Today is Bell’s Let’s Talk about Mental Illness Day. On Twitter I encouraged folks to join the conversation.
So is my part in this national conversation.
I have no confirmation from a trained professional but I don’t think I am too far off when I say I am certain I suffer from some Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
From 2006 to 2008 my life was a personal hell. I suffered from pain that never ended, I suffered from Drs with no idea how to help me because they didn’t know what was wrong with me, I suffered from the belief that is was never going to end, and I suffered from depression as I became unable to do the simplest things without struggle, pain or burning with humiliation.
I thought about killing myself. I thought about it a lot actually. I even Googled the ideal amount of Percocet it would take to do the job. I was drowning in a black pool of pain, anger and despair. I felt I couldn’t burden my husband any further than I had
Obviously I am still here and I made it through.
(This is where I published instead of saving the draft)
I couldn’t go through with it though because I didn’t want to leave my kids with the stigma of having a mom that committed suicide. It is the only reason I’m still here, to be honest, and came through the other side of my hell.
Hip replacement surgery fixed my body but to this day nothing seems to have settled my mind.
I have panic attacks entering some places here in Winnipeg.
I have panic attacks when I have a fever because fever often means I am having an arthritic flare up.
I have panic attacks in certain medical buildings.
I have flashbacks at strange times.
I’ve often thought I should see someone about everything. I can’t tell you why I don’t. Maybe because I don’t know the first thing about who I would need to see because I can’t figure out how to describe where I am now.
Dealing with a chronic illness takes a toll on you mentally. As your body declines you begin to get angry, frustrated and, yes, depressed. I recently broke my most treasured of necklaces because I didn’t ask for help and tried to do it myself. I was angry at my loss of mobility in my hands, I was sad because I broke something that means so very much to me and I despaired at having it fixed.
So why the conversation here?
Because not all mental illness is chemical. Sometimes it is situational and sometimes we want to know we aren’t alone.
You are not alone.
I’m not alone.