My life today

         June 2019 my family and  I moved back home to Colorado.  I had been stable for several months 

before leaving Maryland once I was on the right amounts of the right medications.  I've been stable in 

Colorado up until this point as well.  I can only hope and pray it stays that way.  I can also use the tools

I have learned along the way to take care of myself.  

    Moving back to Colorado has been great for me.  While I left two wonderful friends who I usually 

saw weekly back in Maryland, here in Colorado I have my tremendous family.  My mom, stepdad,

and brother are all willing to take my son if I need time for myself.  They are all supportive, 

understanding and live nearby.  I see them and communicate with them very often.  I am currently

growing in my faith.  I feel like I am establishing a good, healthy relationship with God.  I also believe

my beliefs are healthy.

    Writing about my life currently is the hardest part of this blog.  Naturally I want to say I'm fine, 

everything is fine.  However, if I did I wouldn't be keeping it real.  While mostly everything is good

with my mental health I still have a couple of complaints.  Right now my chief complaints are that I feel

"off" in the evening sometimes and I have low energy.  Feeling "off" is really hard to describe.

Basically I just start feeling different around 7 o'clock or 8 o'clock at night.  All I want to do is sleep and

close my eyes until it passes.  I used to think maybe it was anxiety, but since the anxiety medication

doesn't seem to help it I have my doubts.  I'm not sure what it is or what causes it.  The only way for it

to go away is to go to sleep, but it's hard to get to sleep when I feel like that.  In addition I have low

energy which leads to little desire to do things.  I do not feel depressed so I'm not sure what's causing it

and my providers don't either.

    Somewhere along the way (I think between Hawaii and Maryland) I no longer met the criteria for

PTSD.  With the help of EMDR therapy I had worked my way beyond that diagnosis.  Now I'm 

classified as having an unspecified anxiety disorder with previous trauma.  Even though the PTSD may 

have provoked the bipolar disorder, unfortunately I will always have bipolar 1 disorder.  That doesn't go

away.  This means I will likely be on medication for the rest of my life.  The way I look at it is people 

take medication for all types of things, why not for your mental health?  It's certainly better and more 

beneficial than self medicating.  I hear people say all the time I don't want to take medication or I refuse

to take medication.  I take my medication for my family.  They deserve a stable mother, wife, daughter

and sister.  

    While I no longer have PTSD, I still have triggers.  I also still have nightmares from time to time.  

Usually it's someone putting a gun up to their head.  It's not always the person I witnessed take his own 

life.  Sometimes it's other people I love and care about.

    Overall writing this blog has been freeing for me.  It has been very therapeutic.  I feel lighter.  I have 

more energy.  I just hope and pray it lasts.  If you're struggling right now I would encourage you to talk

to someone.  If you don't feel comfortable with or can't afford a counselor, talk to a friend or family

member.  If that isn't possible, then write everything that causing you pain or trouble down.  Just get it

out of your head.  I hope it's as therapeutic for you as it has been for me.

    Thank you for your time and support.  Please feel free to comment.  If you don't feel comfortable 

commenting on the blog, you are welcome to send me an email at suicideandptsd@gmail.com. I would

love to start a conversation with you.  Add your email for email updates on this blog.  I think you click

on the three white lines at the top, then it will allow you to add an email in order to get email updates.  I

plan to add more things to this blog as they come to me.

   

    

Tools and coping strategies to get through another trigger

     I spent the next couple years depressed.  However, I had become so used to the way I was feeling it

became "normal" to me so I thought I was fine.  We moved to Maryland.  My new psychiatrist told me

she never would have put me on the combination of medication I was on.  Therefore she would watch

closely for when was the best time to make a change.  This was sort of refreshing to hear because the

whole time I was in Hawaii I told my psychiatrist the medicine wasn't working.  However, she didn't

believe me or listen.

    There was a day I decided to get a java chip frappuccino from Starbucks.  I took a sip and thought I

don't know how I can drink this.  However, I bought it so I drank it. It felt like a drug.  It just pumped 

through my veins and gave me so much energy.

    The next time I saw my psychiatrist wasn't too long after that.  She asked me a series of questions to

which I responded "not yet."  I was headed towards mania.  This time, at this point, I had hypo-mania

meaning not quite stable, but not yet manic.  She said she thought it was the right time to make a 

medication change.  While I was feeling great in my hypo-manic state, I agreed with her because I

didn't want to end up in full mania again and end up in the hospital again.  The medicine she added was

Latuda.

    If I didn't take this medicine right at five every night me and my husband would get in a fight.  I 

became so irritable the smallest things would make me go off and get me very upset.  They didn't feel

like small things to me, but I'm sure they were to my husband.

    Towards the beginning of this medication change I had another trigger.  This time I got the news that

my cousin had completed suicide.  This really affected me.  I was in a fragile place.  I still wasn't on the

right amount of medication.  I was having a hard time. (when you start a new medication or come off a

medication you do it gradually in steps.  For instance I started on 20 mg of Latuda.  I was on that for a

couple of days to a week, then 40 mg for a few days to a week.  Then 60, 80, and so on until you reach

the correct dosage.)

    Thankfully I had the best counselor and psychiatrist a person could ask for.  Luckily my counselor

had the room in her schedule to see me just about everyday.  You may be thinking that's overload, but it

wasn't.  I needed it.  I probably could have/should have been in the hospital again.  Luckily since I was

able to be seen everyday my psychiatrist felt comfortable enough that I didn't need to be admitted.

    During that period of time I saw my psychiatrist weekly.  Many psychiatrists strictly manage

medication.  Mine did much more.  She talked to me just like a counselor would. This was great 

because she knew what I was going through which I think helped her to manage my medication better. 

I remember one time I was talking to her about having another child.  She took me through some

exercise where we found out basically my heart said just do it, but my head told me not to.  I learned to

completely trust my psychiatrist.  I don't trust many people and given the history I had with my

previous psychiatrist, that was huge for me.

    Coping / dealing with my cousin's suicide I used many tools and coping mechanisms to get by and to

heal.  First of all I started seeking God again.  My counselor prayed with me and answered any

questions I had about God.  Even though I still wasn't quite sure I completely believed in God I needed

the human interaction to heal so I began to attend church and bible studies.  I never really felt like I fit

in or belonged in the Bible studies, but I went for the human interaction.  When you're having a hard

time it's important not to isolate yourself, you need to be around people rather you want to be or not.

    I listened to music 24/7.  I had a pair of tribit headphones (which I highly recommend) I got off of

Amazon.  They were like $50 and sounded great.  They did a good job blocking out background noise. 

I took those things everywhere.  I went to the store, headphones on.  Walking in and waiting in the

waiting room for my counselor or psychiatrist I was listening to music.  I went somewhere to get food, I

listened to music.  Of course in the car I listened to music.  At home even watching TV half the time I 

had my headphones on.  My music kept me grounded and out of my own head.  I had a playlist I

consistently listened to, nothing else because I couldn't handle anything else.  I couldn't handle the 

thoughts other songs may have provoked or stirred up.

    I also kept a journal of everything I did.  I would write in my notebook from the time I got up in the

morning to the time I went to sleep at night.  Then the next day I would take my notebook with me to

therapy and my counselor would help me process it.  I still have all my journal entries.  I thought of

writing a book from them, but I think I'll just turn them into some entries at the end of this blog.

    I did mindfulness exercises.  I did 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. This is an exercise where you use your senses.  You

find five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can

smell, and one thing you can taste.  I could never remember what order to do things in so I basically just

used my senses to ground myself and get back to the present moment.  I did visualization exercises

where you picture yourself somewhere safe and go there with your mind describing as many details as

possible.  I did relaxation exercises where you listen to a guided meditation of starting from your head

or your toes and working your way to the other end of your body, clenching different body parts as hard

as you can, then releasing so you can feel where the tension is in your body and relax.

    Lastly I smoked Black and Milds, went for walks and stood in the sun as much as I could.  Smoking

wasn't probably the healthiest of choices, but it helped me.  I walked to try to be healthier and clear my

mind while listening to music.  Plus my dog liked it.  Exercise is highly recommended for mental 

health issues and really just for everyone.  I stood in the sun because the vitamin D is good

for depression and mental health in general.

    During this time my neck and shoulders were always so tense.  They always hurt.  Smoking would

release them briefly.  I also went to physical therapy a couple of times per week.  The massages would

help and the e-stim would help, but the exercises typically didn't.  It was all stress.  There is no real

release or help until you can alleviate the anxiety/stress.

    I don't remember exactly how long I used these tools and coping mechanisms.  I'm sure it was several

months.  Eventually I was able to function without the music 24/7 and scaled back gradually.  I could

handle songs outside of my playlist.  I didn't need to write everything down everyday anymore.  I

stopped smoking.  I still have these things in my toolbox in case I need them, but I'm not dependent on

them everyday to survive anymore.

    By the time I left Maryland I had even begun to interact with people in a work environment which I

hadn't really done since I lost my job. I became a volunteer for two different organizations.  I feel like I

was able to function fairly well and do the tasks that were asked of me.  Thankfully my supervisor was

very understanding and a delight to work with. 

Catholic church disservice

     The Catholic church as whole really did me a disservice.  My former RCIA leader kept sending me

things on the rosary the days leading up to my hospitalization.  The day I was hospitalized she invited

me to a rosary service downtown.  I was so out of it, it's a miracle I was able to get there without getting

in an accident.  I tried to tell her she had no idea what I was going through.

    She watched my son as I went into the rosary service.  I remember I felt like the priest was talking

directly to me.  So much so that I got up in front of everyone during the middle of the service, went up

to the alter and told the priest I was ready to follow God.  Obviously not normal behavior.  He told me 

that's great, have a seat.  After the service my RCIA leader asked him to bless me so he did.

    Immediately after the service my former RCIA leader took me to the bookstore to meet some nuns. 

There was the Eucharist in the back of the store.  I kept going back and forth between praying before

the Eucharist and going outside.  I felt like I was Mary being pulled in two different directions.  I told

the nun. I thought I was Mary to which she said no you're not.  Still no mention of that's not normal I

think you need help.  She probably just prayed for me or something.  During this time my former RCIA

leader left me and my son there alone stating she was only a phone call away.

    It was very difficult, but eventually I made it back to the garage and found my car.  I got in after I put 

my son in.  I started to drive, but got nowhere.  My son would't get out of the front seat.  He was smiling

so I thought he was playing with my deceased father in law through the windshield.  I called my

husband.  He picked us up.

    My former RCIA leader came to visit me in the psych ward of the hospital.  She obviously 

should have known I was not well.  However, all she ever told me was that she thought I had received a

little extra of the Holy Spirit that day.  I don't even know if that's possible.  In summary, that whole day

leading up to my hospitalization no one, not the priest, not the RCIA leader, not the nun, told me I

needed help so in my mind everything I was thinking and feeling was real.  

    After the hospitalization I visited every Catholic church I could find hoping someone could 

understand what I was going through and possibly provide me with some guidance.  Of course no one

did.  Matter of fact one priest told me thinking you're God is the #1 sin.  Definitely not what I needed to

hear.  Another priest told me to go in front of the Eucharist and pray some our fathers.  Maybe that

helped a little, I don't really know.  However, it definitely would've been more helpful if he recognized I

was sick and prayed with me for exactly what I needed.

    I even went back to the school I used to work at and purchased about $100 worth of script to help the

school.  I said a couple of lines of what I was going through to the parent volunteer in the office.  I 

didn't say anything that was too much, just basically that I had joined the Catholic church and I was

having a hard time. Apparently she told the principal.  It scared the principal enough that she called my

mom and told her not to bring me back to the school.  They weren't grateful I spent my money to help

them or step in to try to help me.  Instead she got scared again like she had when I told her I witnessed

the suicide.

    Looking back I wish I would've tried some other churches, different denominations.  Maybe someone

else, a pastor, could've been more helpful.  However, I was so stuck on all the truth being in the Catholic

church, and being a new Catholic, it didn't even cross my mind at the time.  As a result of my

experiences I became really turned off from any kind of religious anything and fell away from God and 

the church entirely.

Very deep depression

     I was only back in Hawaii for a couple months before I started falling down into a very deep

depression.  It was almost like a switch.  I went from being manic to depressed over night.  Of course

no one warned me after you are really high (manic) you will fall just as hard (depression).  If I had

known this I probably wouldn't have rushed back to Hawaii.  I would've stayed in Colorado where I was

getting help.  Anyway I started having suicidal thoughts.  When it was only about me I could handle it.

However, when I started having feelings of harming my child and taking him with me I returned to 

Colorado.

    I stayed in Colorado for four months during the winter time because I needed help that bad and felt

that afraid of being left alone with my child.  While there my mom would make me walk everyday on

her treadmill.  I also attended a couple of depression and bipolar group meetings called DBSA

(depression and bipolar support alliance).  I was just getting by.

    When I returned to Hawaii I was still really depressed.  I would go to my counseling sessions, my 

group therapy sessions, and see my psychiatrist.  I began EMDR treatment to address my previous 

trauma.  Otherwise if I wasn't taking my son to school, ABA therapy or one of his appointments I 

slept.  I laid down in bed all day.  It was completely unhealthy.  Sometimes I would force myself to sit

in the sun for 20 minutes or go for a walk around the block, but otherwise I was laying in bed.  For 

anyone who has struggled with depression I'm sure you know how hard it can be to get out of bed and

do anything.

Recovering back home

     After being discharged from the hospital I flew with my mom back home to get help with my son

while I continued to get better.  During that time I thought I knew everything.  Everything I said was

right.  I would curse at my mom.  That time period was the first time I had ever cursed at my mom.  I 

tried to convert my mom to Catholicism because I thought it contained all the truth.  I had her read the

book Rome Sweet Home because I just knew she'd see the light.  

    I thought everything was either of God or of the devil.  I had a necklace (I believe it was a rosary) I 

wore.  If I had a thought or something would happen I would look down at it.  If it was face up it was 

good, it was of God.  If it was face down it was of the devil.  I thought bees were a sign of the devil. 

    I couldn't concentrate enough to drive so I had my mom drive me around.  I would have her drive me

to various stores.  At least one per day where I would always buy something.  Luckily I didn't empty my

bank account like many other people who have bipolar disorder do, but I would go shopping and buy

things everyday whether I needed them or not.

    I would also have her take me to any and every Catholic church I could find.  I was seeking answers

to know what was going on with me.  I needed the truth.  Of course no one helped me.  One priest told

me believing you're God is the #1 sin.  I walked out, that was the last thing I needed to hear.  I visited

another priest who I believe told me to sit in front of the Eucharist and pray some our fathers.  Again

not very helpful.

    While back home in Colorado I attended a Partial Hospitalization Program.  I was there Monday

through Friday for several hours per day.  There I learned how to better take care of myself, coping

mechanisms, and how to get along in society if I remember correctly.  It went pretty well, but I forced

myself out early.  I believe I stayed four weeks.  It was supposed to be six weeks.  I felt I needed to get

back home to Hawaii and be with my husband.  At this point I was probably still a little manic, but I

could function and take care of my kid.

Another trigger resulting in hospitalization

     Two years after having my son, six years after witnessing the suicide, while living in Hawaii away

from all family and friends I joined the Catholic church.  I completed the RCIA classes in 2014 into

2015.  Ultimately I was baptized and received first communion Easter 2015.  When I was baptized and

the time thereafter I was the most happy and at peace as I had ever been.  I loved life.

    After roughly four months of being Catholic my very good friend's husband completed suicide.  This

was another huge trigger for me.  Either the night I received the news or the night after I went to a 

party.  At the party I drank too much.  I didn't sleep that night.  Which led to me not sleeping for the

next twelve nights.  

    Over the course of those twelve nights many things happened to me.  I would pace back and forth in

my house.  I thought the deceased could use me to speak to others.  Then I thought I could bring people

back from the dead.  At one point I thought I was Mary.  The climax was when I had a vision in my

mind where if I walked into one room in my house it was God, a different room was death.  I chose

God.  Then I thought I was God.  When I laid down and nothing had changed, I knew something was

wrong.  I called my friend and told her what I had been experiencing.  She had my husband call 911.

    I was admitted to the psych ward that night.  The doctor thought I just needed some sleep.  However,

when she returned from her time off three days later, found that I was still there, and I wasn't any better

she knew something else was wrong.  So she dug deeper.  Eventually I was diagnosed with bipolar one

disorder on top of my previous PTSD diagnosis.  During that time I thought I was God.  I recall getting

a roll in my lunch.  I thought I needed to break it apart and give it to the other people sitting at the table

with me as if they were my disciples.  I remember constantly asking if I was crazy.  The lady (I think

she was a psychiatrist) would always tell me, "no, you're not crazy."  However, I wish she would've

told me no, you're not crazy you have bipolar disorder and you're having delusions.  I doubt I would've

believed her, but it would've at least planted the seed.

    I recall having an angry outburst in the ward.  I really wanted a pencil.  They wouldn't give it to me, 

I'm guessing because they considered it a weapon.  I tried to force myself behind the counter to get 

one.  Someone kind of pushed me back a little bit and said you don't want to do this.  I'm sure they 

would've put me in some kind of hold.  I just clenched my fist, hit my other hand as hard as I could, 

and said, "look I have control of myself, I just want the pencil."  Low and behold I'm pretty sure they 

ended up giving me a pencil.

    After the pencil incident I called my former RCIA leader from when I joined the Catholic church.  I 

was extremely upset.  She prayed the rosary with me over the phone.  Even though I was crying the 

whole time I felt so much better when we were done.  I went back to my room and thought to myself I 

had to do that to bring more people to me, to God, to Jesus.  Whether it converted anybody or not I 

don't know, but it certainly got everyone's attention.

    The psych ward was actually a comfortable, happy place for the most part.  It didn't feel like I was

there twelve nights.  While in the ward I attended a small group from which I learned how to integrate

back into society.  Whenever I started talking like I was more important than I was, the leader would 

bring me back down by saying, "and that is over the top."  The group was very beneficial for me.  The

main thing I learned from the psych ward is that I needed to take care of myself first.  I ultimately got

discharged when I thought I was helping them more than they were helping me.

Postpartum Psychosis

     In 2012 I got pregnant with my first child.  I was extremely sick the entire pregnancy.  If I moved I

threw up, if I didn't move I threw up.  As a result I spent the entire nine months on the couch.  I was not

active at all yet I lost 30 pounds.  Though I didn't realize it, I'm sure I was pretty depressed.

    February 2013 I gave birth.  After the baby was born was no easier than the pregnancy.  I would hear 

my son crying when he wasn't crying.  I was obsessed with him.  I took pictures of every little thing he

did and I had pictures of him all over my house.  There was one point where I saw his umbilical chord

in my bagel.  It obviously was not. I was seeing things, hallucinating.  When my milk came in I felt like

I was on an incredible drug.  I was on cloud nine.  I kept having panic attacks.  I hadn't slept much for a

couple weeks.  Hadn't taken a shower.  Hadn't eaten.  I was just drinking tons of water.  I obviously was 

not taking good care of myself.

    There was one day I didn't feel quite right so I asked my friend to come over while my husband was

gone.  She spent several hours with me.  She came over thinking I was just struggling with the new 

baby.  In reality the baby wasn't the problem.  I was the problem.  I would go through spells where I 

didn't remember anything.  For instance, I would forget how to breast feed the baby.  I would only be

able to remember one step.  It was as if I needed constant reminders and assistance with everything at 

times.  That is why I had asked my friend to come over.  I didn't trust that I would remember how to

take care of the baby on my own.  My friend left my house worried about me. 

    My sister in law came over one day unannounced and ended up cooking for me when she saw what

condition I was in.  I was like food, what's food?  After I ate I felt much better.  I felt like a new person

really.   

    After that I went to my mom's house for several days to recover, get some sleep and get back on 

track.  It wasn't until years later when I was talking to a psychiatrist I learned that I had had postpartum

psychosis.  No one had even mentioned postpartum depression to me, let alone postpartum psychosis.

I was also told that that is often one of the first signs of bipolar disorder.  I wish someone would of 

recognized what I was going through so I could've gotten some real, professional help.  Doctors nor my

counselor recognized nor identified what I was experiencing.

Mental health day from work

     Two years later while still working at the Catholic school, a student passed out in the gym as lunch was

ending.  She was laying on the ground not moving and unresponsive.  The principal was standing at the 

door and did nothing.  No call to 911.  It was a big trigger for me.

    At that moment I realized I had handled the suicide for my family, but not for myself.  It was going to

be a hard road, but I would get through it.  This led to me taking a day off from work.  When I returned to

work the next day the principal asked me how I was feeling.  I said fine, I just needed a mental health day.

She kind of looked at me.  So I said I'm not sure if you know, but two years ago I witnessed a suicide.  I 

handled it for everyone else.  Now I'm handling it for myself.  Her jaw dropped.  She couldn't handle

what I had told her.  At that moment I knew I had made a mistake.  I shouldn't have said anything and kept

everything to myself.  From that day forward she treated me differently.  She checked on my classroom

everyday.  It really upset me.  In addition to telling the principal, I had also opened up to and trusted a

coworker who ended up stabbing me in the back.  Ultimately, it ended with me not being offered a 

contract for the following year.  I had never done anything wrong to those kids despite what I was going

through.  With the way she handled it, I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye to my students.  At that

point I was still on just antidepressants with no formal diagnosis.

Witnessing the suicide

     The beginning of my mental health journey was New Year's 2009.  It was the day my life changed

forever.  From that day forward my life had a distinct before and after.  I had had a wonderful New

Year's Eve celebrating the holiday preparing to bring in the New Year until a great night turned

unbelievable.  My cousin's fiance was only a couple feet away from me when he put a gun up to his

head and pulled the trigger.  He was close enough I could've reached out and touched him.  It was the

single most traumatic event I had ever experienced and the most helpless I had felt in my life.

    That morning I was told I was handling it very well.  I remember just reacting.  I took his child out

of the house and waited until help arrived.  I was questioned by cops and detectives trying to see if I 

had murdered this man or if I was telling the truth.  I was told I handled it well in the weeks to come.  I

was more or less the strength of my family during an extremely difficult time.  I believe I may have 

been on antidepressants and sleeping pills occasionally leading up to this point in time.

    At that point of my life I was a teacher at a Catholic school.  I was not religious at all.  I wasn't even 

sure if I believed in God.  All I knew is I felt the most comfortable when I was with the kids at the 

school. I've always felt like it was God's way of protecting me through a very traumatic time looking

back on it.

    I recall for the first time in my life actually not only being willing to go, but wanting to go to the 

viewing.  I had to know if there was a heaven or a hell.  Seeing him in his casket and how peaceful he 

looked I knew there had to be a place better than this.  The last thing he saw was good.

    The week following the suicide, I met a very kind, understanding, supportive man.  He was one of 

the few people I communicated with at that time of my life.  Little did I know he would eventually 

become my husband, we'd have a child together, and he would turn out to be the love of my life.  I have

always given the credit to Ricky for meeting my husband.  It had to be him, God, or both, but I know

it was not a coincidence, especially because he asked me where my man was at the night before he

died.  My husband has been by my side helping me push through throughout my healing process.

Inspiration to start this blog

    

    A few days ago I watched a sermon about finding courage and strength through vulnerability.  The 

pastor also spoke about how you can help others through your own vulnerability.  That's what inspired me

to begin this blog.  I have contemplated starting to write about my journey for a couple of years now.

The sermon I watched felt like an invitation and a prompting to begin.

    I struggle with my faith.  I never know if what I'm feeling and believing is healthy or if I'm falling

back into an unhealthy place with my beliefs.  This fear is directly linked to my past experience with

bipolar disorder and hospital stay.  I will get into that in greater detail later.  Thankfully I have an 

incredible friend and a good counselor who have both helped me discern what's healthy to think and

believe and what's a danger zone.  Therefore, with support, I've been working on rebuilding a great 

relationship with God and Jesus.