When I Was Fifteen

One of Mama Kat’s writer’s workshop prompts for this week is to explain how a parent or sibling would’ve described you at the age of fifteen. What an interesting thing that Mama Kat should mention age fifteen!

I turned fifteen in June of 2001. By August, looking back, I was close to insane mentally. This was the summer when I first realized I had alters inside of me, although I didn’t know what they were at the time. I just heard some type of voices that were and at the same time weren’t mine.

Neither my parents nor my younger sister knew this at the time. Still, they did realize something was up, if for no other reason, then because I didn’t care about school. I had always been a pretty studious kind of child, but this changed by November or December of 2001.

In addition, I was a rather angry, moody child. I had suffered from depression on and off since age seven or so, but it was particularly bad at age fifteen. I even made suicide plans several times during that year. My parents, being the type to dismiss mental health issues, felt I was just attention-seeking, of course.

My life turned around in a sort of positive way a few weeks before my sixteenth birthday, although no-one saw either the change or how positive it was at that point. On June 16, 2002, my father called me autistic as an insult. This led me to search the Internet for autism and to discover I may be on the spectrum myself. Although it’d take nearly five more years before I was diagnosed, in part because my parents and teachers didn’t believe me, I see this as a pivotal point in my life.

The day after this, June 17, I finally disclosed to my teacher what had been bothering me over the past year. I sugarcoated it a little, not mentioning the voices or suicidality or autism for that matter. I did tell him I was struggling with being blind in a mainstream school and that I realized I had been less than good of a student lately.

My father, at the time, worked at my school. My teacher told him that I had disclosed something to him, but he refused to tell my father what it was. This led to a really traumatic experience, because my parents demanded to know too and they weren’t kind about it at all. I am pretty sure they just tried to gain fuel for their idea that I was one giant attention-seeker.

Many years later, my parents used many of my struggles at age fifteen to “prove” this very point. I can see their perspective, sort of. Thankfully though, my current professionals don’t go along with it.

Mama’s Losin’ It

Flash Fiction: Depression

I wake up. Another day. Another depressing set of moments in my life. My back hurts. My shoulders are pushed down by the weight of my mood. Today, like sometimes, the great bones of my life feel so heavy. I’m not sure I can take this much longer. So I pray… God, have mercy on my soul. Relieve me from this burden that is the intense sadness of living in the world of 2021. Let me live again, rather than just exist. In Jesus’ name, Amen. I feel better already. Maybe life isn’t so dark after all.


This piece of flash fiction was written for yesterday’s Prosery. The idea of Prosery is to write a piece of flash fiction in 144 words or less (not including the title). It must have a beginning and an end and not be poetry. In addition, you are required to include the line of poetry provided. This week’s line is:

“Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy,”

As you can see, I altered the punctuation, but I did include the entire line.

This piece is partly autobiographical, but still, it is fiction.

Another Appointment With My CPN

Today, I had an appt with my CPN again. I can’t remember all the details, but I did tell her that I had had a breakdown on Sunday. I was completely honest, sharing that I had seen and heard things that aren’t there. It was as if something was truly telling me I’m a monster and everyone will leave me. Then I saw some form of Heavenly light. I can’t describe it really and it wasn’t very vivid even then, but it was more than mere wishful thinking.

My CPN encouraged me to discuss this with the psychiatrist when I see her on the 22nd. I really hope she can help me. My husband later asked me whether it was truly psychosis or a panic attack. I don’t think I was full-on psychotic but my perceptions and thoughts were definitely headed that way. My CPN agreed.

I can’t remember whether I told my CPN, but I had these thoughts and perceptions once before. Well, a few weeks ago I had them too, back when this depressive stuff all started, but then it wasn’t that bad. Back in December of 2009, I think it was even on Christmas, it was. I had run off from the psych ward in the snow. I picked up snowballs and somehow was convinced they contained drug needles. I wasn’t depressed at the time, just batshit crazy. It lasted only for a few hours though, but came back several times within the next few months, only disappearing when I was put on Abilify.

Now I’m pretty pessimistic. After all, I’m already on the highest dose of both Abilify and the antidepressant Celexa. (I mention this because I’m pretty sure I’m depressed, whether clinically or not.) I’m hoping though that the psychiatrist can put me on some PRN medication other than lorazepam, which I can use if I fully break down again. I know I have had experience with Phenergan (promethazine, a low-potency neuroleptic) and that worked great when I was on no other medication but not at all once I was on my current regimen. Maybe the psychiatrist can prescribe me something similar but different.

I also talked to my CPN about the incessant crying. She told me this may be useful. After all, I learned from a young age on to hide all negative emotions except for frustration (because I couldn’t hide that). In fact, I was told that I was “too quick to anger”, but this was used as an excuse to force me to repress every emotion other than a smile. I hadn’t been able to cry unless I was angry first until only a few months ago. As such, my CPN reasoned that I might have a lot of catching up to do.

Fighting the Depression Demon

I was in yet another crisis yesterday. When the extra staff was about to leave, I crashed and started crying. The staff felt somehow obliged to stay and, when she finally left, another staff tried to comfort me. I cried for like three hours.

Then today it seemed to start all over again. I decided to call my husband, who told me to push the depressive thoughts away. I was going to say I feel like a selfish monster for having even unconsciously made the staff stay yesterday, but my husband said that I need to push away those thoughts too.

My husband kept repeating that I’m not a monster and I need to stop those thoughts now. He said that these thoughts are destructive. I find it hard to understand, but maybe on some level I do. I mean, I feel that I’m wicked and that’s why I’m depressed and that’s why I ask for more and more help and that’s why people leave me and that’s why I’m depressed. I can see now that this is a vicious cycle. I’m not sure it isn’t true, but I remember from the little cognitive behavior therapy I took years ago that really it doesn’t matter. It’s non-functional. Or destructive even. And that’s what matters.

My husband tried to remind me that God loves me. I kept getting stuck on technicalities such as the fact that I wasn’t baptized. At first he told me: “So then get baptized if it helps you.” I can’t see how I could be baptized in this time of social distancing.

Then my husband started to tell me that I am at a crossroads and can take one step towards despair or one step towards hope each second. Maybe even if I don’t get baptized at this point, because well I can’t, I can take a number of baby steps towards hope. Towards God.

Lord, please help me take every second as it comes. Please help me choose each second to take that one step, even if it’s a snail’s step (or crawl, whatever snails do), closer to You.

Lord, thank you for bringing my husband into my life. Thank you for speaking through him and reminding me to live positively. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Now I’m totally clueless about the supposed format of prayers, so I have no idea whether this was a proper one. I trust God hears me whether my prayer was written properly though.

#IWSG: Seasons of Writing

IWSG

Today is the first Wednesday of December and that means it’s the last #IWSG day of the year. It’s already late in the evening and I’m not too inspired to write on the topic of writing. I guess I wasn’t too inspired during the month of November at all. I mean, I didn’t have any blog challenges to participate in, so I didn’t write as much as I did in previous months. My private journal and Drafts, an app I use for my random pieces of fiction and poetry, also remained largely empty.

I find myself scrolling past the many writing and poetry Facebook groups I’m in an not even looking at them. It isn’t that I don’t want to write, but it’s probably that I feel my creative juices have more or less dried up and I don’t want to see others’ beautiful work when I’m not able to contribute any myself. Call me selfish for that.

November is a hard month for me. Perhaps the hardest of the year. November 2 marks the anniversary of my major mental health crisis (which happened in 2007). That, combined with some form of winter blues, often has me depressed during November. I often feel less inspired when I’m depressed.

This year, my November was okay writing-wise. In 2018 and 2019, I published significantly fewer blog posts in November than this year. Then again, I’m doing pretty well writing regularly this year overall.

I am not sure whether, with the exception of blog challenges such as the #AtoZChallenge in April, there are any months I consistently blog more or less than others. With respect to my fiction and poetry writing, this tends to go in spurts and then stands still for a long while. This is the case for all of my passions other than blogging.

How I Spent My November

It’s already almost 9PM and I haven’t written anything today, but really want to. One of the end-of-November prompts I received in my mailbox from the International Association of Journal Writers (IAJW) Museletter was to make a list of all the things you spent time on in November and to reflect on what you’d like to change. Here goes.

1. Worrying. And acting out. Particularly early in the month, I was very much overwhelmed. I landed in crisis within the first week of November. I could’ve attributed this to it being the anniversary of my major crisis in 2007, but I know it wasn’t. Finally though, this crisis helped me realize I need more support and actually request it.

2. Walking. I broke my step record three weeks in a row this month. Today I feel almost disappointed for only having gone for short walks in the evening, because it was raining.

3. Faith. I had a true leap of faith this month, which I’m so grateful for. I’m pretty sure that, without God, I wouldn’t be where I’m now. I mean, I truly feel blessed to have come to realize I am beloved. It’s still pretty hard for some of my parts to believe, but we’re getting there.

4. Relaxing. I truly feel blessed to be able to have quiet dinners in my room for now and also to be able to relax more in my bed. Early in the month, I was so worked up that I couldn’t relax. My nights were regularly disturbed by nightmares and, though they still are, my days are calmer.

5. Writing. I’d really like to do more of that in December, but I still managed okay.

6. Talking to my staff, husband and others. I really feel this helped me open up more about my innermost struggles. I sometimes throughout this month have felt a compulsion to perseverate on the same topic over and over again. This is an autistic thing of mine that plays up particularly when I’m experiencing strong emotions, be they positive or negative. I’m glad my staff and husband are okay with it though.

7. Eating. I totally planned to go on a diet in late October, but by early November, this had more or less gone out the window. I do try not to snack too much, but I’m really not in the mood for dieting right now. Hopefully I won’t fully slip back in December.

How did you spend your November?

Gratitude List (November 21, 2020) #TToT

It’s been forever since I last did a gratitude list. I just checked and it’s been five weeks. These weeks have been incredibly hard. I am really struggling to stay positive. I am going to try to come up with some gratefuls anyway. As usual, I’m joining in with #TToT. I’m typing this post on my iPhone, which I hardly ever do nowadays, so sorry for any typing glitches.

1. My husband! Even with our not living together and only talking on the phone most days, he tells me many times a day that he loves me. I am struggling to feel such a powerful emotion due to my current state of depression, but I’m trying to love him back.

2. My faith. My husband, who I always thought was a strong atheist since leaving theology school, has taken a renewed interest in Christianity and this has encouraged me. Today, he recommended a book called You Are Beloved. I am a very progressive believer, but I’ll definitely give this book a try.

3. My staff. They have been so kind to me despite my challenging behavior.

4. My community psychiatric nurse. She has been very helpful.

5. Pizza. Okay, on to the superficial stuff. My husband and I ordered a delicious pizza today. No, not from Domino’s and I must say this one is better!

6. Cheesecake. Two of my fellow clients had their birthdays this past week and another client got to help the staff make cheesecake.

7. Homemade noodles. That same client made those for us on Monday. He used minced meat instead of chicken, but still it was so delicious.

8. Lots of walking. So far this week, I nearly surpassed my step record from last week. I didn’t get in as many minutes in active heartrate zones, but that’s okay.

9. The ability to write and blog. I am not writing as much as I’d like, but at least I’m still writing.

10. A good night’s sleep last night. And yay for no nightmares that I can remember!

What have you been grateful for?

Grief

Today’s Five Minute Friday prompt is Grief. When I first saw it, I knew I just had to write on it, but I didn’t know what to write. In a way, I still don’t know. But let me write anyway.

I have been close to clinically depressed over the past few weeks. I don’t know whether this is grief for something I have lost. Perhaps my old, functional self.

Then again, that functional self was a façade. A mask. Layers upon layers of masks formed within those early years of my life, when I still functioned. On the surface, that is.

And here I am, in a care facility, waiting for the manager and behavior specialist and the funding authority to figure out if I can get one-on-one support. And now I grieve the loss of that façade. I am intensely sad. I worry that if I am truly myself, if I peel off all the layers and layers of masks, an intensely wicked, horrible monster will remain. I can almost literally picture the monster in my mind’s eye.

Everytime I think I’ve found the real, authentic me, and it’s a good thing, it turns out to be yet another alter. I wonder what remains if they all go. Will the intensely wicked, horrible inside of me seep through to the outside world?

I am not very religious, but I do believe in God. Especially in these hard times, I pray. I pray that God will help me remove the layers and layers of masks I’ve put up over the years. I however also pray that, beneath them all, the monster will turn out to be some kind of prince(ss) from Beauty and the Beast or whatever. At least not as wicked as I see it as.

Okay, this turned out very different than I had imagined. This piece does reflect my innermost thoughts. For those who haven’t read my previous posts, I do not see my inner monster as some kind of universal thing, like original sin. In fact, I am convinced that most people are both good and bad. The wickedness applies only to myself. And yes, I know I’m not some type of criminal, but I still see myself as intensely bad.

#WeekendCoffeeShare (November 15, 2020)

Hi everyone! How are you doing? Today I’m joining in with #WeekendCoffeeShare. I just had my afternoon coffee, but there’s still plenty left for you all. We also have various flavors of tea and there’s cold water in the fridge I think. Let’s have a drink and let’s catch up.

If we were having coffee, I’d share that this week was a rather rough one. I am already feeling slightly better now though. I’m still struggling to keep busy when I’m alone, but it’s okay.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you that the weather is pretty mild for november. It’s raining some of the time, but it’s also sunny some of the time and it’s pretty warm for this time of the year, roughly 15°C.

If we were having coffee, I would be proud to tell you that I got in over 65K steps this week so far. That’s a record! I’m probably still going for another walk this evening, so I may break my active heartrate zone minutes record of last week according to my Fitbit too.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you that I’m so immensely grateful for the extra supports my staff put in place for me. Like I mentioned earlier in the week, I was extremely depressed earlier and was seeing no way I could manage at this care home or in this world as a whole for that matter. Thankfully, I got some one-on-one support in the evenings, which are the hardest for me.

I did feel some pressure when a staff said she hoped that in a few weeks, I would not need as much support. This caused me some considerable anxiety, as I worried I’d be kicked out of this home if I didn’t improve in a few weeks. The staff didn’t mean it that way though.

If we were having coffee, lastly I would tell you that my husband came by yesterday. We drove for a bit and then went for a short nature walk. My husband had also brought me some apple pie his father had baked for his birthday. I did struggle to eat it properly whilst in the car, which I felt intense shame about. My husband was okay with it though.

Things Can Only Go Up

Like I mentioned earlier in the week, on Sunday I was in a major crisis. On Monday, the manager came to reassure me that I wouldn’t be kicked out of the care facility. I wasn’t convinced though and got stuck on a comment that seemed to invalidate my need for more support.

On Tuesday and Wednesday, I cried my eyes out. I felt that there’s no place where I truly belong. It didn’t help that my husband said I experience a lot of internal stress so wherever I go, I’ll take that with me. I’m pretty sure he meant it in a more positive way than I took it. However, I took it to mean I’m too wicked and needy and stressed for this world.

On Tuesday, I started envisioning a place I belong and don’t feel pain. Until that point, I had always assumed there must be a better place for me out there within this world. This had led me to check the care agency’s profiles for other homes pretty much on a daily basis. As of last Tuesday though, this “better place” became more like the afterlife. It wasn’t that I wanted to die, but I wanted the intense pain to end.

On Wednesday, I cried for what seemed like forever. I was crying alone in my room and at one point had the sense of clarity to press the call button. There is this extra staff who normally helps out between 6PM and 8PM. She came into my room and said she’d stay with me for the entire two hours. I cried and talked and let all my feelings out.

At one point, this staff asked whether I’d heard of one-on-one support. I had, but asked her to clarify it anyway. She asked me whether that sounded like something I might benefit from. I finally overcame my intense shame and said “Yes”.

Yesterday, I started the day off pretty sad and had some crying fits throughout the day. At about 4:30PM, a staff came to soothe me and said that that evening, I could sign something to get me more help. I wasn’t sure what she meant. Turned out she meant a letter to the manager requesting more support for me.

My assigned staff wrote the letter, with my input, that evening and I signed it. Now of course we still need to wait for the manager’s response. She may also need to request extra funding for me from the authorities. Even though I’ve known about one-on-one support for almost as long as I’ve been at this facility and have secretly wished I could get it many times, I don’t know that much about the technicalities. That’s not my responsibility though.

From now on, I believe the only possible way is up. Even if I don’t get the one-on-one support I need, the staff have a clearer understanding of my needs and will be able to help me more adequately. Also, with my signing of the letter, I sort of also signed for my wish to stay at the current home. I originally intended on breaking my habit of looking for another place today, but still checked. I wasn’t as affected by what I saw though.