When I picked Princess up from her aftercare program on Tuesday, I had a message that the school counselor wanted to see me. Princess and I gathered her things and sat down in the counselor’s office to talk. The counselor relayed that another student came to her to say that Princess had indicated that she was planning to bring a knife to school for the purpose of stabbing herself or cutting her throat. She’s never articulated a plan before, and never expressed thoughts so boldly violent. The counselor advised me that she would need written confirmation from some mental health professional regarding Princess’ abililty to return to class.

We made an appointment with the therapist, and Princess was vehement in saying she did not want to go back to the hospital. She later had an outburst that culminated in her locking herself in the bathroom, refusing to speak to me, and I told her through the door that if I could not get the key to work, I would call 911 and have them break the door down and take her to the ER in an ambulance. She came out, and finally admitted that her thoughts were too overwhelming to handle alone, and she thought she needed to go back to the hospital.

We arrived at the pediatric ER around 2:00. We met with the intake nurses and pediatrician and social worker. We waited for word about which hospital had a bed and would accept her into the program. I called and texted my husband (who was home with the boys) and my parents and my siblings with updates through the night. The food service people delivered Princess’ dinner to the adult ER, so it was cold by the time we hunted it down, but she ate it anyway. They fixed another dinner for her, so I ended up getting to eat something, too. The ambulance transport came just before midnight. I took my car and agreed to meet them at the hospital.

About halfway to the hospital, my car blew a tire. I sat at the side of the highway, sobbing so hard I thought I would vomit. My  husband called the pediatric ER staff, who called the transport company, who contacted the ambulance driver to  have him come back to get me. Another bus from the same transport company arrived a few minutes after we did, so the drivers kept me distracted with their chatter. I barely remember filling out the paperwork for the intake. The coordinator on the unit asked me if I had a ride home, and I asked her to help me call a cab. She did one better- she arranged for a transport voucher for me, since I wasn’t sure I had enough cash on me to pay for the 40 minute ride home.

I got about 3 hours of sleep before taking the boys to school and coming into the office. My boss is wonderfully understanding and supportive, and is allowing me to make my schedule day by day depending on what I feel I need. I don’t know what it is I need, though.

I am still standing, and I know that Princess is getting the help she needs. This is a different hospital than the one she was in during May. That program seemed to work then, but the doctor’s willingness to dismiss my suspicions of a biploar disorder bothered me. This hospital seems more open to the possibility that there is more going on than her anxiety/depression. And we will once again find our light at the end of the tunnel

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la jaula, originally uploaded by Eric Clipperton.

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World loves you, originally uploaded by neverbe.

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There’s something that I’ve always known about myself, and it becomes more and more clear with each passing year.  Certain things come more in focus.  On one level it’s good to understand yourself just a little bit more, it’s comforting to snag a truth that you know you will never unlearn.

Another level is it usually means saying goodbye to a particular part of your life, a part of yourself maybe even people you love.

I would tell you that I’m a seeker, but not so that I elevate myself above others.  It’s something that chose me.  Words aren’t the matter, simply a way to try and define the condition.

Being a seeker means that you will often find yourself alone even around other people.  Alone in that your mind operates a little differently.  Or, could it be we’re just more honest and forthright about ourselves, having moved beyond the fear of being accepted.  Either you get it, or you don’t.

There are others out there that are seekers, sometimes we even find each other and cheer the other along during times of darkness when we’re fighting the knowledge that seekers always seem to find.

Changing behaviors, improving ourselves is like turning an ocean liner.  You turn but you don’t see the results of that turn for a long time.  Personally, I like to see immediate results of my turns, to know that there’s a reason for it, not that I’ve chosen to suffer for no reason.  Or wonder if the turn was just a waste of my time and I should’ve just stayed in the dark where it was safe.

Why can’t you be happy, why do you have to ask yourself all these questions, why can’t you let go of the past?

Except, I can’t stay in the dark and be content.  If I could, I wouldn’t turn in the first fucking place.  I envy those that can stay in the dark, walking along the same path they’ve walked along since they were born.

The age of blindness is behind us, it’s been turning for a long time, the masses are only now beginning to see the results of it.

I’m not built that way, I can’t honor something that isn’t true.  My eyes are open.  The duration of a new bend is the most painful, the one where I scream and become angry.  Once I move beyond it, I know once again it is as it is supposed to be.

I compare it to the air after a hurricane, clear and bright.  Debris has washed away, new things are about and old things are gone.  A cycle that I’ve walked through emotionally time and time again.

Hindsight gives me the hope and strength to do it once again.  Friends that understand offer support and love.  They don’t question the process, they just love me through it.  Either it’s because they understand, or they don’t but they trust that what we tell them is real to us.

The ones that do not understand cannot be held accountable for their ignorance.  The anger they hurl is their own, ignorantly thinking that projecting it elsewhere, it will rid them of it.  Over and over again they continue to do the same thing expecting different results.

Changing the course isn’t a process for cowards.  The ones that act in spite of their fear, demonstrating courage, are the ones that successfully turn the ocean liner leaving footprints for those that come after us, hopefully making the path a little easier.

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I won’t have a computer or my phone (so no twitter) at the inpatient facility I’m going into, but know that I’m getting help.

Thank you to all of you for all your kind comments, twitters, direct messages and texts.

I’ll have visiting hours with Leah in the late evenings and will be able to pass messages to and from her. Thank you all for your kind support. It really means a lot to Leah, and to me.

(crossposted to leahpeah)

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More than half a million people come through here every day, people of all ages and backgrounds, all walks of life. You can’t necessarily tell from the outside—the clothes they wear, the things they carry, even the way they act—what’s going on with someone inside—the struggles they face, the loneliness they feel, the hope and understanding they seek.

That’s why I’m here. I’ve learned that one in four adults has a mental illness—such as depression, bipolar disorder, PTSD or schizophrenia—and the stigma can be as daunting as the disease itself.

Please read the full article here on Guideposts. The PSA video is also there.

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You’re going along, not thinking about how things are getting incrementally harder because you’ve always had days that are harder. And then get better. And then harder again and then better again ad nauseum until you are pretty much used to the ride. You don’t consider it remarkable anymore because it’s your “normal” life.

But the black hole is sneakier. The days get harder and harder. You’re waiting it out. You know if you just get through another day, things will get better again. So another day passes where you’re holding on with both hands. Then one hand. Then a few fingers. Then you notice your fingernails are torn and bloody stumps and finally, FINALLY, you realize you’re not going to be able to get back up. You are losing your grip completely and it’s too late to take precautionary measures. Way to late for that.

It becomes a life of lying under the water, looking at the world through goggles and trying not to think about all the ways you could die. Accidentally, of course.

And then it becomes a life of trying not to think of how to die on purpose. And you can’t even see out of the water anymore. Someone turned out the lights. You can’t hear or see or feel anything but extreme sad and bad and guilt.

“I’m trapped!” I yelled at the psychiatrist yesterday, “I can’t stay here and worry everyone while my mother-in-law has stage4 cancer and I should be taking care of her! I can’t go see family because they would worry the whole time I’m there! I can’t stay alive because this is how things will be the rest of my life – up, down, up, down – I can’t do it anymore! And I can’t kill myself because my kids would never get over it!”

It feels like I’m trapped in hell.

A med change is underway. I don’t feel better, I feel weird. Even more distant from my surroundings and I care even less.

I can write this because I’m a writer and this is what I do. I can’t change anything in my brain because this is how I am. I haven’t stopped crying for over 2 weeks and I shake all the time. I don’t want food. I only want to drink and fall asleep. But I don’t. I just think about it. Because maybe I won’t wake up. That would be nice.

My husband says, “There are lots of people who want you around, and alive. I love you Leah. You are valuable and precious.” I hear it but I can’t hear it because it feels like a lie. I didn’t think I would get married again after my divorce in 2002. I figured no one should be married to the mess that is me. But, I did marry. And he’s wonderful. And I fill his life with stress and drama and worry. In loving him I’ve ruined his life. If I really loved him, I would leave him.

This is the black hole talking. In this flash of sanity, I know it. But, sometimes the black hole just takes over everything and reason and sanity are nowhere.

Originally posted on Leahpeah

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A new antidepressant being tested in Canada appears to do what no other drug can — increase connections between brain cells within hours to swiftly improve symptoms.

The finding by Yale University researchers may explain how one dose of ketamine can reduce symptoms of depression within 40 minutes among the hardest-to-treat cases, and could help spur development of quick-acting antidepressants.

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