what was said about mental healthcare in question period and presented petitions the week of April 22nd?

It was in the House of Assembly this week. When showing up to demonstrate— we were greeted with another empty parking lot because it was a holiday for those at Confed, but it was so nice to have mild weather, little wind, and the promise of spring in the air.

But it was back to it on Tuesday, and there was a little relief when it came to the carbon tax chatter this week. Instead the opposition grilled about the cost of the cyber attack, housing, asking for Minister Hogan’s resignation, the new hospital in Corner Brook, and arguing about whether the tent encampment down at Colonial Building is a protest or not.

But as you know, I was listening for any talk about mental health. Once again I have to say thank you to Paul Dinn and Lela for not letting it go.

First mention in question period was by Lela on Tuesday, April 23rd:

Tom Osbourne’s response sent me into a bit of a tailspin. Every time he mentions Towards Recovery and how great it is, I think about how he wasn’t even aware in June of 2023 that it hadn’t been released. How could he possibly understand it’s signifigence if he wasn’t even aware of the report not being released?

To add to that, his response about Bridge the Gapp being there as an option once again added to my tailspin. As someone who has been in crisis. As someone who has been desperate for help, the last thing someone wants to do is navigate the Bridge the Gapp website. I wish I could yell out from the gallery that they should be adding several other mental health system navigators like Barry Hewitt. A team of one that has had his calls double in the last several years if I understand correctly. To add to that, Minister Osbourne mentioned the following resources.

  • Doorways

  • FACT

  • Beds in Labrador

  • Bridge the Gapp

  • 811

Later in the week it would come out that the beds in Labrador aren’t even in operation because of a shortage in staff. Yet another thing on the 54 recommendations that is not yet complete because there is no-one to staff the actual beds. This will be a problem across the board. As someone who is in consultations for a new mental health initiative, I can’t help but wonder who will staff it? How will they find the people to make it work if they can’t even get six beds staffed?

Later on during the session, while talking about an amendment— Lela talked once again about lack of access to mental healthcare in Labrador. She spoke how it often feels like they live in a different world because in her district, she pointed out, people can’t even go to the Waterford. You can be in psychosis, but not have proper support. As she continued on, she shared a heartbreaking story about a young man who died by suicide. He loved his home, but he couldn’t bear it anymore. The support for him wasn’t there. Lela always speaks with passion and I admire her deeply.

Wednesday, April 24th:

Tony Wakeham got up and questioned Fred Hutton about the housing units by the airport. He questioned how much security would cost. Minister Hutton responded by mentioning some of those supports which he said would include counselors and addiction supports.

Government loves to use the words “wraparound services” I assume mental healthcare is included in that, but it’s hard not to get cynical when it’s not provided to most who need it now.

Petitions were brought forward— Lela once again spoke to being unable to access adequate healthcare. She spoke about revising it to include access to mental healthcare.

Paul Dinn got up immediately afterword and presented a petition to ask for access to long term mental healthcare. I’m so grateful that both parties in opposition are willing to speak to this.

Thursday, April 25th

Tony Wakeham asked for clarification about what supports would be available for those going to the housing units near the airport including access to mental healthcare with those wraparound supports.

I found Premier Furey’s answer to be quite something: “ As this government, we intend to provide the full wraparound supports. Whether that's health services available to them, mental health and addictions services available to them, social services available to them, they are being provided that and offered options towards those facilities. They are being offered that today, Sir. They are being offered it on a regular basis with respect to the encampment currently, and we intend to ensure that those services are continued to being offered in any future housing options that are available and selected by the people that are in that encampment.”

Are they really being offered mental healthcare at the encampment? Is it accessible?

NDP really took the government to task—Lela started by asking about why the six psychatric beds in Labrador aren’t staffed and then onto why they haven’t been able to fill a psychosis nurse position. This line in particular from her stuck out to me: “Will the minister admit this government is not taking concrete action to help those needing critical mental health care?”

I’m glad mental health care is being asked and talked about— but it’s so hard to listen to this discourse and not become discouraged. Even moreso, the fact not a single person has brought up losing Wellness Together in the House of Assembly. A 24/7 service that has yet to be adequately replaced and Tom Osbourne is on the record blatantly misleading the public by saying we have services that do that.

Despair creeps in about my own case. But yet, I’m one of the lucky ones.

The stigma only seems to grow when it comes to addictions, psychosis, and other conditions that come with serious mental illness that many don’t truly understand. It’s a complex conversation that it feels very few are willing to actually have beyond pointing us to Doorways.

what was said about mental healthcare in question period this week?

After shutting down the house early in March, MHAs returned to the House of Assembly this week. Ari, Jill, and I returned on Monday morning, but for us there had been zero break as we’re on week 176 reminding government there needs to be better access to long term mental healthcare.

We were greeted with a blocked off parking lot. Apparently they didn’t believe the fisher protest was truly off because we couldn’t park in our usual spot and had to walk through three groups of cops to get to our spot by the wall. I couldn’t help but feel a boiling in my blood as I considered the resources used on Monday morning that could have been directed towards mental healthcare.

ANYWAY— since all the MHAs were back and rockin away in the HoA for the theatrical question periods—what did they have to say about mental health? It was brought up in a petition brought forward by Paul Dinn as well as several questions that shed light of issues impacting so many. Of course, how much can the government really answer within a two minute time frame? I hear this a lot. It was given to me as an excuse when I critiqued an answer given. How not much can be answered within a few minutes.

How are we supposed to hold them accountable? How are we supposed to get full answers when the House of Assembly is closed the majority of the time? I find myself shouting back at the audio as I work at my desk.

However, I want there to be a record, other than buried in the Hansard or a live stream. Below are direct links to the moments mental healthcare is brought up even if in a roundabout way. I’m obviously not a journalist, barely even a blogger, but this is a way for me to keep track and also easily point others when they ask me what’s been said.

I wrestled about whether or not to include all questions about housing. I didn’t, but I want to be VERY, VERY clear that access to mental healthcare will not be solved until there is secure housing available for everyone. I’m not an expert on the subject but I do believe housing is the foundation to mental wellness. But mental wellness vs illness is where I made the distinction in what to highlight. However, I would strongly suggest listening to the recent Indy Podcast series about housing, as well as everything they’ve written on the subject.

This is my first time trying this. I’ll try to be wittier and more detailed moving forward— but forgive me with this clumsy attempt to document what the government is actually saying as I also deal with personal and work things that require most of my attention right now.

Without further ado— what was said about mental healthcare in question period and petition time this week?

Monday, April 15th

Paul Dinn brought forward a petition that we collected signatures for over a year ago. (THANK YOU to everyone who signed. You’re the reason he can still bring this forward!) I’m immensely grateful that even after he was switched out of shadow minister of health that he continues to talk about this. Paul has always made time to talk to me about mental healthcare and it was a big deal to know he hasn’t given up even though he’s been asked to focus on education.

Tuesday April 16th

Jim Dinn asked in question period if the Minister of Education was aware of a letter sent by NLHS to school administrators in Central Newfoundland about deferring requests for consultations for students regarding ADHD etc. Kudos to Jim for pressing this issue and using more than one question. Also want to thank him for the times he’s met with me.

Wednesday, April 17th

Lela brought forward a heartbreaking question and highlighted an issue that I’ve also seen talked about here in Town. What will be done for those who need to access mental healthcare for their pychosis? Tom Osborne’s answer was lacking at best and infuriating and discouraging at worst.

Thursday, April 18th

Jody Wall asked how many people are staying at the former Comfort Inn. I know I said I wouldn’t include the housing questions— but Fred Hutton specifically mentioned that people who will be staying there will received help for mental health and addictions.

And that’s a wrap on question period and petitions this week!

I did see that there a social services committee meeting happened. I haven’t had a chance to listen to it — but I will share the link as I plan to listen as I noted it began with talking about drug treatment.


when you want to have kids but choose not to

Before you read this-- I need to warn you about a few things and clarify another couple:

-There is talk of mental illness and suicidal ideation

-I ABSOLUTELY believe people with mental illness can be fantastic parents.

-I support those with mental illness who choose to be parents. Some of the best parents I know suffer.

-People are born with physical and or predisposed to mental illnesses every day— it doesn’t mean it’s not a life worth living. Quite the opposite. Choosing to have children knowing they may have a mental illness does not make you a bad parent or irresponsible. This is why I try so hard to educate and fight stigma. For kids who are born predisposed to mental illness and have a chance to live well no matter what, because I truly believe it is possible.

-This is a very personal decision that I would never encourage someone else to make-- however, I believe it might be common and should be talked about.

__________________________

It was years ago when I realized. I hadn't been diagnosed with bipolar yet, but something in me realized that I couldn't do it. My suicidal ideation started at 10 and my brain has been a torture chamber for most of these following 23 years.The older I get, and the worse the illness seems to be, the more I know it’s not something I’m capable of. Had it been JUST the question of passing it on, I likely could have pushed through it. With proper education, supportive parents, and access to mental healthcare-- it’s absolutely possible to pass on a genetic for being predisposed to mental illness, but also be able to give a child a wonderful life.

It just so happens that giving a kid my brain is the very tip of the iceberg and not even close to the whole story.

It was easier to accept when there were years to change my mind, and no partner in the picture. Nobody asks a single person when they're going to start having kids. When you have years left to change your mind, it's not quite so real.

But every time I held a newborn baby in my arms in those early years of accepting it, I would fight back tears. It was when that decision hit me like a ton of bricks.

When I met Calvin, he was insistent he didn't want kids. I pretended the yearning in my heart wasn't there. It was yet another thing we agreed on.

The years slipped by-- I fell in love with him, and as we talked about kids again, it was clear we both had the same ache in our hearts. We've had the conversation over and over again. Sometimes his voice cracks on the way home from visiting a baby, and I wonder if he regrets marrying me.

It's such a painful and personal conversation. There was the night we discussed a vasectomy for him. He had been pretty into it. (As much as you can be) but when he came home from the doctor, we spent the night in tears. He broke down and admitted, that if my mental health drove me to end my life by suicide, he would be angry of there being no chance of being a father. We wept because that is our reality. We have to have those conversations about mental health and the reality of how I may die.

There's where you move down through the ice.

I truly believe nobody in this world understands how sick I get. Calvin gets glimpses. When I lock the doors. When I rock back and forth for hours on end, when I hear things, when I smell and feel things that nobody else seems to. Spending money, agitation, paranoia. When the noise in my mind gets so loud I want to screech constantly to make it stop.

And yet-- imagine we got that under control. Imagine I found a place of stability. In a dream world if I got to go to a facility that would help, and found stability in that with lithium and lamotrigine. But unfortunately there's still more to that iceberg,

Postpartum. I've read a lot about this and I feel so much for my hero friends and sisters who’ve given birth. What they go through for the first time as their bodies and mind adjust. One of my closest friends disclosed going on antidepressants for the first time. Others vaguely referred to how hard it was. Deep down I have a feeling that it would destroy me. Going off my meds, adjusting hormones, would all lead to me not being the kind of mother I want to be.

Let's go further down the iceberg.

I have this thing when I'm agitated and in a mixed episode or manic. I shake things. Calvin and I will be in a stare down in the kitchen as the noise in my head gets louder and louder. I'll hold my phone and shake it endlessly. Hold my cup and shake it endlessly. If I'm holding something and the noise won't die down, I need to shake. I will never forget as we were on the subway in Boston and the rattling wouldn't stop. He looked over at me with clear understanding about how close I was to snapping. He brought it up later gently.

You can't shake a baby when the noise becomes too much. At 2AM when a baby has been screaming for hours, you can't shake a baby for a moment's relief. You can't risk a life.

And then down just as a the iceberg touches the ocean floor-- there's just the matter of my rapid cycling year in and year out. Like all children, I understand just how much parenting affects a child. How it shapes the rest of their life. And I have tried to be consistent for people in my life over and over and failed.

Many people have bore the brunt of me disappearing. And the worst people I could do it to is children. My nieces and nephews knew me as the aunt who made scavenger hunts, took them to ice cream, and played games. But as I got older and sicker, I wouldn't know how to connect-- making it awkward. And worst of all was those who witnessed me crying with no-one able to give a clear reason why.

And when I thought I had it figured out and was able to be stable-- I failed the pre-teens. Not knowing how to explain my illness, I avoided them. Avoided explaining until I once again felt awkward asking to be a part of their life after months of not being present.

Imagine me as a mother. I can’t do that to another human.

I try to imagine us as parents without Calvin’s ADHD and my Bipolar + whatever else is added my medical file. He would be the most wonderful father. I can see him in my mind's eye holding out his arms as a baby takes their first steps towards him. I can hear him singing songs off tune trying to settle their cries. I can see him being fiercely protective to make sure school wouldn't be the same for them as it was for us.

And as much as I would be a damaging mother-- there are parts of me that were born for the role. Most of my exes ended up thinking I was piece of work, but always said I was born to be a mother.

I want to hold a baby in my arms. Want to bring them to the park, convince them to eat carrots, and show them the woods that would be any kid's Narnia.

It's not our reality though. Calvin and I knew going in that it would be this way. But sometimes it hurts so much it feels hard to take that next breath of air.

There's never a good time to talk about it. I don't want friends to think I'm not thrilled for them. Don't want them to mistake my grief as trying to take away from their moment.

But at some point it needs to be said because a part of me cracks a little bit more every time I'm teased about getting pregnant. Tossing and turning like the iceberg that lasted for weeks even though it was unstable on the rocks of Motion Bay.

Not long ago, as we cried yet again about it all-- I whispered "I have so much love to give and nowhere to put it." I'm scared of messing people up. Scared of disappearing with each episode and not being better.

But there's one area of my life I've proven to be consistent. My tiny panthers. The loss of Len still drives me to dark places, and nothing will ever, ever replace her-- but there's a lot of love with nowhere to go.

That's when we saw Mozart. The 13 year old tiny panther who had spent several months at the shelter.

We're exactly one week into getting him used to the shoe. He's not a newborn-- but he's a place to pour love.

And that's what we'll being doing for the next little while at the shoe to distract our hearts.

Loud.

I was laying in bed when I first realized what was happening. The thoughts in my head bounced around at high speed. It felt like they were bouncing off the walls of my skull, landing on a trampoline, and soaring up again. I couldn’t hush them. Couldn’t calm them down. “This is it.” I thought, and laid there— knowing sleep would be elusive for the next little while.

The buzzing wouldn’t stop. It had started a few nights before, but it was all I could hear. I knew better than to ask anyone if they could hear it too. It was relentless. Like the heat bugs in Muskoka I would hear every summer as a child. Except it didn’t mean it was warm outside and there would be days of swimming in the lake. It meant that I would hear it over everything else. When people talked. When driving. When listening to music. And all night long.

It came to a head on Saturday morning. Calvin and I were arguing about something. I looked at him— knowing he couldn’t hear it either. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. It was so loud. My skin itched. I wanted to tear it off. Nothing he was saying was reaching me. I told him we couldn’t do this. He shouldn’t be married to me. I got up, got in the car, and drove. Beside me the phone went off over and over. I thought of Red. At the end of Maddox Cove Road, I turned around and went back.

“All I can hear is buzzing.” I told him. “It won’t stop.”

A look of understanding dawned on him.

I was at a work event. There were so many people in the room. I’m still nervous about Covid. I didn’t want them to know. My head was so loud. I knew I couldn’t drink. All I wanted was a drink. How could they not see what was happening in my brain? I played the games. Talked to the people. Went to the bathroom over and over to make sure I looked normal.

I left afterword— relieved no-one had noticed my agitation.

Drove to the Duke. My friends were sitting there. Some non regulars were there. They looked happy. My head was so loud. I could barely hear people. Wait. Someone was talking to me.

“Are you still demonstrating every week?” Their voice came through to me.

I stared at them. I shifted my head forward. Calvin kept trying to talk to me. He sounded far away. It was important to appear normal. I asked people what made them smile. That works sometimes.Drags me to their reality.

They asked me what made me smile. I started to laugh hysterically. The laugh that Bethany, Anna, and Ashley would have heard years ago. Before I knew how it would make people think of me. The laugh I work hard to hide. The laugh and behaviour that pushed them away before plummeting into darkness and pushing them away for months on end. Some of the first casualties of my brain.Part of the reason I keep almost everyone at arm’s length now.

Calvin took my arm. “I’m taking you home.”


“I let it out.” I told my therapist.


My cat is sick. It’s so loud. But my cat is sick. He needs to go to the vet right away. I have an appointment with the Minister of Health too. For over two years, I’ve thought about an opportunity like this. but my head is loud. My cat is sick. But you can’t reschedule with the Minister of Health. You can’t do that. It’s something you don’t do.

The entire time I can’t think straight. My cat is sick. My head is loud. I feel outside of my body. I know this is going poorly. This is why they don’t talk to people in the throngs of lived experience isn’t it? They likely won’t take me seriously. The tears are coming. Can the people on the line hear?

They say goodbye. I sob. It’s so loud. I need my cat to be okay. Two and a half years led to that. I have no idea if they will ever give me a second chance at hearing me out about long term mental healthcare.

The psychiatrist is asking me how I am. They mention my advocacy. I get angry. I start spitting out words as the tears start to fall. My voice is shaking. It’s so loud. It will not stop.”I’m so scared.” I tell her. “I’m so scared. It’s so loud.” I rage against lithium. Oddly enough, she seems to be the more understanding about my hatred of the magic drug.

“I can’t tell people, but it’s getting harder to hide. People won’t take me seriously anymore. What if work doesn’t think I can do my job? What if I ruin everything?”

My therapist looks back at me through the screen.

“Isn’t this what you’re fighting for?” he replies “A conversation about what really happens? Isn’t this the type of thing you‘re trying to shed light on? What if someone looks at you and thinks they have to hold it together because you do?”

I stare at him. It’s so loud. If they knew, people wouldn’t want to be here. If they knew, they might be scared of me. Tuck me into a box called Insane. No-one can know. I’ve lost too many people already.

All I want to do is dance. Want to blast the music and scream and dance. My brain is loud, but it wants to dance right now. I think about Pictou Wharf. I look over at Calvin. He’s buried in a game. I know I’ve put him through enough already.

I’m furious and agitated. I don’t know what to do. It feels like if I don’t do something now I’ll need to lock myself in my room again. It hits me what I can do. Two minutes later, I get in the car and drive to Canadian Tire and spend $350 on something I’ve wanted for a year. Fun. That’s how you do it. I drive home through the noise.

I’m huddled in bed. Calvin is upstairs gaming. My fingers are tapping on the mattress. Sometimes I kick my legs up and down trying to contain myself. He’s going to be coming in later. I need to hide this from him. He can’t know about how loud it is. He can’t know I can’t stop. He’s already told me he misses me, I don’t want to make it worse. I internally laugh. The last thing I want is to be in bed. My body wants to move. I want to speak. The words are bouncing on 10x speed. I wonder if anyone noticed today how concentrated I was on speaking slowly and quietly.

Over the last little while I have worked, gone to events, spoken on TV, hung out with friends, and demonstrated weekly. This is what it’s been like in moments of looking healthy. I beg of you not to judge me. Beg of you to not think I can’t do my job or speak about mental health. Speaking up about things like this makes me scared of losing everything I work so hard for. This is hard enough to share— I’m not sure people will ever want to know the rest.

Petition in HoA on 04/05/2023

Good Evening Minister Osborne, Mr. Paul Dinn, Mr. Jim Dinn, and Premier Furey:

Today I was once again listening to question period and petitions being brought forward,.I would like to address Mr. Dinn's petition regarding long term mental healthcare and the response. In particular, I was dismayed to hear Doorways once again being used as an example of a gateway to long term healthcare. I'm addressing this to all four of you, with the hope each of you will truly hear and understand that long term mental healthcare is more than short term programs and that for many, the ones that do exist are simply not reaching everyone they need to.

-The mental health counselors and psychologists who are a part of the family care teams-- are there waitlists? Are they meant for long term continuous visits for those who need it? If not, it's not long term mental healthcare.

The 5 million for community-based wraparound mental health and addiction services is listed as a highlight in the budget, but that means little to people if there is no explanation as to how that will provide continuity of care. Is this the community treatment centres?

FACT teams were mentioned-- I think these are great, but highlighted in the budget is 4.4 million. That is less than half of the 8.9 million last year. Why has it changed so drastically?

As someone who lives with Bipolar and C-PTSD, the examples are upsetting. Doorways is good short term mental healthcare-- but it's not long term continuity of care for lifelong mental illnesses. I know that sometimes limited repeat sessions are offered, but have been told it's meant for short term.

Short term options aren't healthy for those with chronic illness. There is trauma in repeating your story over and over. And I'm told FACT teams are bursting at the seams (Hopefully I'm wrong) and meant more for people who need close monitoring. I, and many others, don't fit in these boxes.

In order to have any quality of life, I need a family doctor (I'm told over 100 000 people are without one) a psychiatrist I completely lucked into after advocating for myself which many cannot do. (In Corner Brook it was recently said people would lose their psychiatrist if they were deemed stable-- not taking into account that people relapse. Often quickly.) A therapist (Who I have to pay out of pocket for and am currently taxed on) and a pharmacist. (Where many people do not have coverage for medications. I have insurance.)

I'm writing this from a place of complete privilege, and can still tell you it's not enough.

Mental healthcare for many is complex. It requires multiple professionals. And often people without privilege such as mine are left without care, homes, or adequate funding to survive.

Don't get me wrong, I have been a part of consultations that are beautifully laid out. Centres designed for care that would be the envy of other provinces. But for now they are plans-- and not guaranteed. They also need people. Healthcare workers who can staff the bricks and mordor. I fully acknowledge that many parts of Towards Recovery have been put in place. (Still waiting on the evaluation!) but believe with my whole heart that short term, and not long term, was mainly addressed.

I ask that you please:

  • Read the Embracing Experiences report put out by the CMHA.

  • Find out more about the consultations regarding Community Treatment Centres, and that all of you support implementing the recommended steps. Some of those are urgent.

  • Provide better, or any funding at all, for non profits who provide free long term mental healthcare (Jacob Puddister Memorial Foundation, who has to close their waitlist for three months at a time, comes to mind.)

  • Look into why psychiatrists & psychologists who are leaving-- is it just about money? What will retain the good professionals we already have? Are their workplaces healthy?

  • Fully commit to 9% of the healthcare budget being spent on mental healthcare which was recommended by Towards Recovery. As well as a breakdown showing where it's going. This should be 351 million.

  • Look beyond the Avalon for providing care in place.

  • Make ADHD assessments easier to access-- my husband's costs $1800 out of pocket and I know there are many who have found this to be a huge barrier to care.

There are MANY other things. I'm sure you know my list is long because it's a complex subject. Mental healthcare is not free-- beyond the abysmal wait times-- those of us who are either not acute, or in need of short term only, are left in the dust and many slip through the cracks until it becomes acute or a life is taken from us. I know of too many people who don't even try to access public mental healthcare because of wait times they would face.

There is so much more I could say-- but please understand Doorways is not a gateway to long term mental healthcare, we need clarification if there are waitlists for FACT and clear understanding about their funding, if mental health professionals at the clinics are meant for long term, as well as what exactly 5 million for wraparound services means. Effective short term care should be applauded-- but there needs to be clear answers about long term. People need hope.

I know you all are trying-- hopefully hearing from someone with lived experience is helpful.

Thank you if you have read this in its entirety. As always, I will be out front each Monday morning in wind, rain, snow, sleet, or sunshine, with my friends reminding you that long term mental healthcare needs to be more accessible.

Kristi

marriage & mental illness

On November 20th, I made a vow to my husband that I would always try to take my lithium. It was not a vow I put in lightly. "I don't want to promise things I can't keep." I told him over and over. Although our vows were a surprise, it was one I knew he wanted me to say. In the end, I only made the promise to try. I'm glad I did, but nothing could have prepared me for how difficult it would be-- or how much I would break it.

Kristi reading off a piece of paper with her vows to Calvin who is listening intently.

Photo Credit: Alex Stead

Image Description: Kristi in her wedding dress reading her vows to Calvin who is wearing a black suit.

Two weeks later, I would be suicidal. He called in back up and asked for company from friends as he stayed holed up in the shoe with me. Later on he would admit that he knew if we hadn't gotten married, it would have been the end of our relationship. I'm one to hide away and put on a front when I'm unwell. He knew that had this happened before our vows, I would have hid from him too.

There had been an assumption that I’d feel less frightened to be with someone if married, but it turned out I still wanted to hide away. Adjusting to having someone be around for better or for worse has been a challenge for us both.

The last nine months have been harder than I think either of us thought it would be in our lifetime. With multiple manic episodes, depression, extreme anxiety on my end-- and his depression and anxiety, we've been on the rollercoaster ride they call marriage

Calvin and I did something a bit unconventional when it came to our relationship. We didn't move in fully until very recently. As time went on, he was at the shoe more and more-- but it was a slow move with baby steps taken each time. We knew it would be hard to adjust, but I'd had three roommates and figured it would be okay. But it's entirely different sharing a house with someone full time than sharing a room full time with someone. Not to mention my past roommates enjoyed solitude or were often away for various reasons.

Someone slipping in beside you when you haven't showered in days, and can barely speak is another thing entirely. You can't fake it 24/7. I'm a pro for a solid 8 hours, but beyond that, the mask tends to slip off. I thought Calvin knew what I was like when sick. In fact, I was so sure that it was the only reason I agreed to enter a relationship. He had seen the depression, and the hypo-mania. He wasn’t going in blind— but he hadn’t seen me without lamotrigine. Had I known what was coming, I never would have wanted to put him through that.

Photo Credit: Alex Stead

Image Description: Kristi pointing at Rick and Calvin on the other side with a half smile. They are standing behind the bar at the Duke.

During a manic episode I heard voices for the first time. Not screams or sounds like usual. I also found myself on the floor rocking back and forth as I shook from head to toe fighting the things inside my brain that are too difficult to share with an unknown reader. I would crawl away from him and hide behind the chair with my hands over my ears. He said when he looked into my eyes, I wasn't there. And honestly, although not afraid of violence, he was scared.

(This paragraph, perhaps more than any other, is terrifying to share. I’ve added and deleted stuff about how I dealt with this in connection with work, but in the end this is about marriage and all that matters is that I have people & systems in place to help that area of my life.)

Other times I would sit bolt upright in bed and tell him he HAD to listen to me or I was going to dance. He would listen to the rushed stream of words that tumbled out-- often stuttering from the speed. There was the agitation. The most agitated I've been since before getting diagnosed, and I would see the confusion as he looked at me and couldn't figure out why. Then came the paranoia. He would constantly be checking into things as I was convinced people could hear me, phantom smells, and noises he couldn't hear. 

I lost every ounce of confidence-- unusual with mania from what I understand-- but still grand ideas and paranoia that are characteristic of mania made their all consuming appearance. I was convinced my entire online community, which I dearly loved, hated me. He would read every tweet, every post, every word at least three times because I was paranoid about various things. He watched me isolate from everyone whether or not they realized how I was doing it.

Photo Credit: Alex Stead

Imagine Description: Calvin and Kristi dancing. You can see Kristi smiling widely with her teeth.

I'm more tolerable in a depression. I know how to navigate it much better. He knows it well too. But what do you do with a manic wife that takes off gleefully down the trail and wants to end her life with the same impulsivity that made her buy ANOTHER treadmill on Amazon? (There are currently three in our basement.) He knows I have all the back up plans when depressed-- but doesn't trust me with my life when manic.

I'd entered marriage with the thought I'd never again be that woman. I'd been a terror in past relationships, but thought those days were behind me because I'd found the meds that worked. But we hadn't thought about me going off both lamotrigine and lithium at once.

Had I known, I don’t think I could willingly do this to him.

The crashes would come and the dust settle in the corners of a house that desperately needed to be cleaned. Although accustomed to depression, the events that led to me being afraid to be myself online brought new challenges. I hated advocating. Felt like a failure, and would often cry about going to Confed each Monday. The embarrassment & guilt of standing outside the Waterford, without knowing it bothered the healthcare workers inside, plagued me. I hated thinking about our wedding. Between the embarrassment of thinking about that, and the grief of my parents not being there, I could barely talk about what was supposed to be the happiest day of our lives. My hygiene got so bad I battled an eye infection (that happened because of not washing my face) for months and struggled with getting dressed.

Photo Credit: Alex Stead
Image Description: Kristi and Calvin laying on their floor in front of the big windows of the shoe with their little black cats playing on the veil.

There would be times outside of these episodes, but it felt like there was no “normal” time adjusting to married life because of extreme anxiety and other things.

Perhaps the most painful night of all was the night we fought about lithium. I was trying for what felt like the millionth time to start it again. Each night he would fill my water bottle and ask me to try. But one day I got angry. 

"NO." I told him. He reminded me about my vows. But I continued to resist. Eventually my  voice raised and I started to cry. Saying I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't be this sick for the rest of my life. I hated my meds. I hated who they made me. He begged. He pleaded. And eventually we both ended up in tears.

That night he slept on the couch. Both of us huddled into little balls and feeling hurt beyond repair. He wouldn't ask me to take lithium again for weeks. 

I was too ashamed to tell anyone how bad it was. It was my fault for not taking meds. I was the worst wife. Selfish. I could see the burden growing heavy on his back. I refused to go to the hospital. Eventually I would speak to the psychiatrist about it, but their only words were "You clearly have bipolar. You need to go next time. You're sick. He should take you there."

I didn't bother explaining why I felt so scared to go. Didn't even try. Although grateful for my psychiatrist. I'm just a number. Each appointment is spent reminding them how old I am, why I have an NS number, what I do for work, followed by a three minute silence as they read their notes about me. That is not their fault. Their caseload is likely through the roof and understand how lucky I am to have them at all. I admire their knowledge and owe them my life.

Photo Credit: Alex Stead
Image Description: Kristi and Calvin standing on a fishing boat. They are laughing as Kristi tries to hold her long veil in place.

But what a way to spend the first year of marriage. What a way to enter what many call the honeymoon phase. Calvin has his own set of challenges. His depression would boil up. It didn’t care that he was looking after an unwell wife. Each day he would listen to my pleas for him to get out of bed and go to work. If he could manage, it was understood he would crawl into bed at lunch. Setting an alarm for two minutes before needing to be back. At the end of the work day, he'd go right back. Like me, he hides it well. I would watch the switch turn on and off. But in the privacy of the shoe, he would stop eating, throw up, and cry too. His anxiety would rear its head and his battle to stay sober would grow. It didn’t help that wine is more attractive when navigating the shame I feel about being sick.

We have been broken. Our therapy sessions left us exhausted. When we went on our honeymoon in May, it was one of the first times we felt a break in the thunder to enjoy the commitment we'd made.

Were we stupid to get married? The odds were, and are, against us. We got married quickly. He knew I would run otherwise.

Who knows how irresponsible it was. But I do understand that in all those storms, there is a love that is unlike anything I've ever known. My beloved husband is an angel. He wakes up each morning and makes coffee— just as he vowed on November 20th. It goes against his adoration of sleeping in. He stumbles out of bed, grinds the beans, and crawls back in beside me and tries to cuddle me for five more minutes while it brews.

Photo Credit: Alex Stead

Image Description: Calvin and Kristi smiling ad each other as they drink their coffee in the window of the WaterShed.

Somehow throughout all this, we have managed to advocate for each other. We see each other through our battles and ask if the other has taken their meds and get the appointments booked. We might not have fight left for ourselves— but there is a fight for the other.

Undoubtedly, I’m getting the better end of the deal. The guilt that this is who he married has been crushing at times. How do I make up for this? How do I show him how grateful I am for his unwavering love? How grateful I am for his understanding? How do I say thank you for getting out of bed on Monday mornings for that first month to make sure I kept speaking about a cause that I care so deeply about? How do I make up for what he has seen and can never share? How does one repay the person who has to walk the fine line between husband and caregiver?

Is this marriage? I've looked at us and wondered how he can continue to stay. How he can love through all this. The thank you cards for the unreal generosity from our wedding guests & online community have gone untouched, three treadmills have gone to waste, and it feels like I've pushed everyone I know away, but yet he is still there. Unrelenting with his love and support. I feel like if our friends understood, they would tell him to leave.

Photo Credit: Alex Stead

Kristi and Calvin holding hands in their front yard that is by the ocean. Her veil is blowing in the wind.

By July, I was done. I tried to start on lithium again, but all hope had left. I knew I needed to leave this world. Things were lining up. My advocacy felt unneeded because of those who are there each Monday have proven they will carry on, my voice felt silenced because I was too scared to speak anything new, I was convinced Calvin was much better off with just the shoe and cats, and was certain I'd failed my friends once again.

There were two options. I was going to start working on both. Try to get better, but move forward with active plans to leave permanently. They would both be the back up plan for each other. I could physically feel myself dying. (Super strange to experience when it’s from a mental illness.) It's not often, but when it happens-- I prepare.

Photo Credit: Alex Stead

Image Description: Calvin and Kristi embracing in the glow of the Duke sign.

Then something happened. I got covid. Calvin was relieved. He could keep an eye on me. He would say later he was absolutely certain I would have ended my life otherwise. And I think maybe he was right. Covid forced me to stop. I took my first day off from work for being sick. I had trouble breathing, sitting up, and was wracked with a fever. But it was also the first time I was forced to let myself be sick. It was a strange reset.

He decided not to isolate away from me given how ill I was mentally. And for two weeks he stayed close-- telling me to rest. To stay in bed without guilt. It was okay to be sick and the outside world completely understood.

Photo Credit: Alex Stead

Image Description: Kristi and Calvin embracing and smiling on a fishing boat.

I don't know exactly what shifted-- but something did. Without telling him, I started to take the lithium again. He knew pretty quick that it was working. He gave me that little sad smile and said “Welcome back.”

During those weeks he also had a major life change. He got a new job, and with it his mental health got better too. Instead of grabbing our coffee and sleepily going to our work stations, we would drink our coffee at the same time by the windows. We started staying home more. We talked about us, the world, beliefs, faith, goals, and new ideas. We bonded over work and tried to walk each day.

Somehow it felt like a first step to a marriage that isn’t quite so filled with turmoil. The guilt is still here, but instead of asking him to please stay away, I catch myself reaching out in the night to grab his hand. In the morning I let him cuddle me instead of fighting it.

I love him. So much. He is one of the best and most patient men in this world. And if there is one thing that motivates me each time I try to stick with lithium— it’s knowing he deserves a much better version of me. He deserves calm waters and no turbulence.

Maybe it’s naive, but these few weeks have brought an acceptance that he’s here and he wants to stay. And because of that, I need to try.

For some strange reason, I think we are going to make it for now.


Image Description: Kirk pointing a race car bed.

When I told Calvin about this post, he asked if he could share his perspective. Obviously I said yes. These are his words:

Alright!

Some thoughts on marriage between two people with mental illness:

Requires a shit-ton of patience. She alludes to it above a little bit, but she’s prone to paranoia, neuroses, hypochondria, actual manifestation of somatic symptoms, and even worse at the heights of her mania. It requires me to meet her where she is, which is often times a place that is foreign and strange to me. Love goes a long way, clearly, because I’m usually pretty quick to check on every little thing. Little to no argument from me. Maybe I’m good for doing that., maybe I’m lazy? Maybe it’s just the path of least resistance. It’s not worth arguing about; the time and energy that it would take might be better used checking on whatever it is. At least this way she feels validated and safe. Does it annoy me to check on the basement at 4am? Yeah, a little, but I’m also mostly asleep while I do it, and it just takes a minute.

The patience goes both ways. She puts up with my bullshit, of which there is lots. A more cynical person might say that’s what marriage is all about! Hey-yo!

I’ve actually had to re-write this three times now (they were garbage). And I’m not gonna shy away from that. Mental illness complicates all relationships, but marriage especially. Most couples don’t have a DEFCON system for how suicidal their partner is, but then again some couples do. If you and I had plans, and I fed you some bullshit lie about not being able to make it because the road was washed out I’ll come clean: It was DEFCON2 and I couldn’t justify leaving my wife to her own devices while I watch a mid-season baseball game.

Is this a BURDEN? My wife would say so. My wife does say so. It’s been the source of many fights. I hate it when she says it. I tell her, “babe, if you were anyone but my wife and you said that, I would open-hand slap you,” and I mean it. She may feel that way, sure. I wouldn’t doubt it. Certain mental illnesses will do that to a person. But it’s not up to her to decide whether or not she is a burden to me. I have agency. I decide what is and is not burdensome to me. I have the choice to stay or go. And I made up my mind a long time ago. Fact is that when you marry someone, being a caregiver for them is part of the job description. For some a lot of people, it’s not something they expect to do when their marriage is in its infancy. But sooner or later, age comes for us all. When you marry someone, if you’re serious about it, its understood that at some point along the line, in some form or another, you’re gonna have to look after them. She never hid her illness from me, not from the moment I met her. I knew what I was signing up for. I’m not stupid

It has been challenging, I’m not going to deny that. Its been a miserable year, independent of getting married. There’s lots out there to meltdown about, even if you’re not mentally ill. Good things are worth battling for. Life is better when you’re sleeping in a big bed with your wife than sleeping alone in a racing car bed. Life is better when you can share your wins and your losses with someone you love. And I love my wife very much. I’m infinitely grateful that she had a lapse in judgment and decided I was the one she wanted to spend her life with.

Photo Credit: Alex Stead
Image Description: Calvin sitting at a table signing his wedding application.

New year, new place.

A few weeks ago, it was brought to my attention that some healthcare workers didn’t like me standing in front of the Waterford each Saturday. I took it really hard. I felt terrible and defeated. I never wanted them to think I was protesting what they do and thought I’d gone to lengths to be clear about that, but it would seem the message wasn’t clear enough. One of the lines that really got to me was that my entire goal was void if I contributed to the burnout of even one HCW.

“Go back!” my friends and husband urged me. “Not everyone is going to be happy with you.” And they were right. I had comments directed at me before, but never from a healthcare worker. All I could think about was my sister. She’s a paramedic, and I pictured her burning out because of a person like me. Even though she told me it felt like I was also advocating for her and other HCW, I couldn’t stand the thought of being the cause of someone like her burning out. She is my hero and I love her endlessly.

For the last few weeks I’ve been wrestling with what to do. I spent too much time crying and feeling sorry for myself. I threw every single scenario out at my husband to the point he probably wanted to plug his ears. Especially when I would sit up in bed at 1 AM and tell him I NEEDED to solve things before I drove myself to the brink. Granted, my mental health hasn’t been ideal so insisting he help go over every location with me at 1 AM wasn’t super healthy.

But after all this, I think I’ve come up with a plan for year two of trying to get the attention of politicians and the public. You see, a lot of year one was trying to get the message out there. Trying to get people to understand that there is a difference between short and long-term mental healthcare. And I think I actually succeeded. The parties acknowledged my questions during the absolute mess of a provincial election, the media helped me get the message out there, Paul Dinn brought up long-term mental healthcare in the house, Perry Trimper brought a petition to the house, recently $10 000 was raised from the community for the Jacob Puddister Memorial Foundation, and 40 calendars were delivered to each MHA to use in 2022. All that blows my mind and it wouldn’t have been possible without SO MANY incredible people.

One of the things that was so important to me when demonstrating at the Waterford was that it reached the public. Each week cars would drive by at relatively slow speeds and read the signs held by me and the regulars. It felt like we were spreading the message outside Twitter. One of the things about moving elsewhere was reaching the public. Standing on the sidewalk by Confed was absolutely pointless to me because cars roar by. I’ve already been lumped in enough with anti-vax protests. I want none of that.

Anyway— here is my plan.

When: roughly 8:30 each Monday morning. I’ve done the calculations and spoken to my angel of a manager. I’m going to take 7 vacation days and this covers one hour each week to demonstrate. Yes, it means I have to stick to a strict half hour and give up having the group of people who stood with me each week—but that’s the way it goes.

Where: Confederation Building. It was VERY important to me not to demonstrate to an empty building which is why I didn’t do it from the beginning. Hopefully this way I will reach people walking in out of the building during working hours. And I will be making sure some MHAs know I’m there.

What: I’m going to pick one PC, Independent, NDP, and two Liberals, and write them an email each week. In the email I am going to suggest something they should address when it comes to long-term mental healthcare. Will I repeat things? Yes. Will I get some of those things wrong? Yes. But hopefully some of my ideas are valid and doable. When I post my photo on Twitter, I will include a photo of that email and encourage people to write their MHA about the same thing. Then, in order to reach outside Twitter, once a month I’m going to write a letter to the editor, or call into Openline— alternating each month to discuss the things I’ve written the MHAs about that month and ask the public to think about it.

By doing these things I hope to reach both politicians and public with practical things that should be done. I still loathe the idea of Confederation, but hopefully this way it won’t seem so empty and pointless.

And that’s the plan for year two of squeaking. I’m sure I will mess up, and if I do, I genuinely hope people will call me out in good faith if I’m in the wrong. I need to be willing to be held accountable no matter how soft and stupid I am. I probably shouldn’t feel so defeated by the criticism.

As always— I repeat: Long term mental healthcare needs to be more accessible.

Long-term mental healthcare needs to be more accessible even on the best days of our lives.

Next Saturday I'm getting married. I have the make-up artist and hairdresser booked, my dress is hanging in my room, and the most beautiful veil I've ever seen is ready to be worn. The ceremony is at 11 AM.

But at 10 AM, just before I go say my vows, the plan is to be standing in front of the Waterford Hospital. Rain or shine, I’ll be there with my sign that says ‘Long-term mental healthcare needs to be more accessible!’ Several people have told me they don't think it's a good idea. I mean, who wants to risk messing up what is arguably the most expensive get up of their lifetime? I don't want to, but I will.

My wedding dress was custom made from a shop in Russia. I sent off my measurements and wondered if I had made a silly mistake. Just a few weeks later, I had to send my measurements again. It was clear I was steadily gaining weight. Not a problem unless someone is trying to make a dress you want to fit perfectly. So without telling my doctor, I lowered my dose. From there I slowly deteriorated, felt ashamed, and like I didn't deserve healthcare. Because I know what a privilege it is, I didn't call my psychiatrist. Even when the paranoia reared its ugly head and other problematic symptoms started sneaking into my days, I felt undeserving of care that so many are unable to access.

It was supposed to be the happiest time of my life, but I was juggling my mental health trying to align it with the "normal" things in life.

The week after we got engaged, Calvin wasn't doing so well. He had been rationing his meds because making appointments is frustrating without a family doctor. His depression and anxiety had been making appearances. Even though he was excited to marry me-- the darkness didn't magically go away. In fact, the night of my birthday he went down to the corner store and bought a six pack of beer. He walked up the hill to his apartment and stared at it for 45 minutes. He’s been sober for over a year, but it was a particulary hard day. He'd been forgetting to eat and the brain zaps were tough.

Both of us were excited to be engaged. I mean, I was the little girl who played wedding in my mother's wedding hoop, drew pictures of brides, and had a dress picked in my big sister's bridal magazines. Calvin says he can't wait to spend his life with me. He goes on about how we are a team and how he loves time at The Shoe (My home in Petty Harbour-Maddox Cove)

But mental illness doesn't give a flying fig about fitting into wedding dresses, sobriety streaks, and the biggest events of a lifetime. Chronic mental illness never goes away. Suicidal thoughts can convince you it would be kinder to leave this world and not gamble with the 90% divorce rate. Alcoholism can make you want to take a drink even when it's cleared your head and helped you stay stable. Bipolar can still jerk you to scary places when you don't take a proper dose. Anxiety can prevent you from going into stores and getting the important errands done.

Calvin and I are getting married, but our mental illnesses don't care even a little bit.

But you know what? We are SO fortunate. I have found a drug that stabilized me when I realized just how sick I was getting again. If I combine it with water, exercise, therapy, and proper food—I can get by. Calvin's brain zaps calms down when he remembers to take his dose every day. I’m trying to get better at making sure he gets protein. We have a support system.

Many, many people in Newfoundland and Labrador do not have a psychiatrist. They do not have a support system. They do not have access to get proper medication. They are on a waitlist for therapy, or even worse they don't have access to it at all. They are being turned away at the Waterford because they have to wait 1-4 days to get into detox before getting help. They do not make a living wage that enables them access to food and ADEQUATE housing. They don't have reliable transportation to get them to appointments. They are unable to access proper long-term mental healthcare.

People are dying because of it. They are dying by suicide and overdoses and we let it happen. That is not okay.

Calvin and I both started showing signs of our illness when we were young. I blazed on a trail of hypo-mania and depression that led to many people calling me crazy, broken relationships, and getting myself into situations I'm thankful didn't get worse than they were. Calvin spent endless evenings paralyzed by anxiety, felt alone, and would be in and out of hospital convinced he was dying of a heart attack because his body would show physical symptoms.

Imagine if either of us had access to proper help? I think both of our lives would have been much different. And even though I am SO happy we found each other, it was a really hard road to get here.

All of this is to say I'm demonstrating in my wedding dress. When I made the commitment 49 weeks ago to go out every week, I meant it. In two weeks it will be the one year anniversary of me standing outside each Saturday. (A very special thank you to Kim, Susan, Kaiden, Jill, Sarah, and Katie who have become regulars who stand with me.)

You know how most people have a registry? We had a tiny one because we truly did need a few things-- but our main request is a donation to our fundraiser for the Jacob Puddister Foundation.

Who are they?

  • They offer free counselling to people between ages 12 through 35.

  • There's 10 sessions and then you can register again to see the SAME person.

  • They care about continuity of care.

  • They have a dream to build a facility with 40-50 beds to help youth.

Here's the thing. They shouldn't have to exist. A part of me is against this fundraiser. But there is a need that is not being met by the government of Newfoundland and Labrador.

  • The new Waterford is going to have roughly 40 less beds.

  • There is a long wait for any sort of CONTINUOUS therapy.

  • People are being turned away from getting proper help at the Waterford when it comes to addictions. It’s an alarming system that I have seen fail first hand.

Our mental healthcare system is not okay. Doorways is short-term care. Helplines are short-term care. Emergency rooms are short-term care.

This foundation is filling a gap that is not their responsibility.

Our goal is to raise $2500 for this foundation but we want to be very clear this should not be happening and it's not acceptable that it's needed.

We would be thrilled if you donate to this cause, but we would also be equally thrilled if you wrote your MHA and Dr. John Haggie and ask them to please outline what they are doing for long-term mental healthcare for those with chronic illnesses. Anyone can do it.

Why should you donate and write your MHA?

Do it for the mother who is cleaning toilets to pay out of pocket for her child's therapy. They can't wait to get through the waitlist.

Do it for the person who was turned away from the Waterford and then took their life.

Do it for my friend who tried to get therapy, was unable to, and passed away from trying to get help elsewhere.

Do it for the senior who called me crying saying that no-one in her life understood.

Do it for parents who keep trying to get their children help to no avail.

Do it for the person who was told they would only be admitted to the hospital if they were willing to give up their spot on the waitlist for other help.

Do it for the kids who are undiagnosed and unable to access help.

Do it for those who cannot afford to pay rent or eat.

It's been almost one year later and sometimes it feels like I've done nothing. But if wearing my wedding dress will make even one MHA put more pressure on the majority to do better, make the media want to publicize the recent talk of long-term mental healthcare in the House of Assembly, or raise money for one more teenager to access help they need, then it will be worth it.

You can donate to our fundraiser here.

The email address of the MHA's in Newfoundland and Labrador are here.

Long-term mental healthcare needs to be more accessible even on the best days of our lives.

9422A5BB-9A25-4EC4-8810-2A0E595FBF74.jpeg

To Every Single MHA in Newfoundland and Labrador

First off, this is being sent to every MHA and full disclosure— I'm going to be posting this online. I've written to all the parties before, and want each and every one of you to read this, but I also want the public to care about mental healthcare too. Sometimes it feels like I’m screaming into the void.

For the last 26 weeks I’ve been demonstrating in front of the Waterford Hospital each Saturday from 30-60 minutes which is the average length of a therapy session. When I started, I wasn't exactly sure what I was trying to accomplish, I was just tired of people dying by suicide and it being accepted as a part of life. But the thing is, suicide is preventable. Not by any one person, but by systemic change and access to mental healthcare.

In 2020 I watched an entire nation come together to save lives and marveled at NL's willingness to do whatever it took to fight Covid-19. Along came CERB, help for businesses, tax breaks, and even mental health programs like Wellness Together and Hope for Wellness. The government was willing to do whatever it needed to save lives and not overflow our hospitals. But by now Covid-19 has claimed the lives of six Newfoundlanders and Labradorians, and I think we all agree that that’s six lives too many.

But did you know that in 2020, 60 lives were lost due to death by suicide in NL? Well, that’s 60 too many. The number of suicides this decade is a 23% increase from the previous decade. And I truly believe the 2020 figure is an underestimate because overdoses and car accidents rarely are documented as death by suicide, due to the uncertainty and stigma. Even today, after all these years, suicide is an uncomfortable subject and hard to reconcile with.

And did you know the cost of a suicide is one million dollars per person?

And the thing is, the number of suicides tells very little of the story. The unemployment, hospitalizations, physical toll, and addictions that result from inaccessible mental healthcare is staggering.

But in December, when I heard of yet another death by suicide, I had reached my limit. Until Covid-19, we had been told over and over that things take time and it's not as easy as it looks to create change. But Covid-19 showed us something. It turns out that change happens if it's deemed important enough.

We hear over and over that our system is broken. (Sorry, I know this is a long letter and I apologize for that, but if I'm expected to read a Greene Report, budget, and Health Accord Report to provide feedback, I hope you can read this.) And it is. But not only do we say it— we accept it(!), thinking that it’s too hard to create change quickly.

But you know how I said access to long-term mental healthcare is systemic? I want to tell you about how my privilege has helped me at each step of my battle with mental health.

I have Bipolar Disorder. My life was a living hell until just a few weeks ago. I was sicker than I had realized and in March of this year I tried to kill myself. I was tired of the 20 years of fighting and convinced that even with all my privilege, I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t die after all, and thankfully I'm doing better. Lithium, it turns out, is a wonder drug for my illness. I’m still in the early stages of recovery, but I might have hope after all.

But even though I was so sick, I had it better than so many in this province. Here’s how:

First of all, I live in the most populated area of Newfoundland and Labrador. This immediately puts me at an advantage as I can access the Waterford Hospital or a walk-in clinic.

However, an experience at the Waterford Hospital several years ago was bad enough to make me never want to go back. When I tried to take my life, my boyfriend chose to watch me at home instead of taking me in because I was so scared of experiencing it again. PLEASE don't mistake this as my disliking all the staff; I’m so thankful for the people who work there who care and are trying to help within the current system. I owe my life to Dr. Rees who worked there back in 2016. She saved my life, but my bad experience left an impression and I avoided going at all costs during my breakdowns. I'm still fortunate enough to have the option of staying home because I have people to look out for me even though it’s not fair to them. People often do this for their loved ones. But what about those who don't have people looking out for them? What if they are afraid to go back to a place like the Waterford? Caring for a mentally unwell loved one sometimes isn't possible, whether that be due to a financial, mental, or physical toll. It's not their fault if they can't, but what happens to the mentally unwell person if there is no one there to fill the gaps in the system?

I have a job that pays me a living wage. Keeping my job as I fought through the roller coaster ups and downs was incredibly difficult. I'm not sure how I did it. Working from home was such a wonderful thing for me in this pandemic as I was able to battle my sickness privately. I also was fortunate enough to have a supportive manager . However, I earned a living wage which means I was able to afford proper housing, heat, and food, some things that many are not able to access. I believe having a home motivated me to fight as hard as I did to keep it. I wouldn't have been able to do it if I didn't have proper housing and food. A living wage is KNOWN to be suicide prevention.

Both the PC’s and the Liberals rejected the idea of a living wage and I ask you to PLEASE rethink where you stand. If you are an MHA who believes in it, please make your voice heard even if your party thinks it’s not worth mandating.

The budget outlines that there will be $17 million dollars put into housing-- However, from what I understand due to the bilateral agreement signed with the federal government in 2019, there is federal housing money left on the table because of that. $17 million looks good, but it was less than expected to be in the budget for housing given that federal agreement.

I have a healthcare plan that pays for my medication. Finding a medication that works has been a huge battle. After almost six years, I finally have a medication that is truly effective. But unlike many, I don't worry about paying for it.

I found a doctor who listened to me. This is a huge struggle for so many people. I know those who have been denied referrals to a psychiatrist and or put on the two-year waiting list. I know that wait times have improved if you fall in the urgent care category, but if you're not seen as sick enough, then you are waiting for a really long time. Like the Embracing Experiences Report from the CMHA-NL pointed out, people feel they aren't crazy enough to access care or sometimes they feel they are too crazy to access other services they need. (Page 22 of the report). Are we supposed to lose our jobs, threaten to end our lives, and act crazy enough to access care?

I have a psychiatrist-- I had to wait, but I also waited less than many people. My psychiatrist is knowledgeable and a good human, but I am acutely aware that I need to be in and out of my sessions as fast as possible. They’re extremely busy. I feel equal parts guilty and lucky, as those in the Embracing Experiences Report also mentioned. I feel bad for having ANY complaints because having a psychiatrist at all is a miracle.

I have transportation. When I started lithium, I had to drive to the hospital and also repeatedly now need to get bloodwork done. This requires me to have transportation and take time out of my day. What of those who can't rely on the bus or aren't within walking distance? How do they access medications that require follow up? What if they just give up because it’s too hard to sort through the maze of accessing medication and care?

I had the credit to access therapy in 2020. This saved my life that year. I understand we have Doorways, Same Day Walk-In, and perhaps the most accessible— Wellness Together. However, all these are short term and not permanent options. Trauma and chronic mental illness can't be fixed in one, two, or even six sessions-- treatment needs to be regular and continuous. Preventative and continuous care needs to be an option. I felt privileged to access therapy via increasing my debt.

I chose counseling which was the cheaper option, but it's not even considered medical care and can't be claimed on my tax return. I hear changing this might be in the works-- what is holding this legislation up? We have a refund available for those who access physical health programs-- there should be one for this mental health program too.

As you can tell, my privilege has been apparent every single step of the way, yet I still felt despair, frustration, and got sicker and sicker. Even with my privileged access, I felt the system was too hard to navigate. Fighting to keep my job and home was overwhelming and I knew there would be no safety net to catch me. I was depressed, hypo-manic, paranoid, and living a brain I can only describe as hell— but I still knew how privileged I am.

I keep asking myself how others manage to do keep going without support. Can you imagine?

Imagine not having any safety net in the first place. Imagine not being able to function enough to keep track of appointments. Imagine not having a place that was a safe refuge. Imagine worrying about paying for medications that can make you sick or send you spiraling if you don't take them. Imagine being told you're not sick or suicidal enough to access better care. Imagine not knowing where your next meal is coming from as you fight to live.

I understand you think we are trying to make it better, but emergency and short term care isn't remotely enough; it’s short-sighted. Our thoughts around what mental healthcare is need to change. In your budget I was happy to see you were budgeting more for telemedicine. The $716 000 you have allocated for mental health services through 811 looks good on paper, but what mental healthcare service will it be? More short-term options? Continuity of care is so important and having one-time options is not enough. Nurses refilling prescriptions that need to have already been prescribed?

What are you doing to provide mental health services to those in rural parts of Labrador? I saw that $4.8 million is allocated for a mental health unit in Happy Valley- Goose Bay, but what about in the meantime? I'm thankful this unit will be built, but are six beds enough, and are they for emergency care only? We know suicide rates in Labrador are higher than the rest of the island. Six beds will not solve that.

Regardless of the location, I'm thrilled that the Waterford will be replaced back in St. John’s. However, I worry that the system itself won't change just because there is a new building. All the problems won't go away— they will only be lessened if there are systematic changes from within. It's going to be completed three years from now at the very earliest, so what will you do in the meantime? Three years of people having to be in a terrible building, three years of people avoiding it due to the stigma, and three years of the same approach to care? All I could see was $716 000 for 811 is allocated. That’s all I could find in the budget.

It has become more and more clear that mental health is not seen the same as physical health. And to be fair— it's not the same, but it ought to be equal. This year more cabinet ministers were appointed. Why isn’t there a minister of mental health, Premier? During the many months of press briefings regarding Covid-19, there was very little attention given to mental health. Wellness Together by the Federal Government was NOT promoted in any way until recently. It wasn't even on the Bridge the Gapp website. Dr. Haggie, I’m a fan of yours— but this lack of attention for mental health is not okay. During the campaign I asked over and over what was being done for long-term mental healthcare. Not a single party pointed out Wellness Together. It might not be long term, but it’s more than Doorways and Bridge the Gapp offers.

As much as i like Wellness Together, short term therapy isn’t enough. What of psychiatrists? What are you specifically doing to attract and keep them in this province? Canada has a country-wide shortage of them. What are you doing to make sure they want to work here? The demand is all over the country. I hear a lot of talk about attracting family doctors, but never psychiatrists.

As you can tell, I could go on for a while. I'm not an economist, doctor, or academic. However, I have lived experience and listened to the stories of so many who need help and struggle to access it. I lost a beloved friend whose life ended due to not being able to access the help they needed.

I know we are broke. I know we all have to tighten our belts. Though I live paycheck to paycheck, I would happily pay more taxes if I trusted all of you to fight for long-term mental healthcare.

“What do you want done?” is a question I get a lot when I speak about this. And the truth is that solutions aren’t my job to dream up, even though I still dream. I know you can't pull something from nothing-- but I truly believe that it is possible for you to provide better long-term mental health care within your spending power. i have my list and I’m happy to talk— but we voted for you because we were told you had answers.

I've written each party, I've talked to some of you, but it still feels like no one is listening. Not really. What are some things I think you can do? This isn’t all of it by far, but…

  • Ask the federal government to offer long term therapy on Wellness Together so people don’t have to do intake again. Therapy with them shouldn’t be focused on ending as soon as possible, but healing at any pace needed.

  • Appoint a Minister of Mental Health who can be entirely focused on mental health.

  • Legislate that counseling count as a medical expense in Newfoundland and Labrador.

  • Increase the budget for housing and income support.

  • Pressure for the federal government to provide coverage for medication. This was a liberal promise at one point and it was voted down. Again, you have a voice to represent the people in your district.

  • Work to recruit psychiatrists here or offer incentives to provide services to NL even if they live away. (Have you seen Maple? They do it!)

  • Change it so people can be on a waiting list for a psychiatrist even if they don’t seem ‘crazy’ enough. Access should be a choice even if it’s a long wait.

  • Mandate a living wage

  • Prioritize consistent virtual care to Labrador while searching for people to physically work there. 811 and Medicuro is great, but people need to see the same doctor to establish a history. When it comes to mental health, sharing your story over and over again is traumatizing.

  • Hire a woman to work with Barry Hewitt. He is a treasure and there needs to be more like him and especially need a woman in a similar role. Please also advertise his services.

The list could go on. I’m not an expert and I know things cost money— but investing in mental health decreases the visits we make to the hospital for our physical health. It also prevents us from needing the most expensive emergency services.

60 people losing their lives last year costs $60 million dollars to Newfoundland and Labrador. Roughly $650 million over the last decade. That cost is from deaths by suicide alone.

I'm not going away. I'm going to keep reminding you that we need long-term mental healthcare. I don't care which party you represent, please know every single one of you represents a person who needs long-term care. It's not a rare need. Please forget about Bell Let's Talk or Awareness Days and prove with action that you care about the crisis that so many people like to forget exists.

I’ll end this for now because I don’t want to lose your attention— but LONG-TERM mental healthcare is desperately needed. You all were voted into power because someone believed in you. Please, please, each of you do your part to make it possible. Change doesn’t have to be so slow. Covid-19 proved that it’s really all about what we think is priority.


See you at Confederation Building tomorrow as long as my vaccine doesn't give me too many side effects, Kristi A

The Girl in the Rattling Cage

tw: suicide, mental illness

The screams started in grade 8 when I was sitting on the bus.

My journals were full of dark thoughts from age 10, but grade 8 is when I first heard and felt the screams. From that point on, they would become a regular part of my life when getting upset. Sometimes it would be so loud I felt like they were drowning everything else out. As I got older, they got louder. But so did everything else. And other things started making noise.

As I described it in a recent instagram post— I started identifying all the noise as the Girl in the Rattling Cage. I never talked about her, but was always aware of her existence. I knew that people would call me crazy if they knew about her— thus the reason why I felt like she was in a cage. When I was younger I had less control of her. Sometimes she would slip out— One of the most noticeable times was in a fight with my father where someone was a witness. I almost felt like I blacked out and had an out of body experience as I screamed. Other times she would appear at the wharf in Pictou where I would let her out. And then there were the experiences when I was in my teens. My sister was a witness, and to this day I tell her I don’t want to talk about it.

But the Girl in the Rattling Cage had lots of different phases. She would lay down when I was depressed and constantly talk about wanting to die— constantly going on about different ways to do it and telling me to get in bed and never get out. In the depressive stages she still rattled away even though my movements would feel heavier and slower.

She would cloud my mind— setting a fog throughout my brain much thicker than the one Newfoundlanders and Labradorians love to complain about in the spring months. Except with this fog, I had no idea when it would move.

Some people have long periods of stability with bipolar. I tend to rapid cycle which would later explain why I felt so scared all the time of the Girl in the Rattling Cage.

In between phases, I was still acutely aware that she was there. That at any moment she could turn the noise up unbearably loud. I would be scared as we battled that she would win and send me spiraling into any direction she felt like.

Sometimes she would be paranoid— constantly whispering about bugs crawling on me, making me avoid cushions in any public spaces because I was afraid of them. Sometimes that people could read my thoughts— taunting me that they hated me because they knew who I really was. When I was younger she made up a lie about how distance was a made up construct and all the adults were lying about how long it took to get from one place to another.

Almost every time I drove to town she would make me feel unsafe in the car. Screaming at me to end things on on the empty road. I would try to drown her out, but she loved to torture me from the end of the 50 speed limit sign to the top of Shea Heights.

Sometimes she would dial up my words— making me speak in rushed tones over people. At night she would put words up all over the cage and make them spiral round and round until I couldn’t keep up.

This is just some of the things the Girl in the Rattling Cage would do. Of course she wasn’t real, but I needed a way to keep her locked up as much as possible. That’s how I grew up to know it— a girl trapped in a cage who needed to be kept under control. She was me. She was a part of me all the time.

When the lamotrigine was working at its best, she stopped talking as loudly and she did briefly stop talking about suicide. But I was ALWAYS in battle with her. I was always fighting her. For that brief time she would listen to me and my quality of life sky rocketed. I thought that was normal. I thought that was the goal. Sometimes she would be quiet but I could always feel her smirking and reminding me she could start again at any time. I spent all of 2017 learning and going over my past to identify triggers so the Girl in the Rattling Cage would only be smirking instead of rattling away.

But it 2018 when it stopped working— the Girl in the Rattling Cage got stronger and consumed me. We still fought, but she was powerful and wore me down.

In 2019 I continued to fight her, but I became less and less optimistic about a long term stability being possible as she pushed rapid cycling button to rattle the cage in different directions more often.

In 2020 we went into an all out war, but I decided to invest in fighting her with help each Wednesday in therapy.

In 2021, she won a battle we fought every day. I knew it was a matter of time before I’d let her win again and that I might not survive that round. I didn’t feel I had the energy to try to fight anymore.

It was then I knew I had to try lithium for the sake of my caretakers. Just as every medication before it, I was terrified.

Lithium hates my body. It’s made me throw up, itch to the point I feel like crawling out of my skin, added pounds to my body, swollen my lips twice their size and made them ooze. It’s made me SO dehydrated.

But it’s also done something I didn’t even know was possible. It’s quieted the Girl in the Rattling Cage. I don’t mean the laying down quietly with the smirk. I mean dead quiet. A calm quiet. It’s like she’s gone in another room to sleep and left space for me to concentrate and think.

I want to live.

When my car broke down and cost me $1600 after one of the most expensive months of my life, I was upset and sad— but it wasn’t the end of the world. I didn’t plan to end my life. I didn’t feel like a complete failure. I didn’t assume this was the beginning of losing everything.

When I came across photos of a dark time in my past— I didn’t plan to end my life. I didn’t even cry. Again I felt a deep sadness, but I kept control and wasn’t riddled with nightmares for weeks on end.

When I read about a shooting, I didn’t ask anyone to stay here. The screaming didn’t start. I didn’t huddle in a ball or feel the urge to drink all the upset away.

When my friends came over, I didn’t feel extreme paranoia that they hated me and were judging every corner of the shoe. I didn’t try to detect resentment of people or think that others secretly hated each other. I didn’t fear an argument to break out. When they left I didn’t cry or ask Calvin over and over about how bad I did at seeming normal.

When there is silence, it’s not consumed with screams and rattling metal of someone trying to get out. It’s just the sound of peaceful and safe silence.

I cannot begin to explain what this feels like. I can try all I want, but how do you explain what it feels like to no longer be at war in your head? How can you explain what it’s like to trust your emotional response?

For the first time in memory, I feel quiet. When I’m watching something, I don’t hear the Girl in the Rattling Cage. When I’m working, I don’t hear the Girl in the Rattling Cage. When I’m reading I don’t hear the Girl in the Rattling Cage. In my limited interaction with small groups (because of covid) I don’t hear the Girl in the Rattling Cage. When I’m looking out at the ocean, I don’t hear the Girl in the Rattling Cage.

I hear the ocean, I hear the silence. There is extra space and room in my brain. My body isn’t tense. When i talk to people I keep pausing and waiting for the rattle, but there is only room to process the conversation.

This is all good and I cannot begin to explain how wild it is. But I also feel something I didn’t expect. A deep grief. A grief for 20 years spent in with the rattling cage.

I think back to times when I would hide in bathroom stalls, hotel rooms, and in my family van, when I was overwhelmed in crowds and at events. I think back to the outbursts, tears, and rage that made me tremble. I think back to when I slept until mid afternoon as I tried to pass the time. My mind goes back to standing in the bathroom during church services as I tried to quiet the the Girl in the Rattling Cage. I think of trying so hard to suppress the cage that I got dizzy and scratched my legs raw. I think of the money I cost my parents when I became paranoid about bugs and they would call an exterminator in just to make my brain calm down even though they’d say there was nothing. I think back to the hyper sexual episodes when I’d beg for it to go away and feel so ashamed. I think about the failed relationships and broken friendships.

20 years of wanting to die with the brief break in 2017. Roughly 16 years of knowing the Girl in the Rattling Cage was a part of me. I lived with the noise thinking it was a part of my life and would never go away.

Now it looks like the rattling and noise is in the middle of leaving. I had a brief spell of the quiet. The noise came back, but softer, so they upped the dose of lithium. Now it’s quiet again.

The space in my brain is unsettling, the grief is overpowering, and the quiet baffling.

What will this world be like? Will it last?

I don’t know. I know that it’s not a cure, but that it’s working. For now it’s still early stages and I can’t tie it up with a bow.

All I know is that I’m adjusting, grieving, working toward hopeful for the long-term sleepy quiet of the Girl in the Rattling Cage.

If you are struggling, or in a crisis, I would recommend calling 1-866-585-0445. They will be there for you in a crisis and also offer free counselling sessions

Lithium

tw: suicide

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I’m finally on lithium. It’s such a weird thing to be able to say. I had it hyped up in my mind for so long that it would be the worst drug in the world. And don’t get me wrong, I’m 8 days in and there’s been some definite frustrations.

My mouth is always dry and I need to remember to drink water constantly. As someone who never drinks enough water, this is a challenge.

For the first few days I was nauseous right after taking it.

I’m SO itchy. The kind of itchy that keeps you awake at night. I have a rash on my neck that makes me want to claw away my skin.

There was one that was NOT fun, but won’t get into details about— thankfully it didn’t last long.

On top of that, I’m keeping a close watch on my body. Dealing with internalized fat-phobia every step of the way. I keep reminding myself that I never look at fat people and think they are ugly or unattractive. In fact, I’ve felt jealous of many for being so beautiful. But as someone who has struggled with body image issues my entire life, I’m still working on believing the things I think about everyone else when it comes to my body. (I’m very worried this is all offensive to say, and if it is, please call me out on it.)

It was a long road getting here. A winding road that led to me feeling the sickest I’ve ever been in my life. I used to say that I was likely my sickest before I was diagnosed. However, 2021 took that theory and flung it out the window.

I battled the rapid cycling that started to ramp up dramatically over the last year. I used to be good at predicting the ups and downs, but instead it felt like I was gripping to the side of a roller coaster as my brain hurdled in whatever direction it felt like.

But in all this, I was speaking up more about mental health. People were telling me I was doing a great job. I was getting super kind messages. I wanted to scream that I was in fact terrible, because I was struggling so much.

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The thing is, people feel more comfortable when you’re on the other side of a breakdown. That’s usually when I would speak up. People listen when you appear to be okay. If you say for weeks and months on end that you’re still unstable, they don’t like to sit in that discomfort. I didn’t want to make people uncomfortable. In wanting to fight the stigma, I was contributing to it.

The reality of chronic mental illnesses can be hard to treat. Some people can be resistant to medication. Some people refuse treatment because of side effects. Some people have no access to what they need.

I grew tired of hearing the words ‘high functioning’

My world was crumbling even though I kept being told I was high functioning.

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Every ounce of my energy was being thrown into work. If I didn’t have work, I would lose my beloved shoe. I was starting early, working through lunch, and working late all to do work that my stable brain could handle in regular hours. I was desperate to keep my job. A job I enjoy, but was feeling less and less able to do.

I was started on two medications at separate times and on both of them I didn’t feel like I could keep my job due to the side effects so I stopped. Keeping the job was more important. I couldn’t think straight and was fighting constant nausea on those meds. Who wants an employee who makes mistakes? I kept on. It didn’t matter how much it broke me, I needed to be a good employee. I will say this is at no fault to my employer. I chose not to share. It was my pride keeping me from that.

The ups and downs continued. Speaking out about mental health continued. I was honest about where I’d been, but about not where I was at.

I could no longer trust my brain. I didn’t trust my emotions. I didn’t trust my paranoia. I didn’t trust myself with my depression. I would slog through fog only to emerge into thoughts that would never stop when I lay in bed to questioning every single purchase I made— even things I needed.

“Do I really need the plumber to come out?” I would ask myself. “Is this noise as bad as I think it is, or is my sense of hearing heightened in this broken brain of mine?”

Many people with Bipolar don’t have rapid cycling. They can have an episode and settle back into normal after medication starts. They can go years without an episode. But not mine. The time in between episodes had me questioning my diagnosis.

Lithium comes with a lot of bloodwork

Lithium comes with a lot of bloodwork

When the psychiatrist told me I’d been severely under treated. It was almost a relief. But when he told me I was at risk of psychosis, I felt broken. I’d always been told I might be at risk, but it was clear my episodes were getting worse. Then I was told about another diagnosis I’m at risk of. I was devastated. It still lingers above my head— like the sword on a string that may or may not drop.

The suicidal ideation was constant. It didn’t matter whether I was in an up, down, or twisty turn on the roller coaster. It was always there. And when the heights of hypo-mania simmered, I couldn’t be trusted with my life.

All of this led to a boiling point one night when I decided to take my life. I acted on it. I won’t go into detail, but in the end I was fine other than an upset stomach. I wasn’t allowed to be alone for eight days. My sister told me that had she been in the province, she would have taken me away to the Waterford under the Mental Health Act.

I was on NTV saying scathing things about the government’s last of care about our mental health— appearing stable, but with people on constant alert just underneath the loft.

Over the years I have tried almost everything people have suggested. They’ve offered the advice in love, but not known that attempting new things was exhausting. Each new thing made me hope I’d found the perfect thing— only to be let down and needing to let people know it hadn’t worked. I grew tired of feeling like it was my fault for not wanting to try new things. So I would try again.

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There was one I didn’t want to try: Lithium. For two reasons.

  1. The side effects

  2. What if the wonder drug didn’t fix me?

But that attempt broke me.

I didn’t want to tell anyone. They would ask why I didn’t call them. The truth is that at that point, it didn’t even enter my mind. I was just exhausted and done with gripping the side of the roller coaster. I’ve always hated them.

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I realized lithium had to start. I’d hit a point of either choosing to quit work or start what my psychiatrist called the golden drug for suicidal thoughts. I told him I would do it if he let me write my exam first. In no state to be studying— I did it anyway. In the end, doing my best wasn’t enough. I failed the exam.

It felt as though I’d hit rock bottom. I was trying my best and was coming up short. Even though I tried to be open about the suicidal ideation, I felt like I was attention seeking. I felt guilty. Was I the woman who cried wolf? People want the happy ending. I wasn’t offering that. Did my friends think I was faking it? My friendships started suffering. A long standing problem over the years. I thought I was better at managing it, but I found myself retreating once again just so my internal dialogue wouldn’t plague anyone else.

Everything was messy. I couldn’t even count on the episodes length anymore. I was scared of becoming a broken record. When I attempted to end my life— it was time to face it all.

So here I am. Lithium in my body. I want to downplay it. But the truth is that it might work amazing or it might turn me into a person I don’t know or recognize in the mirror. If people hear I’m on it, they will assume psychosis. I will feel anger about the stigma around psychosis— all the while terrified that it might happen to me.

I feel just as messed up as I used to feel when people said it behind my back and to my face.

Getting here was hard. Acknowledging this is hard.

The truth is that I was dying slowly. Literally.

I hope lithium is the golden drug they claim.

——-

If you are struggling, or in a crisis, I would recommend calling 1-866-585-0445. They will be there for you in a crisis and also offer free repeat counselling sessions. Please reach out for help. It’s hard, but it ‘s worth it. Please know you make this world a better place and even though I don’t know you, I want you to stay here as long as possible.

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1-866-585-0445. 24/7. Free.

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Those who follow me on Twitter know that each week I try to share a weekly resource on Saturdays when I go stand out in front of the Waterford. I usually try to find one that sounds helpful and share how it works. Sometimes I share tips— very rarely do I get excited about the accessibility of a resource.

But thanks to Melanie, I think I’ve stumbled across one of the best resources Canada has to offer right now.

It’s called Wellness Together.

To be honest, I’d come across the link to their website a few months ago, but found it to be a bit overwhelming and moved on. But Melanie reached out to me and asked if I’d ever called the number. I decided to ignore the website and just call instead.

The number is 1-866-585-0445. Please write it down and keep it in mind for anyone you know who needs therapy.

It’s available 24/7.

Remember:

1-866-585-0445. 24/7. Free.

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When you call, they will ask you a number of questions. From what I remember, I was asked— Are you safe? Is anyone making you feel unsafe? Do you want to take your life? What do you need? Shout out to Rachel who was incredibly kind. Even during intake, I didn’t feel rushed.

They set up a profile for you. This isn’t an anonymous phone line. You give your name, location (they want to connect you with someone licensed in your province) number, and you can tell them what particular thing you struggle with so you can be matched with someone who specializes with your struggle, if at all possible.

From there, they get a little bit of your story and then you are connected with a counselor. But here’s the thing. They have people who speak so many languages I couldn’t write them all down. Arabic, Japanese, Inuktitut, and more. If they don’t have someone who can speak your language— you can agree to have a translator on the call if you’re comfortable with it.

You’re put on hold and usually connected with someone within five minutes. I can attest to that. They’re all called counselors, but it’s made up of social workers, registered counselors, psychologists, and psycho-therapists.

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You’re warned that if you’re suicidal they may have to contact someone locally, if they believe you’re in danger, but they stressed that they would talk about it extensively with you first.

From there you have up to a 50 minute session. Not once did I feel rushed. Not once did I feel like they thought I was just a number. They listened to what happened and walked me through some of the things I hadn’t been able to speak out loud.

I ended the call feeling exhausted but so relieved to have gotten the nightmare of the last week put into words.

From there they asked if I wanted it to be just a one time call, or if I wanted ongoing sessions with one person who could become acquainted with my file and story. I was told I could get 8-16 sessions, but I think the norm is 4-6. However, it’s super important to note that once your set of sessions is over, you can call the intake line again and ask to be matched with the same person for another set of sessions.

The only limit is that you can call once every 24 hours for the one time sessions.

I agreed to do a couple sessions as I no longer have weekly therapy due to financial reasons. My current therapist has done extensive work to understand my story, but given recent events— I thought it would help to see someone for the short term at no cost.

The counselor said they would get someone to call me and I heard back from them less than 24 hours later. They tried twice with no success, but got me on the third try.

I was able to book an appointment in less than a week, and it was stressed to me that if I didn’t click with the counselor I was matched with (They also made a point to ask if I wanted it to be a particular gender) that I could call intake and ask for a new one without any problem.

They also wanted to know what made me more comfortable for the same counselor sessions— video or phone?

We set it up and once again they told me that I could call at any point for a one time session if needed. 24/7.

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It’s run by Homewood Health in Ontario.

it’s been around for a year.

It costs the Newfoundland and Labrador government nothing. And they don’t even have it listed on their mental health resource website. In Newfoundland and Labrador, we just spent six weeks in lockdown without a single explanation of what I consider to be our two greatest resources. Barry Hewitt and Wellness Together Counselling. We need to ask our government to become better acquainted with mental healthcare options during a time they are asking us to sacrifice mental health for physical health. It’s necessary, but part of their responsibility is knowing the best of what is available and to make it publicly known far and wide.

The counselling is by far the most accessible service I’ve found to date.

I would encourage anyone I know in Canada to try it out if they need to speak to someone, and I would encourage everyone else to memorize the number in case they need to pass it on.

1-866-585-0445. 24/7. Free.

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the end of the marathon

(TW: Suicide)

I planned to be dead today. I made the decision back in January. I had no intention of seeing this day alive.

About two weeks after that decision, I was sitting at work and realized that I had a choice of making people feel guilty for my death or fully commit to healing. For a number of reasons, I chose to heal.

I put the work into finding a therapist, committed to going roughly $5000 into debt in 2020, and trying my best to be alive on this date. Little did I know when I made that commitment that I would be thrown into my worst mental health year, face grief like I’d never experienced before, and go through 69 days alone in a pandemic.

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When the world flipped upside down, therapy went online but it remained a constant. We continued to work on the main goal— but he knew my background enough to pause the week I couldn’t breathe, the week I was constantly a danger to myself, and meet me on the waves of a breakdown I hadn’t had since college.

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I planned on therapy to save me once. It has saved me over and over this year. Without a doubt. I’ve never been such a high risk to myself as in 2020.

It didn’t just get me to this date alive-- it became my most effective treatment when I was unwell. It was my medication when my anti psychotics became too much and my lamotrigine wasn’t as effective as it was in past years. Over and over my two closest friends remarked that therapy was saving me and that it was important I go each week no matter what.

And as the months rolled by, I did start to heal. I started to think I would make it to this day. You know the line that we know all too well about it being a marathon and not a sprint? I’m at the end of my marathon. I feel like I’ve run the hardest race of my life.

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I’m here. Alive.

The thing is, I don’t want to hear that I’m strong or brave. I’m not. For the past two weeks I have been crying every day, having panic attacks, and been irrational. I’ve been a mess—but what I’ve had is constant therapy, a home I call a safe haven, and people in my corner that care.

I am privileged. I am a white women who has a job. I’m not racially profiled and my credit is good enough to allow me to go roughly $5000 into debt. I am GRATEFUL for the ability to rack up my credit line. I have a twitter family that got me through many hard days. I’ve had the support of some family, incredible friends and neighbours, and a therapist who has been there faithfully every Wednesday to work through my problems.

Without all of it-- I would be dead.

I should feel relieved, but I am sad and angry. It has become glaringly evident that there are thousands out there with healing they need to do. Thousands out there without a support system like mine. Thousands out there with no help when facing the worst year of their lives and having a mental breakdown. Thousands living in poverty without access to therapy.

Many of them are actually much stronger than me, but will end up living in poverty, turning to addiction—and worst of all, taking their lives. NOT because they are weak, but because they weren’t given a chance.

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It’s not fair that we live in a world that doesn’t see mental health as important enough to treat effectively. People like me, but who aren’t privileged, are being turned away at psychiatric hospitals and don’t have the money to access private therapy that is just as important as medication. If they are one of the lucky ones, they will be able to access it through the system, but the wait will be long and often too little too late.

While I appreciate the words, please don’t tell me I’m strong. Demand better mental healthcare. Ask your employers for better benefits. Ask your peers to talk and treat mental health as a real illness. Listen to people who are hurting. Show compassion. Please, please, start to think of therapy as something as important as medication when people are mentally unwell.

People not only have a hard time accessing it—they feel shame about it too.

Therapy is the reason I’m grateful to be alive today. But my heart hurts for those who aren’t.

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*****TRIGGER WARNING!***** thoughts about suicide and suicidal ideation

I'll never forget my doctor asking a question that quite likely led to him saving my life: 

"How often do you think about killing yourself?" 

As I said in my first blog after being diagnosed, I was slightly annoyed when he asked me that question.

What I didn't realize at the time was how crucial it was to him understanding that I needed serious help, because at that point in my life, I'd forgotten what it felt like to want to be alive.

That fall, I was constantly daydreaming about death. Actively making an effort to not kill myself in ways I was thinking about at any given moment in time, no matter where I was. After years of rapid cycling, I'd slipped into a depression that lasted so long I'd forgotten how to see the world in colour. I stopped driving on Marine Drive, wouldn't go near cliffs by myself, and often called people to keep my eyes focused on the road but distracted enough to not swerve into despair.

At the time, I was living with what is known as suicidal ideation without plans.   

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But there have been other points in my life that have been much different. I’ve been suicidal with plans. There's the time my sister spent two weeks sleeping on my bedroom floor because she'd witnessed one of my darkest moments in the middle of the night. The time my sister in law rushed over to confiscate every pill in the house. The time Len witnessed when I was alone in the shoe that I still can't talk about. The time I received news at the end of December and my friend physically restrained me as I screamed that I needed to end it all. And most recently, there was the day deep in the middle of isolation where I woke up and felt as though I was dying. A feeling I've never had before or since. That night I knew I wanted to end it. And I will spare the graphic details, but how close I came still washes over me every so often.

All those times, and other times I won't mention, I was suicidal with active plans. Sometimes they were written down and meticulously thought out. Other plans were impulsively made in hypo-mania and my friends saved me before it was too late.

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I've been fairly open about my struggles with wanting to end my life and suicidal ideation, but it hasn't always been this way. In fact, I hid it more growing up than people have any idea. And let me tell you, some people thought I was crazy. Some whispered it behind my back and others said it to my face. But little did they know how much more I kept buried and how terrified I was of my own mind.

There are times that stand out to me as knowing I should keep silent.

Whe someone told me I didn't have the guts to kill myself, I decided that it meant I was weak if I talked about it and didn’t follow through. In addition to not wanting to be alive, I despised myself for staying alive thinking it meant I wasn’t strong.

When I heard friends whispering about someone who threatened to kill themselves and saying that it was all for attention, I decided they would say the same thing behind my back so it was important they not realize I was feeling that way.

Years ago when I called someone fearful that a suicidal friend was going to go through with it and the person on the other end of the phone sounded annoyed because it was happening AGAIN, I decided nobody wants to help a second time around.

And perhaps one of the responses that silenced me the most was-- 'What do you expect me to do about it?" I decided that people don’t want the burden of listening.

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Have you ever heard people talk about someone threatening suicide and think it's just for attention? I will admit that even though I’m someone who struggles A LOT with wanting to end my life-- I've even thought things like that. It’s something we’ve learned without even realizing it.

Over the years I've come to understand that people who talk about ending their life are sometimes coming from a place of suicidal ideation on the cusp of making plans. A space where all one can think about is ending life. A space where help is desperately needed. And as a society, we often dismiss it as not being serious enough.

But it IS serious. A person is sick and they need treatment. Even if they have no active plans, they are mentally unwell enough to voice their thoughts which means help is needed. They want an end to the mental anguish. This is when understanding, resources, medication and therapy is SO important.

Whether or not they go through with it, there is a sickness that needs to be treated. And left untreated it could cost a life. Instead, many aren't taken seriously before it's too late because they aren’t see as sick enough. That’s when the whispers and rumours have a tendency to start.

And because of that, many take their lives without ever uttering a word they are depressed. Especially men. I used to be angry that people called me emotional all the time, but many men do not feel the freedom to even be emotional. Instead, they hear the words of "attention seeking, weak, crazy, mental" and bury it inside without ever feeling like they can reach out. And when it's said lightly and without thought that a person "doesn't have the courage" to take their life, I often wonder if men think that suicide is the strong option.

I don't think taking your life is weak, but it absolutely takes massive amounts of strength to keep on living in the face of wanting to die and the humiliation of people knowing that fact.

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Can you imagine not being able to think about anything else than an end to anguish? Can you imagine being so depressed the world just looks grey and foggy? Can you imagine seeing people around you with more energy in one day than you can imagine having in a year? Can you imagine hearing that you are attention seeking when all you want is help? 

How we talk about mental health in the presence of others often dictates how people in our circles feel about getting help. I became so ashamed about the ideation in my brain. I knew I couldn’t talk about it often.

We use our language so flippantly and casually without stopping to think about the cost.

Our narrative around suicide is dangerous from so many fronts that I struggle with knowing how to tackle it all. I wrote about it once when a local journalist took their life, because the language in the aftermath of tragedy matters just as much.

What also needs to be addressed is those who worry that if they disclose their suicidal ideation, people will want to rush them to a hospital or won’t trust them to be alone. That worry can lead to people never disclosing they are sick which means they never get help. For someone who has suicidal ideation, they might need help but not an emergency response. However, if they are worried about an emergency response— they may never reach out for help at all. There needs to be a space to talk about treatment, coping, managing, and emergency response.

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September is Suicide Prevention Month.

People often say well meaning things like ‘If you ever want to talk— just reach out!” Which is very kind, but rarely do people reach out when it’s needed most. I would challenge those people to also think about how they talk about suicide and suicidal ideation when they see it in people they don’t like or believe.

Do you make fun of mentally unwell people around friends? Do you say things online that make light of mental illness? There may be people in your company that you have no idea are struggling, but are listening and deciding whether they trust you enough to ask for help.

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Suicide prevention isn’t just saying suicide is sad and posting a helpline phone number.

Suicide prevention is understanding mental illness in the living.

Suicide prevention is actively working to change what you think about mental health.

Suicide prevention is believing that mental health is JUST as important as physical health. Because just as a small infection can worsen without antibiotics which leads to complications, and sometimes death, so can an untreated mental illness lead to ideation and death.

  • Do you think therapy is just as important as medication?

  • Do you believe that medication for the brain is just as important as it is for something like diabetes or a heart condition?

  • Do you believe that someone who talks about suicide but never goes ahead with it is crying wolf?

Please be honest with yourself when you answer these questions. Challenging your own bias and beliefs is important. I’m guilty of many things I discuss and probably still am. But we have to be okay confronting things we’ve learned and decide to do better.

In fact, they might save a life without you even knowing.

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A special thanks here to all my friends, Len, Johnny, therapist, POPC, people on twitter, and family who have helped save my life many times over.

the things nobody wants to talk about-part one

I’m writing a series of posts about things I HATE admitting about my mental illness. I’m only writing things I have personal experience with, so I would like to note that not everyone with Bipolar II has these symptoms. Everyone is different, but I want people to feel less alone if they struggle with these things.

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It was my grad year. I was working 30 hours a week, getting grades I’d never seen before in my life, and doing activities like never before. If you had looked at my life in grade eleven, you never would have believed it was the same person taking grade twelve. To everyone at work and at school, I was having my best year yet. At home it was different; I was fighting with my parents and in my relationship. I was irritable and angry as well.

One day, after a particularly lively conversation with my teacher, I came home and threw myself on the floor. I punched the couch cushions with a fierceness few in my life had ever seen. “I HATE HIM,” I screamed. “WHY DOES HE MAKE ME SO CRAZY.”

I was talking about a teacher who constantly challenged my world view. At that point in my life, I was a proud dual citizen and obsessed with the American election. I was furious with this teacher for pointing out the flaws in my thinking. I pored over research, read transcripts of debates, and wrote constantly.

As I pounded on the cushions, I felt the frightening feeling again. It felt as though my brain was tilting in my head and everything became so shiny it was like I couldn’t see. It was as if I’d come out of my body and from the ceiling of the living room I was watching myself have a meltdown. I don’t remember very much else. I know my mother was there.

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A few years later, someone was visiting the house. It was a time in my life that everyone seemed to think was great. From the depths of depression I’d started a new project. It was a blog that was a copycat of Humans of New York. I threw myself into it. Soon I was taking 5-10 pictures a day and posting things people loved to read. My blog started to have thousands of likes. I was working at a job I completely adored and good at. I had a boyfriend I loved and even though I fought with him, I thought he was the one. I ignored all the problems popping up. I ignored all the things I was doing wrong.

But behind closed doors, my parents saw a different me. I needed a new car. My green Echo had just been condemned and the thought of no freedom was frightening to me. I’d taken the car out to the field and stomped on the roof. I’d covered it in graffiti. Everyone thought it was hilarious and creative.

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The person visiting our family used to know me, but I was nervous about seeing them. I tried to ignore it and got into a discussion with my father about the need for a new car. We fought. We argued. In a moment of rage in the kitchen, I turned around by the microwave and started to scream at him. My brain felt tilty, the shininess returned and I felt like I couldn’t see. Was I leaving my body? I don’t remember much other than it felt like I wasn’t in control. When I came out of it, I could see the look on the visitor’s face. I knew they would never look at me in the same way again. And they never did.

After the fight with my father, I knew I couldn’t ever let the anger outside of me in that way again. When I felt like I couldn’t hold it in anymore, I would get in the car and drive to this wharf. I sat in this exact spot and cried many times— wond…

After the fight with my father, I knew I couldn’t ever let the anger outside of me in that way again. When I felt like I couldn’t hold it in anymore, I would get in the car and drive to this wharf. I sat in this exact spot and cried many times— wondering what people would do if they knew what was inside of me.

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The two above stories are events that happened to me in the middle of being very unwell. Most people in my life thought I was doing great. I was productive, creative, and social. But behind closed doors, the people who knew me best would see other sides of me. I regret SO many things when it comes to how I treated my parents. I completely shut them out and rarely explained my behaviour to them. I know it must have been confusing, and my mother tells me that when I was diagnosed with Bipolar II, it made so much more of my life at home make sense to her. Did it excuse how I treated them? Absolutely not. But it explained WHY I reacted so strongly and it explained things that they couldn’t understand.

The thing is, I never told people about how scary it was in my brain. How I would feel as though I lost control. I would settle down, apologize, and do my best to hide it. The event of getting mad at my father in front of the visitor was a huge wake up call to me. I had never felt so disassociated. I had also felt like I had blacked out with the shiny rage that shuddered through me.

Moving to Newfoundland and Labrador was a huge turning point in my life.

Moving to Newfoundland and Labrador was a huge turning point in my life.

After I was diagnosed, so many more things made sense. I understood that the anger often came in the middle of a mixed or hypo-manic episode. I used to be terrified of myself in those moments, and I was scared people would realize how crazy I was. I also learned that I took it out on trusted people who would still love me. I learned that no matter how out of control I felt, it was not okay to ever be so mad at people.

I do not consider myself an angry person. I've been in many situations where I feel I would be very justified to be angry, but have felt calm.

A book that was very hard to read because it helped me understand what I put people through. But it is something I would ask a future partner to read.

A book that was very hard to read because it helped me understand what I put people through. But it is something I would ask a future partner to read.

I still have some episodes of anger that are linked to being unwell, but it's been many years since I've lashed out at a human in the way I did before I moved-- I distinctly remember about a year after starting my medication— my friend was late for something. And as someone who likes order, I was extremely bothered by how late they were. As time ticked by, I became more and more agitated. I remember standing outside and waiting. The longer I waited, the angrier I became. I felt the shiny rage bubble up inside of me, and I started to tremble. My head ached from trying not to scream. It felt like I was seeing stars. But over and over I repeated to myself that I was not being rational. Over and over I repeated that I was sick. Over and over, I told myself that the feeling would pass. I stayed dead silent, willing myself to wait through it without exploding. I did. When my friend finally showed up, I worked to hide what had happened. After ten minutes passed, I felt calmer.

I cannot begin to explain how grateful I am to know what is happening to me now when things like this happen. I’ve had several similar experiences, but each time I repeat to myself that I will make it through. That I am irrational and the person I’m upset with does not deserve it. I have shook with the effort of maintaining control, given myself a headache, and seen stars. But I haven't let it unleash on people who don’t deserve it. Sometimes it helps to acknowledge I’m struggling to maintain control. I’ve admitted it to a trusted friend and also once on Twitter. Both times it’s helped to explain how irrational I am, but to acknowledge the explosion inside my head.

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This is hard to talk about. I always worry people will be afraid of me. Those who do know, I constantly reassure them I am not violent. I worry about people using this knowledge against me. Other symptoms have been used against me. Imagine if someone wanted to destroy me and used this information? I worry all the time nobody will believe me if it was my word against someone who doesn't have a mental illness.

But all those worries aside, I can't help but think it’s damaging to others not to admit my scary symptoms. The truth is that part of being sick means horrible things can happen. If I did act out would it be okay? No. Should there be consequences and I be held accountable? Yes. But maybe if we talked about functional people who deal with the demons in their head, people wouldn’t always equate it with people who have been charged with a criminal offence.

If we all understood things before they reached such a serious state, people wouldn't suffer so much. What if society knew enough about the hidden symptoms of mental health? If there was compassion that lead to prevention? Too often people's actions, because of untreated mental illness, lead them to an underfunded and unfair justice system that does not help them get better. There are ways to deal with such unpleasant and scary episodes, but if we can't talk about them except in secret or when people have lost all hope, how can we educate and prevent?

I'm lucky. I have support, self awareness, and the means to help myself. Many in poverty and unsafe environments are alone and have no idea what is happening inside their heads. Often they are lost and without hope of help or understanding.

The stigma is real. Who wants to admit they deal with this? I’m terrified to even admit this to close friends and a future partner. In fact, I constantly worry I will never be good enough for a relationship because of my darkest struggles. Hiding them in past relationships caused damage. I never explained my behaviour, and I didn’t want to offer up excuses because I still believe how I acted was wrong.

Because I am so terrified of messing up my life, Len’s love meant more than could ever be put into words. She was with my on my darkest nights and always wanted to be by my side. I miss her every day.

Because I am so terrified of messing up my life, Len’s love meant more than could ever be put into words. She was with me on my darkest nights and always wanted to be by my side. I miss her every day.

These hidden and destructive symptoms meant that in the earlier part of my life, maintaining friendships was difficult. Sometimes I would become so sick that even though I hid it, I would distance myself. I’ve come a long way since then, but I still struggle with the guilt of the past and wonder if I will do it again. I try everything in my power not to, but I can never be sure.

Let’s talk about how to live safely. How to move on after making mistakes. How to not excuse things that are wrong because some actions need to have consequences. Let’s recognize the struggle of how our brains can make it hard to resist things that might hurt us and others. Let's talk about to help people who are living with demons in their head with no help in sight.

It’s time to talk about the things we hide in the name of fighting the stigma.

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pre existing mental health and grief in a time of coronavirus

When Dr. Fitzgerald (My new hero. The calming voice when everything seems so out of control.) announced today that there were 23 new cases, my heart sank. The four cases had made me hopeful the day before. I knew that we were in this life of isolation for the long haul, but a part of me hoped that being an island— we would see positive results sooner. As my heart sank into my toes, I heard her familiar calm and soothing voice follow up with reminding us that our mental health is important. She repeated numbers, she talked about the warm line, Bridge the Gapp, and the crisis line. I could have wept with gratefulness that she acknowledged the crisis some of us are in.

I’ve acknowledged for months that I am not doing well. 2020 treated me badly before the pandemic hit Newfoundland and Labrador. I received news on February 17th that shook me to the core, my brother got sick and gave me a pretty good scare on February 21st, and I also lost my best friend: my beloved cat passed away on February 27th. Even though she had been sick, it had been very unexpected. It destroyed me. I will not bore you with the details of the week proceeding Leonard’s death, but a huge shout out to Lynn, Ashley, Maggie, Michelle, Calvin, many others and my Twitter community that literally held me up and got me through it without killing myself. If there is one thing I can say without reservation— it’s that Twitter and my friends are beautiful souls and I don’t deserve them.

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In the coming weeks, talk of the COVID-19 started to dominate. I was wrapped up in my grief. I was able to hold conversations, but for the most part I worked at hiding my grief when engaging in everyday conversations.

But lurking in the background— was waiting for COVID-19. It was like anticipating a wave to hit. As the days went by, it felt more ominous and I was scared of the tsunami. Knowing my mental state was fragile, I went to the grocery store early on and stocked up (I didn’t hoard toilet paper, promise!). I tried deliberately not to panic. I sanitized my hands, saw my friend Calvin, and tried not to think about it while adhering to the cautions they put in place. I tried to keep up with the advice while distancing myself away from the panic. Wrong move on my part.

Calvin and I spent most of the weekend of March 13th inside. We talked about social distancing and I constantly questioned him about if we were doing it right. I was confused but wanted to do the right thing. When he left early in the week, I started to realize things were bad. By Thursday, I arranged a place for my (medical professional) sister to stay with only a half hour to spare as she was ordered into self isolation because she came into contact with the virus. When I realized how close my parents had come into contacting it, I had a meltdown.

But in Maddox Cove, I stayed inside and tried to block it out. But by the time Friday rolled around, I realized I might be inside for a while. I planned to see two friends, knowing it was the last time I might see them for weeks, and as someone who deeply needs closure, I wanted to say goodbye to the “normal” chapter of my life to prepare to enter one I knew would be dark and long.

I never did see them. I was (rightly) called out on being a terrible idea, and I reacted badly. I took it out on someone and I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t understanding even though I’d asked people to be kind with each other because we are all struggling.

I was a hypocrite too. How could I call myself someone who cares about mental health when I wasn’t taking into account how most everybody’s mental health is deteriorating?

After I was called out for thinking it would be okay to have someone— even a close friend— over to the house, the realness of the situation sunk in.

This was it. This could go on for weeks. For months. And I would have to do it alone. I started to obsess with the news.

Everything was coming so fast that I didn’t know if it was grief, anxiety, depression or a strange version of hypo-mania (for undisclosed reasons.). My chest was so tight I spent two days struggling to breathe, I considered driving to the Waterford but didn’t trust myself to drive, and also knew I might come into contact with something—and what if I endangered others? I stayed put.

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Days rolled by. Nightmares plagued me, the tightness in my chest got worse. I knew it wasn’t anything serious because in the brief moments of calm, I could breathe again.

But my brain had other ideas. I huddled in a ball. The urge to scream, the urge to end my life, and the urge to do strange and irrational things gripped me. I stayed in the ball and tried my best to fight it off. The headache of the mental war settled in and I spent hours trying to hold onto sanity. The weird out of body experience that happens only when I am at my sickest came back. Nothing felt rational. Weird things happened, and I won’t go into detail about them, because I am ashamed of how my brain goes in those moments, but the struggle to stay sane felt like a losing battle.

Every routine. Every comfort. Every normal interaction with humans. They were all gone.

But yet, I knew I had it easy.

“You’re SO privileged,” the voice would scream in my head. “You are SO selfish,” the voice continued. “How dare you focus on your mood cycles and your grief over a CAT?” It went on. “PEOPLE ARE DYING. YOU WERE CARELESS. WHAT IF YOU HAD SPREAD IT.” The voice hasn’t stopped.

I would try and focus on things to not feel sorry for myself. I have a job. My friends are amazing. On the first weekend of being inside— gifts were left at my door. Beautiful crafted mementos of my Leonard Love. Their acknowledgment of her meant the world. Once again love from people lifted me up enough to get through another hour. I told myself to be grateful and bounce back.

I wanted to help. I signed up to donate blood. I looked into volunteering at a food bank. Then worry that volunteering at a food bank was stupid because what if I gave it to someone?

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“LEN IS GONE.” The thought would come screeching back. "YOU KILLED HER BEFORE WHAT WOULD HAVE BEEN THE GREATEST MONTH OF HER LIFE WITH YOU HOME ALL THE TIME.” Everywhere I looked, I saw her. I sat down to write thank you notes to my friends and would dissolve into tears— unable to write anything.

Back to the bed I would go. I would shake uncontrollably. I drank too much. I couldn’t keep track of my brain. I was sick of tracking it. I was crazy. It was stupid to have bipolar 2 right now. What did it matter when there is a global pandemic and so many people are experiencing anxiety for the first time?.

To talk about my stupid mental health for the 100th time right now would be taking away from the seriousness of the pandemic.

I am too privileged. People were risking their health every day and weren’t getting paid enough. Why hadn’t I fought harder for higher minimum wage?

I was selfish.

The guilt of almost having friends over and how I handled the fallout shuddered through me.

It’s a special kind of hell to want to end your life out of self loathing but feeling like you shouldn’t because to waste resources, possibly spread COVID-19, and to distract from anything other than people needing to stay inside. It’s a special kind of hell to hate yourself for being selfish but feeling like anything you do about it is even more damaging.

It rocked through my body. I cried. I was hysterical. I shook. The fear of making it through this pandemic alone wouldn’t leave.

When it came time to donate blood, my iron was too low. I’d signed up in order to help and in honour of my nephew— but also because I hoped it would help the guilt. On the same trip, I picked up Len’s ashes. They came out and handed me the bag through my car window and stood in the rain as I cried and thanked them.

The thought of Facetime broke my heart. I cried when I said good bye to a screen. I didn’t reply to texts, and I logged off Twitter because everything I’d said was unhelpful and awful. Anything I still want to say is unhelpful and awful.

And I missed Len. My best friend was gone. The one who saw through everything— who knew my deep flaws and mistakes— and loved me anyway. I sat beside her ashes on the floor and sobbed. Johnny rubbed her face against the box of ashes and the grief threatened to drown me.

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I went to therapy (online) with the stress of maxing out on my benefits looming, but feeling like he was the only person it was okay to admit I really really wasn’t okay to. He said to me what I will hold onto throughout this:

“Just because the world is on pause, doesn’t mean your problems or mental health are on pause. Your struggles before this started are still valid.”

I wanted to believe him.

So when Dr. Fitzgerald came out today and said it was a hard time for everyone— that our mental health mattered, it hit home. It felt like for the first time I was given permission to not be okay. I know she talked about mental health before, but I think it’s the first time I really heard it. That the isolation was making us lose our minds and it was okay. That we should ask for help.

I realize that the very thing I am saying right now is all centered on me. But I am writing this because my therapist suggested to me that I am not the only one. That there are people right now who realize the world problems are huge, that their problems in the grand scheme of a global pandemic, aren’t important to many people (Which is understandable! The news is rightly dominating. Guiding us for how we should act.) — but it doesn’t mean the pre-existing problems aren’t valid and real.

He also suggested that maybe some people are okay with this. That the pandemic has provided relief from the stress of going out and some may actually thriving in the new environment. They might be hiding in the guilt of feeling bad about being happy while the pandemic rages on. If you are someone who has found solace in the pause of the world- I am SO happy for you. I’m so glad slivers of happiness are in this awful new world.

But I’m writing this to tell you that if you’re NOT okay from pre-existing problems— you are not alone. Am I still wracked with guilt? Yes. Should you be? No.

Are you experiencing anxiety for the first time? I’m so sorry that you have to experience this. I wouldn’t even wish it on Trump.

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You might have been in the middle of a mentally unstable period. You might be grieving. You might have unresolved problems. Your mental health might be deteriorating and you feel guilty for caring about that when physical health is so highlighted right now. (Rightly so!!!)

Are you staying home? Are you doing what you can to stop the spread? That’s important.

But if you’re not okay, if your brain is fighting you and you are mentally unwell, that’s okay. You matter.

If you feel like you’re not doing enough and you’re at home feeling guilty about your mental health. This is a reminder that staying home is helping.

I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’m cheering for you.

You’re not alone. I promise. I’m there with you.

_________

From the Government of Newfoundland and Labrador

The outbreak of COVID-19 may be stressful for people. You may be experiencing a high degree of uncertainty, worry, anxiety and stress about the health and safety of your loved ones, and how COVID-19 may disrupt the lives of you and your family.

If you are finding it difficult to cope or feel anxious, Bridge the gapp offers many services to support you and your wellbeing. Please visit www.bridgethegapp.ca for more information.

If you are feeling isolated and alone during COVID-19, you are encouraged to reach out and speak with a trained mental health peer supporter. Call the Provincial CHANNAL Warm Line at 1-855-753-2560 9:00am to 12:00am daily. Note that, due to large call volumes, you may be prompted to leave a voice mail. CHANNAL will return your call with a blocked phone number to protect your privacy.

If you are experiencing a mental health crisis, you should call the Mental Health Crisis Line at 1-888-737-4668, available 24 hours a day, or use the Crisis Text service by texting 686868.

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do you really have to love yourself first?

“You have to love yourself before you can love someone else.”

“You have to fall in love with yourself before anyone else can love you.”

How many times have you heard a version these words? If you’re single like me, you’ve probably heard it more than the average person. The belief that you need to love yourself before you are capable of being in a relationship is a common one. There are people who have even said it to me about themselves.

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Everyone who says it has good intentions. I love my friends for caring about me. But here’s the thing: I don’t think I will ever love myself the way I’m supposed to.

And I think there are a lot of people out there just like me. Struggling with their mental health— unable to see themselves in the same light as their friends and family.

Don’t get me wrong, sometimes I go through periods of being okay with who I am. There’re things about me that people say are great, but there is always a voice in my head correcting their words. Sometimes I want to believe them. Sometimes for brief periods, I wonder if they are right— but then I push away the thought and retreat.

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Hearing that I have to love myself before anyone else can love me is like a punch in the gut. I try not to flinch when they say that. I know they are trying to be helpful, but it’s like they are shouting at me that I am unworthy of love.

There’s so many of us struggling with any number of mental illnesses. Anxiety, Depression, Eating Disorders, Bipolar 1 & 2, or any other number of things. But some of us also struggle with simple insecurity. We’re putting in the work to accept our flaws, but always seem to fall short.

For me, the cycle of trying to accept myself is never ending.

When you’re depressed, the dislike turns into loathing; a voice in your head constantly telling you that you are worthless and that people are better off without you. You push yourself through the day— feeling guilty for being a burden. How can people possibly love you? The fog crowds in and you try to put one foot in front of the other. Sometimes you can’t, so you lie in bed and stare silently at the ceiling. You hate yourself for not being able to just snap out of it. You despise your brain and how difficult every single task is.

But I don’t just dislike myself when I’m depressed. It’s possible to hate myself when I’m hypo-manic too. Oh sure, there are bursts of confidence where I am convinced that I should date— but the reality is that when my mind races and I’m fighting off extreme paranoia or agitation— I am filled with a self disgust.

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“Why aren’t you normal?!” I sometimes scream in my car. “Why aren’t you capable of being stable and happy?” I look in the mirror and wonder how any part of me is lovable. Wishing I could have the confidence of many I know and the self compassion I preach to everyone else.

I haven’t been on a date for over two years. People have asked me over and over why I’m not on Tinder or trying to meet people. I never know exactly what to say. I’m dealing with a ten year problem, I’m scared of things I can’t discuss, or that my mental illness makes me the worst girlfriend in the world?

People laugh at that, but I mean it. I’ve looked back on my life and have so many regrets. My most serious relationship was long distance and it’s filled me with horror to realize how awful my brain made me to deal with. We don’t talk anymore, but I will never, ever forget the words he said when I realized it was probably over:

“Why are you so emotional? Why does everything bother you?”

I opened my mouth to tell him that I would fix it. I was sitting on a couch in my parent’s house and I couldn’t understand why he hated my emotions so much. But as I opened my mouth to say I would fix it, something inside of me realized that that was impossible. I was up and I was down and as much as I tried to hide it, he would know.

Instead, I told him that I didn’t think he wanted me. It was the first time I understood that relationships don’t always end because people no longer love each other.

He had been dealing with a mentally unwell girlfriend for three years— we had both known I was extremely emotional, but neither of us knew how to deal with it. He took the brunt of the irritation, anger, highs, lows, and everything in between— all without a diagnosis that could have helped us navigate through it. Don’t get me wrong, I am definitely not blaming all my mistakes on my mental health. Many of them were unrelated.

After we broke up, I tried to date again. But these relationship were short lived and each time I dated, I would hide more and more of myself. There is one guy I briefly dated that I actually laugh when I think about the shell of the person he met. He had no idea who I was. I put on a mask for three months whenever he saw me.

Because of my mental health, and also because of some unresolved things from my past, I stopped dating. Completely. Every time a man has hinted that he is interested, I’ve run in the other direction. I’ve been half rude in pushing them away.

During this time, I’ve tried so hard to love myself. I’ve taken selfies— trying to accept my looks. I’ve gone to therapy to try and accept the cycles. I’ve tried to become a better person. And over and over I’ve reminded myself about every single person I know with a mental illness who is wonderful and in a loving relationship.

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But the highs and lows still come— and with them, the complete and utter frustration of believing I will go back to being that awful girlfriend I was during that relationship so long ago. That in the beginning they will meet the bright and shiny Kristi-- full of life and energy. But then out of nowhere the crash will come and they will wonder where I went.

You have to love yourself before you can be in a relationship.”

When I hear those words, I think to myself that I will never be deserving of love. That I will never be able to love someone they way they should be loved. That love is meant only for those who are free of problems and full of self acceptance.

But even though I feel like I shouldn’t be in a relationship— I know those words are wrong. I know how much love people have to offer. I know people with mental illnesses and insecurities who are in committed relationships. Yes, it takes a lot of work and patience— but are we any less deserving? If someone is willing to ride through the storms with us, is it okay for us to let them?

Should we take away a partner’s choice to see through all the fog, blinding lights, and panic attacks? What if they are willing to accept what changes in routine, crowded rooms, and strange triggers can do to make us spiral? What if they are warned but still want to take the chance because they think we are worth it?

When we are ill and insecure, are we capable of loving others? Our family, friends, and pets? Why are we told that we deserve love in all areas except a romantic relationship?

I’m not a good example of why you should never say those words. I have failed in every single relationship I’ve attempted. But I can tell you this: I am capable of loving fiercely and deeply. I am loyal to the core. My flaws are many, but I want to be a better person.

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Sometimes I feel so much love it hurts. I go through periods when I am the worst communicator, not fun to be around; I cry at the drop of a hat, and panic at a moment’s notice. I have fits of wanting to dance wildly in my living room and do strange things. There are a few people who have told me to let someone choose if they want to deal with all those things when I’m in those stages.

And to be honest, I’m not sure I’m ready. Even though I have moments of feeling desperately lonely. I hear those words:

You have to love yourself before you can be in a relationship.”

I have whispered those words to myself huddled in a ball on the living room floor. I have shouted them when standing on the cliffs with the waves pounding below.

There is no anger towards the people who have given me that piece of advice, but I have come to believe something:

It is a dangerous thing to say to a person who is struggling with self acceptance, insecurity, or a mental illness.

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to be very honest...

Three years ago today, I was diagnosed with Bipolar II.

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In many ways, the time has flown by. I’m not the same person I was when I walked out of The Waterford and cried in my car about the fact people would judge me when they heard the word bipolar.

On my one year anniversary of being diagnosed, I bought a cake and blew out candles. I considered November 28 the date of my second chance at living life. On the two year anniversary, I wrote something that caught the attention of a journalist and I was on the radio talking about my joy at being given a second chance.

But this year, I’ve been dreading the day. It’s been more than six months since I’ve felt consistently stable. I’ve gone for a few days of feeling okay, before plunging down into a depression or bouncing back up and soaring into the realms of shiny glitter, agitation, and a pace so fast I can barely keep people from noticing.

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Is it rapid cycling? Probably. I’ve been avoiding going back to my psychiatrist. Tucked on my shelf is a little bottle of pills he prescribed when I saw him last. They haven’t been touched— my fear of gaining more weight, and other side effects, holding me back. As someone who tells the world not to be afraid of pills, this is a source of shame because it means I’m a hypocrite.

In fact, I’ve been a hypocrite for months. I’ve cowered into corners and hid from getting help— all the while telling others that they shouldn’t be scared. I’ve felt sorry for myself, spent money even though I knew I was hypo-manic, and made excuses for staying in bed and wallowing in wanting to die. I’ve avoided questions about how I am doing. I’ve avoided even thinking about managing the illness. I’ve gone weeks of taking my pills at random and drinking too much. There have been times I’ve thought maybe I should just pretend I’m cured and stop taking medication all together.

I’ve gone so far as to sit down to write a suicide note, plan a death that would look like an accident, and double check my life insurance to make sure my debts would be paid and the house given to the person I want to inherit it.

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All the while, I’ve gone to work, gone out with friends, and appeared “strong” to many. Oh, I’ve been told I’m emotional— especially by people who seem to revel in my struggles, but for the most part, my people have been unwavering in their support. Would they be disappointed that in me if my “strength” faded away?

How do I drag myself out of it? How do I find the gratitude I felt one year ago?

I have taken steps. I’ve gotten a pass to go back to the track and run. I’ve purchased a mini trampoline. I’m trying to eat better. I’ve cut back on the drinking.

But everything still feels uncertain and like a battle.

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I was going to lie today and say that I’m filled with hope. I’m not. I was going to try and say something inspirational— but that’s silly when I don’t feel it.

DO NOT feel sorry for me. I can tell you that I know I’m still better off than I was three years ago. I still know what’s going on. I have the tools to fight through the suicidal ideation, anger, and fast pace fits of energy.

Getting help IS the best thing that ever happened to me, and I know how lucky I am. In fact, the guilt runs deep because I know I’m a lot better off than many with my condition.

I resolved a long time to be real about the struggles of having Bipolar II— and I am, sometimes. Usually in the wake of an episode when I can offer words of hope.

But in the middle of a cycle— especially this never ending one in 2019, it’s hard to be real. Because I don’t want people to feel sorry for me, or admit to my unhealthy habits. I want people to be proud of how far I’ve come.

The fact is that people get stuck in self-destructive ways because they are sick of trying to get better and it failing. They are sick of the pills not working. They are sick of dragging their friends down with the same cycle over and over. It is the reality.

If there is one thing I can say I am thankful for, it’s the fact that I can work through all this in Newfoundland and Labrador. That I can sit in my haven in the rock and look at the ocean in the morning. That my miracle kitty snuggles me when the darkness crowds in. That I can dance in my living room when I don’t know what to do with the energy.

Life is beautiful. I know that.

I hope I hold onto that forever— even as I continue to spin in the cycles of high and low.

Here’s to second chances, even when we don’t appreciate them as much as we should.

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what help is out there? how do i help myself?

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Since being diagnosed with Bipolar II in November of 2016, I have become more and more open about my mental health. Online, that is. I still get nervous talking about it in public. Also, knowing that some people in my workplace are aware I have mental health issues has me constantly worrying about it affecting my career. A few people question it because I live what appears to be a normal life. Before I share every post online, I get scared. When something is posted, I panic for a solid few hours after. Sometimes I delete it.

But I WISH there had been more information when I was younger. I WISH I had someone to explain all the scary and messy things in my brain. So I began to write about my experience thinking maybe some people could relate. To my surprise, people have reached out and asked me for information. Asked me about my symptoms and about lots of things I’m about to address in this blog post. I’ve decided to compile a list of information and tips I’ve assembled over the years.

I want to be clear that this may not be everyone’s experience with mental health and the system. We are all different. If there was a one size fits all, then getting better would be a lot easier. But when I decided to talk openly about my mental health—I chose to do it because I want to be the change I wish to see in this world. If this helps ONE person, then I will be happy. My hope is that this doesn’t hurt or discourage anyone.

If you have anything to add— Any programs, tips, or things that really help you. Please share in the comments.

part of the original list I wrote and gave the doctor.

part of the original list I wrote and gave the doctor.

Three years ago, I went running with my sister in-law. Our feet were pounding the pavement on Southside Road as I explained to her that I hadn’t been well lately, but every time I went to the doctor I seemed to freeze up or make jokes because I was uncomfortable.

“Why don’t you write everything down on a list and give it to him?” She asked. “That way you won’t forget— even when you freeze up.”

So I did. I walked into the doctor’s office and explained that I was nervous, but this is what I had been experiencing.

His reaction and understanding probably led to saving my life. I wrote about it here.

It has saved me many times to have a list. I know they often talk a lot about keeping a journal— but sometimes the thought can be daunting. I have a handy little list full of questions I ask myself when i feel like something is off.

It’s quick easy, and doesn’t require me to over analyze in the moment TOO much. Going in to see a doctor with this information is great because you don’t forget anything and they can ask you questions based on the starting point you’ve given them.

Crisis Plan

I came across the crisis plan a few months ago and really liked the idea. I’ve made my own and given it to several people in my life. It’s handy for them because if they are unsure of how to get through to me when I’ve stopped communicating— it helps them know what to do.

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Understanding the differences:

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I get asked this question a lot. And to be honest, I didn’t understand the difference for many years. In Newfoundland and Labrador— it’s easy (If you have the money) to find a psychologist and book an appointment. It’s VERY hard to get a psychiatrist.

If you’re looking for a psychologist, I really like this website.

https://www.psychologytoday.com/ca

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You can type in your area code and it will show you who you can see in the area. It’s extremely helpful because it tells you what they specialize in and whether they are taking new patients. You can look all that up without making a million phone calls.

This website is also very helpful.

https://www.theravive.com/cities/nl/

I will say that it’s hard to find a good fit for both psychologists and psychiatrists. It can be hard to open up with someone and sometimes it just doesn’t click. If you find the first appointment tough, don’t be discouraged. It doesn’t mean you can’t be helped. I promise it’s worth it in the long run.

In St. John’s there are several FREE options which I’ve heard really great things about: Several friends have used the Doorways program and I haven’t heard a single bad thing about it.

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The St. John’s Women’s Centre is another free option.

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The Waterford Hospital

I’ve never stayed overnight at The Waterford. However, I have been to the emergency as well as been there for appointments with the psychiatrist who diagnosed me.

It’s not a great place. You will read many horror stories in the news about it. However, I will say that I had both a very bad experience there and also a very good experience. It was extremely hard to sit in the waiting room and go through three interviews, but ultimately I’m glad that I did. Many, many people want to help you. They are working with the best that is given to them. Don’t completely dismiss going to emergency, because it is there to help you.

When I went, I was interviewed by three people. A nurse, an intern, and a psychiatrist. I had to answer A LOT of questions. Be prepared for that.

Crisis Lines

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I’ve used the crisis line and there is no shame in it. It’s not my first choice, but it’s something that is there 24/7. Trained professionals are on the phone and ready to listen. I admit that I’ve been scared of them sending out blaring sirens and police officers. That didn’t happen to me. They talk to you. They are a voice on the other line reminding you that there is help.

The CHANNEL warm line is another option. It’s not a 24/7 emergency line but I hear it’s a wonderful help for those who feel alone in their struggles. One of the nice things about it is that it’s operated by people who have been sick as well. They truly understand what you are going through.

Family Doctors

The reason that I am here today is because of my previous doctor. He fought for me when I didn’t want to. I took the list I previously talked about and handed it to him. When he read it, he asked me a series of questions and started the ball rolling. He admitted he didn’t know as much as others about mental health, but he fought for me. He wrote a letter to bring to emergency at The Waterford. He put me on the list to see a psychiatrist. He also wrote me a referral letter to see one in a private practice. When the psychiatrist said he wouldn’t take me— they pleaded with him, and he ended up taking me as a patient.

Family doctors might not be experts, but don’t dismiss their ability to point you in the right direction.

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Medication

Medication is TERRIFYING for me. Right now I have a bottle of new pills sitting on my shelf. My family doctor in Nova Scotia tried talking me into medicine for years and I refused. When my family doctor in Newfoundland first wrote me a prescription— I didn’t fill it either. He called me and begged me to come in and speak to him. When I went to The Waterford, they interrogated me about why I was so scared to try it.

I was scared about weight gain and many other things I’ve heard about. It’s completely normal to be scared of side effects. When I shared all my worries with the psychiatrist who diagnosed me, she went through all the side effects with me and was honest about what I was in for.

When it became clear I might need some new medication, I asked about what the options were. Because I have Bipolar II, my options are much more limited. But I was given a list and I went home and did research. The next time I went in, I discussed it all over again before agreeing to Risperdal.

Medication is scary, but it also is important. I have zero doubt that it’s saved my life. If you are freaking about it— do your research. Ask about all your options. It’s less scary if you know what you are in for. It’s okay to be scared and it’s not dumb to worry. But as someone who resisted for a very long time, I have come to appreciate my lamotrigine. The number one tip I have is to research and ask your doctor about the options. You don’t have to like the first thing they give you.

Non Medication

I know, I know, we all hate hearing the magic cures that everyone thinks they have. But I remember one of my therapists saying to me that if it works for someone, then she won’t argue with it. We all have things that work for us.

For me it’s included:

  • Running

  • Making sure I’m outside for at least half hour a day.

  • Taking a lunch outside of my office,

  • The five step method for panic attacks:

  • Going for a drive (If I’m not suicidal)

  • Cuddling my cat

  • Sitting and staring at the ocean

  • Trying to make someone else’s day better when mine is awful.

Friends

Have you ever been told that you’re not a burden? That you should feel free to reach out? Been given numbers and the offer to DM someone if you need to? I’ve had it said to me over and over again. The kindness of people has never ceased to amaze me. But still, I never shake the feeling of being a burden. I’ve reached out to friends when I’m struggling, but over the years I’ve gone through crisis after crisis and come out the other side.

“Do they think I’m being dramatic?” I always wonder. “Am I the girl who cries wolf because I’ve never ended up taking my life?”

Still, on those nights where I’m on the floor sobbing and planning out my suicide, I feel frantic. Or, other nights I’m simply not okay. The racing heart, thoughts going a mile a minute, and a brain so foggy I don’t want to drive: “You’re not at risk of killing yourself, so don’t call anyone.” I tell myself.

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Years of this has made me rarely tell people in the moments I’m the most in danger. Sometimes I’ll be sitting in a group of people and wondering if I should kill myself on the way home. But who wants to be a buzz kill?

I would NEVER discourage someone from reaching out. I ENCOURAGE it. It’s important and if it were my friend, I would beg them to text me if they felt like that. But we hold double standards for ourselves, don’t we? Ideally you will reach out. Ideally you will see that your friends want to help. But in those moments where I refuse to reach out, I’ve come up with some tricks for myself that I thought I would share:

  • Call friends for a chat. I don’t tell them I’m suicidal, but it’s a way to remind myself my friends are there. If they ask how I am, it’s an opportunity to be honest

  • Text a friend and ask how they are. Sometimes it gets me out of my head to ask them about their lives. Ask them about the best thing that’s happened to them that day.

  • I’ll tweet and interact with my online friends

I never had a large group of friends until the last two years. I cannot begin to explain how much they’ve been there for me. But I also understand what it is to feel alone. I had more people than I thought during my lonely years, but it was easy to dismiss. Looking back I realize there were still people who cared. A special shout out to my parents and younger sister who lived with me during my sickest years when I was hiding most of it from the world. My sister Kylie slept on my floor for two weeks. Ashley went out for endless cups of coffee with me. My father and mother paid for me to go see someone when they realized I wasn’t getting better.

When you feel like there isn’t anyone

But do you feel like there isn’t anyone? Is there a coworker you trust? A childhood friend you’ve always been able to pick up with like no time has passed? Family members? A pet?

If you don’t feel like you do, I’m so sorry. But you also are still loved. You are still valuable to this world and you have worth. Brighter days ARE possible.

Something I set up for myself is create a list of reasons to live. I write it in big writing on the white board in my house and leave it up for weeks. It’s always there as a reminder. It’s the most helpful in the darkest moments where I don’t have the willpower to think about why I should stay or feed myself the lie of not having anyone who cares. Sitting in my living room is the white board. All I have to do is read:

The reasons tend to change, but the top one never changes.

The reasons tend to change, but the top one never changes.

It doesn’t have to be just for reasons to be alive. It can be reasons to go to work. Reasons to see friends. Reasons to try and get better.

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One of the toughest lessons I’ve learned since being diagnosed with Bipolar II is just how much work it is to look after myself. It gets discouraging and frustrating. Many times I’ve been tempted to quit my medication and stop tracking how I’m doing. Monitoring my moods, triggers, and things that help is exhausting beyond words. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it’s helping. I know how easy it is to give up. I will always understand why people do.

There are those who aren’t naturally self aware and are in the middle of a crisis before they realize they even got there. It is not their fault. We talk about raising awareness about mental health—but we are truly educated? Are we compassionate? How can we learn the signs if we’ve never been taught? We can’t blame people for not helping themselves if they don’t know how to.

The reason I’m sharing this is because it’s hard. It’s really hard. The amount of googling, reading, and trial and error has been difficult. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

My hope is that this will help others help themselves.

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