Demons and Diamonds

Today is a special day in two counts. One is a count of days added to my life; the other is a count down to my new life. Today marks two years of living after a failed suicide attempt and exactly forty-nine days until I marry my best friend.

When I reflect on how dark my life was two years ago, I am still surprised I survived. I nearly didn't. But I am so glad I did! I have met many good people and friends in the last two years that I wouldn't have met otherwise. I've lived in three different states in the last two years, and I'm about to add another to that list. And I met the man I'm soon marrying.

Someone recently asked me about my relationship with Matt, and I realized that I wouldn't be as good a match for him had I not experienced everything involved in my suicide attempt. There are several reasons why, but the biggest one is I learned not to judge people by their past. Had I met Matt earlier than when I did, I wouldn't have given him a third date. He would have just been another passerby. He often says the same.

However, God is so good. He led me on a path that I took to mean failure. In reality, He was moving me toward something greater in places I didn't think or want to look.

My demons are still here and will likely always be with me. Yet, now I have a companion to help me defeat them. I have to fight my own battles, but Matt is there to hand me a new weapon after the first one breaks. (He jokes that the "Beyond" in Bed Bath & Beyond stands for battle axes.) That is what the diamond on my hand stands for: a partner to support me when the demons feel too big, and someone to continue counting days of living with me.

Here's to living and trusting in God's timing and love.

Current count: 49 days until the wedding
Current count: 730 days of living

My Answer to a Dreaded Question

Last night, a family friend asked me the question I currently dread most: "What are you up to these days?"

I gave some answer that satisfied his question, but my mumbling about going back to school and looking for work told nothing of the journey that got me where I am today. To the outsider, it looks like I'm doing nothing with my life. To those who know me well, they know it has been a long, hard battle to reach my current mental state.

Three years ago almost to the day, my life took an unfathomable turn for the worse (and ultimately for the better). The turning point was a phone call from someone I considered my friend that turned my world upside down. Now, I won't go into the details because I don't want to dredge up old wounds; however, I will tell you that that phone call set me on the path to my mental health deterioration. Shortly after, I began having regular panic attacks that interfered with school, church, work, and every other aspect of my life for the next six months.

Towards the fall of 2015, I sunk into an episode of depression, which I talked about in this post. I thought I had reached my lowest point when I wrote that post, and at that time, I had. What I didn't know was that 2016 would be even scarier than the previous year. Just when I thought it couldn't get worse, it did. You can read about that in this post, in which I wrote about my biggest suicide attempt. I'm happy to say I haven't had any attempts since April of 2016!

Now, we come to 2017. If you had told me that this year would entail my living in two different states, suffering one of my hardest heartbreaks, experiencing family illness and death, and finding myself back in my hometown, I probably would have told you to go away in uncharacteristically harsh language. Yet, here I sit with the year coming to a close having survived another year and somehow managed to be in my healthiest mental state in years! I find myself having successfully finished a semester of college, having met new friends, maintained my boundaries, and having gained a confidence, strength and self-awareness I didn't have before.

This is not to say I will never struggle with depression or anxiety again. Those monsters still sneak up on me once in a while to make sure I won't forget them, but I now know how to handle them and how to keep them manageable. I even have had the opportunity to love and support some of my dear friends in their own mental health struggles. These instances make all my hardships worth something. My journey to good health is far from over, yet it becomes easier each day. It is easier to get out of bed. It is easier to laugh at something my date said. It is easier to serve someone. It is easier to create again. And it is ever easier to hope.

So, to answer the dreaded question above, I am living; I am thriving; I am becoming a better me.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit this suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or text “Hello” to 741-741.

Why I Stay

On the days I don't want to stay, I read a lot of articles and blog posts about reasons to stay, and I've decided to share my list. Maybe it can help someone find a reason to stay too. Some are trivial, some are universal. All of them are mine.

I stay for the fresh smelling rain of the Pacific Northwest. It wasn't until yesterday when I remembered just how much NW rain brings me joy.

I stay for all the quilt projects I want to finish.

I stay for friends who have touched my life.

I stay for the days when I can finish a workout and am glad that I started.

I stay for running days. I still don't love running, but I love the accomplished feeling when I cross the finish line!

I stay for goals yet to be accomplished like earning my bachelor's and master's degrees.

I stay for ice cream and dark chocolate.

I stay for my new dreams like spending a birthday in the Southern Hemisphere. I've always wanted to experience a summer birthday.

I stay for my nieces and nephews, who are my top nine reasons for staying! 

I stay for future adventures with friends and especially with my nieces and nephews.

But most of all, I stay for me. My story is not done. I stay to live and share it.

The Same Road, Two Very Different Road Trips

This week is National Suicide Prevention week in the United States. Because of that, I want to write two posts, one about the last time I was actively suicidal and another about why I stay (this year's theme of TWLOHA).

Let me set the stage. These road trips happen along I-15 from California to Utah, a route I have driven many times. Specifically, these moments happen on I-15 driving north of Cedar City, Utah.

March 2017
I'm on my way to attend FanX with my oldest nieces. I know it will be a fun time. We are seeing the new "Beauty and the Beast" on opening day. We're scheduled to take pictures with a couple celebrities and all have costumes. Okay, my costumes are just fan shirts, but that's how I roll. All of that is the good I'm excited for during this trip.

The downside? I'll be seeing my recent ex-boyfriend a week after a very emotional breakup. I want to see him and I don't. I'm feeling rejected by him but more so from God. It is a dark place. I am back in my dungeon and feeling a loss of hope. Not even my "Bad Day" playlist will help today.

That darkness and loss of hope leads me to contemplate driving into oncoming traffic. It's a serious consideration that is both enticing and scary. Thankfully (I suppose), I've been down this path before and know the danger signs well enough to reach out for help.

--

I didn't pull into oncoming traffic and made it to Utah safely, but there was a good stretch of road where that outcome was questionable. I did make it through that trip with all its fun moments and emotional moments. It proved, once again, that I need my family sometimes to survive.

Myself and my nieces, Whitney and Monique heading to FanX the day after driving

This brings me to the second trip.

July 2017

I am on my way to Utah once again. This trip is quite different from the last time. Happy music is blasting, and I'm singing along to all the songs. I'm excited to see my family, excited to watch my niece play softball, and making really good time.

At some point, I realize I've reached the stretch of road where I was suicidal months before and the contrast hits me. This is the proof that I am in a better headspace, proof that I am healthier, proof that all the therapy and doctor's appointments have been worth it. This is the confirmation I've needed before going after new dreams. 

This is the ultimate proof that hope and healing are real.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit this suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or text “Hello” to 741-741.

365 Days of Living

Today is the first anniversary of my suicide attempt, which you can read about in this post here.

It's been 365 days of fighting demons and learning that life is worth the fight. There have been good days and bad days, but what I've learned the most is that this process isn't linear. My fight isn't over, but there are less demons than before. I can get out of bed nearly every day. I am going back to work soon and making plans to live on my own again later this year. I finally found a therapist I like and a medication that works. I am making healthy changes, setting running goals and finding my passions to build a fulfilling life. In fact, I'm participating in the Unmasked 10M event put on by the Hogwarts Running Club and benefiting TWLOHA, an organization so dear to my heart. Not only does this combine two of my sources of hope, I decided it also was one of the best ways to celebrate living.

Because of my experiences this last year, the knowledge that God has been and will always be right beside me is now permanently embedded into my soul. He is shaping me into more than I ever dreamed and guiding my life to become more than what I planned.

Because today stirs up so many emotions, I am choosing to focus the most on gratitude.

To everyone in my life, thank you. Thank you for your prayers and kind thoughts sent my way. Thank you for reminding me of my value when I cannot see it myself. 

To those who stayed with me through my darkest and most desperate times, I can't thank you enough. You were my lifeline when I couldn't help myself. Your words of support, texts, and confidence in me reminded me that I had strength to continue on.

To those who left and who kept their boundaries, thank you for recognizing what you could handle and for choosing to take care of yourself. Self-care is so important.

To my therapists, thank you for working with me and for guiding me through the dark maze of depression. You helped me see my gradual progress and gave me hope for better things to come. Thank you for accepting me as I was each time I entered your office whether it was a good or bad mental health day.

To my amazing nieces, thank you for showing wisdom beyond your ages by accepting that I couldn't always keep my promises. Thank you for being concerned and expressing your unconditional love to me. Some days, your love is the only thing that keeps me fighting.

To my family, thank you for the support you've given me this year, whether emotional, financial, physical, or just your love. I wouldn't be as healthy as I am today without your care and support. Thank you for the tough love that was needed (and sometimes not). I know you are trying your best to understand, and I love you for that.

Please, please, if you or someone you know is struggling, take heart. There is hope in the darkness. Help is available. You matter. You are important. 

If you or someone you know needs help, visit this suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or text “Hello” to 741-741.

My Suicide Attempt

To read the background story of my struggle with depression, click here.

I've felt like I wanted and needed to share my suicide story for a while, but it's rather scary to share it. Now that it is several months later, I'm not embarrassed or ashamed about it. I've actually started talking about it in a matter of fact way during some conversations. In honor of National Suicide Prevention Week this week, I decided it was time to share my story. This post will give a timeline of what happened and share parts of journal entries I wrote while in the hospital (quotations in italics). It seems less scary to share what I've already written.

Thursday, April 28, 2016

I overdosed Thursday on Tylenol PM. I took 28 pills over the course of the day. Finally, I asked to be taken to the ER around 11:30 pm. I'm still not sure why I overdosed other than I stopped caring about anything.

I didn't recognize the warning signs the days leading up to Thursday. I've now since learned that I become enraged and then I just don't care about anything. It's a coping mechanism, albeit a bad one, for when I can't deal with the situation anymore. I don't recall a specific trigger for that day. I know I was angry and then said "Screw it. I'm done." And I meant it. I specifically went to the store to buy a bottle of Tylenol PM with the intention to kill myself. I took a few and went to sleep. When I woke up, I took several more. This happened over and over throughout the day. Finally, I was feeling nauseated and a rational thought kicked in.

I texted my friend, Liz and asked her to take me to the hospital. I'm very fortunate that I had the rationality in the moment to ask for help and that she was still awake.

Friday, April 29, 2016

I was cognizant enough when we arrived at the hospital that I could provide all the necessary information to check me into the ER. I threw up before being taken back to a room, so my stomach didn't need to be pumped. I'm grateful for that. Sometime after midnight, I was taken to a room and hooked up to an IV, was poked and prodded for blood tests, asked to give a urine sample (which is really hard for me even on a good day). Liz was a trooper and stayed with me for a couple hours. She contacted the people who needed to know where I was, such as my ward leaders, family, and work.

I spent the night in the ER room while they ran tests on my liver and monitored my vitals. Around lunch time, I was admitted to a regular hospital room under 24 hour surveillance. I had a CNA or nurse with me at all times. While there, more tests were done and more IVs were given to flush my system. I had a few visitors and several phone calls from friends and family to check on me. There was a mixture of shock and concern. A friend even brought me ice cream!

I was able to have a serious talk with the night nurse about what happened. It was the first time I felt safe talking about my suicide attempt. Most of the doctors I had talked to up to that point had made me feel like I was being lectured. I knew it was a very serious situation, so I didn’t need a lecture about that. If I hadn’t known the severity of the situation, I probably wouldn’t have asked to go to the hospital. I was thankful to have a nurse treat me as an adult and a person who needed help.

Saturday, April 30, 2016

Sometime after breakfast, the doctor came in with the test results on my liver. Everything was alright.

I could have done serious damage to my liver and body, but I am fine through the grace of God. It truly is a miracle that I did not have any permanent damage. This paradoxically feels like rock bottom and a good thing. I don’t believe in coincidences, so I will use this time in the hospital to focus on my recovery without too many distractions. For a long time, I have felt like I have been losing my faith. I think I was fooling myself and letting Satan lie to me. This experience has reawakened my soul to feel again. I still have time left on Earth to give to God.

I spent most of the day in my hospital room waiting to be transferred to the Behavior Unit. After being cooped up in my room for such a long time, my nurse and I did laps around the hall. We even gave my IV stand a clever name, although I can’t remember it now.

Around dinner time, I was transferred to the Behavior Unit of the hospital. I must say I was nervous beyond all get out. I had sent most of my things home with a friend because I knew there were more restrictions on the Behavior Unit.

The unit here is pretty restrictive. In order to keep us safe and help with recovery, I don’t have access to any electronics including my phone. Visitors can visit for one hour each day in the evening. Phone calls are less restricted, so I wrote down as many phone numbers as I could before having to hand over my phone. So far, the staff and other residents have been nice and offered me support.

I pretty much arrived with only the clothes on my back. My phone and a few other things that weren’t allowed were placed in a bin and locked away for safe keeping. I had a private room with a bathroom and a nice view out the window of the mountains. I almost could see my apartment complex down the street. Upon arriving, I felt so lost and alone that I broke down in tears in my room. The emotions of my reality were sinking in. The doctor came in for my assessment and found me crying near the window. He was really reassuring and one of the kindest men I have ever met.

Because my transfer from the regular hospital to the confidential unit was so quick, I managed to text a few friends and family the info before having to turn in my phone. There was one funny mishap that came from that transition. I had asked a friend to visit me after I was transferred. Here’s what happened.

[My friend] rode his bike to the hospital all the way from Sandy (about 9 miles) to visit me but was sent away because he didn’t know my floor. Because I am a confidential patient, I am not listed on the regular list at the front desk. He called my unit on his way home. He accused me of being a ghost and then told me all the items he had brought for me to help stave off boredom. Most of the items turned out to be not allowed, so it kind of worked out for the best. His gesture was really sweet. I appreciated his thoughtfulness so much that first day.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit this suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or text “Hello” to 741-741.

Just Like Piecing a Quilt

Healing is like making a quilt. 

A quilt starts off as bolts of different fabric in the store, perfectly content to be on the shelf. The fabric minds its own business until someone comes and cuts off a yard or two or three. Then the fabric is taken home where it is cut again into pieces of various sizes. The fabric may even wonder why it is being cut into smaller pieces.

The fabric doesn't know what pattern the quilter envisions, nor does it know the beautiful masterpiece it will become in the end. Sometimes, the quilt takes a bit of configuring if a piece isn't cut correctly or if the pieces don't fit quite right.

A lot of work, time and patience are required of the quilter as piece after piece is sewn together creating blocks. Assembling the pieces seems never ending. Blocks are remade if a piece was cut incorrectly. Mistakes are made, seams are ripped out and resewn. Blocks are rearranged until the perfect combination is found. Often, the original plan is changed a bit to create an even better masterpiece.

Then there is the intricate work of quilting the quilt, or sewing the quilt top, batting and back together. This can take a long time if done by hand. It's quite amazing to see a flat quilt top come to life as the tiny stitches add texture and compliment the quilt design.

As I chose these quilt pictures, I realized how long it took me to finish. I began piecing it in October 2013. I remember making the flying geese blocks (all the triangles) and cursing them because there were so many and because the sewing had to be perfect for all blocks to be straight. I finished the quilt top in February 2014 in time for my friend's baby shower. But it took me until August 2014 to quilt it by hand and finish the binding- just in time to enter it into the State Fair.  It was a labor of love and my favorite quilt I have made so far.

What does this have to do with healing? It's the same process. I think I'm in the sewing and seam ripping stage, where things feel worse as they are improving and the light seems like it will never return. But all hope is not lost! It is that same labor of love I need to put into myself. Work, time and patience are required for healing. I have faith that working through my depression will ultimately lead to the masterpiece of my life quilt that God has planned. I cannot see the outcome, but I know He can. I just have to hold onto that.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit this suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or text “Hello” to 741-741.

Depression: My Unwanted Companion Part 2

Depression is a mental illness. Major Depression is one type and is defined by the National Institute of Mental Health as "severe symptoms that interfere with your ability to work, sleep, study, eat, and enjoy life."

Depression can have several symptoms. This time, I seem to have emotional extremes with no middle ground. I either have a good day where life feels normal, or I have a bad day where I am really sad, frustrated, angry, or anxious. (By "bad day", I mean a day where my depression is overpowering and outweighing everything else.) There have only been a few scary times when I felt completely empty. One of those times resulted in an overdose attempt, which is why those times are so scary to me.

There have been countless people who have supported and loved me through all of this whether I reached out to them or not. I am grateful for the friends who have stuck it out and haven't left me. The biggest paradox of my depression is the desire for isolation and desperate need for friends. I hesitate every time I reach out to someone, especially on the days I am most drawn into myself.

Because I know how difficult it is when a friend with depression reaches out to you, here are two recommendations on articles for what to say or not say to someone with depression: here and here.

When I reach out to someone during a panic attack or a bad day, I'm seeking reassurance that I am not alone and that I will survive whatever I am going through in that moment. Comments such as "I'm here" or "You will be okay" are the most helpful to me.

One of the side effects of my depression is I have become a very timid and shy little girl. As I said before, I often hesitate to reach out to someone because I feel like I am bothering them. I know I am not a bother, otherwise, the people I reach out to would have told me to get lost long ago. However, I still feel that way. I often push through it and still reach out, and sometimes, I don't. 

The hardest thing about feeling so timid is I often turn to only two or three people when I need help. The most common phrase I hear in some form or another is someone asking how they can help. I often won't ask for what I need because for whatever reason I think I just can't ask someone to help with that. Honestly, help with things like laundry, cooking, grocery shopping, and cleaning my room is what I need most, but I'm often too embarrassed, prideful, or I lack the energy to ask for what I need.

This isn't the end. One day at a time is all I can do for now. And that's okay.

Recommended posts from the To Write Love on Her Arms blog:

Five Lies Depression Told Me

For Those Who Have Stayed

But Your Life Isn't That Bad

Click to read Part 1.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit this suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or text “Hello” to 741-741.

Depression: My Unwanted Companion Part 1

This is a really scary two part post for me, but it's one I've been thinking about for a while now. After reading a blog post today on the To Write Love on Her Arms blog asking people to share their stories before they are finished, I decided today was the day. Here is my story as it is being written.

I may have dealt with depression before this, but the first time I knew for sure I was struggling with depression was after my mom's stroke three years ago. Expecting to spend Christmas in Venice that year, I stopped in Washington to visit my parents before I was to leave. When I arrived in Washington, my dad and I went straight to the hospital to visit my mom who had gone in the day before. I learned my mom had had a stroke and changed my plans to stay in Washington to be there for my mom and dad. 

After spending nearly a month of taking care of my mom and being a support for my dad, I returned to Utah emotionally depleted. I had nothing left to give. I retreated into myself over the first few weeks I was home. I know I wasn't a pleasant roommate at the time. (Thank you for still being my friend after that Adri!) Reading became my refuge; I devoured book after book. I read 15 or so books in two months, which eventually led to my reading goal of 50 books that year. During this time, I also started therapy. I remember using a scene in a comic strip to describe how I felt to my therapist. I felt as if I was trapped in a dungeon much like the following scene from Rose is Rose by Don Wimmer and Pat Brady. 

Through the personal work I did in therapy and the constant love given to me by my friends, I eventually made my way out of that dungeon and stayed out for a long time.

Then 2015 happened.

This year has been one of the hardest years of my life. After dealing with constant panic attacks for the first half of the year and heartbreak, I managed to find myself back in my dark dungeon called depression. There wasn't an evident cause like last time, although my guess is it was again depletion depression. Anxiety and depression are two sides to a teeter-totter. They are often found together.

At first, I thought I was just dealing with homesickness because I had recently returned from a week of visiting my parents in Washington. But the sadness lingered and worsened. I retreated into myself and hid in my room. I think there was a week where my roommates didn't see me at all. I stopped going to church for several weeks and cancelled on plans with friends. Frankly, it's amazing I made it to work those weeks.

People began to notice and reach out to me, which I appreciated; however, I wasn't ready or willing to ask for help. I kept thinking things would improve as if by magic. They didn't. My depression started interfering with work and with my health. I stopped eating and didn't sleep well. I felt as though I was under an avalanche and the more I kept trying to get out from underneath it, the more it caved in on me. It was kind of like this Wile E Coyote clip:

Finally after about a month of trying it on my own, I admitted I needed help. I met with my bishop in one of the hardest interviews of my life. He put me in contact with a wonderful therapist two days later.

Continued in Part 2 

If you or someone you know needs help, visit this suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or text “Hello” to 741-741.

The Starting Line

I am not a runner. There, I said it.

I don't remember who first suggested it, but the idea came about for my aunt, my sister-in-law, and I to run a race together. At a family gathering back in June, we decided we would run the Cowtown Half Marathon in Fort Worth, TX next February. So, let me say this again. I am not a runner... yet.

Today was my first training run. It was a great accomplishment for me!

This year has been a crazy adventure of dealing with anxiety and depression. The last month or so, my depression has become paralyzing where I have the hardest time doing anything. That's how I spent last weekend. So, convincing myself to leave the house after work, let alone to go running, was a huge success for me. I am hoping focusing on my training will help me deal with my depression in addition to improving my overall health.

So, there you have it. I will post updates on my training so I can track my improvements over the next several months until I reach the finish line.

Today's Workout
Total Distance: 2.85
Total time: 44:34
15:38 mile average