moosh in indy.

I have tried to take my own life more than the one time I have acknowledged on this blog.

Almost exactly two years ago I drove myself to the hospital. The entire drive there I had to keep talking myself out of driving into oncoming traffic. My eyes were puffy, they stung from all the crying and my heart felt as though it had been pummeled by a meat tenderizer.

Alone. Broken. Hopeless. Alone. Broken. Hopeless.

I called Cody from the parking lot and told him where I was and what I was about to do.

Voluntarily commit myself.

He understood. It wasn’t the first time that me going back into the hospital had been considered.

He offered to meet me there, I volunteered to come home. He found somewhere for little Addie to go and he took me to the mental crisis unit of the hospital.

It all came back so fast. The locked doors, the patients talking to themselves, random screams and the constant buzz of florescent lighting. The doctor I met with was named Dr. Wink. Dr. Wink saved my life that night. There was no judgement.

She got it.

She understood my fear of going back “in there” but she also understood how I had come to a point where “in there” may be the only safe place for me to be. We talked for a long time. She didn’t commit me, instead she gave me hope. Hope that I could make it through this without having to hand over my shoelaces and pride.

I left with hope. And a very important prescription. I have been taking that prescription since and have not once felt I needed to go back there.

****

Mental illness is not a choice.

Nor is it a cop out, curable or something that one can merely “get over” like a pulled hamstring.

There is nothing wrong with taking a pill to get me through the involuntary chemical imbalances in my own head.

I’m not going to lie, there are some days I hate that stupid pill. I hate taking it, I have even tried to go without. I hate that my body can’t just “work.” But something up there doesn’t fire right and the repercussions from a misfire can be devastating. So I take the pill.

No one has ever thought any less of me for needing contacts to see or prescription strength deodorant to keep me from sweating like a pig in the sun on the fourth of July. The same goes for my depression medication.

If you are suffering, please. It’s not a cop out to get help. There are people out there like Dr. Wink who know it’s not your fault and that you would never volunteer to feel the way you do, alone, broken and hopeless.

If those words resonate anywhere ANYWHERE within you, please. Find someone to talk to. Anyone. There’s websites, phone numbers, friends, me, doctors and clergy that will listen. That cold rainy night in February last year didn’t end the way I had it in my head, if it had I would have either had a toe tag or my name on commitment papers.

I can’t even say I was looking for a miracle. Miracles don’t exist to someone trapped inside their own brains. What I was given was hope through the words of another. Enough hope to get me home, enough hope to try a new medication. Enough hope to know that I would feel “normal” again.

And enough hope to know that these demons I battle are not my fault.

****

Karissa, or Krissy as her family called her, took her own life on Saturday. I have scoured her tweets and her site looking for any sort of hint that would have hinted at how alone, broken and hopeless she felt. Aside from “taking a break” there was nothing. No hints to anyone online that she was slipping.

After reading through her comments I noticed how many people she had supporting her. And after knowing of her passing, how many people mentioned that they had thought about reaching out to her but didn’t.

I wrote this last week, it’s haunting.

I guess what I wanted to say is that when you get that feeling to write somebody something heartfelt or out of genuine concern, just do it. If they don’t respond chances are it’s not because they are a jerk. It’s probably because they’re suffocating.

January 5, 2010

and to everyone I wrote these words in the post about my overdose,

I am not ashamed now because I have a message, if someone says they’re not doing so well, please listen. I tried to tell someone that I was not well a week before this happened. They brushed it off as pregnancy hormones and sleepiness. I didn’t want to push, maybe it was just pregnancy after all. But that’s just my point, those who truly need your help will rarely shout for it. They will suffer silently hoping somebody, anybody will notice. Those who are truly hurting will not want to draw attention to themselves.

I didn’t want to be a burden or seen as a complainer. So I tried to figure it all out myself.

And I failed.

But I was blessed through my failure.

Not everyone is so lucky.

November 19, 2007

I’m not saying any one of us, or all of us, could have saved Krissy from making the decision she did. I honestly didn’t know her personally. Even if I had I’m not sure that even I would have noticed her slipping away.

Her loss has left her family grieving. I can’t imagine the pain all those who loved her are feeling, I can’t even pretend to. My heart and prayers go out to them. I know if her cousin could have just one wish it would be to go back to Saturday and make it all better.

****

Please. If you’re not doing well, speak up. Please. Just because you feel hopeless does not mean you are. And even more importantly, you are not helpless.

God didn’t put billions of people on the planet for us to only take care of ourselves.

It’s our job to take care of each other. In sickness and in health. No matter what.

“…having gone through crazy postpartum depression and anxiety I can’t tell you how nice it is to know that there are people like you- good people who can be honest about how mental illness is real and isn’t our fault. Sometimes, even though you know you’re just fighting your own brain, it hurts like hell and you don’t know if you can go on the way you have been.”

I went back through the other night and responded to emails people had sent me over the last few months, thanking me for something I had written, for being honest about the ugly nuggets in certain areas of my life. Some were over four months old. But I needed to thank you for them and apologize for having my head so far up my butt I could have performed some major personal surgery.

“I just thought it would be ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY, FREAKIN IMPORTANT to tell you…. That I am probably one of a gazillion people whose life you’ve made a smidgen better because you’re in it.  You are one of very few people that have the ability to teach others to just be themselves. And that is a very rare trait to have. The several of us that are better because of you… we thank you.”

While I did read them when I received them, I didn’t necessarily comprehend them.

“I’ve been an avid reader for quite some time but don’t comment very often. I read your post “being your mom with depression” and cried with relief that there was someone else out there who goes through what I do.”

Anyone who’s dealt with depression or any kind of crazy knows that it feels as though it will never end, and people telling you “this too shall pass” or “get over it” kind of make you want to shove things up their bums as well.

“Maybe it’s not much, maybe it’s not enough…but your words got me brave enough to say it, at least here. Thank you Casey for being you and for making me laugh and cry and smile and for teaching me things I didn’t know about turkeys and faith and most of all for sharing “the faking” on a day I was thinking of how well I’m “faking” my life. Thank you for letting me know that maybe I’m not totally alone.”

I guess what I wanted to say is that when you get that feeling to write somebody something heartfelt or out of genuine concern, just do it. If they don’t respond chances are it’s not because they are a jerk. It’s probably because they’re suffocating. And when they can breathe again? I hope they’ll give you the thanks you deserve. I for one feel I can never repay those who have taken time out of their lives to thank me for doing what comes so naturally to me.

“I’ve been reading your blog for a few months now, and I love your candid, unapologetic posts. The way you’ve written about your mental health has really had an impact on me. I’m bipolar, and only a few people in my life know…Thank you for writing the way you do about this topic. It really helps to know that I’m not alone in this, and I wanted you to know that you aren’t either. Reading your blog helps. Thank you.”

I hope one day I can give you all the thanks you deserve. I’d have you all over to my house for milk and cookies if I could.

“Thank you for putting yourself out there and sharing your heart with us. I am certain that those of us who have journied through the dark days of infertility/depression and those currently walking the road, are encouraged to know someone else shares their unspoken feelings/thoughts/emotions.”

If you met me for the first time over the last 6 months? That wasn’t me. Can we get a do over please? For those of you who stuck it out with me? Thank you. Thank you a million times over. You are the stainless steel in my kitchen of life.

xoxo

For the last several months I have undergone Lupron therapy as a followup to a a laparoscopy I had back in June for infertility/endometriosis.

Knowing what I know now I would have never agreed to the Lupron therapy. I knew that there was a definite possibility of emotional/mental side effects which is why I chose to do the month to month shot, in case something went wrong I could stop after the first shot.

I could handle the physical side effects of Lupron without much trouble, who doesn’t enjoy a good hot flash now and then? But the feelings that came with Lupron were so subtle that I didn’t even realize what had happened to me until the drug had swallowed me into a black inky devastating fog, and by then it was too late.

To put it mildly Lupron has destroyed every aspect of my life in one way or another.

I would never suggest Lupron to anyone if they had any another option of treatment. Especially someone who has been dealt the depression card.

I feel that the effects have finally begun to wear off, although I know I’m still not 100% myself. Those closest to me noticed a difference, that I wasn’t myself. And those who know the me who suffers from depression knew that the Casey that sat in front of them was even worse off than Casey with just depression. And me with ‘just’ depression is bad enough.

I am ashamed that I withheld and avoided friendships because of how the Lupron made me feel. I was not the mom Addie deserved while on this medication. And as far as being a wife? Fail. Fail. Utter epic fail. To go back and say “Oh sorry I’ve ignored you for the last few months, it was the medication overtaking my life.” seems like such a lame excuse. But when I look back over the last five months? I was simply an empty shell walking around, void of any and all hope. When I looked in the mirror I saw nothing. Nothing worth fighting for, nothing worth loving, nothing worth living for.

I tried faking it. Pushing through with a smile. For the most part it was all a lie.

I wish I could have those months back. I know I wanted a baby, and was ready to do almost anything to get one, but knowing what I know now? Babies can wait, babies can come other ways, babies aren’t necessarily worth risking your entire life for. (Coming from the lady who tried to kill herself while seven months pregnant? I know what I’m talking about.)

I know medication affects so many people in so many different ways, I also know a lot of you read my blog because you see some part of you in some part of me. And the part of me that has been beat by this medication says to that part of you, don’t risk it.

I almost lost it all in several different ways and all I have to show for it is a pit in my stomach and a black fog over the last five months.

I haven’t been a good friend (or even human being) the past few months, I was so concerned with making it out the other side of this in one piece. To those of you who have stuck it out with me? Thank you. Thank you a thousand times over. To those of you I lost or hurt? This is my apology, I’m so sorry.

I move into my house on Tuesday. A fitting new start to the old me that is coming back around.

I’ve missed me horribly.

Some of my earliest memories occurred when I was your age.

And sadly most of them revolve around the divorce of your grandma and grandpa.

I remember being in the bathtub while they were fighting in the living room, sissy came in to cover my ears so I wouldn’t hear them. I don’t ever remember what they said, all I know is there was a lot of yelling and my dad moved out.

I was one of the only kids in my elementary class to have divorced parents, it was a surreal feeling. But looking back I wouldn’t have it any other way. If my parents had stayed together you would never have Grampa Poopsie or Gramma Flower. I know having both of them in my life growing up made me a better person and I know that their presence in your life will do the same.

I have always worried about the day you would be old enough to know when I’m not doing well. I’m not the mom you deserve when I’m in the dark. But you are so resilient. You take such good care of me when I’m lost in my own brain. You heal me. But it’s not fair, you’re only four. I sometimes wonder what I would be like if I didn’t have these demons to battle. Would I be very average and boring? I guess it’s not even worth giving any thought to. This is my trial.

The other fear that has been seeping into me as you get older and wiser is what if my chemical imbalance has passed on to you? I think about how much grandma and grandpa have felt helpless when it comes to the difficulties I’ve been through. Even your dad has been overwhelmed at times.

I guess what I want to say while it is fresh in my mind, is that you have the most spectacular family around you. And your dad, I love Grampa Fish but what I wouldn’t give to have had a dad like your dad. You are his world. The two of you are best friends. With this new life that we are starting I hope that you can grow up feeling as if you have the strongest support possible, and if you ever need it, the safest safety net ever made by two people in love.

The honest truth is that there have been times I have resented you. Times I wanted to be so utterly selfish. This is something that parents aren’t supposed to say out loud. But I know I’m not alone in my feelings, whether other people want to say it out loud or not.

But here’s the thing.

You are the glue that holds me together.

You are an eternally optimistic piece of my heart walking around on the outside of my body.

Like God took the very best pieces of me and made you.

To remind me that even on my worst days, I have something to live for.

I love you so much it hurts sometimes.

And I’m sorry if my hurt ever hurts you.

xo-redmama

I am not doing well.

Sorry you have to watch this.

But thank you for being here.

You can’t pick raspberries and be online at the same time.

You also can’t pick apples while updating your facebook status.

You can’t choose out Indiana tomatoes the size of pumpkins while tweeting from an iPhone.

And you definitely can’t feel up a giant peach with a laptop in your hands.

There was no wi-fi where I spent the day.

But there was one of these. And these are always better than the Internet.

Good job Indiana, keep it up.

********

In other news, could you please go give VDog a little support? It involves pregnancy and needs to involve the support of the Internets. (Or your liquor cabinet. Or the candy aisle. She’s easy like that.)

It’s no secret that I don’t love facebook, but given what I do it’s a necessary evil. I consider facebook my Internet equivalent of a nasty rush hour commute. It has to be done if you want to keep your “job.”

I think it’s messy. And yet it’s kind of the best way to keep in contact with the people in my life who don’t blog or who don’t want to come to my blog and risk seeing pictures of my internal organs.

Also it just felt strange when my Grandma in Law who is older than a lot of things on this planet showed up in my friends list right next to Tanis. Something just felt off about that.

So last night I performed a facebook intervention. I kept the people I’m related to, the ones who knew me before Cody, the ones who were at my wedding and the ones who have seen me do the ugly cry. If I hurt anyone’s feelings I’m sorry, it’s nothing personal. Truth be told I was never on facebook much, every time I clicked over there it was “GROW CORN!” “MAFIA WARS!” “SARAH SENT YOU A DRINK!” (and truthfully if “Sarah” was really my friend? She’d know not to send me dirty martinis, same goes for you “Jenny,” if you really knew me? You wouldn’t send me growing gifts. Truthfully I’m the only person I know who can kill virtual plant life.)

The poking, the quizzes, the likeness, the so and so became a fan of toe fuzz and suggested you become a fan too!

JUST TOO MUCH! TOO MUCH!

So here’s what I’ve done.

I made a moosh in indy fan page. Where I can keep all of you my lovelies. Where I don’t have to worry about my frail little grandma reading about my latest escapade with a syringe full of menopausal death.

If you feel so inclined won’t you please be a fan of moosh in indy? (Fan sounds so strange. But whatever, apparently if facebook were a country it would be like the fourth largest country in the world and I’m guessing that it would be a little heavy on the dictatorship, so if facebook says fan, I say fan.)

And also, how do you use facebook? Do you think it’s kind of messy? Like myspace graduated from college with a generals degree yet never amounted to anything much to the disappointment of his parents (who ironically were just college kids themselves?)

Go here. Disclosure and details all over yonder, all you need to leave is a comment and look at the adorable cuteness that is my kid and our creativity. Otherwise, read about Mishi below. xoxo

I’ve used this blog for a lot.

Let me tell you I never thought I’d be using it for this purpose.

My sister in law’s house burned down.

They have three little kids. My niece and nephews.

The live in St. George, Utah. Thank you to those of you who have already mobilized on their behalf.

A facebook page has been set up with a Wells Fargo account number and a bake sale is scheduled for this Saturday.

For now, besides prayers and emotional eating, this is all I know how to do.

Their boys are 6 and 4, their daughter is almost 2.

If you can be of any help with anything at all, even if it’s a toothbrush, please don’t hesitate to contact me and I will get you in touch with the right people.

Thank you for anything, this is a lot different when it’s actually happening to someone you know and love.

(Everyone is fine as far as I know, the cause of the fire is unknown as of now but it originated in the attic Saturday night.)

HI HI.

So there’s this conference this week/weekend in downtown Indianapolis. Did you know about it?

I went last year and made a lot of local connections not only with other bloggers but businesses too.

There’s something to be said about being involved in local social media. I know it’s done swell things for me.

Here’s the thing. This conference is run by a couple of nice boys and I’m afraid that I may have overdone it when I gave them my angry blogger face >:( over the fact that their main site was so male centric.

After all, I’ve been bathing in estrogen soaked conferences for years now.

This year will be the first ever “moms” panel on Saturday. I’ll be sharing the stage with Heather, Briana, Stephanie and Jen. I know a couple of you other ladies have been turned off by certain elements of this conference. (Such as dude overload.) But here’s the thing, they’re new to this. We must be patient with them and support them, this isn’t their job, just their passion and Indy’s social media scene wouldn’t be the same without them or the fairer sex.

Same goes with wherever you live. So many “mom bloggers” (retch) have made it into the National headlines (and not always for good reason.) But what are we doing locally? Are we using our powers for good in the communities we live in? I know every chance I have been given to help those who live closest to me I’ve run with. (Yes, I take some credit for the two huge donations made earlier this year to a local food bank.)

Powers for good people.

If you can make it? Sweet. If you can’t? Try for next year. And if you are feeling clicky and like what I do not only here but for Indianapolis? Can I get your vote for a Blindy? (I’m up for two, the Social Media Superstar and Best Family Blog.)

The Blindy jokes are only beginning to come to fruition.