You don’t know what you don’t know

I have been wanting to write on here for a long time. So long. But I have been blocked. An easy excuse would be “Writer’s block” but it wasn’t. It was my mental health.

I write when I have once again battled against depression. This past battle was more then a year in the making. I know that because I didn’t even have the ability to write a Christmas letter last year. And I LOVE writing my Christmas letter.

So how to start. Life in a small town is amazing in so many ways. I am greeted by name almost every where I go. The community always comes together for those in need. I know all my kid’s teachers, lunch ladies, doctors, and nurses. I know the grocery clerk, my postal worker and bank teller. And I hear all the gossip around town. But that part is a downfall. The gossip gets to be too much some times. There are things people should know and things they shouldn’t. Because you don’t always know that back story. And there is always a back story.

For example, I recently spent two weeks away from my family. And I’ve heard a variety of reasons why. I would like to share what you don’t know. I was sick. Life threateningly sick. Not in a way that a pill, shot or surgery could fix. My thoughts had betrayed me. I was cycling down to a very very dark place.

I’ve been on these cycles before. I’ve written about them. However, this was one I knew about and ignored how bad it was until it imploded. Like I said earlier, the warning signs were there. I had let go of social groups, I didn’t go out with friends. I had lost all my hobbies. I spent hours upon hours binging Netflix, often from my bed. My physical well being was suffering as exercise was completely out of the question and personal hygiene was a chore. I got up in the morning to take my kids to school, but all to often it was in pajamas and I went back to bed as soon as I got home. I had no interest in the day to day on goings of my family. My kids knew I wasn’t well. They saw me on the couch day after day and asked my husband “What’s wrong with mom?” I didn’t answer them. And I have no excuse or reasoning. I knew I was slipping. But I couldn’t see how far. I was loosing the battle.

On July 3, 2023, it all came to a head. I had a beautiful family, wonderful home and great people surrounding me. But I couldn’t see myself there. I was confident that they would all be better off without me being a part of their lives. I was the cause of pain. I was the center of mistrust. I was the one hindering jealousy and grief. I was the problem.

And how do we most effectively solve a problem. We eliminate it. No problem= no pain, hurt, sadness or anger. So I made a plan. An end to my story.

I’m very thankful for my past ups and downs because those struggles have taught me that I don’t have to write my own ending. I made an appointment at the clinic. I was treated with extreme kindness and care and knew I was where I needed to be. From the clinic I was transferred to the ER. This step was necessary to most quickly get me into an impatient facility. Ross drove me up to La Crosse that afternoon and I was admitted into the impatient behavioral health care. I spent the next seven days dressed in purple scrubs that felt more like a prison uniform. I ate my meals using only plastic utensils as metal ones might have posed a danger to myself. I wasn’t even allowed staple in my paperwork. I stayed in a room where the bed was bolted to the floor, the chair weighed to much to pick up and the shower door was made of form that was Velcroed to the wall. Every 15 minutes someone was at my door, day and night to make sure I was safe. I was cared for by nurses, doctors, social workers, CNA’s, peer counselors, activities counselors and many others. I spent hours in therapy sessions, exercise classes, recreational activities, reading and discussing my health with professionals. And it was the absolute best and most necessary place for me to be.

I was safe. I was given the very basic blocks to get on the path to recovery. However, my journey wasn’t done. After a week in the inpatient care, I was ready to leave the facility but I wasn’t ready to go home. I had caused my family, my kids a lot of heart ache. I needed to make sure they were ready for me to come home. I also needed to make sure I was mentally stable enough to go back home. I needed to make sure I was strong enough for the day to day tasks.

My mom arranged for me to go spend some time with a friend of hers. This friend came from the town I now live in and had many similar life experiences. I had met this woman maybe once or twice before but didn’t really know her. However, God had a perfect plan in this. Sweetie (that’s what we will call my friend) was an angel sent just to me. She helped me regain my strength, voice, motivation and purpose. She reminded me that while life can get really really hard, it’s always worth it. Sweetie taught me so much in just a few short days. We spent time helping others, attending worship, creating, relaxing, laughing and talking. Sweetie has also become someone I can go to for just about anything. She knows all the stories, all the history now and still loves me. It is amazing to have people in your corner.

I’ve dealt with depression and anxiety since I was a teen. I’ve been through several programs, counselors and therapist. While these things helped, I always felt like I should be better and treatments should last longer. I felt like I was un-fixable. While in the hospital, I was given an added diagnosis. I have borderline personality disorder (BPD). While this may sound intense, it was a huge relief. I finally feel like I have something to work on. The positive of this diagnosis is that while there is no “cure,” there is a therapy that has been extremely helpful and successful in allowing people with BPD to lead a more successful, meaningful, healthy life. I’m in therapy, meet with a psychiatrist, and am exploring a variety of options to help heal myself.

This diagnosis isn’t an excuse for past behaviors. I’ve been broken for a long time and unfortunately that has caused me to lose really important relationships that I valued deeply. I have hurt people that I never, ever wanted to hurt. I live with a lot of guilt and shame for my actions.

I’m so thankful to have a wide net of support. I have my husband who loves me deeply. I have my children to are kind and caring. I have friends who are willing to help in whatever way needed. I have parents, who even when their baby is 36 years old, still drop everything to care for her. And I have a medical team who is providing me the highest level of care.

Please don’t read this story with sadness. Please don’t give me pity or worry. I am writing this to share my experience and help remove the stigma that continues to come with mental health issues. I want others to be reminded to continue to seek help when they don’t know what to do next. Mental health care is continually advancing and discovering new and positive treatments. It is worth the time to be honest with others, friends, family and health care professionals. I’m pretty confident that we all could benefit from a little therapy.

I’m happy to always share my story. If you think this post would be beneficial to others, please share it. If you would like to discuss my experiences more please reach out. Photos below are some of the memories we’ve made this summer!

Happy Harvesting,
Leah