A Different Bad Night- Sunday, March 13, 2016

Here we go again. The empty feeling I know all too well. My soul is absent. My feelings are void. My mind is racing wildly. My vision seems blurred. Only positive is I haven't had too many thoughts of suicide. Just one. A new creative way. It's too dark and dangerous to share, even for me and my illness.

I can't slow my mind down. Cannot organize the simplest of thoughts. Just spinning and spinning while the rest of my body is hollow. The demons and the visionaries. Demented and inventive. Suggestive and provocative.

I am a phantom. I hear noises. All around me. The roar of the TV. The chatter of a couple people. The refrigerator running. I can't distinguish any of it when I close my eyes. Mangled together, making no sense at all. I guess that makes sense. Right?

I take deep breaths. Trying to slow down my thoughts. They are ruling me tonight. I close my eyes. Try to be aware of my feelings. What do I feel? Worthless. Not sure if that is a feeling or a fact. I feel useless. I feel sad. Very sad. I may be unhappy. I don't even know the meaning of happy. How can I even know what the opposite means? It's all confusion. I don't think confusion is a feeling. I believe it is a thought. Then again, the heart can be confused. So, I guess it can be a feeling, too. Learned something new tonight. Go figure.

I can't illustrate this tonight. I should paint this twisted creature of mine on a canvas. It may be easier to depict. I am dishearten. My thoughts are belittling me. There is little-to no graphic suicidal thoughts. They are not diabolical in nature tonight.

"You are worthless. You are useless. You cannot be loved. There is nothing good about you. You're wasting other people's air". It's a narrative in my mind. I hear my own voice. Voices of others, as well. Toxicity of the brain. Pure poison. And all I can do is simply nod in agreement. There is nothing to argue.

I am having difficulty to find strength inside of me tonight. Weaken, my mind is overran. Controlled by some mystifying illness. Telling me I am insignificant.

I close my eyes. I try to tap into my senses. "OK. Here we go T.J.", I tell myself. I use my strongest sense first. My ability to smell. I can't smell anything. I guess it is staying with tonight's theme- Nothing. I look around the Unit. The colours are dull. Nothing appeals to me. Nothing is moving. It's all lifeless. I now hear Family Guy on TV in the background. It's my favorite show. I don't even have the mood, energy, or attitude to go watch it. My touch is my fingers to this pen. They are sweaty fingers. My mouth is dry. Not hungry. I may have a drink of water, which tastes like...wait for it T.J. ........Nothing!

Even my senses are beating me down tonight. Telling me the truth as well. I don't wish I was brain dead. If 'thought dead' was a thing, I be inclined to find out more about it.

It's almost medication time. Last night it was ten pills; seven short of a pack of Smarties. I don't dream anymore. If I do, I don't remember it. I can't recall my last dream. Nightmares? Well, I have those while I am awake. It seems more like reality when you're awake. I have numbness throughout my body while fireworks are going off in my head. Quite the paradox, indeed.

This is the problem; it is self-inflicting pain, but not of the suicidal nature. It's a demoralizing pain. Once again, nothing has triggered this. It's as if I am my own worst enemy and I cannot defeat it. Well, I can, but the thoughts are not leading me there tonight.

Only option I feel I have is to endure. To bare down, hold on, and take the internal abuse until my eyes close on this day. It won't be easy. I cannot distract these thoughts. Even the journaling tonight hasn't help. Just a instantaneous reminder of how worthless, sad, and depressed I am.

I feel dizzy. The cogs of the wheel are working extra hard tonight. What can I fight back with? Well, the ten pills of medication will be a good first attack. Then the brain chemistry takes over. How much more can the mind take? It is always full of negative thoughts. How resistant will I be?

The following morning.

I don't even remember writing that last paragraph. My writing was awful and it didn't make much sense to me. I am writing this paragraph a day later.

I got through last night, but it was another early morning. 5:00 am I believe. Too early when I am getting very little sleep as is. I have negative self-thoughts again today. It sucks.

But as much as this sucks, I am still here. I survived the night. It was like a scene in the movie Twister. I knew the storm was coming. I seen it in the distance. Coming straight for me. I rushed to the storm cellar. I barred the hatch. The storm is getting closer. Almost directly over me. But I am holding on tight. Not giving in. I can't. The storm is figuratively made up in my mind, but just a powerful as the real thing. I am strong enough to hold on. I am strong enough to survive. I can get through this. I am not alone anymore. I am inspired. It is not easy. It never will be anymore. Toughness. Endurance. Character. Attitude. Perseverance. Strength. Friends. Family.

"If you want to see the sunshine, you have to weather the storm."

                                                             - Frank Lane

Yours Truly, 

T.J, Smith

Using My Senses- March 11, 2016

Over the past few months, during my illness recovery, I have been trying to be a better person. Trying to grow and develop. In all aspects of my life. Some things are easier to develop than others. More failures than successes. I focus on the controllable factors. I won't be able to do it all in a week or even a month. It will take time. I am trying

I have made a lot of mistakes in the past. Never apologizing or always avoiding things. Go through life like a coward. I lived life scared and suppressed with my illness. It made me into someone I despised. The reflection in the mirror was enough to make me vomit. I knew what I was doing wrong. Actually, that is a lie. I didn't know what I was doing and I didn't know how to stop. I figured, since I am already in a hole, just as well to see how far I could go. Never thinking I could get out of it. I felt as if I was beyond repair. No hope. Being in my twenties, I thought I had enough. I didn't know there was help available. I didn't know what it looked like. No clue. The sad reality is this; if I had continued down the same road, continuing to dig my hole deeper, I would have given up. The truth is, my son probably would have found his father's body. Ice cold. The blood not running. The heart not pumping. The brain shut down. That would be a traumatic experience for him.

That won't happen now. He won't find his daddy in a pool of his own blood. The days can be tough. They can be rough. It's not an easy road. I am learning different ways to cope, to fight. One of those methods is tapping in and becoming aware of my senses. Think less, and let my senses guide me. They cannot lie to me. The mind creates lies and fiction. The senses is the key to honesty. To the truth.

I am learning to perceive with my senses. Taste, touch, hearing, seeing, and smelling. I am understanding how the brain uses the senses to create stories. There are two hemispheres. The left side and the right side. I am not a doctor, but how I understand it is like this; The right side of our brain receives our senses. Whether it be seeing something or hearing a sound, or whatever sense is in use. It is the left side of the brain that does the judging and makes up stories. The right side of the brain holds no judgement. It is the left side that creates fictional stories. Could be stereotyping. I cannot discuss with any educational certainty on the science behind it all, just the basics.

There are infinite examples to use. One example that has always been around is racism. Can you smell racism? Can you taste racism? You may hear some ignorant person say things about racism. You're not born a racist, are you? I don't think so. Actually, I know so. I wonder how many people see a person of Muslim culture or descent and immediately, without using their senses, make judgement about that person? An alarming rate if I was to make a guess. Sad really. Did you use any of your five senses to make a conclusion? Or did you make a prior judgement, AKA stereotype, of that person because of something you saw on TV or the news? That's what the left side of the brain does. It makes up stories. Can I filter my senses from the made up stories? I am trying.

One example of this is simple as a conversation. Next time I sit to talk with a person, I will listen intently. I listen with my ears, eyes, and nose. I listen to the voice and to the body language. I listen to the human being. Ever since I have been doing this discipline, I have been more emotionally invested in my conversations. I retain more info. I use my senses. I don't make prior judgments. I clear my mind, and I become invested in the conversation with my senses. Before learning this new skill, I was horrible to have a conversation with. Always waiting for it to end. No matter if it was with my parents, my son, my friends, co-workers, or whoever. I was never mentally present. My mind was never there. Always elsewhere. Off in another dimension. Not on this planet, let alone, in a conversation.

Is it fair to judge a person without getting to know them? I have done it before. It's not fair. Who am I to do that? Based on some false information my mind made up, I would make a judgement. We all get fooled like that from time to time. What do we, as society, see when we see a homeless person on the street? People avoid them. Some people verbally abuse them. Some people give them money Have you ever stopped to have a conversation? Why not? Because they live on the street? We know absolutely nothing about that person's life, yet we are qualified to judge them? Maybe they had a terrible upbringing. Maybe they lost all of their money. Maybe they lost their families. Maybe they are not educated enough to get a job. Maybe they are lazy. Maybe they haven't showered in weeks. Underneath the physical appearance, there is a human being in there. A person with thoughts and feelings. A person that may be lonely. A person that is vulnerable. Next time I see a homeless person, I am going to try not to judge that person by appearance. By odour. By whatever. It might only take five minutes, but I may ask a few questions. Hear what the person has to say. I am not better than a homeless person. I am no longer insecure, worrying what others may think of me.

This may not work for everyone or be effective in all situations. It is a technique that I myself have begun to use to help me fight my illness and become more in-touch with myself. To find out who I really am, deep down inside. It may sound like a cliché. I am not looking for sympathy or approval. It is just something I need to do for myself. To help get me better. To help make a difference. I don't expect it to happen overnight, but I will get better at using my senses to perceive this world. I envy the people that can already do that. They are special people.

I am not my mistakes. A friend sent me that sentence. It is so true. I have made a lot of mistakes. More than most. I am not seeking forgiveness. I am owning up to my mistakes. Trying not to make the same ones again. I am not blaming everything on my illness. I am aware that it had made me into a different person. Something I hated. Something other people hated. I was an anchor on my life and others around me. I need to create a new vision for my life's journey. And try not to worry much about the past. What is done is done. I will repair what can be fixed. I am confident about that. Some people will still hold judgement on who I was while I suffered in the past several years. That disease cast a shadow over me and prevented me from being a solid human being. I wasn't a bad person, I just wasn't living my life. I sucked at life and had everyone fooled.

Denial is the first stage. Well, it was for me. How can I be Depressed? Mental Health wasn't a concern. I knew very little about the topic. Also, I couldn't tell no one I was Depressed. It was too embarrassing. I play and coach in the most manly, tough guy sport in this country. How would it look if I was crying to someone about my problems? Or if I even complained I was having suicidal thoughts? I was under the impression that I was not allowed to have Depression. I hid for many years, no fault to others, but my own. I had denied that I was sick and needed help. It was confusion for me. I am sorry to all of the people around me that I have affected negatively with my inability to seek help earlier in my life. Denial was definitely the first stage for me. Stories and situations made up in my mind from no facts or evidence. I just assumed I was having a bad day. Over and over and over. And it was taboo for me to say anything about it to anyone.

I feel like I wasted a lot of my life, especially the last seven or eight years. Maybe I didn't. I just don't know.

"The first step toward change is awareness. The second is acceptance."

                                                                      - Nathaniel Branden

Yours Truly,

T.J. Smith

More Thoughts on Depression- March 6, 2016

I felt it was necessary to write in my journal tonight. It has been two weeks since I took a turn for the worst. A hiccup in my recovery that felt like a knockout punch. A lot has changed in those two weeks. A few ups and a lot more downs.

I have a firm grasp on what this illness is. I know the symptoms. I know some of the medications. I am aware of the other methods to fight this illness. Behavioural activities to help me fight have been identified by me. I know them and what to do. It is the cognitive side of things that caused this relapse.

I was going to start this paragraph by saying Depression is like an addiction. That is false. The terms may be similar in the sense that people need help to overcome both, but unlike an addiction, Depression chooses you. I could choose to take hard drugs and eventually become an addict. I could choose to abuse alcohol and become reliant on it. I did choose gambling and I also chose to stop, which I have. I haven't gambled since December 31, 2015. It is a huge accomplishment for me. You have no idea. My point is this; Addicts, to a certain degree choose to be an addict at some point in their life, whether they try it or not. They chose to pick up a bottle and not put it down. I didn't wake up one day and say to myself, "Hey, think I will pick up Depression." I didn't choose it. It controlled my life.

I need to be clear, I am not judging people with addictions. I don't try to judge people anymore. Who am I to judge other people on what they do or don't do in life? It's their life. I have had several thousand thoughts of suicide. Judge me if you will, but you don't know me. "Don't judge the sea by a jug full of seawater." Can't remember who said that quote, but it is very true.

Depression is an entity of venom. You can feel it, but no CAT scan or X-Ray or MRI will ever see it. No stethoscope can hear it. It is like my two strongest muscles, my brain and heart are having a death-match. Neither can win. Cannot defeat each other. So together, they directly attack mutually. They attack their own products- the brains' thoughts and the hearts' feelings. Instead of nurturing their own, they let them wander uncontrollably around my body. As if they are on a election campaign. They are visiting every voter inside of me. Trying to get their vote for the dark side. I can't figure out if they have got my soul yet, or if my soul is hiding. Maybe that is why I cannot track it down either. If Depression and its dark agents find and collect my soul, there will be nothing left of me. I would succumb to them and die.

This relapse has taught me a few things. I am not as strong as I initially thought. If I was, I wouldn't be back at the hospital. I have recognized there are no more easy days in my life. No matter how successful or unsuccessful I become in life at being a parent or in my career, I still battle internally every day. I have to prepare my troops for each day.

Not easy though. I need to get some control over my thoughts. The feelings, I do not fight anymore because I have accepted that my feelings are true and I can express them regardless of whatever the feeling is. Don't have to hold back the tears anymore. I used to suppress feelings before and if I had any at all, they would be negative. I was really hurting on the inside. Keeping feelings inside would feed the internal demons, and they took advantage of it. Made me a worse human being. I hated myself. I hated everything about me.

It cost me a lot. Personally and financially. It consumed everything I had. It took no prisoners and showed no mercy. I hurt people in ways that I cannot even comprehend. I lost friends or contact with friends. The guilt is horrific. I have so many people to say sorry to. Someday I will get it said to most, if not, all.

People reach out to me daily. Friends from childhood. Family from far away. Complete strangers. The support from the local community is humbling. I am lost for words, Sympathy versus empathy. What's the difference? Sympathy is compassion or pity for someone in pain. Empathy is power of understanding, imaginatively entering into another's feelings. Empathy is a tough word to use around people with Mental Illness. Empathy creates that common bond between two different human beings but from different parts of the country or societal class. Mental Illness does not do a screening process. It consumes whoever it wants. Many events in our life can trigger certain stressors. I always hid because I could.

Until I broke, finally. It needed to happen. I was sad. Angry. Disappointed. Crushed. Guilty Hopeless. Worthless. Ashamed. Addicted. Low energy to do anything. Short with people. Avoiding people. Generally, a walking useless man. It finally clicked for me when I did some research. Everything I read was describing me almost better than I could describe myself. The symptoms sounded so familiar. I was in the gutter. Nothing else to lose. Nothing else to live for. There was no lower to go. I was lower than dirt. Crying hysterically. Begging like a dog. Getting blindsided. In my mind, I was already in my casket. All someone had to do was close the cover.

I had no desire to live anymore. Isolated and sick, with no hope in sight. No strength. No idea what to do. Until the day I decided to get help. I told my two co-workers that I felt real bad. They suggested I go to the hospital. I went. It wasn't easy. I had to become vulnerable. Sorry. I mean, show my vulnerability to get the required help. At first, I didn't think there was anything they could do for me. I was wrong. I was so wrong and lucky to be wrong. As dark as the thoughts may be; as lonely of a feeling I may have; as much hopelessness I may feel, I believe one of the toughest things to do is admit that I needed help. It wasn't easy for me. I was unsure of the consequences. How would it affect my job? How would it affect my son? How would it affect my family? There were no consequences. I didn't think I had the support. There was support. I was unsure of what was wrong with me.

In a weird way, admitting that I needed help and seeking help has changed my life forever. It saved my life. I continue to urge people that are still suffering in silence, go see someone and get help. There is nothing to fear. I know your pain. I know what your thoughts are like. I know what you're feeling. I do. I can empathize with you. I write this from a hospital bed on the Psychiatry Unit. You have me. Anyone that reads this, I am there for you. To hold your hand and guide you out of the shadows of the despair and into the light of living. The light of your life.

"It's during our darkness moments that we must focus to see the light"

                                                                                   - Aristotle Onessis

Yours Truly, 

T.J. Smith

Hospitals and Exposing Nash

Hospitals & Exposing Nash - This excerpt was written February 27, 2016

Nash is coming to Yarmouth today. I currently resided at the Psychiatric Ward at the Yarmouth Regional Hospital. It is my home while I get better. I never thought Yarmouth, Nova Scotia would have such a profound impact on my life. I don't think I rather be anywhere else while trying to get better. This is the best environment for me. Everything from the doctors to the nurses to my new relationships, this place has been life-saving. Truly, life-saving.

During my first stay here at the hospital, I didn't want to talk to Nash. I felt ashamed. I couldn't handle it. I would break down immediately. It was too much for me. As I was slowly getting better, I could gradually get back to talking with him. My dad asked me yesterday if it would be OK to bring Nash to the hospital to see me like 'this'. The stigma of Mental Health was probably in the back of his mind. I am trying to destroy that stigma. I need to expose my son to this place. He needs to see how his daddy is and that there is help available. He needs to understand that being sick can come in many forms. Cancer. Influenza. Strep Throat. Depression. I will educate my son on Mental Illness. When he is old enough, I will explain it in-depth to him. Right now, he knows his daddy has to be in the hospital to get better. He is almost four years old. He can comprehend that. I want my son to see firsthand that being in the hospital to get help is a wonderful thing.

I used to hate the idea of hospitals. I really did. I didn't have any reason to have that bias opinion.All of my moms sisters are nurses. I say it is bias because my belief was this; hospitals are a place where people go to die. That is incorrect. Fact is, hospitals are places where people need to go to get medical attention. To get help. To be cared for. To hopefully feel better. To stay alive. Graveyards and morgues are places to go die. Not hospitals. Hospitals are great. They are not great because of the high technological machines or medicines. They are great because of the professionals that work there. The people that care for you. They are life savers. I am forever grateful to them.

So on that point, I need my son to understand that as well. Nothing to be afraid of. He needs to see me here. He won't understand why yet, but someday he will. I want him to be comfortable around people with Mental Health issues. I am not hiding my Depression from him. I am trying to teach my son about respect of other people and that people are unique. Everyone is their own person. I also want to teach him that there is no shame on voluntarily coming to the hospital to seek help. I thought before I could shield him from my demons, my illness. That's not how it should be. He needs to see me at my worst. Only then, he can begin to understand. Plus, he will bring a smile to my face. he has that ability. I even thought him to say the word 'Depression'.

My life is or has been changed forever. By coming to this hospital seeking the professionals help was the smartest thing I've ever done. Not sure what road I would have been heading down otherwise. The road I am on is not paved. It is bumpy. There are many sharp turns. Some days there is no fog. Some days there is too much fog. There are hills. Steep inclines. When it rains, it pours. I use my wipers. Though, there are some days when the wipers don't work. They tend to fail me from time to time. There are dangerous driving conditions. There are some areas of the road where I drive by edges of mountains. Some days I can drive fast, but mostly I go slow. I have to go slow because I can't see the road ahead. No further than what is directly in front of me. It seems to be constantly under construction. My GPS is obsolete. There are no alternative routes. No detours for me. No short cuts. There are rest stops along this road. I fuel up and get necessary maintenance done. I drive it all myself. There is only me behind the wheel. There are some landslides. Almost got smashed by a boulder. I don't take advantages of the passing lanes. Ironically, they only appear when I am low on fuel and need to stop for a fill up. When the snow starts to fly, the driving becomes hazardous. Vision is decreased. Speed is reduced even more. Tires don't do to well in the snow. The heater is also broken. My adjustment to the road has been a challenge. I am transitioning well, though. I got help from travelers going in the same direction. Getting help from a few hitch hikers. I was getting help from people that head down a different road and it didn't work for them. There will be more obstacles. Road blocks and unscheduled construction. All of that can make a driver want to quit. Never to push on anymore. That's when a crash can occur. And no survivors. Sorry, survivor.

The road is complex, but at least I am on it. I need to stay the course. I don't have a detailed flight plan. I don't know what will come around the next bend, but I am not afraid of it. My acceptance of fear has put any external frightening things to rest. If the road was smooth and straight, I wouldn't be a good driver. It would be too easy. I wouldn't be able to develop the skills to handle the tight turns or slippery sections. Easy is no longer a word in my vocabulary. Everything from this point on will be hard.  I accept that. I understand that. Anyone can drive on a straight, smooth road. My life will be a tough highway, but I am OK with that. I am trying to get prepared for that, although I am not sure I will ever fully be prepared. I am confident I will be able to face most challenges. So, it is time for me to get in the car and buckle up because this road will push me to my limits. But, I can go to those limits and see what I am truly made of.

"Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival."
                                                                                                                      - Winston  Churchill

Yours Truly,

T.J. Smith

The Feeling Of.... written March 5, 2016

It starts in my guts. My lower abdomen. Then the feeling comes to my head. Like a rush, but just a mediocre one. The ghostly butterflies tumble around my stomach. Sometimes my chest starts tightening. That's when I know the anxiety may come about.

It's not a cramping feeling. It's an weird emptiness feeling. I start squinting my eyes because my focus is heighten. I focus solely on the thoughts that are fast approaching. If you saw my face, it would be stern and hard. You can tell by my eyes. If looks could kill, well, I am not going to finish that sentence. You know where I am going with it T.J..

I am not sure if the soul is inside of us or if it is a thought or feeling. Dictionary referral is necessary. Soul is "spiritual and immortal part of human being." That's a deep meaning. Describe my soul? No idea where to begin. My soul is caged by an illness. A prisoner of Depression. If the soul is immortal, if I die without a soul, what is left of me? A memory? Nothing? I no longer fear death, but maybe a new fear has found me. The fear of not having a soul.

If I gained access to my soul, would the emptiness and hopelessness be gone? If I understand myself more, would that allow me to unlock my soul? Do I need a soul? Can I be compassionate, loving, and affectionate without a soul? Do I need a soul to live? Is it necessary for life? A lot of tough questions. The answers are even tougher.

Maybe I am chasing my tail. Searching for the unsearchable. Something that is lost. With no map to it. Or maybe the journey of life is the path to one's soul Or, is it possible I am completely insane and making no sense at all? Who knows? I certainly don't.

I am sad tonight. I have a friend who is not having a good night. I feel helpless. Wish there was more I could do. I got to speak to that friend. I felt a few smiles. It came naturally and nothing was fake. All real. Maybe that is a part of my soul.

Nights are not the best for me lately. I truly hope it is the medication switch. I feel myself becoming easily agitated at the littlest things. Tonight, anxiety came about. I took an Ativan for that. I assumed it helped. I didn't take notice.

The medication I am on now is called Cloriprime. Originally developed in the 1950's to treat people with Tuberculosis. It isn't like the more recently developed anti-depressants. This pill can be lethal in high dosages, and don't worry T.J., I already asked the doctor about that. It can be traced in the blood, so it can give an indication of how much is in my system. Something like that. If this round of medication is unsuccessful, ECT will be the next move.

Electroconvulsive Shock Therapy, AKA ECT. In simplest form, I get induced into a seizure while electrodes are attached to my head. A electric current is sent into my brain. Sounds scary, but not to me. The fear does not register with me. Maybe, if I am lucky, it will shock my soul back to life.

Fear of dying is no longer a fear of mine. That's not to say or suggest I am going to live a reckless life. Or take my life. I have to put it into perspective. I saw Death's face. He offered his hand to me. I almost reached for it and accepted. Instead of a journal, it would be an obituary and eulogy written instead.

I am 'soul-searching' in every possible meaning of the word. I am also trying to repair and build it back up. I want to make it better. I need to improve. I need to give it some definition. It needs to have meaning. Pundits or whoever can say that cannot be done. Nay-sayers. Pessimistic individuals. Degrading people. If the soul is "immortal", then what human being can tell me what to do with my soul? Who is the soul expert? If you know one, please tell them T.J. would like to have a conversation with them about the very subject. I have some questions or FAQ's. I would love to meet the expert that is going to tell me where to find my soul. The way I see it, the only person that can find my soul is me. It is mine. No one else's. My patent. Thoughtful and sincere self-assessment and self-awareness has got me on the right path.

The soul is mine to find. To feel it. To feed it. To grow it. My beliefs, values, thoughts, emotions, culture, body, and feelings will fuel my soul. The soul is the most internal truth to who and what you are as a person. It is yours and yours only. You can give your heart to someone. You can share your knowledge that is in your mind with someone. Hell, you can even give someone your kidney. But the soul cannot be given. If you can't feel it, don't look to someone else for it. They don't have it. It is somewhere inside of you. Hiding or locked up in your bones. Waiting to be released. The challenge is to find it and let it be free. That is my current predicament. Locating and freeing my soul. I have some clues to as where it is. Some hints to what is contained within. But it isn't quite free yet. And when I find it, I am sure it will find its way onto these pages.

"The most powerful weapon on Earth is the human soul on fire"

                                                                        - Ferdinand Foch

Yours Truly,

T.J. Smith

Electroconvulsive Shock Therapy

I have referred to Electroconvulsive Shock Therapy. This is for me, but also for others, so they know. Ironically, one of my dad's favorite movies is "One Who Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest", starring Jack Nicholson. I also liked the film. Haven't seen it since I have been diagnosed. I will watch it again soon. It was made in 1975. Technology in the medical world has come a long way since then. I have attached the YouTube clip at the bottom of this blog. This scene may have help create the stigma behind ECT and Mental Illness in general. One part happened to me. The part that stands out to me is the mouth guard. It is used to prevent the jaw from biting down. So, in the following words, I recorded my first ECT experience. I started from the night before and kept notes until after it. In all honesty, if the doctors and nurses would let me, I would video record one of my treatments and share it. The way I see it, it is my chemotherapy. It is my treatment.

Night Before- March 14, 2016 11:05 pm- Psych Unit Bedroom

As I prepare for my first ECT tomorrow morning, I had to do some preparation tonight. I wasn't allowed to eat after 10:00 pm. Apparently, I could vomit while without even knowing due to my body having no connection to my mind and my muscles not knowing. I have been drinking water to stay hydrated, but can't drink after midnight. It may sound scary. Being induce into a seizure. Pretty wild stuff this medical science is. I don't think tomorrow I will be allow to video record my treatment, but I am hoping in the future I can. It may scare some people. I would use it as an education tool. It is myself and I am comfortable with videoing recording myself. I also feel it could help stop the stigma behind ECTs and Mental Health treatments. Showing my video, someone that is going through Depression, may help someone else. I am stubborn and will request to be videoed, but in the end, it is the Doc's call. I trust him with my life.

Day of Treatment- Prior to ECT- March 15, 2016- Between 7-9 am- Psych Unit

Apart from my sleeping, sorry, lack thereof, I have been anxious and restless all morning. I woke at 4:53 am. Couldn't get back to sleep. I am hungry and thirsty. I am not allow to ingest anything.

At 9:30 am, 30 minutes before my ECT, I have changed into my hospital clothes and set to head down to the procedure room.

I lid on the stretcher bed. There were six professionals there with me. Could appear to be imitating. I wasn't. They placed a warm blanket over me. I was cozy.

The nurses and doctors begin to hook me up to EKG cords (I am guessing). Almost like they were hooking up jumper cables to a car battery. Well, that's what it reminded me of. That was the easy part.

Next was the IV into the vein. Nurse missed the vein with the first shot. So, she regrouped and picked another location. She succeeded the second time. When the liquid began to seep into my right arm, it became cool and it felt good. The needle didn't hurt me.

Next, the nurse (I think she is a nurse), put an oxygen face pump over my mouth and nose. She was awesome. She told me to take deep breaths. I obliged. Then the anesthesiologist, you know, the doctor that injects you with the juice that puts you out, came in. I can't remember but I believe the nurse put an oxygen mask over my mouth and nose. Again, she told me to breathe deep and think of a happy place. I pictured myself on the ice at the Mariners Centre coaching my son and my players. She told me to keep my eyes open as long as possible. I didn't last a minute. I was out. I tried to fight it, but I lost.

Post Procedure

Honestly, I don't know what they done to me. All I know my seizure lasted for two minutes, so I am told. When I came to, only the nurses were present. I guess the doctors done their part of the procedure. I remember most of the procedure. I guess when I came to, I asked for a coffee. I was alert in no time. I got stretchered back to the Psych Ward after a few blood pressure readings. A few, in this case, means a lot.

When I was back on the Unit, nurses continued to take my blood pressure and temperature until 1:00 pm, I think. I got a coffee and two slices of toast. in me around 11:00 am. I didn't feel tired until 1:00 pm. At 2:00 pm, I took a nap.

My first impression? Great experience. I felt alive just a little bit more. Best mood I had in weeks, possibly months. I was joking with the nursing staff, extracting smiles and laughter from them. That's when I realized I was in a good mood. That's when they realized I was in a better mood. It went smooth for me.

It was painless and efficient. Quick. My next ECT is Thursday, March 17, 2016. I look forward to it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yQa_sg4zN88

Yours Truly,

T.J. Smith

"Surprise" Birthday Parties- Thursday, March 3, 2016

Ever have a surprised birthday party? The kind when your friends and family plan it for weeks? The kind that friends and family kept secret for weeks? You had no idea about it. Completely unaware of what was waiting for you. There is no reason to have a surprise birthday. You're no different than anyone else. Nothing better or worse about you. Just a normal human being. The surprise party is completely unexpected. You're coming home late from work on a Friday. Glad, but tired from the week at work. Just being OK with a night in with friends and family. A birthday is just another day on the calendar. No reason to celebrate. You turn onto your street. No cars in sight. Everything as you left it. Just can't wait to get home and into your lounging clothes. You pull in the driveway. No expectations. You reach for the doorknob. Give it a turn. Push the door in. SURPRISE!

I got a surprise a few weeks ago. Things were going good. Doing the behavioural and cognitive activities to help cope and conquer my disease. Then, out of nowhere, a surprise birthday party. There were no clues or hints, much like the surprise party. Not even an ounce of speculation. Zero indication. And then it hits you. The punch line. SURPRISE!

Depression, ironically, is like a surprise birthday party, except in the following ways; 

1) there are no friends or family waiting behind couches and other furniture. Demons and monsters take their place. They come from the shadows. 

2) There is no music. It is loud. I am yelling and screaming. It is pointless. Only monsters and demons here. They don't care to hear me.

3) There is no cake or food or drink. The room is virtually empty, beside a few dark shadows. Even the skeletons have left my closet. Nowhere to be seen. When skeletons are scared of something, it is real bad. 

4) No one is with me. No one to share the party with. The loneliest place in the world is between my ears and six feet, two inches off the Earth. I guess it is better than six feet, two inches below the Earth. 

5) There is no idea when the party will end. These party goers in my head can go all night. And all day. They eventually pass out or recede to the shadows. No idea when their hangover will wear off so they can party again. 

6) After the party, it is a complete mess. Disaster zone created by a few dangerous patrons. Not willing or eager to leave the party. They don't offer to clean up. They don't know how. They can only destroy. Destruction is their purpose. They also manipulate. These party animals don't even go home. They go back to their hiding spaces. Planning their next surprise birthday extravaganza for me. I hope I am not home when they surprise me again.. But they know how to find me. I could even change my name and address, and something tells me they will still find me.

The fact of the matter is- the surprise birthday parties will happen again and again. Do I know when? No. Hence the meaning of the word. Most surprises are explainable, to some degree. Usually good events that make people happy. How do I handle a bad surprise party?

The uninvited guest do not care. They don't know you. They don't respect your place, or your rules. How much they thrash it means no consequences to them. They thrive in it. I can't find them. Their stealth is unbelievable. Always eluding me and blending in with their environment. Then, without announcement, they converge on my party. How come there is no noise complaints for this party? The police are not prepared or armed with the effective riot gear, yet. The doctors have stopped some of the bleeding and have been influential in changing and ridding my house of the "Sadistic Surprise Birthday Party".

I felt the need to express this description in writing for myself. There were no stressors or triggers that caused this to happen. No conversations or arguments with others. Just nothing. Completely not ready for it. Just like a surprise party. One second, you are calm, having sane thoughts. Then as that sixty seconds expires, the surprise catches me off guard, unwilling, and unprepared. I don't know what to do. Cry? Laugh? smile? Join the party? Leave the party? Enjoy the party?

I am back at the hospital. Is it where I want to be? Yes. Because I had a minor 'surprise' relapse with my recovery. Things seemed good and manageable. Then BOOM! SURPRISE! It almost scared the life out of me. Not figuratively. Literally.

At first, referring to my return, I was confused and a little frustrated. Why did it happen? What triggered me coming back here? I don't know. I do not have an answer. A mystery of the mind. I guess I shouldn't be too surprise with the impact of this illness.

So, coming to terms with why I am back at the hospital may seem trivial. It is. But here I am. If I didn't come back, who knows what could have happened. Reflecting back, I am OK with being back. Not worried. Not scared. I am safe and comfortable here while the doctor tries a combination of drugs to help fight this Depression. Maybe it may seem like a long process. Maybe it appears as a setback. It is a long process and a it is a minor setback. An opportunity to live in disguise.

Just because it is a setback, does it mean I am discouraged and quit? Not a chance. Only being where I was will help me to get to where I am going. I am not focused on the past or future. Just the moment. Each moment creates the person I am going to be. Who I am. Quitting is not an option. A word I can't afford to learn the definition to. As bad as I have felt like packing it is, I still haven't quit.

I have accepted that I am back at the hospital. It is required. I am patient. I am a patient. I am willing to trust the doctor and other professionals to help me get better. And that is what is so important to me- I want to get better. Some days I want to quit. I really do. It's not easy. I have accepted the battle.

 

I cannot forecast how this illness will affect me. Maybe, I will have to come back here five or ten more times before I get my Depression under some control. Maybe, just maybe, I won't be back after this time. The only certainty is that there is uncertainty with my illness. Unpredictable thoughts and feelings. I don't know if the word 'cured' will every apply to me. That is to be seen. If I need medication for the rest of my life, that is something I am prepared to do. If a few pills daily make it necessary to live, I will take them. The pills will have to be my oxygen. I need them to live.

Accepting that this will be a longer process than originally thought is critical for my recovery. No point in rushing through life. Rushing to my deathbed. "By perseverance, even the snail reached the Ark." One of my all-time favorite quotes. So much meaning. It makes perfect sense to me. Although, it may be perceived that I am going backwards, I am not. Necessary setback to continue to move forward. To keep living on.

"It is easier to find men who will volunteer to die, than to find those who are willing to endure pain with patience."

                                                                                       - Julius Caesar 

Yours Truly, 

T.J. Smith

The "S" Word- written February 25, 2016

Suicide is the deliberate act of self-inflicting death. The very meaning of the word can create fear. I have begun to read and educate myself on the topic. Why? Simple answer; because I have thought about it often. I need to understand the facts about suicide.

According to a Suicide Prevention pamphlet I am reading at the hospital, my level of suicide is 'dangerous'. The formula that equates to 'dangerous' is; Depression + Recent Trigger Event + Presence of Weapon. Equation makes sense to me. I can rationale with that.

It is a tough topic to talk about, but for me, it has to be talked about. You don't know what you don't know. Truth be told, I have a lot of the signs and symptoms. I am amazed I am alive. Mostly because of my Depression. There are obvious clues to someone thinking about suicide, and there are mixed clues. There are also hidden clues.

An example of an obvious clue is blunt. If someone says, "I am going to kill myself" or "I am better off dead", take notice and not play it off as nothing. Also, don't be scared if you hear that line. Take it seriously. Hidden or mixed clues may consist of buying a weapon, making a will, change in personality, loneliness cause by living alone, and withdrawal from friends and family. There are more behaviours, but these can be more noticeable. It is valid information.

It is not a joking matter. I have begun to pick it up in everyday conversation. People saying they rather be dead or make a hand gesture with a gun to their head. Although, they may be kidding, a person like me, I take it serious, more so than ever. We, as a whole, are afraid of suicide. Especially discussing it. Fear that you may be considered "nuts" or "crazy". Actually, you're not any of those words. You're a human being. Don't be scared to ask questions and find out more about suicide.

There is discomfort in talking about suicide. I don't have it anymore. I speak openly and freely about it. I am not shamed. I need to speak about it. It is a reoccurring topic with my doctors and nurses. In a run of a week, suicide or thoughts relating to suicide come up 40-50 times. They are unplanned thoughts. I don't choose to think like that. And at the present moment, I don't have the coping ability to prevent them. That is something I am working on, along with the medication.

I understand why people commit suicide. I truly do. What would you do if you had an unwanted bug or rodent is your house? You would exterminate it. Kill it. Well, someone committing suicide has their "house" full of rodents and unwanted guest. They want to gas them out. Kill them. They cannot take it anymore. The pain is unbearable and death gets rid of the pain. The threshold is too high. People tend to like easy. Suicide, unfortunately is the easy solution. But it is not the right decision!

Here is my view on the 'easy' path. To get in shape with a nice body, you must work hard at it. To have a healthy and loving relationship, you must work hard. To be successful at a desired career, you must work hard. To be a supportive and caring parent, you must work hard at it. So, to have a meaningful and exciting life, you must work hard. My secret? Well, my secret is accepting hard work. I will need to work hard to stay alive. I need to work hard every day just so I can see tomorrow. I need to work hard to fight my illness. It may not show physically, but I work hard mentally. The physical work is easy compared to my mental hard work. Thus, I have accepted and welcomed the fact that I must work hard every day to stay alive.

Let's talk more about suicide. People, well, most people, don't kill themselves because of other people. They kill themselves because they hate themselves. It takes away the pain. Professional help is available. It isn't the last hope or final solution. Rather, it should be a wakeup call to get help. There is no shame in that. When dealing with Mental Illness, pride needs to be put aside to get help. You're not weak. You're strong. Not seeking help is not smart. It takes strength and courage. But that is inside of us all. Find that strength and courage and keep fighting. You're not alone, and in the words of Eminem, "Let's walk this world together."

"We can consciously end our life almost anytime we choose. This ability is an endowment, like laughing and blushing, given to no other animal... in any given moment, by not exercising the option of suicide, we are choosing to live."

                                                                                       - Peter McWilliams

Yours Truly,

T.J. Smith