My Year with "Clinical" Depression, How I Fought Back and Still Fight Every Day

Thank you to everyone who contributed, read, shared and discussed the Life is Sweet series this year. This isn't about a day or a month of posts though, we need to keep the conversation going every single day. With 1 in 5 people being directly impacted by a mental health concern and the other 4 knowing someone who is impacted directly, it really is up to all of us to talk, share, support, help & hug. 

My friend Esther shared this post on her Facebook for Bell Let's Talk Day and I'm happy to round out our month of posts with it here. 

I always knew I was depressed, from the time I was about 13 years old. Last year, which was 15 years later, I decided to finally seek a Doctor's help.

2014 was the year I was diagnosed as depressed with high anxiety. I cried tears of relief and sadness when I was told. What I'd known for years was confirmed and validated by a medical professional. It was a relief to know I wasn't just feeling this way for years, for no reason. It was also really scary. You think "Now that this is "real", what now? Will it get better? How will my life change?"

I was put on an anti-depressant known as Effexor (Venlafaxine), a drug for treating severe depression and anxiety. I did not know then that I was being introduced to the devil.

Let me say right now that my Nurse at the Artists' Health Centre (an AMAZING resource by the way for any professional artists) gave me fair warning about Effexor. She told me that going on Effexor is one thing, but if I ever no longer wanted the meds, I would have an uncomfortable time getting off of them. How I wish I'd taken her words to heart. Or at least Googled or something to see what she meant. More about my hell time getting off the meds in a minute.

First, let's chat about Effexor. It causes a whole school of side effects (as do most anti-depressants), and I don't even think they are really "side effects". These things happen. Period. Last year I gained about 20 pounds, even though I was eating healthier than ever and exercising. The weight gain made me even more depressed, and shot what little self-esteem I had left. So what was the Doctor's answer? MORE MEDS! My dosage was upped. Eventually I started losing interest in everything, and feeling very numb. Nothing made me genuinely excited anymore. And guess what? Those are some of the very symptoms of depression. So it seemed the anti-depressants weren't really so... anti, after all. There had to be a better way. Maybe even a less expensive way (Oh that's right, not only were the anti-depressants turning me numb, my wallet was sobbing too).

Last summer, I started looking to natural alternatives, and high doses of good quality vitamins. I started reading about the link between serotonin and depression. Many research studies suggest serotonin imbalance in the body as a root cause of depression. So, how then does one boost serotonin naturally without pharmaceuticals? Through diet and exercise.

I despise exercising. I really do. I've hated it since Grade school when everyone else got their golden 'Kilometre Club' popsicle sticks while I could barely get a blue one because I sucked at running. However - many people have said it, and I now agree, that the best medication for depression is exercise. I work out every day now. Even if it's just half an hour. I still do not like it. But I do it. And I'm trying to get better at it.

As for diet, the bad news is, there are no foods that directly boost serotonin production. The good news is, another natural chemical in the body known as tryptophan, which is the amino acid from which serotonin is made, is found in lots of good foods! Fun fact, taking a really good quality B-6 Vitamin increases the rate at which tryptophan is converted into serotonin. And the best part is - no gaining 20 pounds, or other nasty side effects that come from the "do not want" chemicals in my Effexor.

Speaking of the Effexor - flash forward to December 2014. I decided it was time to end my relationship with this drug. Oh, but it certainly wasn't ready to release its hold on me. I'd gotten down to the lowest possible dose, 37.5mg, and tried 'cold turkey' at first, then tried gradually decreasing the dosage by removing 'granules' inside the capsules. Day 1 was the worst thing I've possibly ever experienced, and I thought, "Well, at least it can't get any worse, right?" WRONG. The withdrawal symptoms just kept getting more severe. Let's go over a a few, shall we?

 - "Brain Zaps": This is the biggest one when coming off Effexor. It basically feels like someone is coming along and jolting your brain repeatedly for about 10 seconds until you nearly faint. That happened approximately every three minutes.
- Nausea, cramping, and vomiting: All three. It was great! (Said no one ever.)
- Unstoppable crying at any given time: Oh so THERE'S where all my tears went in the last year. I was in rehearsals for a show at the time, and every time the stage manager called break or lunch I would run to the bathroom and sob. Why? No reason. At all.
- Night Terrors: Basically extreme nightmares every night.
- Night Sweats: The only reprieve from the night terrors was waking up. But covered in night sweats. So that wasn't too great either.
- Dizziness: All the damn time.

Those were honestly a small fraction of the withdrawal symptoms. Effexor had effectively kicked my ass and I had zero fight left in me. I had no choice but to go back on the meds, at least until my show closed. It was devastating. I continued throughout the run of my show to read other people's stories on Effexor, and how they beat it. It was heartbreaking to read other people's battles with trying to free themselves from the clutch of this awful drug. Then I came across one woman's story of how she got off Effexor by doing something called 'Prozac bridging", a method where you gradually decrease the Effexor, then take a very low dose of Prozac, until you are left with just Prozac. Then, you take the Prozac one day on, one day off, then one day on, two days off, and so on and so forth.

I wasn't too sure about mixing the medications, or if it would work, so once I returned home from Ottawa from my show contract, I went back to the Artists Health Centre and chatted with my nurse about the Prozac bridging article I'd read. She admitted she wasn't sure about it herself, and consulted a couple colleagues who had heard of this process, and said it was safe to do, so long as I was on the lowest dose of Effexor. Green light. The first couple days were tough, but I certainly wasn't having any severe side effects like I was having the first time I tried to go off of it. It got easier every day.

I am so incredibly proud to say that today, January 28th 2015, is Day 5 for me of being totally medication free. 

So - am I still 'depressed'? Yes. It's a medical condition and unfortunately that will not go away. But I've learned and adapted to better ways of treating my depression, like exercising every day. Also, eating foods that contain high amounts of tryptophan that'll boost serotonin production, and taking really good quality vitamins... in particular, liquid Vitamin D (absorbed much faster in the bloodstream, therefore works quicker!), B-6, Niacin (B-3), and a solid multi vitamin. I'm also taking natural supplements called 5-HTP which produces tryptophan to move along that serotonin boosting, and Ashwaghanda which helps anxiety and stress disorders. Know what else I love? Essential orange oil. A couple drops in my hands, then breathing it in for about 10 seconds. Immediate mood booster. 

Am I happier treating my depression this way? You bet. I'm not there yet and it's going to take awhile, but I can find little bits of myself returning. I'm starting to feel like a better version of myself every day, and a more present version of myself. I am so, so incredibly grateful for that.

Esther is a Toronto native and works as a musical theatre performer. She is a lover of all things pink, Disney, girly, and frilly. You can usually find her around Toronto riding on her pink bicycle while belting out a showtune or five. Esther is also currently pursuing her side passion - learning about holistic nutrition.

Yesterday was Fine, Wasn't It?

I received this post this week and then received an almost identical message following my post on my mom's death anniversary on Tuesday. This is why the Life is Sweet series and sharing my story alongside so many others is so important to me. We are not alone. 

There are often times I don’t know how to deal with my feelings. Many days I feel fine, but then all of sudden, like from out of nowhere, BOOM, I feel every awful feeling at once. Sadness, hatred, anger, unappreciated, overwhelmed; as if I’m drowning in my own feelings. I can’t control myself in those moments, I’m 30 and still can’t figure out a way to control my feelings like a fully functioning adult should. I run to the bathroom or anywhere I can lock myself from everyone else and cry and scream and think all sorts of horrible thoughts.

In that moment I think of how much better my family would be without me. Or would they be?

They wouldn’t have to witness my breakdowns; my children might have a better chance at self-control, since I am certainly not a great teacher of that particular skill. Then as I think of how I would do it, how I could end my life, I stop, breathe and think of how my friend has felt ever since losing her mother while we were in grade school. Her mom unfortunately succumbed to these types feelings.

I think of the wonderful things I would miss with my children, and how hurt my family would be. How would my husband raise our kids on his own? Even though it might put an immediate end to my internal fight, what would happen to everyone else? Then I cry harder, wishing so much that I could control myself, my feelings, and my thoughts. I think, "what just happened in that moment to push me over the edge? Yesterday was fine, wasn’t it?"

Many times I’ve attempted to get help. Seeing many different counselors, taking classes, trying to start exercising regularly (which for one reason or another never happens). I feel I have not yet found someone who is able to properly assist me. I am trying very hard not take meds yet as I want to try all the natural methods I can first. It’s not have I think there is anything wrong with medication, but I’ve watched my mom take it since I was in elementary school and I just always hoped I could find an alternative. However, I also am more aware that it might end up being the only thing that will help. 

Since depression and anxiety run in my family I knew it was something that I needed to be mindful of, though I often try to deny these feelings. I’m still searching for help, and know that I want to feel better for myself, my children and my family. I want to be the mom, daughter, sister, wife and friend that people deserve for me to be. I just am still unsure of how to get there. I hope I will find someone who is able to help me soon so that I could at least have the tools to take control of my feelings.

Though it’s bittersweet, I think the thought of my friend and her mom helps keep me from doing the unthinkable. I was lucky to have known her and she raised a beautiful human being in her short time here.

Fire Within

I feel very lucky that in hosting the Life is Sweet series that people feel comfortable enough to share their stories with me, and anyone who reads this blog. The feedback I've gotten from the series this year has been an incredible reminder that we are not alone. Thank you to Ashley for joining the writers this year and sharing her story. 

Rage.

Everywhere, in all things, and of course, sadness.  For as long as I can remember, my world has always been tinged with an underlying layer of anger.  Whether the anger was the catalyst for the sadness or the other way around, I’ll never be quite sure.  One thing I do know is that my view of reality has always been a little skewed. 

Despite the trouble it’s caused me, I’m convinced that this rage is what got me through my younger years.  There were a whole host of issues I was dealing with.  I’m part albino and I was classified as legally blind until the end of high-school with no help to be found from glasses or contacts.  I was also diagnosed at the age of 10 with something called Tactile Defensiveness, a sensory disorder that caused me to be bothered by things that no one else would notice.  I had a hard time making and keeping friends and became an easy target for bullies.  I couldn’t wait to grow up and have a better life away from all my problems.  Too bad I didn’t know that things wouldn’t necessarily get better just because I got older. 

Over the years I slowly learned more about the various disorders that I was dealing with and that knowledge did help me but I was still sad and most of all underneath everything was the anger, the rage. 

A little over a year ago I made the decision to try medication.  This was a really hard decision for me.  I’ve tried other things in the past, talking to a therapist, doing mental “exercises”, nothing seemed to help, in fact, they just seemed to make things worse.  The biggest thing that held me back from taking medication was the fear that I would become a different person.  Would I even still be “me”?   That rageful undercurrent that accompanied everything I did was what propelled me through all the difficult time in my life.  Who would I be without it?

It might not be for everyone and I must admit, the beginning was not easy but the overall effects have been more than worth it.  Something I’ve come to realize is that you don’t know how bad you’re feeling until you don’t have to feel that way anymore. 

The story doesn’t end there.  I still have my low points, but before it was only down and lower down.  A large part of this journey has been accepting that depression is a part of who I am but it doesn’t have to own me anymore.

Something else that held me back in my decision was knowing how some people perceive people with depression.  It is my sincere hope that outlets like this blog and other initiatives will assist others to feel more comfortable with themselves and safe enough to seek the help that they need.  As much as I am ok with the fact that I need medication there are still times that I find myself hesitating to admit the truth.  “Are you taking any medications we should know about?”..Ummm….  I hope that very soon I can say yes without hesitating and wondering what that person will think.

Ashley is a 34 year old country loving girl trying to making a living in the city.  She is an avid crafter, artist and writer who believes that the best is still yet to come.

Awful Sweet, to be a Little Butterfly

The statistics say that 1 in 5 Canadians will deal with a mental health concern in their lifetime. The other 4 out of 5 will know someone with mental illness. While it may not be something we deal with directly, we will most certainly encounter at least one person in our lifetime who has a mental health concern. I appreciate Lacey sharing the story of her friend, Nel for the Life is Sweet series.

When I was eighteen years old I moved into my dorm at university and met the quiet and pretty girl that lived across the hall from me.
 

Her name was Nel.

Well, her name was actually "Ellen" but everyone called her Nel.

She was nice and also into theatre. Her study music was showtunes. 

She would post pictures and quotes on her dorm room door. It's been ten years, but I still remember two of them because they resonated with me. One said: "If you are not enraged, you are not paying attention!" and the other said: "I want to live in a world where schools are fully funded and the army needs to hold bake sales." I thought she possessed an unusually high level of social awareness for an eighteen year old. I followed her example.

Nel and I had acting class together. I thought she was brilliant. I felt like she could see colours no one else could. Like a butterfly.

During our time at school together, I learned that Nel was a talented writer. She was working on a manuscript and asked some of her friends to read it for the first time. The manuscript was a story about her time in an eating disorder treatment facility. Nel was good at conveying what it was like to have anorexia, and the difficult road to recovery. 

After school Nel went travelling. It was one of her favourite things to do. I followed her Facebook pictures closely, and since our time at university, we ran into each other at Hart House, Pride and here and there. Our text messages always consisted of plans to meet up that never came to fruition.

Despite this, mine and Nel's friendship was very active on Facebook. Nel posted statuses and memes about issues very close to my heart. It was also apparent that Nel was suffering from severe depression by this time, as she was very open about it online. She would post memes every other day that would attempt to describe what it was like to live with a mental illness. I admired her so much, she was so desperately trying to get people to understand. It is important for people to try and understand what living with depression is like. She was so brave to rail against the stigma. 

 And I thought Nel would win. I thought that she would go on to help end the stigma against mental illness and be a voice of strength for other people who were suffering. I thought for sure the darkness wouldn't take her.

This is why I was surprised, taken aback, devastated that on January 5th, 2015, Nel took her own life. I wasn't doing anything important that day. Just work and the gym. I would give everything I have to go back and be with her on that day. Beg her not to leave. Convince her that she had made enough of an impact in my life that if she was gone, I would care. Oh God, I would care.  

This threw into sharp contrast just how serious depressions is. Like cancer, like heart disease, it takes people. It affects those suffering from it, and it affects those around the people who suffer from it.

This is my hope for the future, that these facts become widely acknowledged. That depression is a real illness, that is can be life threatening, and that doesn't only affect those suffering from it, but the friends, families, coworkers, lovers of those who suffer from it as well.

Now Nel is no longer here to keep fighting. So I will. For her. 

I'll start by going here:

http://suicideprevention.ca/

http://twloha.com/

--

Lacey is a freelance Stage Manager who studied at York University. She enjoys biking, singing and playing guitar. Coffee and wine are her favourite potions and poisons.

The Other Side of the Story

Welcome to the third annual Life is Sweet month on Dancing Through Life. Over the month of February, I'll be sharing posts from a variety of guests who have offered to share their stories of mental health, mental illness, suicide and loss. The last 2 years of posts have provided an outlet for people to share their stories and continue the conversation about mental health. You can read the posts from previous years, here and here. 

I hope that you're visit the blog this month to read the stories of my guest bloggers and continue to open up the dialogue about mental health by sharing their stories via social media with the hashtag, #lifeissweet. 

I had connected with Justin last year about contributing to the series, but my message was lost in Facebook's 'Other' inbox. I'm thankful that we were able to connect and appreciate that he was willing to share his story. 

=== WARNING: TRIGGER ALERT. ===

I don't like February. It's never been a favourite month of mine. The cold. The dreary weather. The constant grey.

While February has been dubbed "the dead of winter", the Center for Disease Control and Prevention and the National Center for Health Statistics have both reported that suicide rates in the United States are lowest during the winter months and highest in the summer and spring. Despite this, popular belief tends to promote the line of thinking that most suicides peak during the winter months. (Source)

I've been very public about my struggle with depression, and with the recent passing of well-known public figures such as Robin Williams and many others who have struggled with mental health issues, as well as the recent #BellLetsTalk day, this topic has only become more important to me.

However, there's a side of this story that I haven't shared publicly. A side people haven't heard before. It's the dark side of this story, one that deserves to be told.

To begin explaining this story is to go way back into time. All the way back to the beginning, some 30 years ago.

I grew up in a violent environment where fear and intimidation were omnipresent. Where the threat of violence was always around the corner - and in many instances, it appeared out of nowhere. An environment where the act of violence was carried out without understanding what the end result might be. The bruises, the blood and the inevitable tears were not the final outcomes.

Those final outcomes were a lack of self-esteem. A crippling lack of confidence. A loss of trust. The feeling that I would never be the same. That safety and security would always be elusive.

The feeling that I would never be worthy of being loved, that I would never be capable of loving something or someone else and that I would never be accepted were always there, lurking just below a blistered, bruised and battered surface.

But most of all, I was left with feelings of betrayal, confusion and anger. How could this happen to me? How could anyone willingly do this to another person, despite the obvious signs of fear, suffering and sadness?

I believed that I could never love myself and that I would forever be an empty shell of a person who couldn’t offer something to the world - someone who, despite their best efforts, would never be good enough.

For many years, I struggled with these feelings. I blamed myself. I began to believe that it was somehow my fault, that I had done something terrible to do deserve this. These feelings began to manifest themselves in some pretty terrible ways.

I began to shutdown. I started filing away the feelings and emotions, resolute in my desire to never let anyone see the side of me that had eroded at every aspect of my being.

On October 14th 2014, I came dangerously close to committing suicide.

To seriously consider suicide is the unlike any feeling I've ever had. It was a feeling of utter emptiness. I felt nothing except incredible disappointment, overwhelming sadness and that ending it all was the only way to make it go away.

I remember standing on the subway platform and thinking that jumping in front of the train would be easy, quick and painless. While I teetered on the edge of life and death, I began to think about all the things that could go wrong. Would I live and be horribly incapacitated? Who would see this happen? What would my family think? Would they understand? Would this make them understand that the gravity of my situation warranted such a decision?

I saw their faces, their disappointment, and realized the finality of it all. I broke down in tears and collapsed on the platform. The utter disappointment I felt was nothing what they would experience in the years to come as they would have to explain what happened, why I did it, and the hole it would leave in their lives.

I called a friend, and while I don't remember exactly what I said, I remember feeling as though I could never claw my way back to a sense of belonging. A sense of being needed. A sense of being loved and being wanted. A place where I'd be loved and cared for - and cared about.

What followed this were a few weeks of living in a robot-like trance where I felt nothing. I was tired most of the time, yet I couldn't sleep. I displayed no emotion, yet I cried numerous times a week. I couldn't think straight, yet my mind raced and was thinking a million different thoughts at once.

It came to a head in December, when I finally broke down and told someone what I was going through. This was the first time I openly cried and explained what had happened. I felt lost, and until then, it was as though I was wandering through a desolate place where there was no-one to talk to and nothing I could do to escape what I was feeling.

In short, I was an emotional wreck. Having that conversation, and the many that have followed since, have been both revelatory and exhausting.

Since then, I've learned a few things about how I deal with my mental health issues.

I've learned how to rewrite my history. For many years, I let the actions of an angry individual define my future, dictate who I am and determine what I'm capable of. I've come to realize that my past doesn't define who I am. Realizing this has been the most freeing moment of certainty I've had in quite some time.

The world is a gift shop. There are so many beautiful things to be seen, if only we open our eyes. I've made a conscientious choice to ignore the negatives, the things that affect my mood, the behaviours that have contributed to my feeling of frustration. Instead, I choose to see the positives in this world and focus on those things.

I am safe. I am loved. I have people who love and care for me. Realizing this seems easy to most, but I am not most people. For a long time, I certainly didn't feel like "most people". In some aspects, I still don't. But as the days go by, pieces of the old me disappear, and are replaced with understanding, awareness and a resolve to be mindful, be open, and be receptive.

Do I still harbor feelings of disappointment? Yes. Do I still have feelings of confusion? Sure. These feelings won’t disappear overnight, and I’m fairly certain I will probably always have these feelings, but through therapy, I've come to learn they're manageable. With a bit of work, I have developed a strategy for dealing with the triggers that have historically been associated with these feelings. Having a strategy to recognize the triggers and manage their outcomes has been at times difficult to learn, but one that was necessary in better understanding the effects mental health has on me and my behaviour.

I can't say my struggle with mental health is over. I think it will be with me for the rest of my life. But starting this month, and every month, I choose to be happy. I choose to be open, be receptive and mindful of the beautiful things this world has to offer.

I choose to not let my past define me. Instead, I choose to use my past as as a series of stepping stones along the path to doing great things.

I choose not to suffer alone. Because while it can feel as though we suffer alone, let me say this: You're not alone. I know that it feels that way sometime, but this couldn't be further from the truth. If you ever feel that way, I want you to remember these three very important words: You're not alone.

We can support each other. We can laugh together, cry together, and learn together. We're all in this together, and when we support one another - in the good times and the bad - we can come back into the light and see the world for how it really is: A beautiful place full of even more beautiful things.

All we need to do is open our eyes.

Justin Kozuch is a Toronto-based technology reporter covering startups, mobile and marketing. When not staring into his computer screen, he can be found exploring the Ontario backcountry, reading a book or enjoying a glass of scotch.

#BellLetsTalk and Life is Sweet 2015

I tried to write this post last night and this morning, but it just wasn't coming out right. I felt like I was standing on a soap box, but not saying enough or making enough of a difference with what I was trying to say. As a result of my mother's depression and death to suicide, this subject is so close to my heart. I don't know if this draft is any different, but let's try...

Today is Bell Let's Talk Day. It's a great initiative that donates $0.05 for every text sent by Bell customers today as well as every tweet, when folks use the #BellLetsTalk hashtag. The money will go towards supporting their four pillars including anti-stigma, care & access, workplace health and research. Which is really awesome.

And since its inception, it's been incredible to see people using this day to share their stories and speak candidly about mental health and mental illness.

But combating the stigma associated with mental illness isn't going to be resolved one day a year and some money being put towards a cause. It needs to be something we work towards erasing on a daily basis - in our regular lives, and be consistent with the support that we offer to those around us.

1 in 5 Canadians will be impacted by mental illness in their lifetimes and the other 4 will know someone impacted. In the news recently, there have been reports of first responders dying by suicide. 34 in the last 9 months. That's a scary number. Why aren't these workers getting the support they need in their demanding roles? And why isn't this getting more attention?

On Monday I was a special guest at Singular Sensation, an open mic night here in Toronto that is hosted by my friend, Jeni Walls. Jeni asked me to sing and share my story to coincide with Bell Let's Talk. I sang 'Mama Don't Cry' and Some Days, both which resonate with me and my story so deeply. I was thankful to be able to share my mom's story and talk about why it's important that we keep the conversation going the other 364 days a year.

Other people bravely shared their stories and experiences, and as people were talking a hush fell over the room unlike what I've seen the usual crowd at Statler's to be. People were listening. They were supportive. And the stories that were shared had real impact. It was incredible to hear all of these stories, but I couldn't help but think that we need more opportunities to do this. It shouldn't have to be a special day for people to feel comfortable to talk about their mental health and the struggles they may have had. While myself and many others in the room were thankful for the platform to share their experiences, the subject of mental illness somehow remains taboo in our society.

I think Bell Let's Talk is a great initiative and have been tweeting up a storm today, but want to see more change year round.

I want us to get to a place where the taboo is gone.

For the last three years I've hosted the Life is Sweet series on my blog in February. It's an opportunity for people to share their stories of mental illness, mental health, suicide and loss. Since my mom's death in 1998 (and after I finished junior high), I became very open about discussing mental illness, depression and suicide. They aren't off limits words in my vocabulary, and I've become very passionate about sharing my mom's story in hopes that it would help other people to realize they aren't alone.

For me, the Life is Sweet series is a small way that I can contribute to erasing the stigma around mental health.

I didn't learn about my mom's depression and previous suicide attempts until the day before she died. I don't know if anything would have changed if I had known earlier, but I wish that she had lived in a society where she felt comfortable talking about her own struggles.

The Life is Sweet series is for her and anyone else who has felt silenced in sharing their stories and their struggles.

As I said last year on Bell Let's Talk Day, we need to talk and talk and never be quiet.

Let this day be a catalyst to open up the conversation, but let's work to keep it going the rest of the year. 

Life is Sweet - Let's Keep Talking

Wow - another great month of the Life is Sweet series. Thank you to everyone who contributed posts, read, commented, shared and attended the show this month. It was truly amazing to see the conversation that ensued and the candor and bravery of my guest bloggers who opened up to share their stories and perspectives.

While a month of dialogue is really great, I think it's just as important that we keep the conversation going 365 days a year. Mental illness is something that many of us are faced with everyday but unfortunately the negative stigma and lack of understanding is not going away. By continuing to talk and share and gain understanding from one another, we can work towards establishing a new dynamic in our society with a greater emphasis on listening, empathy and patience.

Here are some neat things from the internet that I found / were sent to me whilst curating Life is Sweet that are doing a great job at continuing the conversation:

Everything But the Cat


Adrianna's (not-so) one woman show, Everything but the Cat, about suicide and bereavement is getting ready for its 2014 tour. The show is an incredible way to open up the dialogue to teens and openly address bereavement and suicide with a younger audience. Adrianna is doing really great things with this show and I think it's inspiring that she has been able to express her feelings about her brother's death and help others gain understanding through this show.

The Crazy Project

Corbin sent me the tumblr for The Crazy Project last week. It describes itself as "a photo project dedicated to reducing stigma about mental health". I love that they're sharing stories from a wide range of perspectives and that their mandate aims to reduce the negative stigma.

Hyperbole and a Half

I've read this post "Depression Part Two" multiple times, but it doesn't lose impact. It really provides a poignant and concise view of what depression feels like.

Other helpful links

Hope Inside Live - We are More is a one day live stream event beginning at 9am on March 22 dedicated to changing the conversation around mental health and sexual assault

Fact Sheets about mental illness - in more than 10 languages

I haven't decided just yet what is in store for the Life is Sweet Project and series. I'm thinking about hosting guest posts once or twice a month to continue the conversation and will obviously write about my own experiences from time to time. I'm proud to host two years of amazing content. You can read all the posts here:

2013
2014

Michael Landsberg posted a great tweet yesterday that said "Sharing sometimes is like a surprise party. You turn on the lights and you find out there's a room full of people who care #sicknotweak". As I said on Let's Talk Day - let's talk and talk and never be quiet. For my mom. For my bloggers. For everyone reading and experiencing something similar.We are not alone in this and there are so many people who care. Keep the conversation going. 

All I Know

The last day of February marks the last Life is Sweet post. How fitting that it come as a result of the show and the blog series. Andrew contacted me after seeing The Life is Sweet Project and after sharing a bit of his story with me, I asked if he would consider being one of my guest bloggers. Here he is to close out an incredible month of candor, bravery and sharing. 

I wish I knew how to begin.

I know—that’s not exactly the best way to begin, is it? Usually, when I’m writing a story or a paper or a poem, I would start by laying the basis of a scene: establish the setting, the characters, the theme, and the conflict. But this isn’t a piece of fiction; it isn’t an abstract concept that I can reason through; and it sure as hell isn’t poetic. This is my life. This is all I know.

In a certain light, I’m almost grateful that I have no memories of a time before darkness. Now, this isn’t to say that I have no happy memories at all… There have been, at times, the odd flashes of lightning through the storm. These momentary reprieves bring my world into a sharp focus; they show me the people around me; they show me how vast and magnificent my surroundings are. But, they also serve to terrify me. Nothing else shows you just quite how far the storm stretches in every direction.

I was eight when my family moved back to Canada. I’d been born in Toronto but, shortly thereafter, moved to Barbados until I was five, at which point I moved again, this time to an island in the English Channel called Jersey. Before we moved back to Canada I was already prone to bad days (I’ve since learned that there is a strong genetic tradition of mental illness in my family); but here everything became so much more magnified. My parents placed me in the local school’s French Immersion program and decided to let me skip Grade Three and go directly into Grade Four; given the fact that I already had an unusual accent and no friends, this combination of negative popularity checkmarks made me an instant favourite for bullies. School, once a source of tremendous joy for me, became instead a source of anger and anxiety. I grew to hate the other kids and the teachers who did nothing. This hatred came to tint everything I experienced, even the rare gestures of compassion from those that cared about me. Most of all, I hated the circumstances I was in—circumstances that were shaping who I was—I came to hate myself.

I won’t bore you with the details to the story of my life, in part because many of them have been blocked out of my memory, or because they’re not appropriate for civilized conversation. Suffice to say, I’ve seen a vast array of tacky art hung on doctors’ walls; I’ve seen the bottom of many a bottle of pills, both prescription and otherwise; I’ve blackened my lungs, burnt holes in my brain, bloodied my nose, and covered my body in scars—all in a vain attempt to somehow purify myself: I figured that, if the depression is part of ‘me,’ the solution is simple…change ‘me.’

That didn’t—and doesn’t—work.

This is the part where I wish I could give you a quick-fix bit of advice. Unfortunately, I can’t. I never had a ‘life is sweet’ moment of realization; no epiphanies for me, I’m sad to say. All I can really offer by way of suggestion to fellow sufferers is to seek out help. Looking back on how long I spent stewing away in my own mind, that’s the thing I regret most—that I didn’t ask for assistance. I didn’t think I needed it; I just didn’t know that what I was experiencing was unusual: that not everybody fantasizes about taking his or her final steps. I spent so much time looking at myself through a lens that only shows flaws that I couldn’t have told you what I really looked like. I could describe to you, in detail, every bad thing I’ve ever done, every bad habit I have, every time I ever failed at anything, which is why what other people had to tell me came as such a shock when I finally tried talking to them. They told me the story of my life that I couldn’t see.

Depression has an amazing ability to distort your memories. You forget pretty quickly that you just aced a test, or started a new relationship, or any number of other, positive points in your life. Instead, your mind assaults you with endless arrays of bad memories—like freezing during a final exam, or falling out of love. What you have to appreciate in all of this is that everyone experiences setbacks: life is not a linear occurrence, which would be pretty dull anyways. The sooner you speak to other people, the sooner you realize this—and that is the best way to overcome feeling alone, feeling sub-standard, and being at the mercy of your own mind.

Every day will still be tough—and there are no guarantees that you won’t get hurt by doing dangerous stuff (like living)—but, by looking at yourself through another person’s lens, at least you’ll know that you would be missed by skipping your story to get to the end.

Andrew Brobyn is a young writer and editor living in Toronto. Much of his personal body of work involves mental health issues, about which he knows far, far too much.  

Accepting the Sadness

Another insightful (and anonymous) post on dealing with depression along with some ideas for those dealing with depression or any sort of mental illness, as well as for those trying to support someone going through a difficult time. 

I have dealt with deep sadness since I went through treatment for an illness as a teenager. I grew up very fast, and started to ask big questions at a young age like, "Is life meaningless? Do I matter at all?" The illness I had is a story in and of itself, but was the kickstart to a much harder journey, that of my depression and anxiety. It's weird how I often look back and think that the time during treatment was not as hard as afterwards. After I left the hospital, I was dropped back into school after missing an entire year amongst my peers. I didn't know the latest gossip, didn't realize who had changed over the year, and most of all didn't know how to interact like a girl my age. I didn't know how to chit-chat. The doctors and nurses were my friends, the hospital my home. And so, after constantly being brushed off in the hall after saying hi to my friends, after consistently being excluded to gatherings and parties, and after realizing that my friends had counted their hours visiting me as community service, I sunk into a deep sadness. I didn't think it was depression. I didn't know what it was. I had suicidal thoughts. I wanted to end my life after a year of doing everything to save my life. I didn't know who I was anymore.

Luckily, I got through high school and the rest of my teenage years because I had gone to a camp specifically for kids with my illness and reconnected with myself and kids my age at just the right time. I thought maybe this sadness was behind me. But something started to happen again in second year university. I had two groups of friends leave my life, one after the other, pretty much overnight, and not really with any rhyme or reason. The fear of people leaving me, the fear of being hated and talked about and excluded started to consume me. I cried uncontrollably to sleep every night. I was in physical pain from being so sad and not leaving my bed. I became irritable and angry at everyone and everything. This would subside and come back throughout the year. If I kept myself busier things were better, but this deep feeling of being hated and alone was always there. By third year university I had to go home for the summer because my suicidal thoughts and sadness was at an all time high. I kept a lot of how severe it was from my parents because I felt they had endured enough during my time in the hospital. But I did confide in my mom that something is wrong because I even think that people on the street are staring at me and laughing at me. That I knew it made no sense, but it consumes my thoughts and often makes it impossible to go out. I think my parents may have taken it in...I'm not sure. I think they may have been in a bit of denial that I was going through depression and anxiety.

I was formally diagnosed with depression and social anxiety in 2010. I refused to go on antidepressants for a long time, partly because I felt weak if I did go on them, that maybe I could muscle through or look on the "bright side of things" more, and partly because I knew my parents would disapprove. My parents and I fought a lot during this time. I felt like they didn't understand me, they were fed up with my sadness and irritability and inability to see beyond my emotions, and they didn't want me to go on medication. Now when I look back, I think they were just coming to terms with the idea that after everything, their daughter was not healthy - after all the treatment, I was still struggling and going to struggle with my health and they couldn't fix it as much as they wanted to.

My first suicide attempt forced me to go on medication. I have been through three types, all with varying degrees of side effects and success. The first was good at first and stopped working, the second didn't work at all and my depression and anxiety was the worst it had ever been and was accompanied with constant suicidal thoughts, cutting, and many suicide attempts. I would stand in the subway station and think that jumping in front would be easy and best for everyone. That no one would show up to my funeral anyway and life would go on as if nothing happened. On my commute home from work I would press my head against the window and cry uncontrollably in public - for no reason but that I felt I was meaningless and a waste of space. Often strangers stopped me on the street concerned and wondering if I was ok - I would usually force a smile and say yes when I desperately wasn't.

Finally, in the spring of 2012, my best friend at the time up and left me in an email. Out of the blue. And blocked all communication with me. I still don't really know why. All I know is that this person promised he would be there and that he wouldn't leave like others had did and now he had done it in the most heartless and cruel way. This was the worst of my depression. I spent some time in the hospital as an outpatient, was put on a new medication, found a therapist (after many failed ones before), and had to take a sick leave work. I couldn't leave my bed. I couldn't clean my apartment. Any flowers or plants my friends brought died (if they were even put into a vase at all). I couldn't move or eat and sometimes felt that I was going to die from feeling so sad. I would sit on my bed and cry until I hyperventilated or felt nauseous or pass out. I had a group of friends who were helping me, but I still felt completely alone. The thought of even having a shower was an incredibly daunting task. Every minute was a painful struggle.

I could go through the entire healing process - but the fact is, I'm writing this right now, in a much better place. I turned down the offer to write for this blog last year because I felt I was still going through it. And not to say I have beaten depression and anxiety now - I haven't. I will always struggle with it. But it doesn't control my life anymore. And very often I actually feel that elusive emotion I never thought I would feel - happy. 2013 was a great year for me - I had some huge successes in my career, moved to a new apartment that I love, met some amazing people, started getting back into shape, and met my wonderful and loving boyfriend who treats me so well and is a constant source of joy and support. 

Not to generalize and say "this is the way to get better", but looking back, these are the things that helped me get better that may help someone who is struggling or help a friend know how to help someone who is depressed.

1. I started to make sure my day was filled with things and people that made me happy and got rid of the rest. 

It got to a point where I felt I was wasting my life if I was feeling sad in a situation. Not to say that things like folding laundry (I hate folding laundry) need to be cut out of your life. But I'm talking about the bigger picture. I quit my day job that was an enormous source of unhappiness and was with a boss who could not understand my situation. I freelance full-time now. It's more stressful, but I am doing what I love to do. And as for people, I only spend my free time with people who I respect and admire and make me feel good about myself and appreciate me for who I am, the good and bad. A good sign for me is that they still like me if I am crying and are ok with silence. I don't spend time with people who only like me when I'm happy or make me feel like I'm a burden if I am sad.

2. I started standing up for myself.

One horrible feeling that comes with depression that is unfortunately propagated by the stigma of mental illness is that my feelings weren't valid. First I had to believe that my feelings were worth acknowledging and then I started to communicate clearer to people and show that my feelings are always valid. Depression and anxiety at least for me is always caused by a trigger, no matter how small, but it isn't completely irrational. The moment you hear someone say that your sadness isn't valid or you are making things up in your brain, this is a clue that this person should not be in your life. That former best friend of mine used to always say "it's just in your head". No. It wasn't. He was doing things to cause them and I should have left him a lot sooner.

3. I started exercising and eating healthy (or try to) for ME.

I wanted to start feeling good about myself inside and out. Not to impress anyone or to start going on dates. I wanted to feel good for me. It was interesting that even if there was no physical change after a workout, I still felt better about myself and less anxious to go outside. My thoughts also started to slow down and my reaction to things were more logical. It's almost like my body saying "Hey! Thanks for taking care of me! To thank you, I'm going to make you feel ok today!"

4. Music, music, music.
Music is incredibly healing. Playing, listening, singing....it was all really helpful and felt like someone out there understood me, even if it wasn't verbalized. And actually, sad music made me feel better.

5. A really awesome therapist. 

I really love my therapist. She is incredibly validating, a good listener, and we have developed a very trusting relationship. I have been through five that didn't work for me and finally hit one that did. Seek the right fit out. It's worth the extra time (and sometimes money). 

6. Breathing
Yup. Something so simple does tremendous work. 

7. Sex and the City (I'm serious.)

Ok - this will be different for everyone. But for me, Sex and the City made me start to see things differently. I think this is different for everyone. But anything can be a source of help - a movie, a tv show, a book, a song, a picture to shift your perspective just a little bit. (Man, that episode with the post-it note break-up. Carrie. I feel you.)

And as for the things people did, this is certainly what works for me.

1. Validation
Saying that whatever I'm feeling must hurt a lot or that they are sorry I feel that way.

2. Listening
Sometimes I don't need advice or to see a silver lining (which comes across as very dismissive to me). I just need a listening ear. A TRUE listener. I need to feel heard and felt and empathized with. If I am going over the same problem over and over with a friend, it's likely that I haven't felt heard yet. Re-evaluate if you are truly being attentive during a moment of need, and if you aren't or can't, simply communicate that.

3. Accepting the sadness

Sadness is a part of life. I think I have realized it is needed to be balanced - sort of like a yin and yang. I think in Western culture we dismiss sadness instead of embrace it. And this can often mean that people who are depressed feel like they must hide this or that they are viewed as a lower class. I think I realized that it's important to embrace my sadness. To see the "empty" holes in my spirit not as a void, but a part of my whole. Sadness can be beautiful. It can fuel creativity. It shouldn't be shunned or labelled as a weakness. If your friend is depressed or sad, don't feel as it is your duty to change them. You are there for a support. But when people started to shun my depression, it felt like they were shunning me or that I had to put on a happy face all the time. I feel a lot better with friends who are fine with my sadness and don't try to change me. One thing that is great about my boyfriend is early on when I told him about my depression, he said he likes me just the way I am. Not that he enjoys seeing me sad, but I don't fear (or at least can talk my brain out of the fear) that he will leave me for it, because he has verbalized he is ok with it. If you have a friend going through it, maybe verbalize that to them.

4. Honour the relationship
Depression can be frustrating for any relationship on both sides. But one thing that sent me over the edge was my best friend leaving me in such an impersonal way. I think it's always important to evaluate how much your friendship has been through and how much you value this person in your life. I know sometimes we do need to part ways as friends or in relationships or if you cannot be a support any longer for whatever reason, but I think it's important to do so in a way that honours the relationship you had. It's important to always remember there is a person behind the mental illness. 

5. Just always tell people you love them
Everyone feels good when you tell them you love them, that you matter, and that they are proud of you. Make sure you do it often to the people you care about in your life. 

time capsule

This made its way into my inbox with a note that perhaps the writer would feel comfortable sharing something with his name in the future, but for now wanted to leave it anonymous. For me it's most important to be sharing these stories, name included or not, and helping others to recognize that they're not alone in what they're feeling. 

Some context: I’m someone who suffers from both clinical depression and anxiety disorder. I wrote this piece for myself at a specific place and time. It was an attempt to capture the emotion I felt on one day, but also recorded to help me figure out what I was feeling at the time. While I’m still uncomfortable sharing this under my own name, I wanted to do something, however small, to help people like me.

- sometime last year
i had a frightening thought the other day. while i'm oft-telling other people (in person, never online) that the fight for your own mental health is a daily battle, i thought i had my own sanity in check. i had a breakdown - a real, honest-to-goodness life-shattering breakdown. i thought i was on track and that my days of losing myself to substance abuse (and not substance indulgence; a difference of intent) and panic attacks were behind me. and then we had thursday.

i broke. my brain broke. i started hyperventilating, my meds lost their ability to bring me up to zero¹ and the only thing i ate all day were the five shots of tequila i downed before texting a friend of mine to drag me back from the brink.

and i'm the picture of health. the reformed. i've been to therapy. i'm on daily anti-depressants and infrequent anti-anxiety meds². i eat well and i’m in reasonably good shape. i've told many a soul (always in person and never online) how that breakdown³ was one of the hardest things i ever forded in my life and also one of the most character defining moments i will ever have.

well, it turns out you're never truly over mental illness and depression is always lurking near you like a two-bit bully, both pushing you relentlessly to give in to your demons and on its knees behind you for the eventual shove.

i may not have taken that final step, the one i don't like to talk about but that comes to mind the minute life becomes over-fucking-whelming, but i certainly made lists in my head. dark lists. lists of people who'd miss me, or be disappointed, or glad even if i weren't there to handle my own problems anymore.

and why was i so desperate you ask? fucking life.

debt and career angst. probably the two most common stressers in anyone's life, no matter your age. but for me, the fact that i sunk five years into a career that didn't love me⁴, forcing myself to apply for job after job - that never called back - or go in for three different sets of interviews at summer's end - only to get none of the three jobs i was overqualified for and interviewed amazingly at - and then three months into a new career that can't pay my current bills in their entirety, let alone chip away at the monumental debt hole i've somehow sunk myself into, that i broke.

my usual upbeat attitude was replaced with the suicidal look of a desperate man pushed back to the edge of a cliff.

you might notice a pattern. i'm crazy open-book in person. most people that i'm even remotely friends with, or good work chums, or meet at a party, know that i'm on meds. they know i have already been married and divorced. they know that where i’m working, what i’ve done before and a lot more.

but for some reason, online, i can never bring myself to share. and this coming from the guy who values honesty in all its disgusting, grimy details from everyone else. i want it real and i want it rough when i'm bothering to read online.

i can't figure out if my problem stems from not wanting people to see me differently than the persona i tried to maintain for years (never shit-talked anyone, never begged for sympathy) or if i just didn't want anyone i loved to worry about me. or at least not anymore than they already do. i figured that if i aired any of this truly personal shit online, i'd never hear the end of it. all i could think was that it seemed like a cry for help, or for attention or for someone i don't even know to shed a tear on my behalf.

but maybe it's all the bottling i did, after my wife cheated on me and left, after i had a breakdown where i severed ties with everything i'd known and believed, after i changed my life overnight, gave up drinking, red meat, weed and coffee overnight and for the next six months afterwards. through therapy, finding anti-depressants, i kept this journey private but slowly began to share the less grimy parts with my friends. but online, online i was still a straight professional. i was the dude that always held his shit together. the dude that didn't ask for help.

the more i needed help, the more i needed everyone to know i didn't need it. it's probably the hardest part of my insecurity for me to understand so i really get if no one else does. i needed to be strong as everyone else. because in my head, no one else is as weak as the giant man⁵ who's sad all the time. the man who holds his crutches close and can't bring up the now 2-year nose-dive course his life has been on. since my failed marriage (over in less than a year from its start), i've been fired, laid off and consequently unemployed for three months. after that i got a minimum wage job but, due to my unique brain chemistry, i tried to make it into the career i'd never considered but always wanted. i guess i was protecting myself.

i was happy for a bit. or i convinced myself i was. i was working hard and making callouses on my art school hands. i felt good because i was working with my hands and was making some money but after having a couple of disappointments over the next five months, i couldn’t take it.

and breaking down never happens in a predictable way. at least not for me. it's this monumental swell. a wave that cascades over your body and each time you try to get a handle on one particularly nasty sensation, another shows up to remind you you aren't the man you thought you were. every insecurity about being strong, or being smart or being good looking just jumps up, slaps you in the face and then settles down on the couch next to you to tell you what an awful shit you are. to tell you that you are lazy, and dumb and ugly and hopeless and that the world wouldn't just be better if you weren't here, it would be unchanged. your impact is nil. your pursuits, fruitless. your efforts, in vain.

and that brings us up to now. only, in trying to figure out how to dig my way out of this hole, i usually push and pull people simultaneously. exercise control over what little i have (personal relationships) and basically make myself a very hard to like person. a person whose intents might always be good but whose actions can be reprehensible.

"i'm really a nice guy" i tell myself, "when i'm not going crazy".

but crazy is forever man. it's not one breakdown, even if it was the culmination of over a decade of denial. no, that breakdown is just a sign that you can never let your guard down against your own brain. you can never be complacent with your life, your love or anything that might one day look at you the wrong way on the wrong day. and that you hope won't one day lose you all your friends forever. when people get tired. or bored. or are just over the amount of effort and patience it takes to keep winching you back to calm.

i'm sure i'll be fine. because there are people i know who haven't given up yet. and because, even in this state of despair, i have more tools than i've ever had before to deal with it. both chemical and emotional. it's just the nasty shock that you're not "better" once you have a plan for mental health that isn't a fun revelation. it's not a cold. you can't get over it. it's an ongoing struggle that pitches and wanes in volume every day. sometimes you feel like a real boy. sometimes you're a hollow puppet. sometimes you're right in the middle, searing with emotion but knowing you can't succumb. the journey continues

---

¹ if you don’t take antidepressants, it’s hard to understand this but my medication doesn’t make me happy. in general, unmedicated, I feel awful most of the time and can sometimes feel ok. the meds just level off my poor chemistry so that I start at zero instead of minus five. And that’s the ideal. If your meds don’t work, it can be even harder.

² Cipralex for the ADs (an SSRI) and Clonazepam for my anxiety. During less stressful times, I won’t take an anti-anxiety pill for three months. They’re only for emergencies, like an asthma inhaler but for panic attacks.

³ An incident where my wife cheated on me, ending the marriage and I was stuck in a dead-end job; all of which lead me to the doctor in the first place. It was the worst day of my life but also the start of working towards understanding why I didn’t feel like everyone else.

⁴  The field I got my degree in and the one where I had zero job satisfaction during those five years.

⁵ I’m tall but no giant, although I feel like I’ve somehow tied that to some societal pressure to be tough. But I digress. It’s too easy to diagnose yourself with nearly everything.

Life Isn't Always Easy

Over the last two and a half weeks, my Life is Sweet bloggers have been sharing their stories of the difficult times they've faced and the losses they've overcome. For many of them, the things they've faced have been the most challenging things in their lives to date, but seem to come out stronger and more resilient on the other side. While today's post is entitled 'Life isn't Always Easy', today's blogger Trish has demonstrated this strength and resilience following the challenges that she has faced with mental illness and I am inspired by her bravery in telling her story. 

Depression and I have history.

To say it's been a bumpy road is a bit of an understatement. My first concrete brush with depression came at 15. Life for a 15 year old isn't always easy. Suffice it to say, my life situation definitely wasn't typical or easy but, my first major depression came as a result of something that happens to most of us. My first love left me for one of my very best friends. It broke my heart. The details are a little blurry for me now but after the conversation with him I went home and took an overdose. There were plenty of prescription drugs available in my home. It sounds dramatic but I felt like my life was over. I had no idea how I could go on. The heartbreak, the betrayal, the humiliation. I had zero coping skills for this kind of intense emotion. It was my first of three serious suicide attempts.

All three of the attempts have overdose in common. However, each time I did something a little different afterwards. The first time when I woke up I told my mom. She completely under-reacted and I wonder to this day if she'd taken it more seriously and given me access to mental health professionals, maybe I wouldn’t have attempted a second and third time. I didn't get any professional help after the first attempt but I did manage to work my way out of that terrible dark place. The friendship, was over but I still had to deal with the two of them in my social circle. It wasn't easy. I made up my mind to separate myself from "those people" as soon as I could. I left home the week I finished high school and moved far away and saw very little of the people I'd grown up with.

Attempt two, I was 19. I'd lost my first "real" job and it was my fault. I'd been warned about being late, three times. I was young. I was working in an environment that was difficult. I was dealing with exposure to some pretty terrible experiences. I was in the dictation pool of a psychiatric hospital. The pay was great and I was really good at typing but the daily exposure to the horror of the things we human beings do to each other took a toll. I'd been self-medicating but it got harder and harder to get to work on time. I was in a relationship with a sweet guy. A sweet guy who had some addiction issues. I had a great roommate. A roommate who had access to lots of drugs. It was a bad combination.

When I woke up I knew I had to do something differently. I went to the emergency room and confessed. Again... things are kinda blurry, my brain does a pretty good job of protecting me from the worst of it. They admitted me and when they released me I broke up with the boy and moved out of the townhouse. I continued in an out patient treatment program for a while. It seemed to help.

Life continued. I had a kid, got married, had another kid, got divorced. The divorce wasn't easy but I was busy and surrounded by good people. I got through it and I was doing well. Really well. I went back to school, got a great job, met a great guy and fell madly in love. Yay me, but things started to unravel. I got married, a beautiful wedding surrounded by wonderful friends and family but things continued to unravel. I would cry for nothing. The tears would start and I couldn't stop them. I knew what this was and I wasn't going to ignore it. I asked for help. I went to therapy. My doctor tried me on an antidepressant and then another and then another. She added something, she took something away. She finally admitted she didn't know what else to do and sent me to a pharmacologist. He adjusted the meds. I still didn't feel better.

The smallest thing would set me off and the night of the last attempt I can't even remember what that "thing" was. I do remember the thought I had as I took the handful of pills - "I just can't do this anymore. They'll be better off without me." I completely believed it. My husband found me, figured out pretty quickly what was going on and called an ambulance. I woke up and I was angry. Angry that I'd failed. Angry that it wasn't over. I spent a short time in the hospital but it really felt more like a holding place. The attempt had bumped up my priority and I was on a list for inpatient treatment at Homewood in Guelph.

Homewood had an amazing major depression unit and I was there for an entire summer. It was a back to basics program. Basics meaning, sleep, eat, and exercise. I hadn't been doing any of those things very well. Being forced to get up at a certain time everyday, to eat (or you and your group didn't leave the dining room) and to walk outside everyday. Routine. So important at this point. They nudged me out of my dark spot. For the first time I participated in group therapy, it was scary. I learned one of the most important things in group - I was not alone. I was not the only one feeling these things. Sounds simple but it was such a relief. I formed some amazing relationships there, including a new one with myself. Art therapy, music therapy, individual therapy, couples therapy, family therapy, cognitive behaviour therapy. I was given techniques to deal with the stress. I was taught how to recognize the early signs of danger and what to do. I was taught how to change the negative internal dialogue in my head.

Life still isn't easy but I'm in a better place. Today my life includes keeping an eye on my sleep, being aware of what I'm eating or more importantly for me, when I'm not eating, not isolating myself and exercise, regular exercise. I need to be proactive against depression every day. I made a promise to my children after the last attempt. I promised that there wouldn't be a fourth attempt. Some days are harder than others. Life can be bumpy, that’s what keeps things interesting. But I know, it's a promise I won't break. 

Trish is a mother of two boys, a friend to many, an avid dragon boater, a beekeeper, a Community Manager and a survivor of depression and EDNOS. She writes about her love of flowers, social media, music and photography on her blog: The Adventures of an Urban Flower Girl. She can hardly wait for winter to end so she can hang out at the beach.

Stranded

If you've never experienced depression or any sort of mental illness, it can be really difficult to describe what it feels like. Many people can't comprehend what it feels like in your body or your brain because it's not something they've ever gone through. This is part of the reason why the Life is Sweet series is so important for me to share: It's not only an opportunity for people dealing with mental illness or loss to share their stories, but a way for those who have never experienced it to begin to understand and empathize with what it would be like. In today's post, Marie starts to shed some light on what it feels like for her. 

Standing on a deserted island, you spend months and even years building this raft. Finally it's done. It's not much of a raft, but you made it and you're proud of it and happy about it. So you push it into the ocean and set sails on your new raft.

The first few days are wonderful. The water is clear, there are tonnes of fishes and even dolphins. The sky is blue and the breeze is soft. Hey, you are even starting to get a nice tan!

After a few months sailing, the water gets darker. Once in a while you will see a seabird or the fin of a fish. If you're really lucky, you'll see flying fishes go by. But most of the time, you are pretty much just sailing on without many things to see.

That's when you realize that the water is as dark as the sky. You look around and all you see it water, for miles away. No land, no birds, no fishes, just dark cold water. You try not to panic, as you brave a few days of rain and waves. You hold on tight to your raft, because it's what you worked on for so long and you know this is the right place and if you just keep holding on, the storm will pass and everything will be clear sky again.

But now it's been weeks, months that you are stuck in the storm. Some days it's just a little drizzle, others, it's just fog making it hard to navigate, but the worst are the thunder and lightnings and waves as high as a mountain. You keep pushing through every day, but now you start wondering why. Wouldn't it just be easier to just let go and let the waves carry you. Who knows, maybe the waves will bring you back to the island, or maybe they will drown you. Whatever it does, you're starting to convince yourself that either ways would be better than just hanging on your shitty raft, not knowing where you are, where you are going and why you even built this raft in the first place. It's doubt and fear settling in.

One morning, the one after a big storm, you wake up and you see that your foot is caught on the rope, which is tied to the beam. You try to get it off, but the knot is just too strong. You should take this as a sign that something bad will come out of this but whatever, the sky is blue, and you may even think you heard a bird call. Things will be ok.

But that's when you realize you were wrong. Right when you think everything is fine and the water is calm, you are suddenly woken up by a big crashing wave. It is so big that the beam breaks and rolls into the water...dragging you in at the same time.

The beam slowly starts sinking into the deep water. You try to pry your foot off the rope, but you can't. Not by yourself. The beam sinks just a bit deeper. You struggle to bring yourself to the surface, just so you have enough time to take a breath of air. But each time, the beam pulls you down. Each time, you swim back up with all your might, take a breath, and sink back in. You do this for a while. You know that if you don't get that rope untie, you will sink to the bottom of the Ocean. You swim back, using all your strength to keep your head above water. Sometimes, a wave comes through and instead of breathing air, you swallow some bitter sea salt water. It's at those moments where you think this is it. But somehow, you always come back to the surface.

Then out of nowhere, a giant turtle comes along. It places itself under you, so you can sit on its shell and take a break from all that struggling. The sky is even getting clearer, but the waves are still strong and high. You ask the turtle for help and somehow it understands. Slowly, very slowly, it starts nagging at the rope around your foot. But you know turtles, they aren't very quick...sometimes you get impatient, and start calling it names, or yelling at it to hurry up. Sometimes you just think screw this! it's not gonna work. But you just keep on coasting on top your turtle, at least you aren't swallowing sea salt water anymore. But once in a while you slip off the turtle, because the beam is just too heavy. But you fight to climb back on because you don't want to end up at the bottom of the ocean with the beam. If you do, you won't come back up for air.
So you wait for the turtle to set you free.

You don't know when will that be, or if when it happens, that things will be better. I mean, you are still stuck in the middle of the ocean. Even if you are surfing on top of a turtle, you are still in the middle of the ocean; you don't know if there is an island in front of you or if you gonna slip and fall back in the water. You just don't know. And to be honest it's exhausting.

So you rest your head on the back of the turtle and you wait. And you remember the days when you were on the island and how it was so much better and safer. You wish you could go back there, but you know it is just way too far behind you, there's no way you can go back. Melancholy sets in as you wait for the turtle to do it's job. I mean, come on, how thick can this rope be? Some days you just want to let go, some days you just want to hold on. It's exhausting. It's a struggle. It's a battle of the wits and you are the only person who can make the right decision. You know that if you let go, the waves will carry you deeper, and you know if you hold on, the turtle will carry you to a safe zone for a while. but you also know that no matter what, your life will just never be normal anymore. Not after all this.

You will get back on land, and you will enjoy that land for a while. You will even come to convince yourself that this is where you want to stay, build your hut and raise butler monkeys. But you know that after a while you will get bored of it and you are gonna want to build another raft and set sails to see if the next island will be better, more fun! But you know you'll just end up getting stranded in the middle of the ocean again.

How do you know? Because this is not the first time you have been stranded in the middle of an ocean. 
You just can't be normal and have a normal life. 
Or be happy with what you have. 
You have to accept that, but most of all, the people around you have to accept it as well. You can try and have a normal life, for a while you will... But let's face it, this is a cycle that will come and go for the rest of your life.

This is what depression feels like.

And right now, I'm still waiting for my turtle to set me free. 


My name is Marie and I am a 29 year old French-Canadian girl in Barrie ON. I work as a Funeral Director, and suffer from Depression and Anxiety so I am no stranger to this disease. Most of my childhood, I was able to channel my social anxiety via humour and acting. Being a class clown, I made my way into the performing arts. At 15, I lost my father to a car accident and came face to face with depression. With the support of my family (and the meds I take) I am capable of living a normal life, but only recently I have came to accept my condition and I hope one day, people will stop to be scare of this condition and be willing to talk about it. This is my first step.

Jigsaw Satisfaction

Today's Life is Sweet blogger is our most International one. I met Nicole when she was living in Canada many moons ago and I'm glad we stayed in touch once she went back to her home in Australia. I'm so glad that she wanted to participate in the series and I'm really looking forward to reading her upcoming book about healing from mental illness. 

I have just allowed myself the luxury of a week of guilt-free idleness. I often reflect that in our busy, hyper-connected culture we have lost perspective on the benefits of doing nothing. Rest, relaxation, healing, creativity, all these arise from space – space that in our normal lives gets filled with seemingly inevitable obligations and demands. If you haven’t yet read How to Be Idle by Tom Hodgkinson put it on your summer reading list! Mr Hodgkinson, the august editor of the Ildler magazine gives an hour-by-hour description of how best to be idle in each hour of the day. He’s far more convincing than me on the benefits of idleness but I’m convinced it’s a discussion worth initiating among friends and family.

So what did I actually do in my week of idleness? I was house-sitting in Hobart and so was removed a healthy distance from any impending home-based chores. I was mostly, though not always alone and I reveled in it. Lots of sleeping, daydreaming, lazy mornings and gentle afternoon naps, eating simple meals and shopping locally without a car. Apart from that I divided my time between three of my favorite holiday pursuits, reading, knitting and completing a complex 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle 

Image - http://www.mcescher.com/gallery/most-popular/other-world/

Serendipity brought M.C. Escher (the artist of the original painting) and I together in the form of 1000 brown, green, white and black pieces rattling around in a box someone had picked up at the op shop. For my part it wasn’t planned, in fact, I’d forgotten that for me, having the time to complete a jigsaw signals that it is time to relax. It’s a process rather than a goal, akin to making a mandala that you then sweep up and pour back into the box. What the process gave me this time was a chance to observe myself in the process of jigsawing (if I may invent a new verb…)

Firstly let me say that this was the most satisfying jigsaw I have ever done. In fact at one point in the process I began describing the “jigsaw orgasm,” to name the intense sense of satisfaction I felt when I was able to smoothly unite a lonely jigsaw piece with a void in the design. Because this picture is so geometrical and fantastical there were none of the typically tedious parts that occur in most jigsaws. The variety of tasks to complete the jigsaw kept me engaged as I switched between searching for common colored pieces in the box and putting together the various elements bit-by-bit, hour-by-hour.

The danger, and the very thing that can make jigsawing less fun is becoming obsessive over it. The urge to keep slotting pieces in blind pursuit of the final goal is not that far removed from the compulsion that stalks other kinds of slots! When I noticed this feeling arising I brought consciousness to the situation and tested my ability to make choices. When my back began to tense and my self-talk turned from pleasure to frustration I took it as a sign that it was time to walk away for a while, or a night. Inevitably I would return to the puzzle after a hiatus and easily place pieces I had been struggling with. The balance between perseverance and refreshment of the mind can equally apply to writing or any other sustained task!

As the end of the process drew near I was working on the layer of brown and white tiles that form the inner edge of the outer part of the puzzle. As the number of pieces and the spaces to accommodate them dwindled I noticed doubt arising in my mind again and again.

“Perhaps they’ve put in a whole lot of extra pieces, just to fool me” or

“This piece doesn’t fit in any of the spots left, it must be faulty.”

Despite these internal doubting voices shouting at me, another part of me knew this was the time for perseverance and trust. The bigger part of me understood that the ultimate nature of a jigsaw puzzle is to fit together as a unified whole. As I watched doubt arising in my mind I was struck by an insight. A huge part of my healing has been to flip my belief about the way the world works from my old unconsciously formed fear that the universe is chaotic and something I need to control to a conscious choice to believe that the universe, in a huge and cosmic way which we can never fully perceive from our limited human mind, is a giant spiritual jigsaw. I can tell when I am aligning myself with the ultimate nature of things because, like the jigsaw piece that clicks in I find myself in a place that looks right and feels right – even when it’s pushing me beyond my comfort zone. Especially when it’s pushing me (just) beyond my comfort zone.

Nicole Simone Alexander is a musician, teacher and writer who lives among the trees in the Dandenong Ranges on the outskirts of Melbourne, Australia.  After ten years of medical treatment for depression and anxiety she has found healing by learning to respond to the messages of her body, mind and soul and is grateful to all her teachers, especially depression.  She is writing a book about her experiences of mental illness and healing from it, called Feel Real, Heal and has ablog by the same name.