Skip to main content

Talk About the Sh*t you Don't Want to Talk About

I haven't updated this blog in a very long time.  I actually deleted a ton of posts while I was applying for social security disability. I posted about Cushing's Awareness day earlier this week on facebook, so I guess I'm in a sharing mood.

Anyway, for anyone who even reads this, I was watching a documentary on Netflix about a teenager with anorexia and mental illness who found meaning in her life through yoga. (It's called I Am Maris). It's kind of the reason for this post.

To start - let's go back to June 2018. My grandmother died.  She lived a wonderful long life, but it was especially hard on me.  She was the reason I got out of bed every day, my best friend, and so much more. I actually don't remember how I got through most of the summer.

In the span of two weeks at the end of August, my mom turned 60, we went on a family vacation to the vineyard, my best friend got married, and I wanted to kill myself.  Yeah, you read that right. The day after returning from an amazing 2 weeks, home alone, I was denied for SSDI for maybe the 6th time.  I just couldn't handle it.  I was at capacity.  I didn't want to do it anymore.  I didn't know how I was going to get out of bed again.  How I was going to face the reality of my life.

But, instead of ending it, I called my mom.  She was going to come home and I made her promise she won't (like I expected her to listen to me).  She made a few phone calls and told me to head to MGH and she would meet me there.  I was alone, very fragile, and basically non stop crying while I waited in the ER.  That night I was admitted to a different hospital that specializes in mental illness. I spent 5 days there.  I don't even think my brother and sister know this happened, still to this day (They were told I was in the hospital, but no details. Only a few very close friends know.)

I have spent the last 7 months focused on my physical and mental health, and just in the last month was diagnosed with PTSD.  I'm not going to get into what caused it, because I don't think it was just one thing.  I still am dealing with feeling suicidal almost daily, but I'm working on it.  I do have better and worse days, just like everyone else.

I dated someone this fall and winter, which helped bring some meaning into my life, but it has since ended in the hardest way, which has brought back a lot of feelings of being worthless and hopeless.  I told my mom maybe 2 weeks ago that I was still suicidal.  Even she didn't know it was this bad. I am waiting to get into an intensive trauma program, and will hopefully hear soon.

I'm not sure why I am even deciding to share this. I am still in the thick of this strange illness, and don't know if it will ever get better. But I have gotten out of bed every single morning (or more likely, afternoon) and I don't plan to stop.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cushing's Awareness Day

Over the past 8 years, I have spent a few Aprils blogging every day for Cushing's awareness.  I will not be blogging daily this year, but don't want to let the month go by without spreading some awareness!


April 8th is Cushing's Awareness Day because it is Harvey Cushing's Birthday.  Harvey Cushing is the father of modern neurosurgery, and he also was the first to discover Cushing's Disease in one of his patients.  You can see a drawing of his patient (Minnie G) in many text book articles about Cushing's.

2 Years Since my Adrenalectomy...would I do it again?

On September 2nd, 2010, I spent the day in one of the many operating rooms at MGH.  I had spent the night before talking and texting to friends and family, after seeing Wicked and going back to the hotel across the street from the hospital.  I cried a lot, because of the scary and fairly dangerous surgery ahead, because of the hope that this disease would FINALLY be behind me, and because of the long recovery ahead.  I woke up early and walked across the street with my mom, and my dad met us there.

The wait that morning was incredibly long, my 2 other surgeries in the 9 months prior had been very early and a pretty short wait.  I cried some more (no one should be surprised by this), and finally headed into the prep room.  I met with my surgeon one last time, and kissed my parents one last time.  As I waited in the cold, dark, cement hallway outside the numerous operating suites, a surgical resident marked the incision sites.  I knew there would be many small incisions, but having the…