband came up to get me, and he literally had to hold me up to walk me over to the elevator. When the elevator reached the main floor, I fainted. His frustration caused him to get angry with me because we were on a time crunch, but basically, he had to carry me out. --I know you're reading this, and I'm sorry. I know it was a long time ago, but I'm sorry-- We made it to the appointment on time, but yeah... that wasn't fun. I was at the end of my rope at that point. I was so tired of wondering if all of this would ever stop.. if I'd ever feel normal again.. if I'd ever be able to go somewhere without a bag in hand looking like a weirdo.. if I could ever eat. I wondered if I'd ever be able to sleep laying down again. I got so wrapped up in all of it that I wrote out a suicide letter. I actually came across it not too long ago, and as I read it, I thought "wow... I almost killed myself over something that ultimately got better with time" I suppose I kept it as a reminder of how things get better if you just give it time.

So, what was the final outcome? Well, I moved out of the apartment I was living in and stayed with my ex husband in the house we had bought together and his new roommate who he's now married to, by the way. And to answer your possible question, no, it wasn't awkward. His new wife is a sweetheart, and she let me stay in her room and even use her computer. She was very welcoming and even bought me flowers and a card and wrote me a little letter which was such a kind gesture. She knew I was going through a lot, and once I was finally feeling somewhat better, she even helped me look at rooms for me to rent. She also did the ultimate thing for me which was tell me about a school for people with learning disabilities who were wanting to get their GED which she was just finishing up. At first, I didn't think much of it... was just something to think about. Once I had found a place, I was starting to feel much better.. Then I had spent all of my divorce settlement... so it was time to find a job. I hated it!!! That's when I realized maybe I ought to re-think the GED course. So, I did that, finished the course after taking the GED early and passing, and then... well... things took a turn again..

The thing is, anxiety is a part of my life. I'm not gonna lie; I often look at people who can go about their daily lives with no issues... they can go to a movie or out to dinner with friends. They can go to a party or club without a care in the world. They can ride on buses and trains and take road trips...  and I feel a certain amount of envy... because I can't imagine what that feels like. I can't imagine what it feels like to NOT feel anxiety. For as long as I can remember, I've had anxiety, it's just that when I was younger, I didn't know it was anxiety. And who would ever think a 6 or 7 year old was suffering from anxiety attacks? Look, I could go on and on about all the different times anxiety has affected me or ruined my life and all the different opportunities I could have had, but I'm not going to. Instead, I'm just gonna say that while anxiety is a part of my life, it isn't my life. My life is my future husband. My life is my daughter. My life is my amazingly supportive friends who know all of this about me and yet don't hold it against me or think any less of me. My life is... well, it's MY life. It may not be perfect, but at least I have one that I can be thankful for.

When it comes to my addiction... I just try to take it one day at a time. I make sure to take my meds exactly the way my psychiatrist (I see someone new) has prescribed them to me, and try to avoid temptation. Thankfully my fiancé is good at keeping me on track, and I also need to do right by my daughter. She needs me... I don't want to be like the mothers I see on shows like intervention or the ones I read about in the news who neglect their child(ren) because of drugs. People think just because it was prescribed by a doctor, that it's okay... that it doesn't count as drug abuse. But it absolutely does. People have died from addictions and abuse of prescription medication which means it definitely counts and definitely matters.

If you or anyone you know suffers from addiction, please either encourage help, or get help! I can't promise you that it's an easy road, but it's definitely one worth taking. And if you suffer from anxiety, talk to someone! Whether it's a counselor, or even a friend.. because you might come to find that they know exactly how you feel and thought they were alone. You guys can offer each other support, and God knows we need that support and understanding.

Until next time, hug the ones you love because you never know... they might need it so very much ;)

Toots McGee!

Added: I just want to add something really quick here. I have no idea if ex boyfriend and his mother will read this. We're keeping in touch, but I don't know if they're reading this. If you are, I would just like to say I'm sorry for all the grief I caused back then, and thank you for being so wonderful  to me. Tough love is never easy. And at the time when all of this was happening, I'm sure it was hard for me to see things the way they were. I'm not naming any names ever on here, but I'm certain you know who you are... So thank you. Xoxo