Today I am doing something that scares me...

Today I am doing something that scares me.  Something I don’t really want to do, but also something that I know needs to be done.  Today I admit that I struggle with depression, and I do this in hopes that I can raise even just a little bit of awareness for mental illness, and in some small way, fight the stigma that has plagued it for years.  This is my story…

For as long as I can remember I’ve been a high-achiever, a Type A personality, and a self-proclaimed pessimist.  In some ways these attributes have benefited me; I graduated high school in the top three percent of my class, got a full-ride scholarship to a prestigious private school, and graduate with Honors and my Bachelor’s degree in Nursing at 22.  But in a lot of ways, those traits were what were eating away at me on the inside.

Though I graduated near the top of my class in high school, I would beat myself up for any grade less than an “A,” even if that grade was an “A-.”  I’d tell myself I was stupid, or that I wasn’t good enough.  This continued through college (though my standard did go down a bit and an “A-“ became acceptable).  I would berate myself for not achieving my idea of excellence, and every little word I said to myself or nasty thought I had about myself slowly began to erode at my already fragile mental state.  But I was in denial, at least subconsciously.

All throughout high school and college I coped fairly well with my negative thoughts, maybe it’s simply because I was so preoccupied with life and all my demands pulling me in different directions that I was able to bury them somewhere deeper.  I had more pressing concerns at the time.  But then I graduated from college, commissioned in the Army, and moved to Germany.

The dream, right?  I mean, who wouldn’t want to live in Germany for a few years?  Even I thought I wanted to initially.  But life for me in Germany wasn’t what I imagined it would be.  Yes, it had its moments, I had some awesome opportunities to take care of our wounded soldiers, and I met the amor de mi vida (that may be incorrect Spanish, but I thought I’d try), and these things I wouldn’t change for the world.  Things were overall manageable, and I adjusted decently well.

But then, when I started experiencing back pain in January of 2013 that later progressed to a chronic, seemingly untreatable condition, I began to fall apart.   I was operated on in February of 2014 after multiple failed attempts at alternative pain management for my back.  I was so optimistic that I would be relieved of my pain after the surgery; I truly believe I had myself convinced that it was going to change everything, and for a short time, it did.  But with very limited time off work and jumping straight into full-time nursing shortly after surgery, my back pain returned, and I was forced to accept that this would possibly be something I would have to live with forever.  For me, this was devastating.  I felt defeated, heart-broken, and mentally and physically exhausted.  I was drained emotionally and couldn’t cope with even the smallest of issues.

All of my symptoms of depression were further exacerbated when I began having a slew of other health problems and the Army denied curtailment for my husband to come back to the States with me when I PCSd (AKA moved).

I became a person I never want to be again.  I became miserable, short-tempered, and angry.  I knew I needed help.  So I started seeing Behavioral Health, a HUGE, but necessary step towards recovery.  I met with both a social worker and a psychiatrist.  I remember talking with the psychiatrist, and he looked at me and said, “Don’t feel bad.  You’re sick, and it’s not your fault.  Just like someone else can’t help having cancer, you can’t help being depressed.”  Hearing that was a relief!  I already knew what he was telling me, but I needed it to be reinforced.  Mental illness, like anything else, often has a genetic component, and is more often than not an imbalance of neurotransmitters.  Would we fault someone for having low thyroid levels or a high white blood cell count?  Surely most would answer no to that.  Yet we criticize and think down on those suffering from mental illness.

Having lived through depression and come out on top, I can say from personal experience that mental illness is debilitating.  It has the power to kill.  It’s awful and no one would ask to have it.

So for those struggling with depression or mental illness of any kind, don’t be too proud to ask for help.  Yes, admitting you need help is scary, and it makes you feel vulnerable, but I promise you that the rewards at the end make it all worth it.

And for close friends and family members of those hurting and struggling, please know that it’s not you causing the problem.  We want nothing more than to be happy with you, and we’ll get there with a little patience, a lot of love, and the professional help we need.

 So let’s make a change.  Instead of degrading those with mental illness, let’s support them.  Let’s tell them how much they’re loved and that what they’re experiencing is okay.  Mental illness is just that, an illness, it’s not a disease, and it’s time to stop treating it that way.

And just when you think all hope is lost...

Today I touched my toes.  Well, I almost touched my toes.  If I stretched really a lot and did a little damage to my hamstrings I touched my toes.  Which is, like, HUGE for me since I could barely reach past my knees after surgery!  I also consumed my body weight in Girl Scout Cookie ice cream, which is also huge for me, but in totally different, much less pleasant way.

Anyway, I’m writing today because I had an epiphany.  I was at work today preparing someone for surgery and going over all her paperwork with her, and consequently, this patient was having the exact same procedure I had.  I mentioned this to her, and she, clearly nervous, racked my brain for a solid 20 minutes with questions.  And then she asked me, “Did it help?”  My gut reaction was to say “No!  Run, and run fast (except for don’t really run since you are here because of a broken back, after all).”  But I stopped myself because I realized that it’s been about two weeks for me ALMOST pain free – to expect 100 percent relief from back pain I do believe, is unrealistic (and as a disclaimer, I’m still hesitant to even say all of this because I know how fickle my back can be, and being a bit superstitious, I don’t want to jinx it).  So I went on to tell the patient my experience, truly in hopes that she would have a better initial experience than I did, but preparing her for what might lie ahead.  And then when she left my office, I sat back and said a little prayer of thanks.

I am a self-proclaimed pessimist at times, and a skeptic most of the time.  So I had deep-rooted doubts that I would ever get better; doubts that I’m still dealing with, but am working on.  But these past couple of weeks have given me hope.  Hope that someday I might run again, and that someday, back pain won’t control me.  I am so very thankful for this! 

Hope is something I haven’t felt in a long time, and I’ve gotta say, it feels pretty dang good!

Because Sometimes When it Rains, It Pours

I’ve been working on this blog post for a long time.  It has been written and re-written, but I was just never satisfied with it; I felt like I wasn’t really articulating how I was feeling.  Then I realized why.  In my attempt to color my recent surgery and chronic back pain as a blessing in disguise (which, admittedly, I really believed it was for about the first six months), it’s like I didn’t want to acknowledge that maybe what I was really feeling weren’t things most people want to hear, and even more, weren’t things I wanted to hear.

I so badly wanted to write that the surgery I had would be worth it; that I would miraculously be cured of the back pain that had become limiting in so many aspects of my life, and I even tried to write a whole blog post saying that’s what happened.  But it didn’t.

For over a year I’ve been dealing with chronic low back and leg pain that has kept me from doing so many of the things I love.  I stopped running, stopped going to movies, and on certain occasions even isolated myself from my friends because I was in too much pain to do things with them.

I searched for the magic cure, I tried everything, even a huge surgery that I was thoroughly convinced would work.  But here I sit today struggling with the same symptoms I had before the surgery, trying to rationalize that I made the right decisions, that even though it seems as if the surgery may not have worked, I did everything within my power to be the active, 20-something person I was before all of this.

Since the recurrence of my symptoms, I’ve found myself in a seemingly perpetual state of anxiety and stress.  I blame myself for not doing enough research, for possibly missing a key piece to the puzzle, and for subjecting myself willingly to a fairly invasive surgery.  I wake up most days and want to kick myself for my stupidity, but instead I carry on, pretending towards most people like I’m fine.  Which is okay.  Kind of.  Until you begin to internalize all the awful things you’ve said to yourself and truly start to believe that what you’re feeling isn’t rational.  But you know what?  It is.

So today I acknowledge that I’m struggling.  That it’s okay to ask “Why me?” on occasion.  And that feeling defeated, angry, and frustrated are all acceptable emotions to experience.  Maybe it’s being able to acknowledge these feelings that allows us to heal and move on.  And maybe it’s being able to acknowledge these feelings that finally does allow us to say that our struggles and trials are a blessing in disguise.

I don’t believe we’re ever given more than we can handle, and I do believe that our struggles can make us stronger, better people; but not if we can’t go through the necessary stages of grief, ultimately to come to acceptance, and maybe even appreciation.

It’s possible that some people would look at my situation and think, “Come on, back pain?  That’s not a big deal at all.”  And I’m okay with people thinking that, because ultimately our perception - not others’ perceptions - of our trials is what matters the most.  Right now I may not appreciate everything I’ve been through, but I hope that in some way, finally expressing – and to a certain extent validating – that it’s okay to struggle, will help me in my healing, even if it’s not on a physical level.  I want to look back on this experience and feel that it has been a blessing.  I want to be truly happy in all aspects of my life.  Because after all, I think Gordon B. Hinckley had it right when he said, “Life is to be enjoyed, not just endured."

Summer 2013... so far

I’m failing at this blogging business.  I know this because I couldn’t even remember my password to log into my blog.  Fail.  I feel like I’m seriously slacking.  I attribute this to:

  

A)   My lack of creativity, I just haven’t been feeling the writing bug recently.

B)   Lots of trips and a crazy work schedule (who has time for frivolities like a random online scribbling?).

C)   Visitors, namely, my sea-star.  Which, for the record, I’m not complaining about, it was so great to see her!

D)   My achy, breaky back.  Why you ask?  No apparent reason.  I just like to complain about my old lady woes at any given opportunity, even if they have absolutely no correlation to the conversation at hand.

However, on the note of my back, I would like to talk about just how grateful having all these back problems has made me.  Weird, I know, but let me explain.  I know in my last blog post I pontificated a bit on my back pain and what was going on, but since then I have learned much more about why I’ve been having this chronic (yes, chronic; it has been going on for over six months now) back pain.  When the pain I was experiencing started limiting my physical activities and making it virtually impossible for me to run without having my left leg go partially numb, I decided I should probably see the doctor again.  Good call.  Had I not done that, who knows what further damage I would have caused.  The doctor sent me to get an MRI and some x-rays where they found a bulging disc at L5 to S1, spondylolisthesis, a pars defect, arthritis, and a generally very straight spine with no curvature until L5 to S1, at which point, my spine curves at a rather unstable 90 degrees.  To get all this news was disheartening to say the least.  I’ve spent a lot of time lamenting the fact that I can’t run anymore, or do any other sort of high-impact activity.  But I can’t say that in some ways it hasn’t been a blessing in disguise.  It has made me appreciate just what my body was (and hopefully someday will be again) able to do.  How many people have been in tragic accidents and lost a limb, or even limbs, and will never even be able to walk again?  Or what about people who have been paralyzed and will spend the rest of their lives in wheelchairs?  When I think about things like this, I’m grateful that things aren’t worse.  I’ve also learned that patience really is a virtue - one I still don’t really have, but am learning to acquire.  Even so, I can’t say these back problems are something I would like to have, but I am a firm believer that all things happen for a reason.  Cheesy, and cliché, I know.  But I also know for a fact that I’m a person who could often use a lesson on being grateful.  Hopefully there will come a day when I can run again and do all the things I used to do, but if that doesn’t happen, at least I can always be thankful that I’m not bedridden, in a wheelchair, or missing a limb.  Things can always be worse!

On another note, the note of my sea-star (aka sister, aka Anna Montana, aka she who shares my similar DNA), she did come visit this past month, and it was (mostly) a blast!  It was so great to see some family and spend time with her; it was just like having my own little piece of America for a couple of weeks!  While she was here we got to do a bit of traveling, to include Ireland and Amsterdam (pictures to be posted below).  I must say, I’m glad we’re both adults now.  Why you might ask?  Because when we were younger, we kind of disliked each other… probably more than a little bit at times.  We got into nasty yelling matches, and occasionally resorted to hair-pulling, and dare I say biting…  That’s not to say that we didn’t love each other, we just had a lot of differences that, as kids and teenagers, seemed insurmountable.  But I think things have changed.  It was almost strange to carry on actual adult conversations, and to do so without arguing (don’t get me wrong, we had a couple of little tiffs while she was here).  It makes me so thankful for family.  Being in Germany can be hard with being 5,000 miles away from your family and only getting to see them once, maybe twice a year, so seeing some family was really a highlight of this Summer.  And now I’m getting mushy, which is not my style, so I’m going to stop while I’m ahead.  Anyway, I’m going to put up some of my favorite pictures from our trips below.  Please enjoy my fine picture-taking skills… as most of you probably know, artistic abilities run rampant through my veins.  Ha.

We climbed all the way to the top of this castle to kiss the Blarney Stone.  We will now (supposedly) speak eloquently for the rest of our lives.

I thought this would be an artistic shot.  I clearly thought wrong.

About to begin my journey towards eloquent speech.  Heaven knows I could use it.  Word vomit, anyone?

Anna feeding zer horse on our little jaunt around the castle grounds.

Anna and me at the Cliffs of Moher.  Never have I seen two more attractive people.  Ever.

When in the Netherlands, pose awkwardly by a giant wooden clog...

... or just look like you weren't ready for the camera.

At the 4th of July celebration on the Air Base.  We 500 percent rocked the Hello Kitty look.

View from the Landstuhl Castle.  There are some redeeming qualities about living 5,000 miles away from America.

We made cookies for the boys on Anna's last night in Germania, and they were delish!

The cute boys we made the cookies for.  This picture is before they both got convinced to have Hello Kitty face paint as well.  We won that one.

 

Istanbul, Former Constantinople!

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Things that have recently come to my attention:

-       Pretty much anything that has sparkles on it has the potential to make my day… especially if that item is shoes.  Yes, I’m a five year-old at heart.

-       Conversely, my body is apparently 85.  Or somewhere in that vicinity.  I have recently learned that I have degenerative discs that are provoking sciatica.  This equals an occasional numb leg and intermittent low-back pain.  But, like the trooper (or idiot) that I am, I told the Nurse Practitioner that I refused to stop running, thus prohibiting any sort of healing.  Brilliance, I tell you.

-       I still don’t like eating fish.  It smells gross, it looks gross, and when I get their little fish bones in my mouth, I kind of want to vomit a little bit.

-       And last, but not least, I am so very glad that I get to be an American… Here’s why…

I just got back from a trip to Istanbul, Turkey, and it was kind of great.  I got to see all sorts of monuments and sites that most people only read about in books.  But what I also got to see is what it might be like not to live the life of luxury I’ve become so accustomed to.  It was sad to me to see that this city, with so many beautiful things, was so littered with trash.  Everywhere I turned there seemed to be garbage on the streets and covering the sidewalks.  Then there were the bathrooms that had floors my shoes really didn’t even want to touch.  And of course, the lack of hygiene, which ultimately has a direct correlation with a person’s health, and is often a reflection of education (of course, not always; some things really are cultural).

None of this is meant to be degrading or demeaning in any way.  It was just really an eye-opening experience for me.  It really made me appreciate America.  I know we’re not perfect, but I feel so lucky to have grown up in a clean city where education was both fostered and encouraged, and where I was given so many opportunities. 

Oh, and I’m also thankful that I never really had to master the "squat and pee" (sorry, that might have been a wee bit too much information).

Anyway, I digress, which we all know is not exactly unusual.  So, here are some of the things I was able to see…

-       The Blue Mosque, which was huge and amazing!  All women who enter any of these mosques are asked to respect the Islam religion and wear a Pashmina Scarf on their heads, and all men and women are asked to take their shoes off.  It was definitely a very interesting experience.  

View of the Blue Mosque from the outside.  Beautiful!

 -        The Hagia Sophia Museum, which was formerly a the world’s largest cathedral for over 1,000 years.

Me (obviously) inside the Hagia Sophia Museum.

 -       The Tapkapi Palace Museum, which was where the Ottoman Sultans used to live.  In addition, this was where their harem of women were kept… a situation that I find more than a little disturbing.

One of the sidewalks leading to the Palace.  I thought these were quite awesome!

What pretty much all the walls in the Tapkapi Palace look like.  Copious amounts of white and blue tile.

-       And although we saw so much more, one of the neatest places were were able to go and see were the barracks where Florence Nightengale took care of soldiers during the Crimean War.  Yeah, it was awesome.

View of the barracks from outside the gates.  We weren't allowed to take any pictures once we entered the premises.

Aside from historical monuments, we also got to do some flee market-like shopping, enjoy (or maybe not enjoy quite so much) some Turkish foods, visit an awesome handmade Turkish rug store where we got to see how the rugs are made, and many other things that are slipping my mind because I’m sleep-deprived and am in a somewhat catatonic state as I try to adjust back to a night shift schedule.

Soooo many people at this flee market (this particular one was called the Spice Bazaar).

A silk, handmade rug.  At this point, it's approximately 65 percent finished.  The lady making it has been working on it for about eight months and it's projected to take her an entire year to finish it.  This rug has something like 300-plus knots per square inch.

Alright, I’m signing off for now.  As always, I hope you enjoyed the post and that it was at least 35 percent coherent.