Sorry

Phillip "superman" doesn't want me to,

won't "let me" 

post anymore.

He feels my story is too dark to share.

I'm sorry I won't be able to finish the story.

:(

Five days in the psych ward... Day one...

Day one:

That first night was the worst.

I tossed and turned unable to sleep for most of the night.

And I was sooooo cold!

I was wide awake at five thirty in the morning and could hear all the goings on out my door.

I could hear a woman yelling at a nurse because she wanted her meds.

She kept insisting that she had to be able to leave at seven thirty exactly.

From what I could gather she was headed to rehab and the person picking her up had stressed that she needed to be ready to go at exactly that time, or else...

This woman was very rude.

That was made clear simply by the tone and volume of her voice at such an early hour.

The way she spoke to the staff etc...

I'm not judging or anything, we all have our problems... 

But when she whined about getting her coffee with no please or thank you,

 boy howdy I was glad she was leaving that morning.

I stayed in my bed unsure of what to do.

Finally I braved getting up and asking for my "box".

(Everyone had a box with things that were deemed unsafe for us to keep at all times, we were only aloud to use the things in our "boxes" when we needed them.  

They included things like:

Deodorant

shampoo/conditioner

Chapstick

contact lenses/glasses

lotion

toothbrush

toothpaste

brush

These are things I had in my box, things I had brought with me to the hospital.)

I was given my box with strict instructions to bring it back when I was done,

I was given some towels as well.

I went to the bathroom in my room.

It had only a third of a door, the top and bottom missing.

There was no handle and no lock.

Because I was sharing my room with an invalid 

(she had a bum knee)

there was a bench for her to sit on that took up half of the shower area.

Somehow I managed to shower in the low water pressured small stream of water.

I had been smart enough to bring extra clothes and underwear so I had something clean to wear and did not have to stay in the horrible hospital gowns.

After I had showered and dressed, with little privacy, I was at a loss of what I should do.

There were other "crazy" people eating their breakfast out in the common area.

But I being shy didn't dare approach them.

I figured I'd spend the entire time in my room talking to no one.

But it wasn't to be.

It wasn't long before my assigned psychiatrist came and collected me.

We walked out of my room and past all the others in the common room.

As I walked into the room that the psychiatrist led me to I could hear the others talking about me.

I can't remember what they said exactly, but something to the effect of:

"That's the one."

I spoke with my psychiatrist for only a few minutes.

I explained to him that I was feeling suicidal 

and he tried to deduce if my feelings were chemical or environmental.

We decided that they were chemical.

So I was kept on my medication.

I was led back out to the common room and encouraged to eat my breakfast.

I remember a bagel a banana and some fruit.

I ate the banana.

While I ate a tech came up to me needing to take my vitals.

Something they do regularly to make sure you aren't dying on them.

He took my blood pressure and said:

"Okay Rose we are going to play a game.  You guess what your blood pressure is and if you guess right I'll give you a dollar.  If you guess wrong.....You will be publicly flogged."

I was confused.

Was this guy actually teasing me?!

Doctors and hospital people NEVER joke.

I have learned this over the last several years of spending time in hospitals having babies and from my many trips to doctors offices for having said babies.

This should have been my first clue that the psych ward wasn't as terrible as I thought it was.

I finally gave in and guessed.

I guessed low, not taking my stress into account.

So I was wrong, but I wasn't publicly flogged, lol!

The other ladies that were there were very nice to me.

Most of them knew my name.

They asked me questions and were very friendly,

the "mad" lady having left before I got up.

There was a teenage girl who was 19.

There was the older lady, who was probably in her 50's, that I shared a room with.

There was a girl my same age, her head was shaved.

There was another lady who must have been in her 30's, she was so nice and funny.

There was another lady who was in her 40's who could never remember my name.

All of these woman suffered chronic pain.

Some of them struggled with drug abuse.

Only the 50 year old was somewhat active in the LDS church.

They all had very negative feelings towards the LDS church.

I'd come to listen to several conversations ridiculing the church.

I never joined these conversations.

Some would say that it would have been an excellent time for missionary work.

But I was neither in the right place mentally or physically to be hailing the gospel.

Though there were several times that I had to work really hard to hold my tongue.

I wanted to defend my church and my beliefs, but couldn't think of anyway to say something that wouldn't have made matters worse.

I figure that if the Lord really wanted me to say anything 

He would have blessed me with the right words to say.  

As it was I had nothing but my faith, without words.

Later after lunch I was visited by my therapist.

Such a nice sweet understanding lady.

She only had to push me a little in the right direction for me to be able 

to discover the answers to my questions on my own.

After talking to me for quite a while she said,
"Rose you are a perfectionist."

I gave her a weird look and thought to myself,

If I were a perfectionist I would probably be much more successful than I am.

I left the room with that thought playing over and over in my mind.

***

I was given a form to fill out.

One of those "personality" type "tests".

This one called "SCHEMA".

It would show me my "life traps".

I set to filling it out and thought nothing of it.

I gave it to one of the techs who would analyze it and put it into the computer 

which would then show me what my "life traps" are.

Turns out my "life traps" are 

Failure to achieve

and 

Subjugation

I'd be given a book that would tell me more about these things.

As it was, simply seeing that made a light bulb go off in my head.

The reason I feel like a failure.

The reason I feel like I need to be perfect for everyone but myself.

So many things clicking into place I didn't know what to do with them.

So I wrote.

I wrote how I was feeling.

Which basically boiled down to being a  failure.

I dissected what it was exactly that I was failing at and why.

And when I couldn't write any more I sat back and pondered and watched the people around me.

I slowly and shyly made friends with the other "crazy" women in the psych ward.

Turns out that they weren't so bad.

Though we each had our problems, we found friendship in each other.

We found support.

We found understanding.

I'll probably never see any of those women again, but they have burned a lesson into my life.

It doesn't matter who you are or what you've been through the bottom line is we are all human, 

we all want to be loved,

we all want someone to care about us,

we all want encouragement,

and we all want someone to talk to.

(All things I've found in the Lord)

That first day was only the beginning of me "getting better"...

Five day's in the psych ward... First night...

At this point I couldn't possibly be embarrassed about anything.

So yes, I am going to share this experience.

Not for attention.

Not because I'm a bit crazy.

But because at some point this information may be useful to someone else.

And because,

you ought to know by now,

I love a good story,

and I think this is one.

I also don't ever want to forget this experience.

First Night:

Wednesday was a normal day.

I woke-up

I fed my kids

We went grocery shopping

I took them to the park for a picnic with friends.

We stayed there most of the afternoon.

That evening Superman came home from work very concerned about me.

He'd seen my post.

He'd talked to others who'd seen my post.

He'd heard that others were ready to call the police about me.

He'd heard that should the police get involved our children would be taken away.

I don't know how much truth lies in those words,

but it scared me.

Supermans dad came to our house and picked up our kids and took them out for dinner.

Superman and I had a heart to heart.

An hour later I asked him to take me to the hospital.

I was scared.

I was suicidal.

I was on the very edge.

The end of my rope.

The only reason why I had the balls to do so was because it scared me to death to think of my children being taken away.

(I am laughing about that last line, "scared me to death", lol!!!  It's FUNNY, accept it ;)

So because I love my children I went to the hospital to get help 

that Superman and my family couldn't give me.

Superman was nervous he wasn't sure where we were supposed to go, 

he didn't know which part of the hospital to go to.

I calmly (too calmly) knew we needed to go to the emergency room.

I told him I would do all the talking.

I walked into that emergency room and said,

"Hi, I'm all like suicidal and stuff...."

They checked me in without delay.

We went back to one of the little rooms and waited.

We waited and waited and waited.

I had my ipad and took a walk around Facebook while we waited.

I told Superman every little thing that he'd have to remember to do while I was gone.

We waited.

Finally a doctor came in and talked with me.

He said that I'd need to talk with the social worker.

We waited and waited and waited.

While we waited I had blood drawn and gave a urine sample.

They needed to make sure that, other than mentally dying, I was healthy.

Finally after several hours the social worker came in.

He asked me the same questions the doctor did.

And then admitted me to adult psych.

I had to take off all of my clothes and put on a hospital gown.

They put me in a wheelchair and the social worker pushed me down the hall 

away from Superman and the rest of the outside world.

We were accompanied by a security guard because the psych ward is under complete lockdown and thus we needed the security guard to open the doors with his keys.

By this time is was midnight.

I was wheeled into the dark entry of what would be my prison for the next little while.

I had no idea how long I'd be there.

Superman had sent my things up and it was gone through by the staff.

They separated out what I could have and what I couldn't.

A female tech 

(The tech's were basically the babysitters of the crazy people) 

came and talked to me, 

asked me those same questions I'd already been asked twice and had me sign some paper work.

I then had to strip off my hospital gowns 

(this was in the bathroom) 

so she could check that I wasn't hiding who knows what on my body.

Under my armpits, between my legs...

It was not, fortunately, a full cavity search,

so I wasn't traumatized too much, lol!

I put my hospital gown back on,

was shown to my room,

which I shared with another crazy lady.

I lay down in that horrible hospital bed and thought,

"am I seriously here?"

I was in a bit of shock to be completely honest.

I kept wondering how I'd gotten so bad.

How had I ended up there?

Over the next few day's I'd find out...

Responsibility

I have a problem.
The problem is that I am not motivated.
Because I am not motivated I feel like a failure.

What I have discovered is a solution.
Motivation will never come without action.

If I do not act, nothing will happen.
If I do act, something will happen, progress will be made and I will find motivation in that progress.

It is my RESPONSIBILITY to act.

I am not a failure if I don't, I am simply
idling instead of moving forward.
But sometimes I need to idle or STOP
to fill up with fuel.
And that is a good thing.

Taboo...

Depression is an unspoken Taboo subject.

Depression and all that that implies,

suicide,

medication,

etc...

And it's not just depression,

it's any mental/mood disorder.

I know these are subjects that make many people uncomfortable.

They make me uncomfortable.

I'm certain that everyone is judging me,

thinking I am only writing about this for attention,

or just being dramatic...

I'm not, not even close.

I'd still prefer to keep this all bottled up inside and secret.

I'm terrified every time I click "publish post".

But.

Now that I've let the dam burst I can't pull it back.

I've found that so many people that I know and love have the same struggles that I am going through.

So many of the people I know and love are (gasp!) medicated!!!

I AM NOT ALONE IN HOW I FEEL!!!

That is the saddest statement I think I've ever made.

It makes me want to simultaneously bawl and throw-up.

I don't want anyone to have to feel like I do!!!

I would rather be alone with the comfort that no one else has to feel this way.

But.

 I have to face the facts, and if I have to go through this,

 and others do as well, 

I'd rather we not go it alone.

How can so many of us be struggling with something so hard that medication becomes necessary.

Regardless of the side effects.

My medication makes me sweat like a man.

No matter the temperature or the lack of activity I always seem to be dripping with sweat.

It's embarrassing!

But.

The medication helps enough that it is worth sweating over.

The medication makes it possible for me to get out of bed, period.

To just and simply get out of bed!!!

To shower, to get dressed, to function at all.

Because the level of depression at this point has me paralyzed.

But.

The medication doesn't touch my want to kill myself.

I think about dying constantly.

Last night I was so angry that I had no means to die.

I was angry with Superman for telling me he doesn't want me to die.

For telling me that he and our kids don't want to live without me.

I want to die, and he isn't making it easy for me.

No one is making that easy for me.

THANK GOD!!!!

Because in the light of day,

even though I still think about dying.

I don't really WANT to die.

Happy happy happy happy happy, I'm so happy today...

I am happy.

Plain and simple.

But.

A person can be happy and also be struggling with depression.

Like me.

I keep telling people that,

"my life is better than it has ever been before!"

I have GREAT friends,

a FANTASTIC and SUPPORTIVE family,

I live in a WONDERFUL neighborhood,

with SUPER neighbors,

I am married to the MOST AMAZING man,

and I LOVE my children UNCONDITIONALLY.

 So how can I possibly be so depressed.

I keep saying it,

"it's 100% chemical"

Yes, there has been a lot of feelings of loss with losing my baby.

Yes, that has been a whole lot harder for me to get over than I would have thought possible.

But enough to lead me to suicidal tendencies?

No!

It's all chemical.

It has to be.

With as great as a life as I have...

It's like being healthy, but getting a bug bite.

That little tiny spot that ITCHES!!!

You try not to scratch it, but sometimes it just gets rubbed the wrong way,

and you just can't help but give in to the temptation and,

SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH!!!

It doesn't help the situation,

in fact it makes it worse!

The more you scratch the worse it gets, until one day you have a giant ugly scab.

Maybe an infection, maybe it's driven you so crazy you've found the only way to deal is to just cut the whole darned thing off.
And that makes you angry, and you start swearing like a sailor.
You can't seem to help it.

You can't just stop itching or, just get over it.

It's going to be there until it's gone.

You can put medicine on it, and sometimes it helps, but sometimes it doesn't.

There is no denying it, there is no saying it isn't there when it is.

And when you find yourself unable to cope with it, 

who do you turn to?

Who can take the nastiness of an infected ulcer that has no end in sight?

Who won't run away from you in terror?

When it comes right down to it, 

you'll find out.

If you can't handle the truth, go somewhere else...

As of late I've been a little bit well, for lack of a better word, crazy.

Crazy Crazy Crazy

I've been acting strangely or hadn't you noticed.

Well, to put it plainly my oddness can be summed up with one phrase:

Postpartum Depression

Depressing isn't it.

Turns out it is a real and true thing.
A real and true horrible thing that no one should have to suffer!
The loneliness of something like this is incomprehensible to anyone thinking rationally.
Incomprehensible to anyone who has never genuinely felt this way.

Somehow I've managed to hold onto my sense of humor,
or so I thought,
until I was told I am not funny,
which made me want to cry,
which I thought was funny,
which is why I thought I'd held onto my sense of humor,
riddled with a constant want to cry.

So far I havn't given in and cried,
I can't,
It might make me feel better,
but,

I might not be capable of stopping...

So, Post Partum Depression:

It totally sucks!

I didn't want the whole world to know about this.

I wanted to keep it secret,

but when I post the "F" word on facebook people start freaking out,
wondering if I am on drugs or something.

Nope not drugs,
at least not that kind,
 an antideppressant that hasn't been working as well as I'd like it too.

The mood swings man, exahsting!

Does this give you more respect for Superman?
It ought to!

Postpartum depression has been brought to me by the miscarriage I had in April.
I've been speeding downhill ever since.
Some moments are good;
 I can wake-up, I can shower and get dressed,
yesterday I even managed to clean my house.
This is only because I am taking an antidepressant.

The problem is some moments are really bad.
My mind goes dark and abismal.
I am lost in a sea of impossibility from which there seems no escape.
It's lonely and scary.
This leads me to thoughts of suicide.
Most people are afraid to die.
We live our lives panicing at the thought of cancer or automobile accidents...
I used to be one of those people...
Used to be.

There are three reasons I have survived the last week:
1-I didn't want to die while Superman was in Africa.
2-If I died who would take my boys to swim practice this week.
3-I have really good friends who have gotten me through days that otherwise would have ended me.

Does that freak you out a little bit?
It freaks me out.
I feel like a total freak.
I am not being dramatic, I actually feel this way.
But I have a rational side
(the side that tells me all this will be too heavy for some people to grasp)
my rational side has sought help in the form of medication and counseling.
So I haven't completely lost it.
I hope I don't.

Lost

Oh. My. Word! 

 So bear tells me he is going to go play with his basketball friends,

he does this on a daily basis,

and always comes right back home if none of them are out playing basketball.

So I am not surprised when he leaves but then comes right back home. 

 I think he goes downstairs to play cars while I play in the backyard with Lyon and Fenix. 

 An hour later I go inside and call for Bear, he doesn't answer....

I figure he is engrossed in his game and doesn't want to answer me.

I mean it never occurred to me that he might have left, he always tells me where he is going.

So I play outside with Lyon and Fenix again.

It's starting to get late into the afternoon, and Lyon and Fenix want to go back inside.

We go inside and I call for Bear again.

I call again and again as I walk the entirety of my house looking for him, 

he isn't home.

His bike is here, his scooter is here, his basketball is here.

But he isn't.

So I start looking for him outside my house.

 I call half my neighbors, knock on the other halves doors.

I send Lyon over to my next door neighbors house, 

but Lyon tells me that only the sisters are home.

I call out for him across the neighborhood.

I try to imagine where he might have gone.

He never just disappears like this and he knows he isn't supposed to go into his friends houses.

He is supposed to stay where I can see him.

He always does.

I look and look and look,

near tears at this point.

 Can't find him!

I go home and think for a minute, 

it has now been two hours since I noticed him missing.

I'm ready to call the police. 

 I think of what he was wearing, try to imagine giving a description of him to the police. 

 I imagine every worst case scenario there is. 

I'd been working in my garden all day my hair was a mess and I was wearing junky work clothes.

If I am going to have to call the police I don't want to look like a slacker mom when they show up.

(Which is what I think I looked like at that moment)

Yes, I actually think this.

So I get dressed and comb my hair, pick up my phone, and at the last second decide to check the neighborhood one last time.

Some of the neighbors didn't answer their doors,

Maybe just maybe they will this time around.

So I go to my next door neighbors house.

I'm thinking that they probably aren't home,

I knock...

And sure enough,

Bear has been at their house the whole time playing with his best friend.

Thank goodness!!!

I say he can play there for a little longer, and walk back home shaking the whole way.

My energy drained, 

my head pounding,

though I should feel relief,

I don't.

I feel like throwing up.

Death and all her friends...

Conversations at the breakfast table in my house are always interesting.

Yesterday morning, Lyon brought up death.

Out of nowhere he says to me:

"I don't want our whole family to die"

Bear pipes in:

"We all have to die someday Lyon"

I was like:

"Lyon, why are you worried about our family dying?"

He was like:

"My friend told me."

I was like:

"What friend?"

He was like:

"That boy."

Uhhhhhhhh......

Well I don't know who in the world Lyon has been talking too, but uhhhh okay....

So I spend the whole morning talking to Lyon about death.

Explaining to him what would happen if we should die.

I told him about the spirit world, and he worried about getting our bodies back on.

I told him more about the spirit world, and he worried about leaving his toys.

I told him that death isn't scary.

I told him about how he would get to go to daycare during the day if either mommy or daddy died.

I think maybe I made it sound a little too good, lol!

Because Lyon got really excited about daycare, lol!

Bear told me he'd want to go live with his friends if both me and Superman died.

Yep, such fun conversations in the morning.

Out to Africa...

What can I say,

I like to brag about this :D

Way back in March or April Superman say's to me:

I have an opportunity to go to Africa.

I said,

Sweet, you should go!

Then I said with a bit of a pout,

I want to go to.

He said,

You can, oh wait you can't, you are pregnant.

I was like,

Yeah.

Then I was like,

Woohooo, you are going to Africa!!  That is so cool!!!

And then I lost the baby....

But in reality, even if I weren't pregnant, I don't think I would have really been able to go...

But it makes for a better story ;)

So we started to plan.

At first he was to go with a group in July,

fortunately his plans changed to go with a group in August because his little sister got married in July and he really did not want to miss that :D

So it's August, after months of planning, and a lot of shots;

Superman is on his way.

Day one he flew to Washington DC.

He left bright (well it was actually dark) and early Tuesday morning, 

and made it to DC by the afternoon.

Which gave him all evening to explore the city.

Which he did.

Today he is flying to Adis Ababa, Ethiopia.

It's going to be a long flight.

And he doesn't have a cushy bed to sleep in when he gets there.

But he should be able to explore the city before they head down to Kenya.

I am so excited for his opportunity.

He is going to help build a health clinic in a small village outside of Mambosa.

Since Superman and I met we have always had goals to help other people.

We've talked countless times of doing just exactly what he is doing now.

While I am sad that I didn't get to go with him,

I know that in the future there will be more opportunities.

I am confident of it.

Because like I've said before,

when Superman decides to do something there is no stopping him.

I'm so proud of him!

The last day...

Our last day spent at the beach,

and Fenix only wanted to do one thing:

Pile the sand high on my chair.

And then brush it off.

Of course she wasn't like that the whole time that last day at the beach,

oh no.

At first all she wanted to do was stand out in the waves being held in Supermans arms.

The waves couldn't quite reach her, but she stood amidst their power just the same.

I stood by her on the beach for a while,

but she wanted to go out to her daddy.

So I watched as she made her way out into the water.

It came up to her knees.

Then up to her waist.

She held her own and kept going,

she could see her daddy with his arms open for her to come to him.

And then...

With the ocean as unpredictable as it is,

a big wave came rushing toward her,

I saw it coming,

Superman saw it coming,

I ran to try to grab her before the wave did,

but got there too late.

The force of the wave tossed her into a backward sommer salt.

I caught her mid sommer.

She had sand and salt mixed into her hair, mouth, and eyes.

But she didn't cry.

She turned to her daddy and exclaimed,

"It's spicy"

Can you hear me?

Hear's the thing.

I am not good at hearing things.

I am not a sound remembering kind of person.

When it comes to songs, I can usually remember the gist of it, but rarely the words or even the melody.

It's the way I am.

Visually though...

I can remember images pretty dang well.

(Really it depends on the situation)

This is why I like text, email, and Facebook messages.

I can see them,

I can read them several times,

I can remember or pull up what was said later if I need to.

Conversations are great,

I like hearing tone of voice,

but gestures are more important for me when it comes to figuring out meaning etc...

So if you ever wonder why I'd much rather message than talk on the phone,

think visual.

Because he listens so well...

In California,

along the la jolla shores.

Large grassy hang out area, 

lots of weird climby trees.

Lyon watch out for that mud puddle 

 He didn't listen.

His sandals got stuck,

so Superman had to rescue them.

His feet got muddy and he wasn't happy about it. 

But he still wanted to climb that tree.

So he ran round to the other side 

(without a mud puddle)

 to climb up. 

It wasn't long before he slipped off into another mud puddle.