Introduction to My Life
Hello everyone,
My name is Jessica, I'm 19 and a student at Queen's University. The most dominant part of my life at present is my mental illness though. And that sucks. I have severe Major Depression and General Anxiety that I have been fighting for 5 years now.
I decided to blog because a lot of people don't understand what it's like to be almost 20 and unable to do what you want to, or support yourself. Maybe you can relate or you can get a new perspective on mental illness. Maybe you just want to know a story. Maybe people who persevere make you happy. Either way, I'm writing this for you and I'm hoping it helps with my recovery as well. Thanks for being here
As a kid I was a straight-A student. I was well-liked by both peers and teachers. I was shy but outgoing (I used to sing at talent shows and as part of a show choir) and overall I'd say I was successful and independent for a kid.
It all changed in High School. In the beginning my marks stayed high, but my confidence floundered, and my thoughts turned dark. During the summer before grade 10 I had my first round of suicidal thoughts; I thought I was too fat and my brain constantly insisted I wasn't good enough. All of that went away on its own as school started up again but after that I was a much more anxious kid.
Stressors in my life were intense for the next year but I hid my pain and pretended to be fine. I was the friend all my friends went to for advice because I "had it together" but in reality I didn't. At all.
The second time I ever got behind the wheel of a car, with my mom in the passenger seat, I hit the gas pedal instead of the break and crashed through the garage door. I cried and completely lost my head. It took over 3 hours for me to figure out how to stop crying or breathe easily. My mom said I could see a counsellor, she actually believed I had an issue now, because I spent hours crying about how much I sucked at everything and how I was a failure, never good enough.
The garage is fixed now. But some people still make fun of me for it. It still hurts. I still see it as a failure. I've been told I'm too hard on myself.
The counsellor I saw said I was anxious and needed to boost my self esteem. Apparently my "Blue/Green personality" was "too blue" and therefore I cared too much about other people's feelings and not enough about my own. Half a year of that only made me feel worse in the long run, as we were only treating my anxiousness and she did nothing for the violent depression I had lurking underneath the surface.
During this time with the counsellor and through my grade 11 year my life seemed perfect. I was pretty damn good at rowing, and to be good at it I got up at 4am and had balanced healthy meals and tons of sleep. Physically, I could not have been healthier.
I also had a boyfriend. The most amazing guy, who cared so much and rowed for a rival team. We were the couple "to be" and dated for a year. My mom tells me now they way he used to look at me when I was upset: like he wanted to give me the world but didn't know how. I was too sick to see how much he cared, and I treated him pretty shitty near the end.
The problem is the depression seeps into your thoughts: you're paranoid. "I hate myself, how could he ever like me?"
And you idolize them, he was perfect to me, I just wanted to be good enough but felt like I wasn't.
I'm not trying to make excuses... I wish I could have been healthy when I was with him, because he made my grade 12 year (which was basically hell on earth) bearable. He probably saved my life, without his support suicide would have been a good option in my mind.
Boyfriend aside, grade 12 was rough. I spent most of it at doctor's appointments. I saw a psychologist who was an hour away from my home town once a week. I saw a physiotherapist 3 times a week for my back which I injured rowing. I saw my family doctor once every 2 weeks to monitor my first try with antidepressants. All while trying to struggle through my last year of high school and get into university. Not a great social calendar.
But it felt like we were going to get somewhere. I started Cipralex at 10 mg, which eventually got bumped to 15 and then the highest dose at 20 mg. I felt it start to work after 4-5 months on it. For almost a year it had felt as if I was travelling through an endless tunnel. There was no light at the end. No thought in my mind that life was ever going to get better or I was ever going to feel okay. And then one day the light switched on. I saw the exit of the tunnel. I wasn't out of the tunnel, I'm still not, but there was the possibility for things to change. I had hope back.
I slipped by in high school with a 79% average, my marks in grade 12 were significantly worse than the rest of my career, but because my Vice Principal saw this he got a teacher to bump one of my marks to give me an 80% average so I would graduate as an Ontario Scholar. I was accepted to Carleton, McMaster, uOttawa and Queen's. I almost followed my high school boyfriend to Carleton but realized Queen's was everything I had ever dreamed. It was a great decision.
I loved residence, loved frosh week, loved my classes. But I couldn't really focus on class. I could barely get through an hour lecture without my brain fogging over. Readings at home never got done.
And around February the dark thoughts came back. I relapsed and cut my arm for the 3rd time in my life. I scared myself shitless. I gave the stuff I cut with to a friend. One of the most amazing people I have ever met (during Queen's frosh week) and went to the doctor. It took a week and a half to get an appointment through the school. When I finally saw someone I was put on an additional antidepressant. 150mg of Wellbutrin was added to the Cipralex and had followups with the doctor every month. Nothing really changed.
I finished my first year of University with a 2.6 GPA, which is alright but to me it was nowhere near good enough. My dream is to go to law school, which won't even consider me without a 3.0
I went home to work at my dad's business for the summer. I got a 2 weeks in to my part time job. I caught a cold virus that damaged my inner ear and caused vertigo. It put me on the couch all summer, when I wasn't in vestibular physiotherapy twice a week. It was brutal. As a then 18 year old, money was something I needed, and job experience was something I needed even more. I missed out on both. And my self esteem and mental health took a huge blow.
The vertigo was gone by the time second year rolled around, and I participated in frosh week as a leader, meeting some more great people. I lead a group of first years with 2 of the girls I met during my Orientation week a year ago. It was fantastic.
I was living in an apartment with 2 friends I had met in residence during first year. It was a tiny apartment. I had a hard time there. The second drug wasn't helping. I watched tv, slept, ate, and did my homework in the same room. When I remembered to eat... mostly I just slept. I cut again after several months of not. I cried myself to sleep. I was doing okay focusing in class but I was miserable. I thought getting a emotional support animal would help but my roommate was allergic. My parents wanted me in an apartment where my studying and entertainment took place in a different room than my sleeping, so I had to move out. My housemates were less than supportive but I left (and continued to pay rent as there was no way out of my lease) for a one bedroom apartment.
I shared my apartment with my new cat for 3 months. The most energetic, adorable cat... with 24 toes. He's a character.
Everything was good. I thought.
One night I believed I was actually going to kill myself. I had a prescription for codeine for migraines. I wanted to take all of them but I couldn't find them. I lost it: threw stuff around my apartment, yelled at my cat, drank rum from the bottle. And I called 911. I don't actually want to die... I just want the pain to end. I went to the ER in an ambulance and sat in a dingy, dark room for 45 minutes by myself. When I finally saw a doctor he told me I wasn't "suicidal" I was just "overwhelmed" and sent me home in a taxi to an empty apartment. I didn't tell anyone until much later.
During the three months in that apartment I saw a psychiatrist for the first time. She took me off both drugs and put me on Effexor, which was useless for me. Everything got worse. I couldn't get out of bed. I forgot to eat. My apartment was a mess. The psychiatrist gave me a drug to help me sleep. Seroquel. Which basically just sedated me. I missed class all the time. I couldn't support myself anymore.
So I dropped all my classes and moved back home, which is basically where I am now. I'm waiting for intake appointments for both outpatient and inpatient care. I don't know where it will take me. It could take awhile to get into any program.
I'm pretty disappointed in myself for having to leave school. I want to be back in September, so I have to do everything in my power to get better now. I'm going to Jamaica in 10 days with my family, I'm extremely excited but worried about the beach (I've gained 30 lbs due to my illness and medication and am very self conscious).
I've been accepted to a Specialized Summer Program in England for British Archeology with a a few of my close friends. I would have to leave May 8th, which puts a deadline on how much I can get done recovery-wise. It's something I will not miss: the opportunity of a lifetime.
I want to keep you all up to date on my recovery process, I want the world to know how hard it is to get help for mental disorders, and I want people to understand that suicide is not the only option, but for people with mental illness, it often feels like it's all they can do to escape. I want people to know how to support friends and family with mental illness...
I've had some really bad friends and some amazing ones and I can understand why people aren't friends with me now. I have a very short fuse and get irritated extremely easily. More than half the time I want to be alone. I'm bitter and sarcastic. But the friends I do have are wonderful. They support me and want what's best. They don't think I'm "fucked up" if I have to go to a mental hospital and they keep me up to speed with what's happening in the real world while I'm stuck at home recovering. I am so grateful. As I am to you for reading this, and for sharing it with people you know.
Talk to you soon,
Jess
My name is Jessica, I'm 19 and a student at Queen's University. The most dominant part of my life at present is my mental illness though. And that sucks. I have severe Major Depression and General Anxiety that I have been fighting for 5 years now.
I decided to blog because a lot of people don't understand what it's like to be almost 20 and unable to do what you want to, or support yourself. Maybe you can relate or you can get a new perspective on mental illness. Maybe you just want to know a story. Maybe people who persevere make you happy. Either way, I'm writing this for you and I'm hoping it helps with my recovery as well. Thanks for being here
As a kid I was a straight-A student. I was well-liked by both peers and teachers. I was shy but outgoing (I used to sing at talent shows and as part of a show choir) and overall I'd say I was successful and independent for a kid.
It all changed in High School. In the beginning my marks stayed high, but my confidence floundered, and my thoughts turned dark. During the summer before grade 10 I had my first round of suicidal thoughts; I thought I was too fat and my brain constantly insisted I wasn't good enough. All of that went away on its own as school started up again but after that I was a much more anxious kid.
Stressors in my life were intense for the next year but I hid my pain and pretended to be fine. I was the friend all my friends went to for advice because I "had it together" but in reality I didn't. At all.
The second time I ever got behind the wheel of a car, with my mom in the passenger seat, I hit the gas pedal instead of the break and crashed through the garage door. I cried and completely lost my head. It took over 3 hours for me to figure out how to stop crying or breathe easily. My mom said I could see a counsellor, she actually believed I had an issue now, because I spent hours crying about how much I sucked at everything and how I was a failure, never good enough.
The garage is fixed now. But some people still make fun of me for it. It still hurts. I still see it as a failure. I've been told I'm too hard on myself.
The counsellor I saw said I was anxious and needed to boost my self esteem. Apparently my "Blue/Green personality" was "too blue" and therefore I cared too much about other people's feelings and not enough about my own. Half a year of that only made me feel worse in the long run, as we were only treating my anxiousness and she did nothing for the violent depression I had lurking underneath the surface.
During this time with the counsellor and through my grade 11 year my life seemed perfect. I was pretty damn good at rowing, and to be good at it I got up at 4am and had balanced healthy meals and tons of sleep. Physically, I could not have been healthier.
I also had a boyfriend. The most amazing guy, who cared so much and rowed for a rival team. We were the couple "to be" and dated for a year. My mom tells me now they way he used to look at me when I was upset: like he wanted to give me the world but didn't know how. I was too sick to see how much he cared, and I treated him pretty shitty near the end.
The problem is the depression seeps into your thoughts: you're paranoid. "I hate myself, how could he ever like me?"
And you idolize them, he was perfect to me, I just wanted to be good enough but felt like I wasn't.
I'm not trying to make excuses... I wish I could have been healthy when I was with him, because he made my grade 12 year (which was basically hell on earth) bearable. He probably saved my life, without his support suicide would have been a good option in my mind.
Boyfriend aside, grade 12 was rough. I spent most of it at doctor's appointments. I saw a psychologist who was an hour away from my home town once a week. I saw a physiotherapist 3 times a week for my back which I injured rowing. I saw my family doctor once every 2 weeks to monitor my first try with antidepressants. All while trying to struggle through my last year of high school and get into university. Not a great social calendar.
But it felt like we were going to get somewhere. I started Cipralex at 10 mg, which eventually got bumped to 15 and then the highest dose at 20 mg. I felt it start to work after 4-5 months on it. For almost a year it had felt as if I was travelling through an endless tunnel. There was no light at the end. No thought in my mind that life was ever going to get better or I was ever going to feel okay. And then one day the light switched on. I saw the exit of the tunnel. I wasn't out of the tunnel, I'm still not, but there was the possibility for things to change. I had hope back.
I slipped by in high school with a 79% average, my marks in grade 12 were significantly worse than the rest of my career, but because my Vice Principal saw this he got a teacher to bump one of my marks to give me an 80% average so I would graduate as an Ontario Scholar. I was accepted to Carleton, McMaster, uOttawa and Queen's. I almost followed my high school boyfriend to Carleton but realized Queen's was everything I had ever dreamed. It was a great decision.
I loved residence, loved frosh week, loved my classes. But I couldn't really focus on class. I could barely get through an hour lecture without my brain fogging over. Readings at home never got done.
And around February the dark thoughts came back. I relapsed and cut my arm for the 3rd time in my life. I scared myself shitless. I gave the stuff I cut with to a friend. One of the most amazing people I have ever met (during Queen's frosh week) and went to the doctor. It took a week and a half to get an appointment through the school. When I finally saw someone I was put on an additional antidepressant. 150mg of Wellbutrin was added to the Cipralex and had followups with the doctor every month. Nothing really changed.
I finished my first year of University with a 2.6 GPA, which is alright but to me it was nowhere near good enough. My dream is to go to law school, which won't even consider me without a 3.0
I went home to work at my dad's business for the summer. I got a 2 weeks in to my part time job. I caught a cold virus that damaged my inner ear and caused vertigo. It put me on the couch all summer, when I wasn't in vestibular physiotherapy twice a week. It was brutal. As a then 18 year old, money was something I needed, and job experience was something I needed even more. I missed out on both. And my self esteem and mental health took a huge blow.
The vertigo was gone by the time second year rolled around, and I participated in frosh week as a leader, meeting some more great people. I lead a group of first years with 2 of the girls I met during my Orientation week a year ago. It was fantastic.
I was living in an apartment with 2 friends I had met in residence during first year. It was a tiny apartment. I had a hard time there. The second drug wasn't helping. I watched tv, slept, ate, and did my homework in the same room. When I remembered to eat... mostly I just slept. I cut again after several months of not. I cried myself to sleep. I was doing okay focusing in class but I was miserable. I thought getting a emotional support animal would help but my roommate was allergic. My parents wanted me in an apartment where my studying and entertainment took place in a different room than my sleeping, so I had to move out. My housemates were less than supportive but I left (and continued to pay rent as there was no way out of my lease) for a one bedroom apartment.
I shared my apartment with my new cat for 3 months. The most energetic, adorable cat... with 24 toes. He's a character.
Everything was good. I thought.
One night I believed I was actually going to kill myself. I had a prescription for codeine for migraines. I wanted to take all of them but I couldn't find them. I lost it: threw stuff around my apartment, yelled at my cat, drank rum from the bottle. And I called 911. I don't actually want to die... I just want the pain to end. I went to the ER in an ambulance and sat in a dingy, dark room for 45 minutes by myself. When I finally saw a doctor he told me I wasn't "suicidal" I was just "overwhelmed" and sent me home in a taxi to an empty apartment. I didn't tell anyone until much later.
During the three months in that apartment I saw a psychiatrist for the first time. She took me off both drugs and put me on Effexor, which was useless for me. Everything got worse. I couldn't get out of bed. I forgot to eat. My apartment was a mess. The psychiatrist gave me a drug to help me sleep. Seroquel. Which basically just sedated me. I missed class all the time. I couldn't support myself anymore.
So I dropped all my classes and moved back home, which is basically where I am now. I'm waiting for intake appointments for both outpatient and inpatient care. I don't know where it will take me. It could take awhile to get into any program.
I'm pretty disappointed in myself for having to leave school. I want to be back in September, so I have to do everything in my power to get better now. I'm going to Jamaica in 10 days with my family, I'm extremely excited but worried about the beach (I've gained 30 lbs due to my illness and medication and am very self conscious).
I've been accepted to a Specialized Summer Program in England for British Archeology with a a few of my close friends. I would have to leave May 8th, which puts a deadline on how much I can get done recovery-wise. It's something I will not miss: the opportunity of a lifetime.
I want to keep you all up to date on my recovery process, I want the world to know how hard it is to get help for mental disorders, and I want people to understand that suicide is not the only option, but for people with mental illness, it often feels like it's all they can do to escape. I want people to know how to support friends and family with mental illness...
I've had some really bad friends and some amazing ones and I can understand why people aren't friends with me now. I have a very short fuse and get irritated extremely easily. More than half the time I want to be alone. I'm bitter and sarcastic. But the friends I do have are wonderful. They support me and want what's best. They don't think I'm "fucked up" if I have to go to a mental hospital and they keep me up to speed with what's happening in the real world while I'm stuck at home recovering. I am so grateful. As I am to you for reading this, and for sharing it with people you know.
Talk to you soon,
Jess
Hi. I just wanted to say that you're actually a very brightening personality when you choose to be. I too have been living both as and under a shadow -- though I've only ever talked about it under a pseudonym.
ReplyDeleteLast year, Downtown Chown, you were one of few people who I could be around, where I could forget about the weight on my shoulders.
Coincidentally, I have also "taken" -- quotations which I shan't explain now -- this year off after I was unable to participate in my second year of schooling.
So, you're not alone in that respect, and you've got friends to support you in all cases.
I'll be following along with your story as I try to figure out mine. Ainsi va la vie, non?
--Cheers,
Anon.
Thanks so much <3 I think I've always faced life with a smile on my face, even as I was crying inside. But a lot of people in Chown made my first year so smooth and wonderful and I thank you for being a part of that. I hope you get what you want out of this year break
ReplyDelete