I never know what I want to write about. What I do know is I write - and it may be random, and it may not be. Simply Sunshine With Occasional Showers just describes each of us every single day.
I remember being so excited that I had him on St. Patrick's Day (after all, his sister was born on Texas Independence Day and Dr. Seuss' Birthday). He came into the world at 345 a.m. and has kept me on my toes from day one. I was 19.
Born with jaundice, a rare urinary defect and a heart defect that was detected a few days later - Rob and I spent a lot of time in the hospital his first weeks. (Though, I do remember my grandfather seeing him for the first time and questioning the paternal lineage because of his bruised face and yellow skin.... this still makes me smile.) I remember the doctors and nurses deciding whether or not to put the IV line in his head because they were having a difficult line finding a site that would stay.
Yes, Rob (Robbie at the time), sure did come in the world showing me that it was going to take a lot of determination on my part to bring him into this world safely and without fear.
He drove his first car when he was 2.5. Slipped out of his car seat (while I was standing beside the car on a cold winter day), wiggled his way to the front and slipped - grabbing the gear shift and slipping to the gas. He drove my car into my best friends car, into her living room.
In Kindergarten the principal called me to let me know that everything was okay - don't panic - but they had shutdown the school because they couldn't find my child. (This was after he was 3 and disappeared for 3 hours, riding the neighbors school bus, much to the joy and chagrin of the Abilene Police Department and his mother....) Alas, the elementary was in lock-down until they could locate my child. Don't panic though. They found him. In the cafeteria. Where he had slid a 5 gallon bucket of chocolate pudding into the cafeteria from the kitchen and was quite adeptly finger-painting the walls and offering his version of decorative improvement.
In later elementary, his principal required him to turn a KISS t-shirt inside out because Gene Simmons tongue was offensive - this chapped my hide five-ways-to-Sunday and I remember having a long discussion with her about classic rock and roll bands and little girls wearing t-shirts with a cute bunny that says "Boys are Dumb" - pick your battles.
Robbie - Rob - was the teenager who made choices that challenged the very rock that I had desperately tried to stand-on. No drugs. School is required. He challenged me.
And he surprised me. He is and was the most kind and thoughtful child I'd ever known, often to strangers and always searching for ways to help others. Charitable and questioning why others were without when we had plenty. His heart was bigger than any challenge he sent my way.
He graduated from high school without his mom there to pressure him, having made the decision to stay in Texas and not join me in Montana. I'm still so proud of him for this.
He's now looking at college - excelling at a customer service job (working for USAA) - and just a good guy.
Yesterday, we talked on the phone and I finally told him a little about my past few months and my own struggles. I explained my awful deep hole that I couldn't get out of, my need to just not be, and my choice to get help.
He was quiet for a minute and then said, "I want to send you something and I want you to listen to it. Okay?"
Okay - and I listened (even though his and my taste in music has always been a little different) and I cried. It was a good cry and it was Rob's way of saying "I love you...."
He's 23 today. How is that possible?
To Rob - i love you so much - I am the luckiest mom in the world that you're my son.
That's a simple enough entry to introduce my place in this world right now. Simply, I'm back home and my head-space is where it should be.
My diagnosis - no longer depression - but PTSD with depression and suicidal-ideation as secondary diagnoses to the primary. Who knew that PTSD could present itself so far after so much. I always prided myself in overcoming my past. Hunger, homelessness, teen pregnancy, drug use at an early age, abuse, rape - you name it, I fit the gambit of not ideal situations. The thing is - you can overcome all of that and think you're okay. But if you haven't dealt with it - if you haven't called out and "put in the light" the darkness you've endured and call it what it is, healing will never happen.
That's what I've learned the past months during care from some amazing staff. You have to admit it happened, put it into the correct context and only then can you move on.
I was really good at hiding behind work. Or caring for other people. It wasn't until the only person I had to care for was myself that little cracks started showing. Then bigger cracks. Then the dam broke.
And I'm not the only person in the world who has gone, or is going, through this. There are so many.
Get help. Talk to someone. You are responsible today for taking care of you - even if that means admitting you weren't responsible for somethings that happened in the past.
I wish I could say it was this "one thing" that made me do what I did... but really, it is a cornucopia of self-neglect and denial. In November I had a plan - I even took a photo of the place I was going to blow my brains out. Then I happened upon the path of a NP who recognized the signs and tried to admit me. I wouldn't do it. I knew I would know people, my daughter was coming to visit in less than a week, and I was convinced that I "had this" and could turn it around. Almost exactly two-months later I tried my best to end my life - lots of tequila, with the intent to follow it with pills ... I ended up too much tequila-ed and, to my chagrin, I woke up the next morning.
Let's talk about depression. ... I paused a lot before I even started to type. This subject is taboo and it's frowned upon. Worse - it's a killer. Let's look at the numbers - you know I LOVE numbers:
Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the US
In 2017, 47,173 Americans died by suicide
In 2017, there were an estimated 1,400,000 suicide attempts
In 2015, suicide and self-injury cost the US $69 Billion
On average, there are 129 suicides per day
White males accounted for 77.97% of suicide deaths in 2017
In 2017, firearms accounted for 50.57% of all suicide deaths
Being admitted to the hospital, on a ward where I couldn't have shoe laces, or personal hygiene items (without supervision), I couldn't have my cell phone or computer, had to ask to take a shower or make a phone call - well, it strips a lot of the fluff from your identity. My first week I did a lot of co-counseling with the staff - because after all, I can give amazing insight and advice to others. Then the staff called me out on working on everyone but me - and it was recommended that I not attend group sessions anymore. Stripped of my fluff - I had to focus on me and it was/is me that I didn't like in the first place.
Since I've been out of the loony bin (come on, we have to joke about this), I've seen MDs, PAs, NPs, LCSW, LCPCs and more... I have a lot of work to do on me to be healthy. (On a funny note - the psychiatrist today had to schedule another meeting today because my history could not be told in an hour and fifteen minutes....)
And I guess that's where I'm trying to go with this blog. You can't run away from the past. You have to face it. You can't drown it in alcohol, you can't obsessively spend time at work, you can't ignore it or even pretend that you're okay.
You have to be braver than you've ever been in all your life to deal with depression - it's an illness just like cancer and heart disease. (The fact that suicide is in the top 10 death statistics with cancer and heart disease says a lot.)
We don't like to talk about depression, or PTSD, or suicidal thoughts. It makes us seem weak and not worthy of the time and attention we give other diseases. My work recently donated a quarter of a million dollars to a hospital that is expanding their mental health services - and yet - I was still scared out of my mind of the stigma and perception of me from my leadership and my peers. I fear(ed) that they would not put their mouth where they put their money. Frankly, until I got back to work, I still won't know.
And I have to believe that the good I've done in the past will matter - that my value is not in pretending to be alright - but it's in the people's lives I touch, the amazing work I love to do for our members and providers, and it's the foresight to know that taking care of me now will make a better me in the future.
I can't tell you today that I want to live 100%. I would be lying. I've done that long enough.
I can tell you what I want to be better - and that I'm trying everything I can with the support of a wonderful husband, friends, and family. I have a posse of medical practitioners who see my potential and want to help me find the best Simone.
... and this was a raw and hard blog to write- but it's real. And real is what I want. If even one single person reads this and realizes they need help - and they can get it - then exposing my story was worth every vulnerability.
I have not the tongue of honey
My lips are bitter sweet
And of the feast of life I find
Each day a stunning treat
I have washed my soul in the stars at night
Kissed my skin with the morning dew
Listened as the wind played the trees to applause
And discovered a leaf in every hue
My feet know not the grace of swans
Still my bearing is planted and strong
And when my branches have fallen low
I hum the tune of a humbling song
Merely a girl, a woman, a soul
Finding paths meant for me and mine
I hear it now - I understand - it's close...
The "tick-tock" of time.
