Category Archives: survivor

award quote

Take Your Award and SHOVE IT

I received an email this morning informing me my blog had been chosen, after careful review by a panel of expert judges, for “excellence due to the contribution its top editorial offers the depression world.”

I’m already skeptical because well, I don’t know the sender.

Then, the second paragraph begins and it gets better. Oh yes, it does.

The award comes from none other than an online pharmaceutical company.

RIGHT. Like I’m gonna link to an online pharmaceutical company from THIS blog because yanno, I have no ethics and it’s clear this is now a marketing ploy to gain more consumers and yadda yadda yadda.

But then, oh then, I decide to go check out the website with my “award” on it. It’s there I find this lovely little nugget once I get to the listing of my blog:

First of all, and correct me if I’m wrong but…when you’re giving someone an award (unless it’s a Roast on Comedy Central), it’s a bit “off-putting” to insult the person to whom you’re giving the award, yes?

Also, there’s a reason my blog is plain visually, thank you very much. It’s because here? Here the WORDS are what matter. Not the graphics, not the bling, not the whatever the hell else this person obviously requires of a blog in order for it not to be “off-putting.” For the record, that header up there? I designed it myself, as is the case with most of the graphics you find throughout my site. And no, I’m not a professional, don’t claim to be but I have been paid for graphics in the past and frankly, am of the school of “less is more.” Clearly this person is of the school which thinks “more is never enough.”

I don’t care if your website has been featured in a zillion places with a zillion readers and endorsed by organizations with a ton of credibility. You clearly don’t give a flying eff about anyone but yourself and increasing your bottom line. Also? You didn’t read much of my blog because if you had, you would know I call people out for this crap – marketing ploys which prey on those with mental health issues ALL.THE.TIME.

So no, I don’t want your stinking award. I don’t want the insults associated with it and I am quite comfortable with the appearance of my blog right now. Yeah, it *could* be organized a smidge better and I am working on that but hey, let’s not get ugly.

My blog has ALWAYS been plain and ALWAYS will be thus. I’m not here to showcase bling. I’m here to provide a safe space for women who feel like I did after I had my girls. To welcome them and let them know they are absolutely not alone. There is nothing off-putting about that, thank you very much.

To Write Love on Her Arms Suicide message

In which I thank a friend for saving my life

I shared the above graphic on my personal FB page tonight. You see, today is National Suicide Prevention Day, kicking off a full week of awareness. I’ve seen blog posts, links, graphics, etc, pop up all over the place. Hell, even Wil Wheaton shared about depression.

A year ago this time, I was dancing with Suicide. Tango, actually. Cheek-to-cheek. There was no rose, no romantic embrace, just chills, thoughts, wondering, wanting, yearning. It was a dirty affair with no promise of a happy ending.

But I had this friend. An online friend who recognized my fall from grace despite my best efforts to convince everyone around me (and myself) that everything was hunky dory. My divorce had just been finalized. I was still unemployed. Not with my children. My heart broken into a zillion pieces, scattered and yet still throbbing on the cold hard floor. Yet somehow, I fell asleep every night and awoke every morning.

Did I want to? No.

Every time I was in my car, I wanted to swerve in front of every 18 wheeler I saw, every sturdy oak, down every steep hill. But I didn’t.

Then there was THE day.

The day when I stood upstairs, in my bedroom at my parents’ house, staring out the window, calculating at what angle I’d have to throw myself out of it in order to hit the cement retaining wall which separated the house from the lower driveway. As my hand reached out and touched the screen on my window, I recoiled. Ran downstairs, phone in hand, and sat in the living room with my mother, silent.

I texted my friend.

“I am not okay.”

He responded. Wanted me to call him. I did. He talked me through it. Searched online for an agency which offered income sensitive help. I called them the next day. I was in therapy until this past May with an amazing therapist who constantly pushed the envelope and forced me to face life head-on, something I hadn’t done for years.

That friend?

SAVED.MY.LIFE.

Do you hear me?

HE SAVED MY LIFE.

For so long, and even now, I am *that* person for others. To be on the other side of the equation is impossible for me to fathom. It was then and it is now. But even those of us who *KNOW* about mental health and the toll it has on lives struggle from time to time. We are not perfect. We are human. We too need support when it gets dark. In fact, I’d even postulate that it’s sometimes more dangerous for those of us who *KNOW* about mental health because we tend to talk ourselves out of it without reaching out for help because dammit, we’re supposed to know our stuff.

Reach out.

If you’re suffering, reach out.

If you’re not suffering, reach out to those around you and ask how they’re doing.

Then LISTEN. Don’t listen and think about what you’ll say in response, just listen. Let them pour themselves out and wait for them to need a response. Sometimes? We don’t need a response.

Sometimes?

We just need a comforting and safe place into which we can pour our fear, our darkness, and let go of our terrors. We need a warm hand willing to lift us out of our miry clay into the light. We need to be rescued before it’s too late.

To the friend who saved my life, thank you. Thank you more than the number of stars in the sky, atoms in the universe, and more than all the bacon I will ever eat in a lifetime. Because of you, I am still here. I am still breathing. I.BREATHE.BECAUSE OF YOU.

Thank you more than I can EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER say.

If you or a loved one are thinking of suicide, there’s a button at the top of my sidebar on my homepage here at the blog – click on it for resources. You are not alone. Suicide is a very permanent answer to a very temporary problem. There IS light, laughter, and love on the other side – I’ve found it and I will never again take it for granted.

Patrick Dempsey VIR June 14 2012

Dempsey races into the #PPDChat world

McDreamy. That’s how most women in America refer to the fabulous Patrick Dempsey. Then we sigh and our minds wander. There’s just something about him, isn’t there?

In addition to the portrayal of Dr. Derek Shepherd on Grey’s Anatomy, Patrick Dempsey also races cars. He’s been racing through Dempsey Racing, which formed in 2002. Racing is so important to Dempsey that recent contract negotiations for his continued appearance on Grey’s hinge on his ability to have time off to race – “The biggest point for me in negotiations is getting time off to come race, so if I don’t miss races, I’ll probably stay on ‘Grey’s Anatomy.’”  (quote source: Huffington Post)

Not too far away from where I’m currently living is Virginia International Raceway, or VIR as it’s known to locals and racing enthusiasts. Back in June, American LeMans held a test day at VIR for several teams. I had no idea when my dad first mentioned going that Dempsey would be there. All I cared about was seeing the amazing cars.

I’ve been watching non-Nascar racing for quite some time now. We primarily watch F1 but given that there are no F1 tracks nearby, we settle for Grand-Am and now American LeMans if local events are attended.

I woke up early on June 14th to make the trek to VIR with my dad. After we paid for our entrance, we made our way to the Oak Tree corner to get started. The first race car came screaming around the curve, leaving me breathless. Then we went down to the top of the RollerCoaster, which was where I first saw Dempsey’s car pop over the hill. Only I didn’t know it was Dempsey’s car. It was quite simply, the most beautiful vehicle I’d ever seen on a racetrack.

It wasn’t until later in the day while meandering around the Pits that I realized Dempsey Racing was there. Then we overheard some VIR employees discussing his performance the day before. I whispered to my dad that if Patrick was indeed there, I simply had to meet him and he had to get a picture.

Dempsey’s car in the garage

As we continued to wander down through Pit Row, the sky darkened and we decided to go grab some lunch. Rain dropped down on us right as we reached the concession area but cleared up before we were through with our BBQ sandwiches and beer. We headed back over to Pit Row as all drivers are required to take at least an hour break during test days.

Thankfully, (or luckily) we managed to see Patrick as he stepped out of his trailer. He is a genuinely nice guy. The picture above was taken very quickly as he was heading somewhere on a scooter shortly after. He took the time to chat with my dad for a few minutes though and I was left in awe that I’d just met McDreamy.

This is where the story gets interesting.

I tweeted about meeting him (in a very 14 year old giggly girl manner):

So….I just met Patrick Dempsey. SQUEEEE.

— Lauren Hale (@unxpctdblessing) June 14, 2012

 

My phone barely had any power left but I received this response:

@unxpctdblessing Saw ur tweet re: Patrick (awesome, isn’t he?!) BUT my BFF suffers from PPD & PP psychosis. Reading website, linking her!!

— Erin (@lainey_vb131) June 14, 2012

 

So you see – Dempsey has this knack for saving lives and playing the hero without even trying.

@lainey_vb131 participated in #ppdchat the following week and still follows the chat, finding support with us even though she herself doesn’t suffer from Postpartum Depression.

When you do something you truly love, everything in your life is touched by it and nothing you do escapes without somehow translating into your primary function in life. Things like this prove again to me that I’m meant to help others with their journey through Postpartum Mood & Anxiety Disorders. I’ve been struggling a bit with that but it’s what’s in my heart and what will always be in my heart. Just like racing is what’s in Patrick’s. Well, that, and heroically saving lives. Even when he doesn’t realize he’s doing so.

Thank you Patrick, for taking just a few seconds to say hi to me and agreeing to a quick picture. Because of your graciousness, another mom found my blog and the community surrounding it –so did her best friend– and now they are no longer alone. You rock.

Postpartum Voice of the Week: Afterbirth by @angiekinghorn

Music. The way feelings sound.

The above is a quote featured in a picture I shared at my Facebook account not too long ago. I believe in it, strongly. Music, for me at least, is one of the most powerful ways to enhance or change mood. It’s powerful, all-encompassing. Hidden in the beats, rhythms, and lyrics of certain songs, there are memories. Some blissful, others haunting and terrifying.

I blogged about overcoming the haunting memories which Linkin Park’s album Reanimation held for me. It’s the album I listened to as my then 9 day old daughter had major surgery for the first time in her life. It was while listening to this album I first slid under the waves of the sea of Not Okay and wanted to stay there, drowning in my terror at the hard swirling around me. It took me five years to listen to the album in it’s entirety.

Yesterday I read Afterbirth over at Angie Kinghorn’s blog. In it, she recounts how a specific song, “Lines Upon Your Face” by Vertical Horizon, holds similar memories for her. Angie writes, “I’ve tried playing it in small doses to get used to it, musical allergy shots, if you will, but the violin pulls my heartstrings out and flays them bloody every time.” 

Unlike me, she didn’t play this song purposely, it simply happened to play on her iPod as she sat in the dark in the nursery after a traumatic birth, her father in pain in his illness, and the fear it brought forth within her soul.

With each verse, she swirled deeper into the darkness, just as I did while listening to Linkin Park. The darkness was comforting for me, but for Angie, it broke her wide open, shattering her into pieces, ultimately leading her to the realization she needed help.

I’m listening to the song Angie listened to that night in the dark right now via Grooveshark. I understand how it could break someone apart.

Go read Angie’s post. Show her some love for sharing such a powerful experience with the world. It takes courage to fight your way out of the dark but it takes even more courage to share it as Angie has done at her blog.

Postpartum Voice of the Week: Love, marriage, depression, survival

When I first fell into the rabbit hole of Postpartum Mood Disorders nearly 8 years ago, I never imagined it would lead to me sitting in front of a tiny computer attempting to compile the journey of a Syrian woman now living in Austria who has also struggled through her own issues with Postpartum Mood Disorders. At a time when so many in Syria are struggling for survival, it is truly an honour to share the story of a woman who grew up in their world and has fought her own battles to survive. Nadia is still fighting but her determination to win is enviable and because of that, she has already gained a victory. What follows below is a rewrite of a timeline Nadia sent me. With her approval, I am thrilled to be sharing it with you now.

I was born in Damascus, Syria, single child to Syrian parents who were cousins. My father studied Atomic Sciences in Russia but was not allowed to work in his specialization for security reasons. My mother was analphabetic, raised in a small village in the north of Syria where a woman doesn’t have the right to decide anything. She had five sisters. Two of them were married and then divorced after they had children. They suffered from depressions and psychological illness but I am not sure exactly what. I do know her family history involved depression.

My parents divorced after a marriage full of fights. My father beat my mother as a result of losing his temper. My Uncles, my mother’s brothers, threatened her, telling her she was not allowed to ask to see her daughter. They held her responsible for destroying the marriage by getting divorced which brought shame to their family. I was automatically given to my father.

Shortly after my parent’s divorce, my father married an Austrian woman who worked for the Austrian Embassy in Damascus. She couldn’t get pregnant due to cancer which caused doctors to remove her uterus. I visited my mum in the summer holidays only for short visits. My mother fell into a deep depression.

Three years later, I moved from Syria with my step-mother and father to Libya where my step-mother worked for the Austrian Embassy in Tripoli. I lost contact with my mother. My father’s temper flared. He beat me and his relationship with my step-mother began to fail. Within the next few years, my father was badly burned in a fire accident at home when our washing machine exploded. After three months in the hospital, he passed away.

After my father’s death, I was given the choice to stay with my step-mother or go back to Syria to my mother. I stayed with my step-mother because I was afraid if I returned to Syria the family may force me to marry or nobody would want to care for me. I moved to Austria with my step-mother because I knew it was the only way to help my mother. As I approached puberty, my step-mother and I did not get along very well. I was sent to a boarding school and she left Austria to work for the embassy in Turkey.

A short year later, I found myself longing for Arabic food, company, tradition, and language. I opened the phone book and searched for an Arabic restaurant. I went to eat there with a friend of mine. I met my husband at this restaurant. He was and still is my great love.

Two years later, after working very hard through summer holiday, my husband and I traveled to Syria to fulfill our dream of getting married. Our families both attended and our wedding was amazing. We returned to Austria, managing to get a one room flat. For five months, we didn’t have a bed to sleep on due to tight finances. But our love was more than enough to live on and we were sure things would improve.

In 2002, the same year we were married, I became pregnant. My pregnancy interrupted my schooling but I wasn’t concerned because here in Austria, when you give birth, the government pays you a monthly income for two years so finances were not a concern.

Our first son was born in 2003 when I was 19 years old. He cried without ceasing after birth. I was so sad as well. I did not know at the time of Postpartum Depression. It disappeared by itself although I still struggled with sadness and sometimes crying as my husband worked as a waiter all night long and I was alone with the baby quite often.

Three years later, we had a daughter, desired very much by my husband and myself. I struggled psychologically during pregnancy and was again crying and sad after giving birth but less than after my son. Again, I was still unaware of Postpartum Depression and thought this crying and sadness after giving birth was normal for me. I got Austrian citizenship and this allowed my husband to have working papers. He began working two jobs as a waiter and I was again alone at home for long periods of time.

In 2008, doctors discovered through blood tests my thyroid was hyperactive. They told me this might have caused my sadness during and after pregnancy. My thyroid was removed a year later and I began to take hormones. My mother had also had issues with thyroid and hers was removed as well. I knew I did not want to become pregnant again even though my husband always wanted to have four kids. I wanted to do something for me such as a job or return to school.

With both kids in school, I began taking courses in ICDL and secretary classes. I got a great offer for a job at the Embassy with a good salary. My boss and colleagues showed a lot of appreciation for me and for the first time, I had a feeling of success. My life felt so nice.

In November of the same year as finally starting my job, I found out that despite my copper IUD, abnormal thyroid results, and no desire to be pregnant, I was pregnant. My husband was very happy and offered to leave his job when I gave birth to stay with the baby so I could stay at my job. I was still sad because I knew I would experience yet another difficult psychological situation. But abortion was not an option.

This pregnancy however, proved to be one filled with additional difficulties.

In January of 2011, discovered my mother had Leukemia. In February, I went for one week to Syria to visit her. In March of 2011, my mother died in Syria. I was unable to go due to work, pregnancy, and the political situation in Syria.

My third child was born in August of 2011. He spent a month at the hospital due to jaundice. The doctors searched and searched for a reason. We were told at one time he didn’t have bile to get rid of the bilirubin. Then they suggested perhaps I was infected with Hepatitis in Syria when I visited my mother and the infection transferred to him. After the doctors confronted me with these suspicions, they discovered our son was a carrier of a disease called Alpha 1 Antitrypsin deficiency. He will not be able to drink alcohol or smoke when he is an adult as a result. Apha 1 Antitrypsin deficiency is genetic and perhaps my husband or I are carriers as well. We have both smoked for 10 years at this point.

Once my youngest son was home for two weeks, my older son’s eyelid began to twitch. The doctors again jumped to conclusions and stated it might be a facial paralysis. I became terrified and anxious about my son. He was treated with magnet resonance but all tests pointed to simple sinusitis. He was given antibiotics and healed just fine.

One week later, my husband traveled to Syria for his sister’s wedding. During the week he was gone, my daughter got worms again, went into the hospital, was given medication, and was able to come back home. Two days before my husband returned home, I felt as if I didn’t need to sleep. I couldn’t sit still. Adrenaline took over my body as I worried for no reason at all. I began to think this was because I was alone and tired.

My husband returned home and I did not get better. It got worse. Panic attack after panic attack hit me. No sleep, no food, just coffee and cigarettes. I finally sought help at the hospital and was diagnosed with Postpartum Depression. I have been on medication since November. My panic attacks have disappeared. I am working again and it’s been better since starting Psychotherapy and attending a support group here in Vienna as well. I’ve been in touch with the wonderful Wendy Davis, whom I highly appreciate and love, at Postpartum Support International as well. I have been reading this blog (My Postpartum Voice) and have greatly appreciated your help for other Mums and feel like you wrote what I always needed to be reassured that it goes away. Your words moved something inside of me and I decided to write to you.

Personal statement from Nadia:

I am a 28 year old mother of three kids, I’m proud of myself and my family and what I reached in my life. I’m living with terrible thoughts. They come and go. Once I have cancer in the kidney, once I start thinking my daughter has Leukemia because she looks so white in her face and so on. They thoughts almost disappeared. On a scale from 1-10 they were a 12 but now they are at a 3 but 3 is still making me anxious when they come. They start to convince me my daughter or son don’t look well, maybe they have this sickness, maybe I should do a blood test but I don’t even manage to do a blood test for them because the fear doesn’t want me to do it because the result might be really bad. I know it will get better. I know now what Postpartum Depression is and that I have it and I swear to god should I ever come out of this illness, I am going to start a project in the Arabic world to help any woman who gets involved with this illness.

اكتئاب ما بعد الولادة PostPartum Depression is the Facebook Page Nadia has created to support Arabic families struggling with Postpartum Mood Disorders. Please visit it and add it to your list of resources.