After a year on the reservation, my mom and grandparents went to their own places. I moved with her to Belleville where my job was as well.
It came to be known very quickly that medicine doesn’t work easily on me. I was told I have a very bad resistance to medicine. Every time the doctor would try a new antidepressant, it would half ass work, she’d up it, and it wouldn’t do anything for me anymore. She was trying to find a medication to help me sleep as well, and they never worked, so after two years of fighting to find something for me, we both decided to give up on the sleeping pills…
I have always been and still continue to be, a night person. My parents put a black and white tv in my room when I was little, and I’d watch the French music station bc it was the only one still on all night long with aerial (yes I was raised in the country). In high school, I’d stay up all night listening to punk music and writing newspaper styled letters to my hippy friend Jess, and creep her out by drawing anarchy symbols all over it. She would send me peace signs lol.
I had been living at home still, and my health had been getting significantly worse. I could no longer go for big walks like I was used to. Dancing was out, and so was going out and partying with friends. I started putting on weight. Eventually I was down to working two hours a week, and decided then and there, it was time to go on disability.
One day I was looking for a cord. I was taking a class online, and needed a cord to hear the lecture. I couldn’t find it. By then my sister had moved back home, and thankfully she did, bc my adrenalin kicked in for the last time. I grabbed my VCR and threw it across the room at the wall. Somehow it lived. I went up to my room and started trashing it, and ripping everything apart. I couldn’t get it to stop. There was only one way in my messed up brain that made me think I could calm myself down.
I went downstairs, grabbed a knife, came back up and laid in bed with the knife to my wrist. I sat there still, trying to decide whether I was going to do this again. My mom’s little dog Winnie, that we had been given from an abusive situation, adored me. She had been through so much, and I worked my ass off with her to make her feel safe, and be trained. She jumped in the bed, and started screaming. I tried to ignore her, but she was right in my face, and eventually I sat the knife down, held her, and called my sister once more.
She called my counselor who had to legally send me to the hospital. I went, and I started to panic. I didn’t want them thinking I was actually going to do anything, but just wanted immediate at that moment help. Well that wasn’t the case. I got locked up in the psych ward. I waited.. and waited… and then asked if I could go out to the courtyard for a cigarette. I took off lol. I literally spent about 15 mins trying to figure out how to get out of the hospital, and then just started walking. I made it half way home and called my mom to tell her what I did.
By that point, it’s the middle of the night, and the hospital knew I had taken off, and were threatening to call the police to come find me. My mom came and got me, and drove me back. So even more reason to keep me right? They actually let me sign myself out, and go home. I knew I was safe, and sure as fuck felt a lot safer at home than there, but that wasn’t the case.
My mom was to be in charge of giving me my medicine… which bc I was physically ill as well, consists of a lot of dispensing. It lasted one day, until she just gave up and told me where they were.
I was referred to the Mayo Clinic in Toronto for a second opinion on my depression. The young guy there, who wasn’t much older than I was, nailed it. He found a medication that was known for causing horrible problems for everyone else, but it ended up being the one that saved my life. Much better than being drugged out of Lorazepam like a robot.
I made significant changes in my life, and moved out on my own once my disability started, and did everything my counselor asked me to. Even if I didn’t think it would work. I did the group therapy, I had the college students come as extra support, I went to all my doctors appointments. I was starting to feel like my old self was coming back.
One issue was that I just kept fainting every where I went. I wouldn’t know it was going to happen and boom I’d wake up on the floor. after complaining to my Crohn’s specialists about this and them noticing I had a heart murmur. They decided they were going to have it double checked.
That’s when Dysautonomia walked into my life and changed everything.
As a side note, I am going through a flare with my Crohn’s Disease right now. I have already lost 25 lbs in a short while, as well as excruciating pain through my joints, back and belly. So bear with me being randomly gone for days on end. If you’re truly wondering how I am coping, just ask! I’m an open book.
PS For more info on what Dysautonomia is, or POTS, check out the tabs in this blog for loads of information.