Hi, I'm Jacque

New year.

New.

New.

New.

That word means so much to me right now. 1 year ago today I was in a very different place. I was fresh out of the hospital following my first suicide attempts. Everything was dark. I had no hope at all. I made plans to move in with my sister, but that was really more a safety measure than anything else. I couldn't be trusted to be alone if I was to keep on living. The thing is though that I still didn't want to live. I was trudging through day after day just existing because that's what we as humans are supposed to do. Therapy did not help. Hell, it was all I could do to convince myself to really open up to a therapist. There was no hope for me. I felt completely alone even when I was surrounded by people. I made the decision to move home because I simply couldn't stand to be away any longer. Looking at it from the outside, that probably looks like a terrible decision. But now I like to see it as the best thing I could have done. I was literally alone again. I felt like the biggest burden there ever was. I thought I was making life worse and harder for everyone I loved. In my skewed mind, one big loss would be easier for them than continually watching me suffer. I made the decision to take away their burden once and for all. I think most of you reading this know how the rest of the story goes. It's taken some time, but I now believe that everything happened the way it had to. I never would have gotten the intense help I needed if it hadn't gotten so bad. I would have eventually succeeded in doing myself in. But I lived through that night. Something or Someone bigger than me decided that there is more to my story. For a while I couldn't see why that was; I still felt useless and hopeless. But things have changed. Every night when I go to sleep, I want to wake up the next morning. I know I can make a difference in this world. I will do something meaningful. I am not a burden. My perspective shift still honestly baffles me, but I'm so grateful to be where I am now. It's cliché, but this new year really is a chance for a new me.

I so badly want to tell those who may be feeling like I felt that there is HOPE. 

It can get better.

 It won't be all sunshine and roses getting there, but the pain is worth it. 

You are worth it. 

You can begin again. 

We can fight this fight together.

We can be new.

Hi, I'm Jacque and I'm new.

The thing about Christmas.

My life has been odd since 2015, namely Christmasy parts of my life. 2 years ago, I worked with my fellow teachers to pull off a Christmas program that closed out the most amazing experience of my life. Then on a rainy morning, I packed up and headed back to the states. And I was home for Christmas.

Last December I was hospitalized for the second time in 2016. I spent a few weeks in the psych ward. I missed out on Christmas shopping. I missed out on wrapping gifts for my nephews. I missed out on making Christmas cookies with them for the first time ever. I don't remember much about that time thank to ECT, but I know I went home in time for the holiday. And I was home for Christmas.

This year is different though. I'very spent half of this year in some type of psych facility. I missed the first day of school. I missed field trips. I missed school parties. I missed so many bath times and bed time snuggles. I hate it so much. I hate knowing that my family misses me; hate missing them. And this year I won't be home for Christmas.

I'm having a very hard time with this reality. I'm missing so much! So many moments that cannot be recovered. And all because I just couldn't do it. All because my mind likes to hate on me and convince me that life isn't worth living. It feels like I'm the problem here and if I just wasn't around no one would have to be sad about me missing things, including me. I don't mean if I'd killed myself, because I have the presence of mind now to know that would have made things unfairly shitty for my family. I guess I just kind of with I never existed in the first place. Is this world actually a better place for having me in it? I have trouble believin so.

What I do believe is that there are people who love me, even though I don't know why. I believe that they deserve happiness; who am I to take that away from them in order to spare myself some pain? So here's the thing about Christmas, I'm going to miss this one, but I'm doing it for you. It sucks this year, but this is all in the hopes that I'll be around for many more Christmases to come. So for now, I'll decorate a palm tree, make cookies with my roommate, and be grateful for the Christmas that almost wasn't a thing for me.

Merry Christmas and all my love!

See Through

I tried to cover it up, tried to hide all the pain.

But when you weren't around I let my tears fall like rain.

You see through my lies; you see the real me.

Standing by me for all time, never daring to flee.

I don't understand your love and devotion;

seems as big as the sky, as deep as the ocean.

How do you feel when you see all this ruin?

To me it's as though I will never win.

You see through the laughter, the "happy", the smile;

knowing I've been broken for quite a while.

Although I'm broken I know you never see me as too much.

You're always there to comfort me; with even the slightest touch.

I'm sorry for the pain I've put you through.

Know it was never on purpose; doing this to you.

Thank you for seeing through when no one else can;

thank you for staying when you easily could have ran.

"Write about something that's see through." I love my expressive writing class because we have prompts like this one. This could be taken so very many ways; it could be literal and I could write about a window or a jar. I took it more figuratively and decided to write about seeing through me. So I guess in a way I wrote about something that's not actually see though because I think I out up a pretty good wall when I want to and not always transparent because there are things I feel like I need to hide. Meh, I do what I want. lol Anyway, this is the poem that flowed from me when I heard the prompt and I'm pretty happy with it. This poem is about my mom. No matter how good I think I am at hiding things, she can always seem to see through me. She's always saying that it seems like I'm not having a good day, even when I don't tell her that. I think that perhaps that's just the thing about moms, they just have that innate sense of feeling what their kids feel. I am so grateful for this; so grateful for the never ending love from my mom that I know not everyone gets to feel. Thank you mom for seeing through the fake me and really pushing to see me get better. Thank you for being my biggest cheerleader; thank you for giving me the world when you didn't even have it to give. You are amazing. I love you to the moon and back and a million red M&Ms! XO

On being suicidal.

I want to die.

I spend minutes, hours, and whole days plotting my demise.

I rationalize how the world would be better without me.
I see pictures in my mind; almost like gruesome crime scene photos where I am the victim.
I think up new ways to die on the daily.
 I lie in bed night after night wishing I wasn't breathing.
 I just want to be done.
I want to give up.
I am exhausted by the fight that I must fight day after day.

I convince myself that everyone who loves me is lying to me.

I am sure that I am the worst.

I know that I am a burden to everyone around me.
I am terrified of my mind.

I am a problem that needs to be solved.

There is only one solution I can see.
That solution leaves no room for a future.
That solution is putting myself 6 feet under.

This is how I feel like 90% of the time. 

These are the thoughts that own me when I fall down that rabbit hole.

This is what I'm trying to fix.

Because, honestly, I want to live.

I want to watch my niece and my nephews grow up.

I want to hear those munchkins' names on graduation day.

I want to see the world.

I want to change the world. 

I want make everyone's life better.

I want to see you smile.
I want to see me smile.
I want to know what joy truly feels like.
I want to walk in the light that went out so many years ago.

The thing is that all of that gets lost when I am cloaked in utter darkness. Nothing feels real and nothing matters, because I am ruining everything. Please don't take this as an invitation to tell me how great I am, I'm not looking for that. I'm not really looking for anything, I'm just trying to explain. I know that there are people in my life who look at me and wonder how I could ever be suicidal. My life is, admittedly, great. I am loved. I am cherished. I have everything I need. I am educated. I have held my dream job. I have had the opportunity to better the worlds of many people. I try to be there for others as much as possible. I try to give of myself. I try to appear put together. I try to be ok for all of you. The thing is though, that you just never know.

I live every day with this chasm of nothingness inside my chest and unfortunately no amount of love can fill it on the bad days. On the good days, I hear my baby boys say, "I love you" and I want nothing more than to live to hear it even one more time. On bad days, though, I can't even bring myself to so much as talk to them on the phone, because nothing matters at all; those little boys would be better off with such a mess of an aunt. My mind is a complex and frustrating place. I often tell my therapist that I feel as though I live in the middle of a tug of war; between wanting to live and wanting to die. Both sides pull at me constantly and sometimes one side or the other gets the upper hand. I think this will just always be my life.

I've come to accept the fact that the darkness is just part of me; but I've also come to know that the fact that it's there doesn't mean I have to let it win. There's a thing called Acceptance Commitment Therapy that has been absolutely revolutionary in my thinking as of late. ACT says that you don't necessarily get rid of the bad thoughts. What's important is not letting the bad thoughts take over. ACT is simply accepting the fact that you're having the thoughts and that that is OK.

Being suicidal is often something I feel guilty about; I beat myself up for wanting to do something that I know would rock the boats of more people than I can possibly imagine. Obviously this just leaves me feeling worse and wanting to die even more and it is so dangerous. But through ACT, I have realized that those thoughts will not end me unless I let them. I accept that I have those thoughts. I accept that I may never be free from those thoughts. But I also accept the fact that I have the power to let those thoughts roll on. I accept that I have the strength to climb out of the rabbit hole before I find the bottom of it. I accept the fact that even though a thought seems more than real, it may not be true. I accept the fact that my brain is sometimes an asshole and the answer is to just to say, "fuck off" and turn it off for a while.

I accept the fact the what I really really want is to live, even on the worst of days.





 Rereading this is strange for me. I was in a good place in life when I wrote this. I was still in residential treatment for my mental health and felt like I was finally making some progress in life. It was so nice to be in a bubble where all I had to focus on was getting better. I've been back in the real world for a few years now and it's not the same. It's not all sunshine and rainbows and helpful therapy and groups and living in a community that truly understands what I go through because they have been there, too. I've, unfortunately, lost touch with most of the people that I spent those 5 months with and feel alone in my struggles again. 

Mental illness is a bitch and I'm still struggling to find a foothold in life. I have since been hospitalized another 5 times. Fortunately, I have come to a point in life where I can tell when I'm letting the thoughts take over and I know to get my ass to the hospital before I do something that cannot be undone. I haven't attempted suicide in nearly 3 years and I'm proud of myself for that. I also haven't self harmed in about 4 months and I know from the past that I can keep that up for longer and I fully intend to .

At this moment though, the thoughts are starting to get the best of me again and I am in the scary part of my mind that seems to always lurk around the corner when I start to do well again. It hit me hard recently while sitting with my family and enjoying a night together. The idea of ruining their world is absolutely crushing to me, but I still have that part of me that is ready to leave this world. I hate that about myself. I feel so very selfish for thinking the things that I do.

It's now mental health awareness month and I all I hope is that my words bring some sort of strange comfort to another in knowing that you are never alone and that you can, in fact, keep going even when the fight is utterly exhausting. All I have ever wanted in life is to make a difference and help people. In my mind, I have already done that and perhaps my job on this Earth is done. I don't know why this is my thought process and why my death makes so much sense to me when everyone else thinks my life is worth saving.

All I know is that I'm still here right now. I still get up everyday and fight my biggest enemy; myself. 

I'm trying so hard to fight my mother fucker of a brain. I'm trying so hard to do this for my family. I'm still not at a place where I see the point in getting better for myself, but I can fight for the people I love. I fight for those 2 little boys that deserve to have their aunt around to see them grow up. I fight for my mom who has always worked her ass off to give me the world. I fight for my dad who loves me so well and is always there when I need him. I fight for my big sister who would fight anyone and anything for me. I fight for my step-dad who came into my life and loves me like his own, no questions asked. I fight because it's not fair to put them through the pain of just seeing me deal with these illnesses and it would be even more unfair to put them through the pain of losing a daughter/ sister/ aunt. I fight because I don't want to be just another sad story.

I'm just questioning of that fight is really worth it.

The change in me.

There's pain inside, I just can't hide.

It's stuck and I just can't seem to get away.

Please let me go, please let me out.

I'm all alone, I want to shout.

The end has come, it's done for me.

I'll go away, set you all free.

I'm so afraid; can't control it anymore. 

This world is something I just wasn't made for.

It's time to change; to trust myself.

Can't let my emotions stay up on the shelf.

I'm not alone; won't ever be.

You'very got my hand; you're guiding me.

There's light ahead; now I can see.

It's time to live; set it all free.

I'm lying to you.

Ever since I've been back in the world of the internet machine, I've been sharing things with all of you.

I shared pictures of my artwork.

I showed you the quotes that I posted at my house to try to keep some positive vibes around.

I posted pictures from family weekend.

I shared posts from To Write Love on Her Arms.

I told you that you're all making me feel very loved.

The only thing is...I'm lying to you, or at least I feel like I'm lying to you.

I'm doing that thing that we all do on social media, I'm sharing only the good stuff. I'm painting the picture that I want you to see.

In that picture I'm happy and better and everything is fine.

In that picture I never think about the fact that I think the world would be a better place without me. In that picture I don't feel alone. 

In that picture I don't feel like I'm a burden to everyone.

In that picture it's not dark as night.

In that picture smiling is not a chore.

In that picture I'm not anxious as all get out in normal situations.

In that picture it doesn't take 20 pills a day just to keep me functioning.

But that picture isn't the real one. That picture is the goal, but it's not my life right now. There are very few happy little trees in my world right now. My world right now is pretty dark. It's not as dark as it was, thankfully, but it's still pretty dark. I still fell most days like I am a burden to everyone, especially my family. It doesn't matter what anyone tells me or shows me, I feel like I'm such a burden. Much of the time I still feel as though the world would be a better place without me in it. It's been quite some time since I've felt like actually taking myself out of the world; I'm incredibly thankful for that. I'm learning lots of things to help with those thoughts, as well. I'm working to reframe my irrational thoughts into more rational ones. I'm working on using coping skills to pull myself out of the terrible thoughts so that I don't get stuck in them and just sit around and ruminate. That doesn't always work, but it's something. One thing that's been really bothering me as of late is my anxiety. It has gotten to where most of the groups that I'm supposed to go to freak me the fuck out. Luckily, I'm able to employ my coping skills such as coloring or playing with my fidget spinner when I'm having a tough time. I'm working and I'm learning and that's what matters right now. 

So I do feel like I'm lying to you by only sharing all of the good things, but honestly speaking, who really wants to know about the bad?

Fighting for my Life

Not that anyone really gives a shit, but I've been totally out of communication for about 2 months now and I thought I'd tell the world why.

You see, about 2 months ago my therapist and I came to the realization that I simply wasn't stable, which was completely true. I wasn't doing anything at all besides working; my depression had reached the point that I wouldn't get out of bed even to shower or eat. There was a constant thought in my brain that I shouldn't be alive anymore. I lost the ability to trust myself to keep myself safe from myself and my terrible thoughts. I was urged to go to the emergency room and see about getting checked into the psych ward. Seeing how wonky my brain is and how bad my suicidal ideation was, I was admitted.I spent about 2 weeks there, had some ECT (electric shock therapy) treatments, got some new meds, and was sent home.

The thing is that they never should have let me go home. I was home for one day and decided that it was time for me to be done on this earth. Long story short, my mom found me the next morning, passed out, and I was taken by ambulance back to the hospital. I woke up in the emergency room to my parents on either side of me, looking sadder than I've ever seen before. I spent another 2 weeks in the hospital. I got some more ECT treatments, had some more therapy, and was again sent on my way, being diagnosed with Major Depression, PTSD, and Borderline Personality Disorder.

I was discharged to a long term treatment facility that would hopefully help me learn coping skills and things so I could learn to be home alone again.  So I'm in southern California at a treatment center and have been for a month. My treatment team says I'll be here for AT LEAST 90 days, likely more. I can see why, because I'm still having trouble wanting to live. I'm scared to death of eventually going home because I don't trust myself to be alone with the terrible things that my brain comes up with. But I'm trying to learn what I need to in order to be able to trust myself again.

I'm trying so hard to fight my mother fucker of a brain. I'm trying so hard to do this for my family. I'm still not at a place where I see the point in getting better for myself, but I can fight for the people I love. I fight for those 2 little boys that deserve to have their aunt around to see them grow up. I fight for my mom who has always worked her ass off to give me the world. I fight for my dad who loves me so well and is always there when I need him. I fight for my big sister who would fight anyone and anything for me. I fight for my step-dad who came into my life and loves me like his own, no questions asked. I fight because it's not fair to put them through the pain of just seeing me deal with these illnesses and it would be even more unfair to put them through the pain of losing a daughter/ sister/ aunt. I fight for them and I try so hard to remember that on my really bad days.

So that's where I've been and why I've been so quiet.
Also, if anyone wants to be super cool, I love snail mail! Letters and care packages are my favorite! My address is:
Sovereign Health
Atten: Jacque Graham MH
1211 Puerta Del Sol Suite 200
San Clemente, CA 92673

Message in a Bottle.

I'm going to tell you a story. This story might surprise some of you. This story might disappoint some of you because it might change how you look at me. However you react to this story, it's ok. I've made my peace with it. I suppose if I disappoint you, you'll make your peace with it eventually, too. At least I hope you do.

Once upon a time, I was in an immense amount of pain. I still am, but we'll get to that later. I don't know if you've ever felt terrible all the time. And I mean all the time. Day and night. Even when you're with people you love. Even when you're laughing. Even when you're doing things you ordinarily love. It's like a night that never ends, a tunnel that goes on forever, a weight that is always on your shoulders, a fog that never lifts. It is utter hopelessness. It is depression. I have severe major depressive disorder and battled against it without any help for more than a year before I ever sought help.

When you're in pain like that for that long, all you want is for it to end. You want to feel better. Heck, you just want to feel anything. You spend days on end chained to your bed, sobbing, trying to remember what it's like to be part of the real world, trying to think of ways to do anything but what you're doing. Sometimes the only thing you can think of that will make you feel different comes in a bottle. So you drain as many bottles you can find. Perhaps the answer is somewhere near the bottom of one? Not that one. Maybe the next one? And you keep trying. But that bottles never seem to hold the right answer. They make you feel a bit lighter though, make the fake laughter come a little easier.

And feeling even a little bit lighter is nice. So you try to figure out how to stay lighter all the time. What good is it to only feel ok when you're home alone at night? So you get yourself there during the day, too. You put things that have the opposite effect of coffee into your travel coffee cups. As far as you know, nobody suspects a thing. You take stupid risks, opening cans while you drive, sipping from them as you're driving down the road. Work isn't off limits anymore. Heck, work is where you need to be the most 'on' for people. You have to appear happy and you don't know how to make it through a whole shift pretending if you don't have help.

You know it's a problem. You're hiding things. You're lying. You're making sure to throw bottles in the dumpster so no one sees your trash can overflowing with them. But you try to play it off like it's not a big deal, like they can't tell. In a way, you want someone to ask, you want help. You want someone to step in and make you stop destroying yourself. Every time your best friend asks why she has to drive to dinner, you want her to look you in the eye and tell you she knows you're lying. You want her to tell you that you need help. You want someone to be the one to tell you they love you too much watch you go down the road you're going. But no one seems to notice. There's a point when you want to see how blatant you can be about things before someone says something.

Then one day, it happens. That best friend of yours has not been blind. She has not been ignoring you. She just didn't know what to do, didn't know how to help. But finally, she speaks up. She tells you how dangerously you're living. She gives you the facts about how what you're doing is more hurtful than helpful. She begs you to stop. But you still don't know what to do. At this point, it's become habitual. It's just a normal part of your day and you don't feel normal without it. But she tells you that you're not in it alone. She tells you she's there for you; she'll hold your hand no matter how hard it gets. And she does. And you send text after text, day after day about how hard it is, how much your brain is screaming at you to make it feel lighter again. But she sticks by you and answers every message, helps you stay distracted, reminds you that you're never alone. And you make it through, slowly, but successfully.

You stop hiding things. The bottles disappear. You stop craving what you know is terrible. The darkness doesn't go away, but you learn to live in it without your crutch. Even after several months, you still sometimes get the urge to feel that lightness, to embrace that easy laughter, but you fight it. You know you would only regret it and feel like a failure if you were to give in. So you stand in that dark tunnel, feeling your way along walls that seem to never end. You can't see even the tiniest sliver of light ahead. But at least you're no longer stumbling through that tunnel; you're standing upright and strong. Nothing outside of your brain is controlling and you're no longer ashamed of everyday choices.

Life in the Land of Oz

Ok, I know it's like actually literally the opposite of the land of Oz since "We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto;" but the land of Oz sounds so much cooler than Kansas, plus there's a Wizard of Oz museum here, plus I just love Wizard of Oz. So we're gonna go with it.

Well, I live here now. That's so weird to say and I still can't really believe it. It's strange because once upon a time, I moved out of the country on my own and it never really felt weird to say I lived in Honduras. I think it's got to do with everything being so similar and family being so close, relatively speaking. In Honduras, it was very clear that I was very far away and things were significantly different so I could tell I had made a big change right away. Here, not so much. It kinda still just feels like I'm here to visit my sister and I'll be heading back home soon. I suppose it will sink in more the longer I'm here.

So I don't know if you know this, but I haven't worked since mid December. The day I went to the hospital for my last inpatient stay, I decided my mental state just wasn't suitable for caring for tiny humans and I quit my job while I sat in the emergency room. It's been strange, because well, I like to work and work a lot; then one day I just couldn't anymore. I have hated being dependent on my family for everything since I suddenly lost my income, but they have been a huge huge help to me and never even questioned it. I don't know what I would have done without them standing behind me. They're just great. Anywho, back to the topic of work; I haven't been doing it lately. Before I moved, my therapist and I agreed that maybe I wasn't ready to go back to work yet. She suggested perhaps applying for disability just to get me by until my brain straightened back out. I kicked this idea around for a while and figured it was probably my best bet. I'm still not having enough good days to pretend to be ok for people. But fast forward to last weekend which was moving weekend and I was feeling great.

I got all settled in here and even felt good enough to go out and apply for a job on Monday. I was on top the world! I voluntarily got out of the house and made a move to get my butt back to work. But then I didn't hear back from the place I had applied. Bam, hit with rejection which really puts me in a bad way very very quickly. And the part of my brain that might come up with rational explanations for not getting a call is drowned out by the part that screams, "EVERYONE HATES YOU, YOU AREN'T GOOD ENOUGH FOR ANYTHING, JUST GIVE UP!" Then the darkness just hit me like a ton of bricks and took over my brain again. I applied for disability yesterday because, I'm really not sure I'm ready to go back to work. I think my therapist was right when she said that I've lost that mask that I have to wear when dealing with people. But guys, adulting will kick you right in the freaking shins every single time.

Basically, insurance and the market place are kind of a mess and I have to find new doctors ASAP. My therapist said she wasn't sure I'd be able to keep making myself live for long without someone to talk to. I can't say she's wrong about that either. So, I can't use my Missouri insurance here, but I also can't just like transfer my policy. And when I tell the marketplace that I haven't made any money in the past month and can't estimate income for the year they're like, "oh, you're too poor, we won't help you pay for insurance;" which is just like, nonsense. But long story short, I have to hope my Missouri doctors will just refill my prescriptions without making me come in or I have to drive home if they want to see me. And I'm hoping I can work out some sort of video chat sessions or something with my therapist. Ugh, it's such a mess. Because of this mess I decided it didn't matter if I was ready to return to work, I'm just going to have to make myself. At the risk of rejection (again) I called to check on my application. Turns out they had lost it, but the manager wanted to meet with me. So now I have a job and can straighten the insurance mess eventually. I still really don't think I'm ready to work again, but I just couldn't wait around for a decision about disability. We'll see how it goes I guess.

Wow, this is way longer than I expected. If you're still with me, thanks for letting me ramble. Getting thoughts out is really helpful for me, even if no one ever reads them.

My story is not over.

A few months ago I gave up.

I gave up on life.

I gave up on hope.

I gave up on myself.

That night I took all of my anxiety meds and went to bed. I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want to be stopped. I didn’t write a note because I figured that having witnessed my downward spiral, people could put things together on their own. I knew exactly what I was doing and it was what I wanted. Without me, my family could move on. No one would have to spend time worrying about me. The doctors, medicines, therapy sessions, and hospitalizations would be no more. It would just be so much easier for everyone if I went away for good. I think it’s fairly obvious, since I’m telling you this, that my attempt to leave this hell behind didn’t work out.

The months after that were mostly spent alone, curled up in my bed, trying to avoid the world. I wanted desperately for people to show me that they cared. Saying it is one thing, proving it is another story entirely. Words meant nothing to me. My brain and heart couldn’t seem to get on the same page. I could be told over and over how loved I am, but I could never seem to believe it. In my head, I am the worst person to walk this Earth. I am a burden that people just pretend to want around. For many years, I have felt like I play second fiddle, if you will, because there is always someone or something that is more important than me. Living like that caused me to fall further and further into the darkness of my illnesses. My mind constantly told me how unloved, unwanted, not cared for, and just plain forgettable I was. I had no idea how to make it stop.

Then 5 weeks ago, I had an especially bad night. I wanted to give up again. But this time, I ended up looking through my paperwork from my first hospital stay. The papers said to call the psych evaluation nurse. So I called the nurse…I told her the truth about how I wasn’t safe at home by myself and I was seriously considering giving up for real.  The nurse told me to get to the emergency room ASAP, but not to drive myself. It was the middle of the night and I had no one to call to take me. Next thing I knew, 2 police officers were at my front door and the nurse was calling me back to make sure they’d gotten to me. Then came the paramedics and the great fun of explaining that I had taken an overdose of sleeping pills

I was taken by ambulance to the emergency room where I spent the rest of my night sitting alone and waiting. I was admitted to the Marian Center and I must say I was glad that they kept me. The hospital is a safe place. People are always checking on you and keeping tabs on you to make sure you’re ok. When you’ve felt for so long that you don’t have control over your own brain and it tends to wander into darkness, you live in near constant fear. At least I do when it gets bad. I’m scared of my own mind. I saw a new psychiatrist while I was there and he added even MORE meds (I hate taking so many meds each day). I also started my ECT treatments while I was there. I truly believe that my stay at the hospital saved my life, not to say that I always feel like I want it saved. I still have my days when all I want to do is give up.

There are days that I feel like nothing is ever going to change. Days that I hate myself for being sick and becoming a different version of me. There are days that I fall and can’t do anything. There are days I feel forgotten. I didn’t ask for this and I hate what it turns me into. I hate how much it has taken from me. I hate that I push away the people that I love and end up alone. Oh well, what’s done is done and I’m desperately trying to pick up all of the pieces of my life and put them back together.

The strangest snow day there ever was.

Thursday morning around 5 am, I found myself standing on my mom’s porch, in the snow; wearing pajamas, chacos, and a light fleece jacket. I remember my mom coming to the door and starting to freak out. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what she was so worried about; all I had done was show up at her house for breakfast as I do almost every single day. Sure, this time I had walked through the snow wearing sandals. And yeah, I was still wearing my pajamas and my jacket was nowhere near warm enough, but so what? Once I got inside, my mom kept asking where all I’d been and how long I’d been outside and what did I think I was doing. Unfortunately, I couldn’t answer those questions. I did have a few to ask myself though, “Where is Casey? She was with me…” and “What about Blondie? She should be here, too.”

“Jacque…what are you talking about? Casey is in Kansas and Blondie is in Joplin…you came here alone…”

 

“Oh wait,” I quickly said, “I meant Karman, I know she’s here, I can see her red hair peeking up over the couch and she was just at my house for hours before I decided to come here.”

“Jacque,” my mom said slowly, "I haven’t seen Karman in months, she didn’t come here with you…”

At this point, I was beginning to think things were a bit odd. After all, I distinctly remembered walking out of my house all together. I remember passing certain houses. I remember that when we arrived, my mom was standing by a big tree in her yard talking to her neighbor. It didn’t matter to me that there haven’t been neighbors there for probably a year, I KNEW I saw them. For the next couple of hours, I sat very still and confused as my mom kept trying to get straighter answers out of me. The thing was, I just couldn’t remember things, I tried so hard and all I could remember was the fact that I’d kept running into things in my house while Karman and I had been there chatting.

I got dropped back off at my house and tucked into my bed to warm up. Apparently, I didn’t do much sleeping though as my mom tells me she later returned to find me standing in my room talking to one of my teddy bears. I had tried to change my clothes, but couldn’t even handle that as I stood there in shorts, one sock, and my fleece jacket with no shirt under it. This gap of time when I was home alone is the hardest part to remember. Perhaps the being out in the cold had made me slightly more aware of things while I was outside walking. Who knows?

I certainly don’t know. I bet I do know one thing though, I bet at this point you’re thinking, “Man, this girl must have been seriously fucked up that night.” The thing is I wasn’t. I was stone cold sober. And I suppose that’s what really makes this deal a bit creepy for me. It would make more sense if I had been impaired. Like in Perks of Being a Wallflower when Charlie is given acid and he ends up standing in the driveway shoveling a perfect circle in the snow. But as I said, he was tripping so it made sense for him to think a tree turned into a dragon and for him to just fall asleep in the snow. My experience makes for less sense. After reading various things on the internet about this type of scenario (and after my mom called my nurses from the psych hospital to get their advice/ opinions) I believe I suffered what is known as a psychotic break. The basic premise being that sometimes things just get so bad in the brain that it shuts off for a little while; and you end up hallucinating.

This has never happened to me before and, man, I hope it never does again. It was the most terrifying thing I have ever experienced. On that note, I suppose I can update on my brain in general again. On December 15, I was again admitted to the Marian Center because my treatment team and I all deemed me a danger to myself. I started an additional medication there which brings me up to 3 psych meds every day. Fun times. I also started my ECT treatments while I was in the hospital. They were pretty uneventful and all I can really remember from those days is being put to sleep the waking up later in my room. Unfortunately, I can’t say I’ve seen much of a change from the ECT treatments. Still, I haven’t given up hope that they may kick in later like medication is supposed to work.

Thank you all very much for your words of support and encouragement as I continue to try and battle through these long days and nights. You are far more helpful and uplifting than you can ever know. Also, please know that I don’t write about these things for attention. I write about these things because they should be perfectly normal to discuss, just like any other illness. I write about these things because I want someone else to see that it’s ok to reach out for help.