World Mental Health Day 2021 (October 10th)

TRIGGER WARNING: Mild discussion of self-harm and suicide is included within this post. 

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Hi, friends. 

I know it's been a while since I've posted in here. As you can imagine, therapy's kept me pretty busy this past month. I've shifted from PHP to IOP, so instead of attending 5 days a week I only have to go for 3 (Mon., Wed., Thurs.). I do like that schedule much better, because it's helpful to have Tues. and Fri. off during the week to decompress a little bit. Learning all of the information they give us - and processing it with our own experiences to understand them better - can be absolutely exHAUSTING! 

But let me tell you, it's been SO. WORTH. IT! 

Also, I wanted to give you all a heads up regarding my posting schedule. 

Initially, I'd intended to post 2x per week. Aaand after going through my therapy sessions, starting a new medication (more on that later!), and chasing down my doctors to submit paperwork to extend my time off work past next Wednesday (10/13), I've come to realize that that schedule is just not in the realm of possibility. I'd dare say it was overly optimistic! So with that being said, I'll be posting once per month. At some point within the first ten days. 

I know I should try to have a more regular posting schedule but, I know myself. *wink* 

ANYWHO! 

Time to get back on topic. 

In this month's update, I wanted to share my story about my mental illness diagnoses. I will do my best to keep things brief, especially since like time - my diagnoses have changed as well over the past few years. 

The strange thing about mental illness is that our symptoms can be just that: symptoms of another underlying diagnosis, or they can be severe enough that they become a diagnosis themselves. 

Back in December 2018, I'd experienced my first-ever in-patient hospital admittance. 

For one reason or another (I won't bore you with those details), 2018 was a super tough year for me and my mental health. I'd started a brand new job with a major insurance carrier, passed a licensing exam to sell commercial auto insurance for 48/50 states, moved into a new apartment with my husband...yeah. It was a LOT of big changes in a short amount of time, and my brain just got overloaded to the core! 

The Monday after Thanksgiving that year is one I'll never forget, because it's what started me on my mental health recovery journey. 

At that time, I was working a 1:00-10:45pm shift (hello, pay increase!). Around 4-5pm, I grew concerned about the impending snowstorm that was slowly moving into the area. I'd considered going home early, since I'd lived about 45 minutes away from the office - and that's WITH changing multiple highways on GOOD weather days. 

Anyway, I was considering letting my supervisor know that I'd wanted to leave work early for the day so that I could drive home before the roads got too bad with snow/ice, but kept putting it off because I didn't want to risk messing with my attendance. And sometimes, I wonder if risking my attendance would have been worth it. 

I was one of the last people to leave the building for the night, and I was trudging through snow in the parking lot. At this time, I'd only been driving my new-to-me Jeep Compass for about a month, and I hadn't driven it in the snow yet. The roads were SO BAD that even on the side street where my office was located - with a speed limit of 25 mph - I was sliding all over the place. HOW was I going to make it TO the highway, then another 45 minutes to an hour or more on my way home? 

At that point, I'd pulled into the parking lot of Home Depot and called my husband, already on the verge of an anxiety attack. I'd told him I wanted to get a hotel for the night, because the part of town where I was at was the "snowbelt", which always experiences worse conditions in big snowstorms. He'd stayed calm and reminded me that I was a safe driver, and that I had a vehicle which was made for driving in those conditions and to try it again. There was nothing malicious at all, he couldn't have known how things would turn out. 

So, I gave it a shot. 

Just climbing up the entrance ramp to the highway, I was slipping and sliding. I'm actually lucky I didn't go off-road over the shoulder. 

At that point, the anxiety attack was escalating into a panic attack. So I put my hazards on, moved as far onto the shoulder of the highway as I could, and dialed 9-1-1. 

It's the first time I'd EVER called 9-1-1 for myself. I'd let the dispatcher know that I was having a panic attack and that I didn't feel safe continuing my drive home because of how far I had to go. She sent one officer out, and he was nice enough; but, he didn't know how to handle a mental health crisis situation. I shared the same story with him that I did with the dispatcher about not feeling safe to drive, and he'd convinced me to try to follow him to the next exit that was just a quarter mile away. I took a deep breath and said okay, I'll try (he was going to essentially escort me to a nearby hotel), but then I was fishtailing again and the panic attack symptoms just worsened. 

During that time I'd called my mom to let her know what was going on, and she's not afraid of driving in the snow so she offered to come get me herself (my husband's vehicle at the time was NOT made for snow-covered roads). Once I considered her safety it just threw me into hyperventilating mode, and I just started crying uncontrollably because I didn't want my situation to put my MOM in danger. 

So yes, I called 9-1-1 again. I had the same dispatcher, told her that the situation had not improved, and road conditions were getting worse. By that point it was snowing so hard and so fast that the plows and salt trucks couldn't keep up with everything. Also, the part of the highway I was at was between two towns. So she sent a second officer out. All I remember is that his name was Officer Mark. He was patient, and kind - honestly, thinking about him as I recall this experience brings tears to my eyes. 

But he'd pulled up behind my Jeep, started talking to me a bit through the window, GUIDED me through deep-breathing, and once I started to calm down a bit he'd asked if I'd be comfortable with him sitting in the Jeep with me while we waited for a tow truck to get me off the highway (again, the snow was building up that much). I said of course, because I didn't want him to freeze. He sat in the passenger seat and I'd blasted the heat for him, and even though I was still hyperventilating a bit, I was calming down enough to be able to hold a conversation with him. I'd told him how I got in the current situation while leaving work, we chuckled over how everyone forgets how to drive when the first big snowfall hits our area every year (this is true), and then he shared a story with me about the new puppy he and his wife had rescued. 

Also, after he'd called for the tow truck, he'd called for an ambulance just to check my vitals - since I am old enough for actual heart issues. As I'd stood up to get out of the Jeep and climb into the ambulance, I got hit by a wave of vertigo from the cold air smacking my face and the loud sounds of vehicles rushing by on the highway. The medic asked if I thought I needed to go to the emergency room, and I said it would be a good idea. 

I thanked Officer Mark profusely, and told him how very kind he was. I also gave him my husband's phone number because by that time, my cell phone died - and of course I didn't have a spare charger with me. 

Fast forward I don't know how long, and I'm wheeled into a pleasantly warm room at the ER. I was still in a bit of shock and felt totally disconnected from reality; I knew where I was physically, but mentally I couldn't make sense of what was going on. 

The nurse had asked if I was having any thoughts of hurting or killing myself. When I initially answered I'd mumbled "I don't know", and she'd asked me again for a solid answer and because I was so frustrated with the dramatics of the situation, I just kept saying "I don't know, I don't know!" and shaking my head. 

Logically, I knew in my heart of hearts that I wasn't going to do anything drastic. 

But logic had gone out the window LONG before my arrival to the ER. 

The nurse immediately set up the protocol to make sure there was nothing on me that I could use to hurt myself (she even took my hair tie), and within about fifteen minutes I was on the phone with a counselor who let me know that I had the option to be admitted to an in-patient facility for my panic and anxiety attacks. I was vehemently nodding "yes" and at that point I was able to calm myself enough to say "yes, I think that would really help". 

I was able to sleep a few hours before I was transported to another hospital in the Cleveland area; once I arrived, I gave all my personal belongings to the security guard to put away in a locker for me during my stay. I was taken upstairs, and spent almost an hour speaking with the in-take consultant. 

I was finally able to "go to bed" around 7am after speaking with a handful of people about everything that had led up to my admittance. To say that I was beyond exhausted mentally and physically was an understatement. 

I was in the hospital from Tuesday morning until Friday evening; looking back on it now, I realized I was on the standard 72-hour suicide watch hold. My husband visited me several times during my stay, and so did my mom. Because my husband had to miss work a few times that week to visit me during the allotted time frame, my mom came to pick me up on Friday and take me home. 

It was during that visit that I'd met with a psychiatrist for the first time in my life. 

I was 35 years old, and I'd been diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder; Social Anxiety; Mild Agoraphobia; and Major Depressive Disorder. 

I wanted to share this story in this particular post because today - October 10th, 2021 (and every year on this date) is World Mental Health day; it also happens to be my birthday! 

I LOVE that WMH Day and my birthday coincide with each other. It's a positive reminder of how much I've overcome not just in the past few years, but over the course of my life in general. 

Imagine living through more than THREE DECADES with symptoms of mental illnesses, and not finding out about it officially until your MID-THIRTIES!

I'm sure it's not hard to imagine at all, because this is fairly common. Especially among women. 

I know this was a VERY long-winded post, and if you've made it this far, thank you SO SO MUCH for sticking with me. 

In November's post, I'll share how my diagnoses and treatment evolved between December 2018 and now. And I'll do my best to keep things as brief as possible. *wink*

If you feel comfortable doing so, please feel free to share your experience with your mental health diagnosis/diagnoses, or lack thereof. Were there any early signs (another future post topic!) that were overlooked back then but totally obvious now? How old were you when you were first diagnosed? 

Thank you again so much for taking the time to read my blog. Please know that whatever you decide to share will not be judged; you are surrounded by people of like-minds. It is my hope that shared experiences can help even just one person feel less isolated and lonely (we can be surrounded with a support system of 30+ people and still feel lonely! why is that!?). 

Take care of yourself, my friends. 

Much Love, 

Melanie