Struggling

It is okay to admit you are struggling. I tell my clients this all the time. I tell people in my personal life all the time. Why is it hard for me to do?

My son is ADHD and has sensory processing disorder. Luckily the SPD only affects clothing as opposed to lights, sounds, and textures as well. A few months ago, I finally took the plunge and had him started on medication for his ADHD as it was severely affecting school and social aspects. Intinuv. Only made him sleepy. Lets try Focalin. Insurance didn’t cover and made him aggressive. Adderall. Helped. He focused, he paid attention, he got things done. He also started picking his lips CONSTANTLY and having other depressive and anxiety symptoms. We added low dose of Zoloft. Anger. Fist through a window. Objects flying across the room. Screaming. Speaking of wanting to die and choke himself.

He’s 7. How can this be happening?

Finally, I made the executive decision to remove the Zoloft. No change. I removed the Adderall. It has been about 9 days and the anger is substantially less. My son is more of his laughing self. He is also more of his forgetful, all over the place, chatty, indecisive, wont stop moving, wont stop talking self. Some days I want to lose it with how annoyed I am. But I am not picking up broken glass. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

No one knew what has been going on behind closed doors. The torment and turmoil of our lives. The amount of tears that have been shed from not only myself and my son but my mom as well. Moments of feeling lost and defeated. Unsure of how to help this child succeed in not only life but just a 24 hour span. How can this be so difficult?

You see, he goes from 0 to 100 in 4 seconds. His mama (me) and his biological father have had their share of anger control issues. We both have had our shares of depression (me) and bipolar (him). We both have struggled with substance addiction. This kiddo did not win the lottery genetic wise. But I will be damned if I don’t do everything I can to help him be the best person HE can be.

It is difficult enough for a grown adult to understand how to handle their anger, how do you think a child feels? Lost. Helpless. Hopeless. Doomed. Not to mention the poor kid has a therapist for a mother!

The past few months of this turmoil has only included my son’s struggles as a portion of the problem. My life is not a struggle because of him or things occurring with him. I work about 45 hours a week for a large county MHMR (mental health and mental retardation) aka county mental health with children and adolescents. I am in my last semester of graduate school and taking FOURTEEN hours because I messed up my schedule somehow. I raise my kiddo alone (with the help of my parents for me to do school at night and some later evenings with work). I don’t go out much as well…. frankly I don’t have many friends as well as I am tired of putting myself out there with people to only get excuses in return.

A human can be resilient. I can admit I am extremely resilient. But damnit, I am so tired of being strong. I deeply desire for someone to help and to comfort me. The honest truth is I don’t expect anyone to stick around long enough to actually do so.

Life has never been simple. It will never be simple. But I do pray it becomes a little easier soon.

Rough Week

This week was supposed to be more relaxing. I purposefully took off Tuesday and Friday to get ahead with homework. My kiddo got sick in the middle of the night Saturday night which lasted until Thursday. This meant I took Monday off to take care of him and my Tuesday, which was supposed to be catch up day, was with him.

Wednesday afternoon I started feeling not so awesome. Thursday midday I felt like shit. Thursday night, vomit. I was in bed from about 9pm Thursday until the 10am Friday. One would think it would be enough sleep but I still have slept about 15-18 more hours since then.

I lost a few pounds which stirred some old negative thinking in my head. But considering how much I was NOT cognitively aware of everything, I know I cannot have the ability to dip my toe into that water.

Even after getting sick ONE time, dehydration started sitting in. When I have purposefully purged over the past few years, I make sure I take care of myself and I rehydrate. When I vomited this time, I was scared to intake much because I truly didnt feel like getting sick again.

My body cannot bounce back like it used to. I have done a little too much damage to my body for my liking which makes things a lot harder for me to bounce back.

While I officially only have 47 days left for summer courses, it’s still a rough haul. I know I just need to pummel through and then focus on other aspects. My mind wanders and I start worrying about finances, work, supervision, licensing, kid, sports, etc……

It’s very hard for me to keep my brain still and calm.

The Dip

You might experience a dip a couple weeks into treatment where it feels like you have completely back tracked. Try not to get discouraged as it is temporary!

Man. I thought I prepared myself for said dip. I was wrong. Monday morning, session 14, my TMS lady asked how I had been feeling.

You know, my baseline seemed to have increased but recently I’ve been feeling low again. These new memories that have come to surface have also messed me up a tad. I’m really not feeling the urge or motivation to do anything but I have to…..”

Of course, she explained I was in “the dip”. Fuck the dip. I feel awful. I feel about where I was at before treatments or a notch below.

Please don’t make me do anything.

Please don’t make me be around people.

Please don’t make me go out.

Please let me stay in bed all day.

Then it hit me. This is temporary. Trust the process. It will get better. Then even more came to light. I literally don’t think I could handle going back to living that on a daily basis. No wonder I am so damn exhausted. I have been literally fighting for too long. I cannot do that for years to come.

That doesn’t make the meantime any easier. I still am fighting the losing battle of what depression wants me to do versus what healthy Nicole should try to do. I’ve had plans to go out tonight for a long time. I am loathing the aspect of having to get up, get ready, slap on a fake smile, and be around a lot of people for hours.

When I got home from work, I immediately crawled into my bed. Not only am I physically exhausted from work, school, life, etc…. I’m mentally and emotionally exhausted. Fighting depression is hard. But it should not be considered a weakness.

I can honestly say that I am proud of myself for speaking up and speaking out about not only mental health in general, but my story as well. Why am I, a mental health professional, any different than anyone else? I’m not. So who better than to speak out? Those who have walked that walk…..

I will continue to trust TMS and hope that my results turn back around quickly!

Chronic depression and TMS

“Are you feeling sick today mommy?”

I hate that my child has had to hear me say too many times that “I don’t feel well” because depression was kicking my ass.  

There are times that I am literally feeling physically run down and need to give myself rest. I have gotten so used to always being on the go that I am not sure sometimes if what I feel is exhaustion or depression based.

Exhaustion is temporary. My depression is not. So to hear my son ask me if I feel sick because he’s used to me stating that when my depression is shitty breaks my heart.

While I don’t want to shelter my child from mental health issues, I don’t want his memories to be filled with “mommy not feeling well”. 

It’s been such a battle trying to figure how to keep all hormones and chemicals balanced in my body. It has become so frustrating as I feel like it’s a never ending battle within myself trying to figure out what is going to work.

For about a year now I have researched TMS, transcranial magnetic stimulation. It’s for people who don’t respond to medications for their depression. While I do respond to medications, the combination of major depressive disorder, post traumatic stress disorder, and premenstrual dysphoric  disorder has me a complete cluster fuck. 

15 years I have been fighting. 15. Fucking. Years. For some, that’s a quarter of the time they have been fighting but considering I’m not even 30 yet, that’s a long time. I’m so exhausted worrying if my brain is going to be stable for the day. Better yet, worrying if I’m going to wear myself out before noon that day. 

After speaking with my therapist and primary doctor, I decided to move forward on pursuing TMS. Studies have shown great results and it’s still been a constant battle daily. I’m always on the max dose of an antidepressant and still have symptoms. I don’t want to live my life like that for the rest of the time that I’m alive.

This week, I will be making a consult appointment to get me in to see a psychiatrist near work to deal with daily TMS sessions for about 5 weeks. I’m hoping this can be something to truly make a difference.

We all have a story

Sometimes one of the hardest things for me to remember is where I’ve come from. I know I have a past. I know I have a story. Sometimes I forget it’s mine. 

I started a new therapist last Friday. It’s always strange working with someone new as I have tol tell them how I’ve gotten to where I’m at. So as I sit there and go down my list:

Eating disorder- check

Drugs and alcohol- check

Domestic violence- check

Sports identity- check

Cutting-check

Rehabs- check

Diagnosis and meds- check

Feelings- are you nuts?

Damnit I did it again. Towards the end, I say “so here’s the thing about me, as you’ve stated that yes I’ve been through a lot. I’ve done a lot of work, so the hard grit has been done already thank God. But you see…. I tell my story just as that. A story. I cannot connect feelings and emotions to what has happened to me. I know the damage. I can’t allow myself to feel the damage.” She responds simply with, “good information to know.” I instantly think “well damn why did I give my ammo away?” 15 years into this mess and I still innately try to hide behind my mask. Why am I so scared to have those feelings? What could possibly happen?

As we were finishing up, she states that she would live to do EMDR work on me. That’s when it hits me. I can’t hide anymore. I’ve seriously hid from my traumas for 8 and 12 years now. If I do EMDR I have to speak. In detail. With feeling. With my thoughts. It scares me as even though I know they are real, I don’t feel the realness as I won’t connect the emotions. If I do that, it’s basiccally as if it isn’t me. Now that means I’m admitting it was me.

18

Most 18 year olds are focused on college, papers, parties, boys/girls, dorm room drama, and best friends. At 18, I was battling the demons of addiction. I was in full throes of cocaine dependence almost immediately after trying it. I had spent the past few years working my way around pot, alcohol, various levels of pain killers, benzodiazepines, MDMA,  meth, but found my true love with cocaine.

About 10 weeks before turning 19, I voluntarily admitted myself into a 90 day treatment facility that treated medically stable adolescents from 14-18 females who struggled with substance abuse/dependence and other co-occurring mental disorders. To be honest, many of the girls did not actually fall into the addiction/addict category. Many parents find their child using a substance, get scared, and immediately send them to a residential unit. That isn’t to say there wasn’t a problem with the fact they might be using illegal substances as a coping mechanism, but they weren’t true addicts or alcoholics. Of course once I realized that, years later, that allowed the green light in my head “maybe that means the same for me too!!!”

Detoxing off cocaine is not lethal. The only substances that can truly be of danger are alcohol and heroin to detox off of. That being said, detoxing off cocaine and the various things I was using at the end was utterly brutal. Primarily because I hadn’t truly slept in…. years? So when I get admitted late afternoon on 2/1/07, get sent to bed at 9 pm, struggle for 3 or more hours to even fall asleep, then get woken at 6 am by an unknown person, I was livid. I logically understood that I was not there to be at a spa getaway but my body was hurting from not being taken care of.

It took two weeks for much of my body to feel like it was actually all attached together. Memories were starting to form back together, many of which were extremely unpleasant. You see, someone who is addicted often does things that they would not normally do if they were not constantly under the influence. Drugs changed me. They allowed me to do things I never thought I would do. I did things I became embarrassed to admit. I had shame over those years of my life. There are things I wish I couldn’t remember.

Unfortunately, those things will always be true.

Those things will always be a part of my story.

Those things will never be able to escape me.

Those things will never define me.

I lost trust and belief from family and friends. It took years to gain that back from people. Many people, I will never get it back from as they made the choice to walk away. Most importantly, I lost trust and stopped believing in myself. I believed I was a horrible person for the things I had done. I was never beaten as a child, I always had food, clothing, shelter, everything I needed and a lot of what I wanted. Why would someone like me turn to drugs?

It took a long time for me to understand and grasp the answer. I hated me. I thought I was unworthy of everything, including life. I was in so much pain and never knew how to express it. For most of my life at that point, I had numbed myself to all feelings and emotions. I was incapable of feeling the way that others felt. Substances also severely aided my eating disorder and bulimia had been kicking my ass, so cocaine helped tremendously so that I only had to binge and purge when I desired to.

Since I had become so used to being emotionally and physically numb, having my substances taken away so abruptly completely shook me. You see, drugs and alcohol were not my first addiction. Technically, my eating disorder was. Self-injury was my next unhealthy coping mechanism to come into play. Cutting and burning was not an everyday thing and was only “useful” for certain things. Drugs and alcohol allowed me to fall hard and fast.

I tried for 6 months to quit using the hard stuff. I couldn’t do it. I hated admitting defeat. I hated admitting I was weak. Most of all, I hated giving it up completely. Drugs were one of the hardest things for me to put down. Words could never express just how difficult those days were. Just how difficult the first 3 years of sobriety were. Words can now never express how grateful I am to no longer be someone’s first thought of being just a junkie or a coke head.

There are days that I have to go back to taking it, just one day at a time….

Lonely

Lonely. A word I hate admitting.

Alone and lonely are two different words with two different meanings. I rarely am alone. But lately I’ve been lonely.

I spend my weekdays mostly without my son. I work with kids 4-18 on a daily basis talking about what’s wrong with them. Their insecurities and fears. Their shitty lives.

I don’t usually realize reality until I stop compartmentalizing and turn off my work brain while I’m on my way home. A wave of lonliness hits. I just spent 12 hours talking with boys and girls, writing notes, or thinking about others and their needs. Where did my cup get filled? How was i caring for self?

I don’t have many in my corner, that’s okay as I know that those who are, choose to be there. Yet when my people ask how I’m doing, I still find myself smiling and stating “fine” or “okay” “no, I’ve got it”. I still can’t seem to honestly say, “I’m lonely, I need a hug, be held, something…..”

You see, my eating disorder was always my constant “friend”. It held me. It comforted me. It made me feel secure. I never had to reach out as it always knew when I needed it. It was there immediately when I was having those feelings. So recently this week, while I’m utterly losing it on my way home in the car….. my old best friend whispers in my ear. I immediately get reminded how much of a bond I had.

It’s easy to get sucked back into the thinking of “one time will be okay” “I’ll feel better after”. Truth is, I will feel better after but unfortunately after that better feeling is over…. guilt, regret, and reality set in. One time may not hurt. Or it could.

Towards the “end” before going to Remuda, I was vomiting blood each time. That became scary and realistic to me. After an endoscopy, it was found that I had tearing in my esophagus. (Big shock right?) I went to treatment less than a week later and was on medication for months to heal the tissue on my esophagus. The thought of my esophagus rupturing at any point during purging still didn’t stop me. 

The thing with self induced vomiting, one time can hurt. Your esophagus can rupture after one time. You can go into cardiac arrest. You can choke.

The past 2 weeks I have been struggling hard with the automatic urge to slip into that old comfort. I’ve had too many feelings creep up from the hurts, pains, and chaos that I listen to.

I haven’t listened to that small voice. But I haven’t spoken out to anyone around me on just how alone and lonely I have been feeling. This is just asking for it…..

Prayin’

I have started and stopped a blog post about 258964.77 times over the past couple weeks. I just haven’t been able to find the words to put together to sound…. right? It’s hard because no matter what, this blog is for me.

This all being said, August has been… rough for me. Not only have I started a brand new job, I have had some difficult anniversaries.

8/8/10 was the original due date for my first pregnancy. That was one of the posts that I attempted to write multiple times. I will end up posting something about it but wanted to touch base on it. It is a bitter sweet date for me. While it hurts my heart knowing that I would have had a child on that date, I wouldn’t have Asher.

8/16/05 & 8/18/05 were first dates of sexual assault. These are the most difficult for me to talk about and even admit to this day, 12 years later. Unfortunately, there was a strong grip on me from this and I held a lot of responsibility from this.

8/18/06 exactly 1 year later from the first guy, I was sexually assaulted again by a different male. In other words, “how did I allow myself  to become a victim again?” is the spot I found myself in. Which is why I chose to not speak about those two men.

So when I had my son’s father come about, 3.5 years later, and abuse me mentally, emotionally, sexually, AND physically? NOPE…. no thanks. How can I admit that I was THAT stupid to become yet victim again yet towards something 10x worse. The damage that was done from people around me, I was scared was irreversible. While it has taken me years, I still have areas that will never be fully healed over. I still have things that cannot be said or done to me.

When I originally heard the song Prayin’ by Kesha, I immediately fell in love.

Well, you almost had me fooled
Told me that I was nothing without you
Oh, but after everything you’ve done
I can thank you for how strong I have become

‘Cause you brought the flames and you put me through hell
I had to learn how to fight for myself
And we both know all the truth I could tell
I’ll just say this is “I wish you farewell”

I hope you’re somewhere prayin’, prayin’
I hope your soul is changin’, changin’
I hope you find your peace
Falling on your knees, prayin’

I’m proud of who I am
No more monsters, I can breathe again
And you said that I was done
Well, you were wrong and now the best is yet to come
‘Cause I can make it on my own
And I don’t need you, I found a strength I’ve never known
I’ll bring thunder, I’ll bring rain, oh
When I’m finished, they won’t even know your name

You brought the flames and you put me through hell
I had to learn how to fight for myself
And we both know all the truth I could tell
I’ll just say this is “I wish you farewell”

I hope you’re somewhere prayin’, prayin’
I hope your soul is changin’, changin’
I hope you find your peace
Falling on your knees, prayin’

Oh, sometimes, I pray for you at night
Someday, maybe you’ll see the light
Oh, some say, in life, you’re gonna get what you give
But some things only God can forgive

I hope you’re somewhere prayin’, prayin’
I hope your soul is changin’, changin’
I hope you find your peace
Falling on your knees, prayin’

These stood out to me tremendously:

No more monsters, I can breathe again
And you said that I was done

The reason being- “no more monsters, I can breathe again” stands for, for me, that I no longer have to deal with the demons of abusers. I have the ability to notice my value and worth as a human. I know how to stand up for myself. While I can still find my voice to be shaky, I know how to express my needs and wants even if I have a fear of repercussions. “And you said that I was done” the night that R had his final attack on me, I knew I was done. The type of abuse that R had escalated to, suffocation and strangulation, causes a victim to go unconscious within 10 seconds and will die within 4-5 minutes. That night when I escaped one of the rounds of the strangulation and beating, I finally sat down on the floor admitting defeat. The look in his eyes stated that I was done. I was not going to get out alive. As he rocked back and forth, I asked him why he was drawing my death out. His only response, “it doesn’t have to be this way, Nicole”. Right then….. I started praying my goodbyes.

Today, I drove my 200 miles around DFW. I have felt “off” all day. This song came on at least 7 different times today on various stations. Finally by the 7th time, I remembered that even though, as the song states, “you said that I was done….” “Well, you were wrong and the best is yet to come….”

may 28th…

May 28, 2010…… We picked up Hunter in Pawnee about 6:45. We took him to eat at Texas Road House, left about 8:15. Then took him to the new house. We got home about 8:30-8:45. We played outside with Sarah. She jumped up to lick his face and her teeth grazed Hunter’s cheek. I took Sarah inside and put the muzzle on her a few minutes before 9. Rodney, Hunter and I were lying on the couch. I told Rodney that Hunter needed to go to bed. He said “It’s the weekend; he doesn’t need to get up early.” I dropped the issue. I kept the muzzle on Sarah until 9:30. Rodney put Hunter to bed while I took Sarah outside and smoked a cigarette. I called my mom and talked to her for about 6-7 minutes. I came back inside, Rodney told me I didn’t leave the muzzle on long enough. I asked him what he wanted me to do. I went and lay back on the couch facing him. He said “You baby that mutt too much and that’s what’s wrong. Your stupid dog bit my son, wasn’t that enough? What will it take- Sarah biting off one of the kids faces and taking them to the hospital? All our problems are you and that stupid mutt.” I sit up on the couch and said, “Wait a minute, where do you and I come in and our parts of the problems?” He states it’s all because of my stupid dog. By this point he is yelling. I put my hand over his mouth because Hunter is in the next room trying to sleep. He yells a little more at me. I tell him this is exactly what happened two weeks prior and I am not okay with it. I told him he wouldn’t be moving in with me the following day. He looks at me with rage in his eyes and lunges across the couch at me. Sarah gets up and jumps on him. He turns and punches her- she runs off to the bedroom with Hunter. He wrestles me to the floor and locks his knees on the outside of my hips. He put his hand over my mouth and nose. I couldn’t breathe. I start to black out.  I tried kneeing him in the balls; he pushes down harder so I couldn’t breathe. He tells me “go ahead- fight back. See what happens.” I stop fighting back and started to plead with him “Rodney please. I can’t breathe.” I managed to flip on my stomach and crawl under the coffee table. He flips the coffee table over and drags me back closer to him, turning me on my back. I am crying hard. He chokes me. He tells me I need to calm down. I can’t stop crying. He lifts up, stares at me then punches me right above my left eye at my eyebrow bone. By this time I knew he was going to kill me. He says he will kill Sarah as soon as I leave. He knew exactly what he was doing. He got off me and I tried looking for my glasses. He even stopped to help me find them. I go to pick up my purse and since by this point I have no idea where my phone is, I scoop his up in my purse so that I’ll be able to call 911. He notices that his phone is gone and new I took it. He lunges for me again where I end up in the dining room. He manages to get back on top of me and slams my head onto the floor repeatedly. He starts swaying back and forth and there’s a possessed look in his eyes that I have never seen before. Rodney says it didn’t have to be like this…. I finally tell him if he is going to kill me to just go ahead and do it. To stop dragging it out. I knew I had to come to terms with the fact that it is over. By this point, Hunter is crying. I knew that, unfortunately, my only option to be able to survive was to use his son to my advantage. I tell him to go get his son. He starts walking back to the bedroom and I follow to get Sarah. I knew if I left her, he’d kill her. Sarah is hunkered in the corner and I coaxed her out. She gets ahead of us and to the hallway. I follow. Rodney is holding Hunter and he kicks at Sarah and shoves me. We get cornered into the kitchen where I continued to get pushed while trying to protect Sarah. Sarah ends up pooping in the kitchen and Rodney runs out the front door.

Memories

I have been sober for over 8.5 years now and have spoken in rooms across Texas, Oklahoma, and Arizona. I haven’t been inside an AA room in 4.5 years now, yet have been the most healthy minded I have ever been. I was asked to speak at the rehab facility that I went to in 2007 where I got sober at. So on November 22, I stepped back in at the rehab that helped changed my life. There were 10 girls that were currently there. I spoke my story to them and their parents. Each time I speak my story I forget that it is real, that it happened in my life and it’s not just a story. I stayed with the girls for a few hours and it was so refreshing to remind myself what I am pushing myself so hard for.

While in Oklahoma, I also visited where I was living when I got pregnant. I stopped by the two houses that I lived in. When I immediately pulled up the my first house, I started crying. I had real visual images playing my memories of my son’s father. Me running down the front stairs. Him slamming the car door on my head. It was all surreal. I praise Him that I survived…

Even after all this time, he still haunts me. I have allowed myself to push the horrid memories away for a long time, then they will surface. The last time they rose up too far, I acted out with men. I saw my therapist last week and I expressed my concerns of having too much on my plate. I have 27 balls juggling in the air. It is only a matter of time when one drops which will cause all to drop. Each time one has slipped in the past, I fall hard. I refuse to crumble. I have worked too hard to slip into old behaviors.