A Bridge Between Worlds

I'm unwell with Covid. Four of the children have Covid and are all recovering well. The youngest has been very hard work. She bounced back rather quickly from Covid and only has residual effects. Me on the other hand, I am struggling. I was already exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally, before Covid decided to take residence in my body. I'm fatigued, lethargic. Short of breath. I'm grief stricken. It's Mother's Day here in Australia today. It feels wrong that Mum is not here. I would have spent some time with her today at the nursing home. Probably see my Dad and my brother too. Instead I'm home with Covid and I feel like I'm dying. I've barely been able to truly rest during the day. Laying down, yes. But when a 5 year old wants to play, eat and bounce, there's not much peace in that. The older children have done their best to help, but they are both getting over Covid too. It's also my parents wedding anniversary today. They never made it to their 51st year together. And it is also my ex's birthday today. My struggle when I'm unwell, is that I often wish he was here. For comfort and assistance. It's when I miss him the most. I'm not sure if it's a bad thing, a good thing, if it means anything, if it is just a natural thing after being with someone for so many years. Or if it is what it is. Just grief for all the things. Lately, I haven't been doing so well mentally. I have been feeling a bit out of control and overwhelmed by life. Panic attacks are becoming more frequent. Disordered thinking episodes. I spoke to my psychologist on the phone this past week and I said, " I don't know what is mental illness and what is grief anymore". I know that being suicidal is dreadful. I don't want to do that to my kids. But I feel like that big black monster is stirring again, getting ready to chase me. How can you do the right thing, when your mind goes wrong? My catch phrase in 2019 was "I'm not right". Something had gone wrong in my mind, perhaps in my body. I was given medication that helped and some hindered. But I got stable. I've had to use antipsychotics to get me through the last month. To keep me safe. Some may say that's a sign of failure. A failed mind. But it's not. I succeeded in keeping myself safe. If that means medication on and off, then that's what I will do. Yet, I feel like I'm walking on a tightrope, standing on a burning bridge with no choice but to jump off. And no one is there to catch me this time. Desperately sad and yearning for comfort. Love keeps me here and there. Tethered to my parents and my babies who didn't make it. A bridge between worlds. I miss them. I miss my old life.

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Crash and Burn

Imagine your walking along a path and then all of a sudden a flash flood furiously catches you off guard and any sense of that path you were walking is now indistinguishable. There is just a raging torrent of dark water propelling you to who knows where. That's a little bit what my panic episodes are like. And when you're amongst that swirling, angry torrent, it is easy to lose sight of the fact that, your environment for the most part is the same. The path is still there, the familiar surroundings are unchanged and when that panic flash flood subsides, those foundations of your life will most likely still be there. It just feels like they're not when all of a sudden your main objective is to keep your head above black, panic water and find something tangible to grasp on to. The relative stability I had been having over the month of June, in spite of all the ridiculous amount of appointments and box ticking monotony, came to a crashing end the last weekend of the month. J

Remember Who You Are

Hello my name is Léyanie and 5 weeks ago I was suicidal. Worse than that even, I was panicking and suicidal. And I completely felt unhinged from reality. I wasn't technically psychotic. I had insight into my behaviour and my thinking being terribly wrong and frightening, and uncharacteristic of myself, but I was terrified that I could have easily tipped over to the psychotic and done something dreadful to myself. I required immediate assistance and intervention, I was resigned to the fact that I was probably going to be hospitalized, but I am lucky to have a great doctor and she prescribed medication that helped and I spent a week with my Dad. My family dropped their lives to support me as best they could. My sister was key in that intervention, bundling me up and taking me to my doctor and then dropping me off at Dad's. She checked in everyday with me, as did my great friends, and I am so very thankful for that. What you may not know about this story is that prior to my breakd

Chance Encounters

Last week I put my script in at the pharmacy for my "keep Fred in his box" medication. When I went to the counter to pick them up, the man at the counter handed them to me and asked why I was taking them, "There's a few things you can take that for is all", he said. I resisted the urge to blurt out that my brain is broken and that it is an anti-Fred, and just explained it was being used as an antidepressant. He went on to ask if I would be interested in some supplements that could help. "Yeah sure, why not", I said. I figured what could it hurt. He writes down the supplements on a piece of paper, but also walks me through some of the ones available at the pharmacy. The list was for vitamin B, vitamin D, flaxseed oil and probiotics. He also let me know about a book that he recommends and a group that runs seminar type sessions on depression and brain health, among other things. I was very grateful, "Thanks for helping me out. I think I was close t

Life, the Universe and the Melancholic

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