Around the time I kind of, unintentionally, stopped posting on here, this happened, and it hit me really hard. A lot harder than I expected.

What We’re Reminded of After Amy Bleuel’s Passing

Why Amy Bleuel’s Death Does Not Invalidate Her Message

When I first heard about Amy’s passing, wasn’t able to find the right words to express how I feel about it. I still haven’t. I probably never will.

I’m still in the middle of my own battle. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve wanted to give up. I’ve lost count of how many times I came right up to the edge. The fact I’m still here is not a feat of strength, by any means. In all honesty, fear is the only thing that has prevented me from stepping off the edge and completely giving up on life. Fear is the reason I’m still here. Fear of failure. Fear of missing out of the things I used to dream about. Problem is, the longer I keep going, the further away those dreams seem to be, they feel less achievable than they used to be.

The fact that Amy wasn’t able to hold on, especially after all the work she’s done for the mental health community is absolutely heart breaking, especially as someone who has come so close myself. To be honest, I’m still having a difficult time even comprehending it, even though I didn’t know her. It certainly doesn’t invalidate her message. It’s more a reminder of the fact that this stuff, this pain, the struggle, it doesn’t just go away. Even when someone looks fine on the outside, it doesn’t mean they are.

Even though we may be mental health activists, even though we put our stories out there hoping to inspire other, even though we are comforted by being a part of a community where we share common struggles, we are still battling.

I don’t want to to be here.

I want it to end.

I don’t want to kill myself. I don’t really want to die. I just don’t want to exist.

I’m so sick of feeling like shit all the time. I hate feeling like a failure at life, like I’ve never accomplished anything.

Whenever I feel like I’m making progress, something happens that sets me back and feels like the world is crashing down around me.

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The thing I think we have to remember is that there is no finish line with depression, anxiety, or any other sort of mental illness. We’re on this path, and the path is constantly changing. Sometimes it’s flat and well-marked, and we can see all the way to the horizon. Other times, it’s so heavily shrouded in fog and mist, we can’t even see past our fingertips and we need someone to show us where the path is. And sometimes, we come to a wall that we don’t think we’ll ever get over.
tears in rain | WIL WHEATON dot NET

This is one of the reasons I love about Wil Wheaton! He is very open about his struggle with mental illness.

The main reason I wanted to share this post is because the conversation he shared, towards the end, really hit home with me.

Wil is also hilarious. This line made me laugh:

there is no such thing as a good morning at bullshit o’clock.

And also, this:

(If you can spell bananas without Gwen Stefani doing it for you in your head, you’re missing out on something great.)

Note: His post is really long and he is mostly talking about some game that I know nothing about, so I skimmed over that portion of it. If you don’t want to read the whole thing, I’d recommend reading up to the part where he says, “We went on like this for a few more minutes, my anti-morning sass offset by Ashly’s relentless happiness and positivity.” You could probably go a bit further if you wanted to. Go as far as you want. Then skip down to about where he says, “Still with me? Good.” and continue reading from there. Even skipping that big chunk in the middle, it’s still long, but it’s worth it!

Wil has said on several occasions (on social media and interviews, etc.) that he hears stories like this all the time, which in some ways makes it feel less special, but for each of those people, it is deeply personal. At least it is for me. But knowing I’m not the only one also makes me feel good at the same time.

This is the paragraph that got me:

I extended my hand and thanked him for playing, because it was a genuinely fun and challenging match. He took my hand and he said, “I was really hoping that I’d get to play with you, because you saved my life.” Before I could respond, he continued, “everything you’ve written and shared about anxiety and depression helped me get treatment for my own mental health.”

If I ever get to meet Wil Wheaton, I hope have the opportunity to tell him he saved my life too!

He is also, all around, a pretty cool dude, so meeting him would be an honour!

I knew who he was and that he had been on Star Trek, but I only started following him on social media after he appeared on The Big Bang Theory because I discovered that he was a huge nerd and that is freaking awesome! I just wish I had figured that out before I attended my first (and second) convention (Calgary Expo 2012 and 2013) because he was there both times and I didn’t bother to get a photo op or autograph because I really only knew him from Big Bang, and that he was on Star Trek: The Next Generation, but I wasn’t that big into it, so I didn’t care that much at the time. Plus, I was busy meeting Amanda Tapping, Michael Shanks, Richard Dean Anderson, and Nathan Fillion! Now wish that I had added Wil to my list of people to get photos with, or at least an autograph! But back in 2012 and 2013, he didn’t mean to me what he does now.

I’m sure I’ve written about it enough times on social media that by now most people reading this probably know, but I’ll share it again anyway.

I suffered for many, many years with self hatred, poor self-esteem, and basically zero confidence. I worried constantly about what people were thinking about me, whether they liked me or not, whether the group of kids on the other side of the room were laughing at me because of how fat I look, how terrible my hair is, my ugly clothes, or something stupid I said. I also had horrible situations constantly popping into my head, triggered by things as simple as one of my parents being 5 minutes late getting home from work which means they got in a terrible car accident and I’ll never see them again, or I forgot to lock the front door and now there could be a serial killer somewhere in my house waiting for the perfect moment to jump out of a dark room to murder me.

After moving over 3,000km away from the friends I’d known since grade 1, to a teeny tiny little town in the middle of nowhere, I began to retreat into my own little world inside my head where I pretended all those old friends were not slowly drifting away and losing touch and we’d all be together again some day, while in reality they were growing up and moving on with their lives. Today, very few of them are still friends with each other.

On the outside, I was completely miserable.

High school is traumatic enough without being the new kid who just moved from another province, and completely different culture. Moving across the country at 13 years old, when all the kids have formed their little groups and refuse to accept anyone new, add in anxiety disorders that have begun to create physical symptoms, but no one seems know be able to figure out what is causing them, so the mental illness remains undiagnosed, and you get a teenager who has lost all interest in the things she was once passionate about and struggles to find new things to be love, and thinks the entire world is against her.

Fast forward to adulthood. In November of 2014, at age 26, I was driving home from a convention for work. (A 7 hour drive! No joke. The joys of living in the Canadian prairies!) I had planned out all the podcasts I was going to listen to on my drive there and my drive back. I listened to Wil Wheaton’s episode of Girl On Guy on the drive home. I’m glad I didn’t listen to it on the way there! It would have made for a very rough weekend otherwise!

I had heard Wil speak about having depression in the past, so I was a little bit aware, and kind of expected the topic to come up, but I did not expect the reaction I had to it this time.

If you listen to the episode, at 1:24:58, Wil gets a notification on his phone which he then explains, “that’s my alarm telling me, ‘it’s six o’clock, you have to take your brain pills.'”And then Aisha asks if they can stop talking about Google+ and start talking about that.

So, he goes on to explain his situation, and then it ties back to their earlier discussion about how he was always so angry when he was younger.

As the conversation continues on in that direction, I am suddenly hit with overwhelming, brick wall of emotion. I’m driving in the dark, on the highway at 115km/h, and I can barely see through the tears in my eyes, I’m hyperventilating through violent sobs, my whole body aches, my nose is completely plugged up (does crying make anyone else congested or is it just me?), just trying to keep my car between the white lines. I debated pulling over, but I couldn’t seem to get my body to do that, and I knew if I did that I might never stop crying and then never get home, and I had to be at work at 8:30 the next morning, so I kept driving.

It wasn’t because I felt his story was sad or that I felt sympathy for him or anything like that. It was because it felt as if he was talking about me. He was describing my life. My situation. My feelings.

I was just so unbelievably stressed and overwhelmed with life, and had been for at least a year. I felt like I wasn’t going to survive much longer.

Something I realized recently: If it wasn’t for the fact that I had my dog, Mosley, depending on me to feed him and keep him safe, I probably would hate attempted suicide at some point in the past 3 years. I thought about it frequently, but the thought of Mosley being left alone with no one to take care of him before anyone realized I was gone, broke my heart and kept me from going any further, kept me from turning my thoughts into actions.

I know I said earlier that Wil saved my life, but obviously my dog did too. If it wasn’t for Wil talking about this on Aisha’s podcast, I wouldn’t have gotten help when I did.

Listening to Wil’s story made me realize that there was actually something wrong with me, medically, and no matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t going to be able to fix it on my own. I needed help.

It took me about a week and a half to work up the courage to call my doctor’s office and book an appointment. If it wasn’t for the feeling I got listening to Wil, I never would have even talked to my doctor. I would have continued down the road I was on full of so much stress I was making me physically ill, completely irrational anger towards people and situations that were entirely out of my control, self harming because I didn’t know how else to escape the overwhelming hopelessness of it all, and hating myself so much that I just didn’t want to live.

If Wil’s story hadn’t encouraged me to take that first step, I don’t know where I’d be right now. I know things would have gotten worse. I don’t know if I’d be alive right now. It may have gotten to the point where Mosley wasn’t enough to keep me alive.

But I took that first step because of Wil Wheaton.

Wil Wheaton saved my life.

It’s been a little while since I’ve posted on here. I’ve been dealing with a situation that has caused a significant increase in my stress and anxiety and triggered what was, for me, a relatively severe depressive episode. I can’t go into much detail due to the nature and current status of that particular situation, but my emotions were running extremely high to the point where I was so overwhelmed that I found suddenly that my emotions completely shut off for about 3 days. (This happened about two weeks ago.)

In the time leading up to those three days, I did relapse in my self harm a bit. I had been clean for about 3 weeks, and gave into the urge due to how overwhelming my emotions were. I haven’t self harmed since. I think it has been over 3 weeks since the last time I self harmed.

Anyways, I didn’t cry at all during those 3 days and I found myself completely unmotivated to do anything except lie on the couch with the TV on, but not really even watching it. If I wasn’t required to feed and walk 3 dogs (my parents were out of town for a few days) I probably would have just stayed in bed the entire time.

I found myself contemplating suicide, which wasn’t exactly a new thing for me, but I was thinking about it a lot more frequently than normal. It was the fact that I was dog sitting my parents’ dogs as well as the extremely adorable face of my own dog that kept the thoughts from becoming anything more than just thoughts.

Side note: I can’t remember if I wrote this here before, but I know I have on other social media. I realized recently that if I didn’t have my dog, I’m not sure I would have survived the past 3 years. It was the thought of him being left alone for days because no one would notice I wasn’t around that kept me from actually doing it.

It was the fact that I found myself not laughing at jokes on The Big Bang Theory reruns that I knew I had found hilarious in the past. I wasn’t laughing at anything. I also happened to watch a rerun of Flashpoint that I remember being really sad and I cried the last time I watched it. I couldn’t even make myself cry this time. I knew it was sad, in my head, but I didn’t feel it. I did’t feel anything.

When my emotions came back, it was sudden and so overwhelming that I couldn’t get through any task without bursting into tears.

It began while I was taking a shower. I suddenly found thoughts running through my head about what was going on and they just became so overwhelming that I began to feel weak in every muscle in my body and I started sobbing uncontrollably.

It was so intense that I couldn’t stand anymore. I ended up on my knees facing the back of the shower with one arm in my lap and one in the ledge on the back of the tub with my head rested on my arm, water from the shower head streaming steadily onto my back. It was as if every single emotion that had been locked up tight inside me was suddenly exploding out of me and my body, physically, couldn’t handle it.

I don’t know how long I was in that state, but the timer on the bathroom fan had run out. I did finally managed to get back up on my feet and finish my shower, but not without bursting into tears 2 or 3 more times.

The rest of my day continued like that. Random moments of uncontrollable emotion left me so physically exhausted that I found it difficult to do anything.

I needed to make a quick trip to the grocery store for a few things so I managed to keep myself from crying for long enough to get my eyes less red and puffy so I didn’t look ill. I ended up forgetting some items on my list because I all my focus and energy was going into not crying in the middle of the grocery store.

As I was leaving, the traffic on the road outside the store was really bad. Normally I would be making a left turn, but there is an alternative route that allows me to make a right turn, and immediately pull into a left turn lane so I only have to cross one lane of traffic at a time. Problem was there was so much traffic, I couldn’t even make the right turn. To make things even worse, it was raining. Luckily, there wasn’t anyone behind me for a while, so I didn’t feel rushed, but I was starting to get frustrated. Then someone did pull up behind me, so I tried to find a smaller gap in traffic that I could sneak into, but it was hard, and the jerk behind me started honking at me. That pissed me off. I felt tears starting to build up in my eyes.

I managed to find a big enough gap in traffic to sneak through the first lane and into the middle left turn lane. I thought that would get me away from the jerk who honked at me, but nooooooo. A few seconds later, they pulled in behind me. Great.

The traffic in the lane going the opposite direction was backed up well past where I was sitting, from the set of lights that was a few hundred meters behind me. Then a nice person going the other direction stopped and waved me across.

As I lifted my foot off the break pedal, the asshole behind me pulled into the lane and swerved over to the street I was trying to turn onto. I saw a woman in her 30s or 40s in the passenger seat, looking at me and the guy in the van facing us, laughing. Thankfully, the guy in the van saw what an idiot those people were and waited for me to turn as well. I ended up following those people half way back to my house, and they did not stop at a single stop sign. They just blew right through them. Then they turned down a street where I continued on straight.

The entire time I was so frustrated and angry that the tears had been building up, until it exploded and I was sobbing in my car. The rain outside seemed to get worse as tears streamed down my face.

As I turned the corner onto my street and into my driveway, I saw the neighbours outside, and I was certainly not in a state to speak to people, so I pulled into the garage as quickly as I could without letting them see my face, shut off the car and closed the garage door, and burst into tears all over again. I sat in my car sobbing for at least 5 minutes, while the dogs were inside barking, waiting for me at the door.

I managed to calm down enough to bring the groceries in, unloaded the cold stuff into the fridge and freezer and left everything else on the counter and went and lied down on the couch in the living room sobbing some more. Dogs came over, concerned and wanting to snuggle. Once I calmed down again, I got up and finished unloading the groceries and went back downstairs to the family room and turned on the TV.

Later that night, I had a good phone chat with my parents and a couple text message chats that made me feel a lot better, and I was able to get through the next few days without anything too eventful happening.

My emotions went up and down over the next little bit, but not quite as bad. Then I started to notice some changes starting to take effect from the recent increase in the dose of my antidepressants. My emotions are calming down and stabilizing. Its not perfect, but I am seeing an improvement. I still think I need to wait for a while before I decide whether the changes I’m seeing are good or bad.

Does this happen to anyone else?

I can’t decide if its anxiety or depression or both (probably both) that causes it.

I feel so overwhelmingly terrified about having to do something I don’t want to do, or something that I feel like I need to do but my anxiety makes me avoid it. Then the thought pops into my head that the only way to get out of the situation is to die, because then I won’t need to deal with it.

I don’t want to kill myself. I don’t really even want to die. (At least not right now, in the past, I have actually wanted to.) But I so badly don’t want to deal with a situation that I feel like death is the only way out.

Please tell me I’m not the only one!!

I don’t want to feel this way. I want to be able to handle things like a normal person, but I just don’t know how, and it scares me.

This kind of thing also tends to trigger my self-harm urges. That can be triggered by lots of things though, this just happens to be one of them. It doesn’t always lead to me self harming, but it can, because the thoughts are there.

In addition to that, I had, what could, maybe, be considered a panic attack. I’m not sure that it actually qualifies. It wasn’t due to being in a particular situation (as it would be for most people who experience panic attacks) but thinking about a situation that could happen, but may not. The only panic attack symptom I seem to never experience in these “attacks” that I get is hyperventilating, which can probably be attributed to the fact that I started out hysterically crying. My heart is probably racing, but I’m too busy trying to breathe to tell. But I experience none of the other common panic attack symptoms, so I’m reluctant to say that I am actually having a panic attack.

Usually I struggle to get this to stop when it happens. Just when I think I’ve calmed down, a reminder thought pops into my head, and it starts all over again.

This time, all that happened, but I was suddenly more aware of my body than normal, just from all the things I’ve been learning about anxiety and breathing techniques. Took some time to find a way to make it stop, but I did! I ended up lying on the floor, on my back, with my knees bent, so my feet and back were flat on the floor (cuz you know, the bum gets in the way lol) and breathing deeply into my belly rather than my chest.

Within a few minutes I was able to sit up, and think about the situation without bursting into tears and hyperventilating again. I still don’t want to deal with it, but I am calm. My eyes hurt from crying and I now have a headache, but I’m calm. My nose also get stuffed up (like to the point of complete blockage) when I cry, and I can breath, partially, through one nostril now. Yay!

Now to go back to dealing with real life… *sigh*

Also, I would just like to share this article. I’m a Supernatural fan, so of course, I love Jared Padalecki, but I feel that this article came at the right time: Feeling Overwhelmed By Life? Jared Padalecki Has Some Important Advice For You

As I mentioned previously, I have a new doctor now, since I moved. And so far, even though I’ve only met him twice, I am really happy with him.

My previous doctor

I did actually like my old doctor. He was funny and always had good answers for things. Physical things, anyway.

I found that when I met with him the first time, about my mental health, he wasn’t giving me the full attention I needed. He was running almost an hour behind that day, but I was in a really rough place and I really needed help, and I didn’t feel like I got 100% of what I needed.

He said that was I was describing was “classic anxiety disorder” which, when you Google it, isn’t even a thing. Could be that it was renamed (I’ve done a fair amount of research into this area and have found that the DSM has renamed several conditions over the years) to generalized anxiety disorder, however, it would have been easier for me to understand if he had told me what it was. I had to research it myself because I did not understand at all what an anxiety disorder was to begin with.

In our discussion, he did clearly try to assess whether or not I was depressed, but I don’t think he went deep enough with it, because it took me coming back a second time, a couple months later with very little improvement in symptoms for him to now say that I have “depressive tendencies”. Whatever that means.

During that first appointment, he asked me if I had ever self-harmed, but that was something I wasn’t really prepared to talk about at the time.

Because I was sort of caught off guard, even though I wasn’t actually surprised that he asked (weird, I know) I tried to avoid answering while also answering at the same time. It wasn’t a conscious thing, its just how it came out.

Verbally, I tried to say that I tend to pick at scabs and stuff really bad, while physically, I found myself pulling my sleeve up as I said it (wasn’t even thinking about it, just did it), like I was trying to show him, but not say it.

Here’s the thing….. I’ve never done any like really bad stuff to myself. I used to try to punch or hit walls and things, hoping to injure my hand or arm or kicking things to injure my foot or leg but was always too scared of causing damage to what I was hitting and having to explain that. An injury is easy enough to explain away than a hole in the wall of my parents’ house.

I did actually kick a hole in my bedroom door once, but it was more out of anger than an attempt at self harm. Probably like 20% self harm, 50% anger at my parents (don’t remember why, now) and 30% anger at the fact that the door wouldn’t slam hard enough to my satisfaction.

It wasn’t until a few years later that I started, sort of, cutting. I didn’t really have anything handy that was sharp enough to really cut with, so it was more like scratching with whatever sharp-ish object was nearby, like scissors.

It started out small. Later it became a way to distract myself from whatever was going on, because I could focus on that tiny little thing, and I had full control over it. Except for the fact that it wasn’t cutting deep enough. I went over each scratch many times until I was distracted enough from the thing that was bothering me that I could go to bed or do something else.

So I do have some scars, but they aren’t completely obvious, unless you’re looking.

I’ll talk a bit more on something semi-related to this in a later post, because it isn’t entirely relevant right now.

Anyway, I think I was hoping he would see the scars, even though they really don’t stand out, so I wouldn’t need to say it. But all I could get out was picking obsessively at scabs and scratches and stuff and he cut me off saying, “that’s not self-harm” and moved on to something else.

In addition to that, I feel like he was just throwing meds at the problem without really trying to help me. He did mention cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) and said it would be a good idea, but didn’t really make it easy. In addition to the three doctors that were based out of that office, they had a councillor two days a week (she worked at different offices in town on other days) and he suggested that I meet with her.

I met with her a few days later, and we had a good conversation, and she did say that it sounded like I was a worrier. She gave me a ton of papers with information and ideas for things to manage my anxiety, but she didn’t tell me that I should come back to see her again.

I kind of felt like I was left to fend for myself, which wasn’t much better than it was before I went to see my doctor in the first place. That’s partly why I ended up doing so much research on my own. I mean, getting a diagnosis (sort of) did kind of lift a huge weight off my shoulders, but after the first week or so, it all came crashing back down again.

My new doctor

My new doctor, is in an office that is basically a whole health centre. They have about 10 doctors, several nurse practitioners, a mental health team, and they run several different programs for various things. It is actually kind of cool.

Although we haven’t talked about the whole self harm thing, we have talked in detail about my anxiety and depression, and he gave me a referral to see one of their mental health workers.

My doctor has seemed genuinely invested in making sure that I get better. I’ve met with him twice now. He asks me lots of questions and has really seems like he’s trying to help me find the right solution.

One big thing he said, that I really hadn’t thought about or realized for myself, is that my depression and suicidal thoughts aren’t so much feeling hopeless and alone, its more that I feel overwhelmed. Figuring that out, he said he actually feels better about me getting better, because of that.

He did still feel that he should give me the local crisis number, just in case I needed it. That’s something neither my previous doctor or that councillor did.

But I realized, this is why I get stressed so easily and why my suicidal thoughts tend to come more when I’m stressed than anything else. They tend to be more along the lines of, it would be so much easier if I could just die, then I wouldn’t have to deal with all this shit anymore.

When we were talking about my past suicidal thoughts, he asked if I had ever attempted suicide or had a plan for it. It has never gotten that far because I always over think it (or at least that’s how I used to describe it, but I now know this was anxiety related) and end up thinking about if it doesn’t work, then people will find out and I have to explain it to them, and that scared the shit out of me. His response was, “you anxioused yourself out of it.” I laughed, because it is kind of funny, but it is totally accurate!

I also think that’s why I’ve always felt like people would say I wasn’t actually depressed, because I didn’t fit into the typical hopelessness type of depression. I also still, usually, feel joy and happiness in many things. Its just when there’s too many things going on I get very overwhelmed and that causes me to get super stressed out.

I’ve started CBT with someone on the mental health team at my new doctor’s office. The first appointment was just for him to get to know me and see what’s going on. Then we had a second appointment where we had our my first CBT session. I’m still a bit nervous about the whole thing. We joked a couple times about how it would be so much nicer if they made an “easy button” (like the old Staples ads) but its not. Its more like school. I always hated school. I have to work at it all the time, until it becomes second nature.

Light at the end of the tunnel

I feel like having these resources readily available to me now has given me a new perspective on things. I have a doctor who actually cares about what I’m going through and wants to help me get better. And the resources are available to me through my doctor’s office to help me work at getting better. That is so important, and I think everyone should have that!

I am still struggling. I’m not afraid to admit that.

I have good days and bad days.

I have good hours and bad hours.

Good minutes and bad minutes.

But I actually finally feel like I have a chance.


It’s Mental Health Week! #GETLOUD
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