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In late April of this year, I'd had enough of a six month episode of clinical depression and was at rock bottom. I was at Sunshine Village, pushing my limits on my snowboard, yet no trick landed or amount of speed was quelling the incessant feelings of hopelessness and despair.
I sat on the mountain, my goggles filling up with tears of desperation and frustration.
"Why was this happening?" "What was I missing in my treatment plan?" "Was I treatment resistant? Doomed to a life of depression and misery?"
Part of me knew I had to dig deeper than I'd ever gone before to get out of this rut, so I took myself to the hospital. A judgemental and mean male nurse told me I was fine and to leave the emergency and go back to my psychiatrist, so I left that day without any help or answers.
Finding out my psychiatrist wouldn't be able to see me the following week sent me back to the hospital, and this time I brought a friend. The same asshole rolled his eyes, but luckily it's a team approach, so I ended up getting the help I needed.
I knew what my treatment resistant bipolar depression needed and it was ECT and hospitalization, and within 2 weeks I was back to myself. I did about 10 rounds of ECT and had amazing results and very little memory issues. Was it scary? Not as scary as staying depressed and thinking awful thoughts of wanting to drive my truck off the road.
The staff was amazing, the other patients where supportive and I got really into floor hockey.
I'm actually pretty good at floor hockey and honestly for the first few weeks out of the hospital I was secretly wishing I hadn't checked out just so I could score a few more goals.
ECT got me back to maybe 60% better and I had a business to run so in-spite of my new found passion, I wasn't about to get too comfortable in the psych ward.
Additionally, my room was across from the nurses station, and they are a really rowdy bunch at 7 am, so I never got really comfortable. Not only that, but hospital wards are no substitute for comfortable suburban living.
Do I miss the safe, structured environment and 3 meals a day? Ummm, yes. Do I miss drawing and playing the piano?....absolutely. I did realize that once I was depression free, the rest of the journey back to wellness was my responsibility.
I wanted a miracle, but the last 8 weeks haven't been easy.
My business grew exponentially, and I found myself hardly keeping up, back on nicotine and redbull and working long hours. I was in the fight, flight, or freeze response trying to juggle a ridiculous work load. My poor overtired and wired brain started getting obsessive compulsive about germs, a scary symptom of my inability to find balance. I started just wanting to give up, when was this battle going to stop? When was I going to find the peace and serenity I so desperately needed?
What gets me through is my ability to always look for hope and the presence of a loving higher power in my difficulties.
Through all these challenges, as storms of mental illness disturbed my inner landscape, I kept the faith I would heal, and that the God of my understanding would guide me on a daily basis.
I have been guided every step by a loving higher power that didn't want me to give into clinical depression and despair. Friends, counsellors, doctors and random strangers have said the right things to give me the strength to go on.
Nature has shown me amazing weather this summer in Alberta....so many rainstorms, thunder storms and windstorms in June that reminded me of my own storms...frightening but impermanent.
After most rainstorms, rainbows showed me the connection between this realm and the spiritual plane.
I really believe that God is within all of us and knows our struggles and wants us to find healing. Our job is to keep reaching out and having faith that no matter how long the storm lasts, there will be healing and redemption and we must hold on and keep fighting.
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