Mental Health Monday - Be Brave

Welcome to Mental Health Monday!  This idea was born from a session at Fitbloggin' 15 led by Steph (of Athlete at Heart) and Liz (of Prior Fat Girl) on Depression, Anxiety and Healthy Living.  Every 1st and 3rd Monday one of those wonderful ladies will host a link up for others to share their experiences with mental illness – either from personal experience or from the experience of helping and walking with others. The goal is to reach out to the world and let people know they are not alone in their struggles.  You are never alone.  Join in– link up, visit new blogs, support others.  Speak out:

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This one is going to be a difficult post to write today because one of the big ways in which mental illness is currently affecting my life is through the pain of someone else. Someone in my family, someone I am unable to ask for permission to discuss this openly, is in a really bad place right now. Probably a place worse than you or I can even imagine. Her disease is the main reason she going through these horrible circumstances and right now, there is not much our family can do to help. All we can do is be there for her when her circumstances change.

I know, that’s so vague right?

You have no idea what I am talking about and are probably wondering why I am not doing more to help this person. All I can say is, there is nothing I can do currently and you will just have to believe me.

Why I write about this today is not to leave you in the dark but to share with you some of my feelings and experiences and ask for you to show kindness and understanding.

Trust me, I wish for nothing more to eliminate the pain and hardships brought into my life and the lives of others because of mental illness. It is not often discussed openly, or at least not in my eyes, and it is an area where I feel this country is lacking. From support for military transitioning home or suffering from PTSD, from mothers barely living with PPD, to anyone (any person from any race, age, social class) suffering silently with mental illness. We could be doing more.

When I was a kid I was ridiculed because of my mom’s illness. That was hard to understand. Heck, being that young I barely understood her illness myself. I was in no state to defend her. I couldn’t educate others about mental illness or even try teach others to empathize. I just took it their unkind words and felt ashamed and embarrassed because of her illness. 

Now as an adult, I want to talk about my experiences openly. It took me a long time to feel comfortable being honest about her illness and how it affected me as well as my dealings with depression and anxiety. It is hard to discuss now but not because I feel ashamed. Not in the slightest. But because those memories are painful. Some are buried deep, deep, deep down and may never resurface. But some have stayed with me every day. A constant reminder of who I am.

You see, I believe I made it to 37 years old because I had people in my life that were there for me as a child, to help me process my mother’s illness and to support and provide me with a happy environment during the worst of times. Also, I feel I made it this far (I won a battle many of my friends lost) because I had enough bravery inside to ask for help,  to talk about my emotions/feelings, or to try a push through when I was at my lowest, darkest times. I also had luck on my side to let me make it this far. And now I want to help others know they too can be brave, even when they doubt themselves, even when they don’t want to, they can.

I want people to know that their lives have value and meaning, influence and impact, and that they (no matter how much they doubt it) have a purpose. I want people to know that mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of and that help is out there. I want people to know that although we each feel pain and sadness differently, that at our core- we all still feel. We can relate to one another. I want people to know that they are never alone.

So today, I write this for anyone that needs to hear it (which isn’t that all of us?) – you are important, you are loved, please be brave enough to recognize that. And no matter what, help is always available and I plead to you to just be brave enough to ask.

National Suicide Prevention Hotline 800-273-8255

National Alliance on Mental Illness - Find Support or 1-800-950-NAMI (6264) 

To Write Love on Her Arms – Local Resources

Love and hugs,

Dacia

xoxoxox

Baggage

Last week’s post, and the behaviors that triggered it, have generated so many great conversations and I am, for the first time, taking very openly and frankly about the issues behind these behaviors. I want to tell you all about some really great realizations/epiphanies/ah-ha moments I have had and discuss some of the feedback I have received but that will come later. First I want to talk to you about what is behind these behaviors- my baggage.  Since I have already exposed the outer most layer of my secrets (which has been both highly beneficial but also has left me a bit raw) I think it would be good to dig a bit deeper and talk about what’s truly behind the scenes.

See what I've realized is this….

I don’t have an unhealthy relationship with food. I have an unhealthy relationship with myself and I use food as my punishment/coping mechanism.

My method of escapism is binging. No purging for me though. I opt to wallow in the shame and guilt and let the self-loathing fester. That is me present day. But that wasn't always how I escaped. Before food there were other things (things maybe better left off a public blog) when I was younger, I had many unhealthy behaviors. But you are smart, if you can think of a way to forget/drown away pain I probably did it. And once I wised up to knowing that was probably a very dangerous path to head down I cleaned up my act.

But I still had unresolved and unhealthy feelings towards myself. And so I turned to food.  Easy access and legal. Always available. And damn tasty. What better way to drown my sorrows than with a box of tastykakes or an ooey gooey cheesy pizza?

No, this wasn't my every day norm and it isn't now either. But when shit got really hard to deal with this was how I coped. It didn't help that my normal eating behaviors were already excessive and indulgent. I was already behind the eight ball when I turned to food as my ‘drug of choice’.

Now before I go into the back story here I need to preface this with this one very important statement- this is nobody’s fault but mine. So if you are reading this (Mom, Dad, family, friends) and you think maybe you could have done something differently or helped me or fixed this mess you couldn't have. We all have our own baggage. We all have problems. Yes, we do need support to help us find our way or get better or change but it is a path we must find and walk alone. There is no blame in this story nor should there be any guilt because of what I am talking about. I write this today to maybe help someone else feel safe/comfortable about their baggage and in turn feel safe/comfortable to move past it. Like I am trying to do.

Growing up, and I mean from a very young age (maybe 3 or 4 I think), I was filled with resentment and anger. My mother suffered through bipolar disorder and spent time throughout my childhood sick and in and out of a hospital. This was very scary for me. Honestly, there is not much I remember from my childhood other than that feeling of dread and not really understanding what was going on. I was a child. I couldn't fully process or understand what mental illness was. But I do remember loving my mother fiercely (which of course I still do) and blaming/resenting everyone around me for her sickness. My poor father took the brunt of this misplaced rage and anger. I didn’t hate him. I hated her illness but I couldn't take it out on her. So I took it out on him instead. It took a long time to get past those feelings (the ones that shouldn't have even existed in the first place) and develop a normal relationship with my father.

My very close friend committed suicide a week before my 20^th birthday. That was really hard for me to deal with. Suicide really messes with those people left behind. I harbored so much guilt and pain that I didn’t really know how to move past it. My life has since forever been changed and my heart still aches because of this loss. I know (like the logical me knows) that I should not feel guilty because he chose to take his own life. But I do. I think we all do. I honestly believe that all of us who have lost someone from suicide will always carry some morsel of guilt for feeling that they let them down, didn’t do enough. That it is their fault, they could’ve done more. Or at least that is how I feel. But I do know better. I know what it is like to be on the other side. I know what that feeling of desperation feels like and in that moment when you decide you want to die you don’t think of anyone else. You don’t think that if so and so would have just called/spent more time/loved me things would have been different. You just feel like you do not have the strength to fight your demons any longer and you concede. In that moment it is about you. Not us. But knowing all of that, having lived through all of that, did not make his death easier.

I have always had these personal issues that have caused me to make not the best decisions. When I was younger (think teens and twenties) I was still struggling with the mental shit from my childhood, the ‘I’ll never be good enough’ feeling that came from other family issues, and I always felt like I needed to make everyone happy and in turn always be happy myself. I had a lot of friends but I never had one best friend. I think that stemmed from the above mentioned baggage and a fear of letting people see it. I had really bad taste in guys. I had a series of really unhealthy relationships. I was cheated on. I cheated on people. I was immature. I didn’t know how to have a healthy relationship. And I was afraid of being alone. So I latched onto someone that was also immature, didn’t know how to have a healthy relationship and (I am almost 100% sure) was also afraid of being alone. And I married him.

Are you surprised we are now divorced? I am pretty sure if you ask anyone who knew us then they would have said the most surprising thing was that we lasted as long as we did.

But I do know that through this all- through all of the packing and unpacking of my baggage- I have finally started to work through some of it. Not all. Trust me, I know there are still more issues and more pain in there that need to be sorted through. But I try.

I made amends with my father and I try to maintain a healthy and loving relationship with both of my parents.

I let go of the ‘not good enough’ feeling when it comes to pleasing people in my family. Although, some days it is becoming clearer that I still have that need to people please within my relationships. That behavior right there is how I mustered through a decade long relationship that I had no right to be in. Meaning- I was in it for many, many wrong reasons but stayed because I just wanted to make him happy.

I still have sadness over the loss of my friend but I have learned to work through and move past the guilt. That took at least a decade.

I am committed to having healthy relationships. I try really hard to be honest about how things make me feel. As someone that passively watched their life pass them by because of my weight I also found that I was passive in other areas as well. I am now a very active participant in my life. Not saying that it is always the Dacia show and I do whatever I want whenever I want but I am vocal about my dreams and goals and I because of this I have found a partner that wants to share them with me and in turn allow me to share in his.

I am not perfect, I am far from it. I know there are still issues in there that are causing me pain. I know that I am not the best when it comes to handling and processing pain and sorrow. I have things I need to work on. I still have baggage, I know this. But I also know the more I talk about it, the faster and easier it is to find the root of the problem. And finding it and acknowledging it and accepting it allows me to heal and move forward towards a healthier and happier me. 

This is my mantra right now...

Love and hugs,

Dacia

xoxoxoxox

Bipolar Disorder and Breast Cancer

Bipolar Disorder and Breast Cancer….

They both run in my family.

Last year my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and opted for a double mastectomy. We were all very thankful that her decision has led her to be cancer free since. Yay, Mom!

But there are others in my family that have (or had) breast cancer and are being faced with that same tough decision.

I know it cannot be easy.

But thankfully, one thing that there is never a shortage of is people out there supporting/advocating/fundraising/walking/wearing pink and doing all sorts of awesome things for breast cancer awareness, research, treatment, etc. There are a bajillion support groups and a whole month dedicated to this disease in which you will see athletes and actors donning pink for this cause. It’s awesome.

Trust me, I did not come here to badmouth breast cancer supporters or advocates- they are some amazing people.

No, what I came here to do was to talk about a realization that I had last year. You see, my mom’s cancer scare garnished me a lot of sympathy/empathy. People went out of their way to make sure I was ok, mom was ok, our family was ok.  There was just so much support.

But the thing is, for almost my entire life my mother has been sick. She has been battling (and currently kicking its ass) bipolar disorder since I was just a wee one. It was not an easy road for her. It’s easier now, but it will always be a battle. And my mom is a freaking rock star. And I have learned so much about strength, courage, compassion and love from her. She has been through so much- she is the epitome of what it means to be a fighter.

But, from what I have experienced, people don’t have the same type of sympathy/empathy for someone living with a mental illness as they do for someone battling cancer. Why is that?

I can blame the stigma that still exists that allows people to believe that ‘crazy’ people are scary/danger to society/should be avoided at all costs.

I can blame the media for their often misguided representations of mental illness

I can blame the schizophrenic homeless man on the street that keeps yelling at passerbys because he is living in an alternate reality that we cannot see nor understand

But why blame them?

I know the truth about mental illness. I know that it is a disease. I know that having a disease does not make you less of a person. I know that there is a superhuman strength required to battle these diseases and there are few on the sidelines cheering for these people. But we should be.

I should be…

And for that to happen I need to be an advocate. I need to be a cheerleader. I need to talk openly about my experiences and help to break down the stigmas that exist. And I need to be a friend and supporter for those around me, always.

Everyone deserves to know that there is someone out there that loves them and cares for them no matter what. Scars and all.

Love and hugs,

Dacia

xoxoxo

I'm Really Pissed...

My blog, in regards to the content I share on here, is pretty much a mixture of fluff (training recaps- for my accountability), hippie shit (acceptance, self-love, hug a tree, kiss a cow) and once in a blue moon there are pieces with substance that address some of the harder issues for me. This is going to be one of them. Consider yourself warned. There is profanity, too.

I’m pissed.

I am blood-boiling, gut-wrenching, kicking dirt angry.

As some of you may already know, I found out on Monday that my mom has breast cancer. She called me, as I had expected her to since we missed our normal Sunday call since I was traveling, and told me she had some bad news. Actually she called, told me she had bad news, asked if I was home (which I was not) and then asked me to call her back when I was, she didn’t want me driving when she told me. Luckily I was close by but those 10 minutes it took me to get there were pure torture.

My first thought was it was my uncle who is battling cancer and undergoing chemo. I thought it was more bad news about him.

Then my mind leapt to my cousin. She is currently hospitalized. Struggling. Life has been rough for her.

Then I thought about my father who has already had two heart attacks and then just 2 years ago gave us a hell of a scare when he suffered complications during neck surgery that we didn’t think he would survive.

Then I thought about my grandparents, both in their 80s. I thought maybe it was something with one of them.

I never, not even for a minute, thought it was my mom.

And when I finally made it home and called her back she asked me to have a seat. I knew it wasn’t going to be good.

When she said breast cancer I started bawling.

I could barely hear what she was trying to tell me.

Two biopsies, surgery, double mastectomy…in a few weeks…

What the fuck….

How was this happening? I couldn’t even process it. Paul was there, sitting beside me, holding me but I just wanted to run away.

I wanted to drive straight to the airport and get on the first flight to Philly. I wanted to be by her side.

I was scared.

I am scared.

And I will be going home to be with her for the procedure. As soon as we have a date (waiting on some blood work and CT scan results before the surgery is schedule) I will book my flight and head home.

And it sucks that that is the best I can do.

It sucks that I live so far away that I can’t just drop in and spend time with her whenever I want. This is actually the hardest thing about moving and military life- these moments when it’s really tough (more than the normal amount) to be so far from family.

I should tell you though how positive my mom is that the mastectomy and the hormone treatment (which is just taking a pill daily) will be enough. The biopsy of the lymph nodes during the procedure will tell us more but we are all really positive that she won’t need chemo, that there isn’t cancer elsewhere, that this will be one simple (yet painful) procedure and we will wipe our hands of this and be done.  

And yes, cancer sucks. I hate that my mom has cancer. But it isn’t really why I’m pissed.

I’m pissed because she doesn’t deserve this.

Not that I think anyone deserves cancer. I don’t.

But my mom, she really doesn’t deserve cancer.

I’m pissed because she spent over 25 years of her life battling bipolar disorder. Hasn’t she suffered enough?

She spent years of her life misdiagnosed, on the wrong meds, dealing with shitty doctors, in and out of hospitals, missing out on her life.

Wasn’t that enough?

Doesn’t 25 years of hell earn you a free pass on cancer?

It’s been about 5 years since her doctors found the right combination of meds that work for her. They all have weird side effects and it isn’t easy for her on those meds but on them she can live a pretty normal life.

The past few years, especially since my dad took an early retirement due to health issues, my parents have finally been able to live the life they always wanted.  They go to concerts, hang out in Chinatown, spend time with friends, visit family, take vacations and are really, finally, enjoying their life. It only took 60 years but they made it.

So, now for this to happen; I just have to say what the fuck. Really? Cancer, really?

It just doesn’t seem fair. How can someone who has endured so much be slated with another hellacious illness. How the fuck is that right?

Yep. I’m pissed. I think that’s pretty clear.

If I could take the cancer from her I would, in a heartbeat. No doubt about it.

Because that’s my mom, and she doesn’t deserve this.

She’s been through enough, life, didn’t you get the memo?

But here’s the thing. I may be really angry about this but she isn’t.

I may be anxious and nervous and sad but she isn’t.

Because she is a rock, my rock, which is probably why I’m the one freaking out.

And these feelings come in waves. Trust me, I am not spending my day filled with anger, sadness, or despair. For the most part I am pretty positive. My mom is, too. But then again she is the most positive person on the face of the planet. I learned from the master.

But I am still human, so some times my positivity gets pushed aside by that damn feeling of how unfair this all is.

But then I hear my mom’s voice telling me this will all be ok. She will be ok. And I know she is right. Because mom’s know everything.