So, there is an image that each person portrays. Sometimes it is accurate and sometimes it is
not. Sometimes that is on purpose and
sometimes it truly is just the way a person expresses themselves. We all have a story. We all have a ride we are taking and you’d
probably be very surprised at how much you don’t know about most people. There is a saying about the people in your
life that hear you when you aren’t speaking.
Those people- those are the keepers.
Those are the people you are looking for and that’s the kind of person I
pray I can be. The one that is selfless
enough to know when someone else isn’t ok and doesn’t have the words. It is very easy to judge a book by its
cover. To really believe you know about
someone’s life based on the clothes they wear, where they live, what kind of
car they drive or how their kids are dressed.
The truth is- you don’t. You don’t
know a damn thing about anyone unless they specifically told you so. We don’t
really ask questions anymore. We just
assume things and I feel like that is why so many people are lost. They are trying to live up to false
expectations that others have created around them. Trying to reach a height they never intended
to create. And, they end up
falling. Alone. And scared.
That’s what happened to me.
As open and honest as I am about my life- I still fell and the world had
no idea. It started as being very
tired. Not being a great sleeper ever in
my adult life was a really great excuse.
Then came the darkness. The
sadness. And, the anxiety. Man, was that powerful. Debilitating is a better word. I was all consumed and lost in a dark, dark
world and most people in my life had no idea for months. Months!
How is that possible that all of my so- called friends and family had no
idea. No idea that I sobbed for hours and
hours a day in a ball on the floor of my bedroom. Nobody knew why I didn’t show up to volunteer
in my sons classroom other than she “didn’t feel well.” They didn’t know I was pretty sure I cracked
a rib crying so hard that I couldn’t actually move to get there. My husband knew enough to remove the kids from
our home on many nights to protect them from seeing me- but he didn’t know
why. I didn’t know why. That is the worst kind of sadness, the kind that you can't explain. All I knew was I couldn’t see anyone
anymore. I couldn’t breathe when I left
my house and I surely couldn’t properly care for three children. My kids knew I had a lot of really bad
headaches that I had never had before in my life. At least that is what I thought they
knew. Until that devastating day where
my two oldest children let me know in the best way they knew how- that they
knew my secret. They knew I wasn’t ok. My son told me that he hears me crying in the
bathroom every day. And, my poor daughter,
out of desperation told me I couldn’t lay in bed for the rest of my life. These little children were scared to death of
me. Their own Mother. The one that is supposed to make everything
OK. The one that is supposed to dry
their tears. The one that is supposed to
guide and steer them. But, instead they
were guiding me. They were telling me
that things weren’t ok. They were
telling me that they knew. They didn’t
know exactly what was happening- but they weren’t going to keep quiet
anymore. These kids missed their Mom.
The few days following my kids verbalizing what they knew
were very scary. The very last thing I
wanted to do was scare my children so I would lay in bed all day while they
were at school- and as soon as they were due home, I left. I drove around parking lots. I drove down dirt roads. I cried so hard I had to pull over. I wanted to go stay at a hotel alone. I wanted to disappear. I was terrified. I was not OK and I didn’t have a clue why or
what to do about it. I went to see a
therapist who was just as afraid of me as I
was and it only took about three visits to know- she was not equipped
for someone like me. The desperation
continued and the sadness grew stronger and stronger every hour. I could hardly eat, my blood pressure was
through the roof and medically my body was giving out on me. It could not handle the stress it was
under.
A very good friend of mine put me in touch with another
therapist. A life changing move. This woman took me on and understood what was
happening immediately. She made herself
available via phone or text 24/7 to me.
She assured me I wasn’t too far gone and she was going to help me. She was so confident that I trusted her from
our very first phone call. We talked for
over an hour every day that first week and I finally started to feel like I
might be ok. I went back to work and I
gave life a shot. I immediately fell
flat on my face. I couldn’t face the
world and pretend like it was ok. I was
sleeping about one hour per night and I had zero fight. I was crippled. I went to visit a Psychiatrist and he put me
on some old school medication that at first did absolutely nothing and then
gave me the biggest migraine of my life. A twelve day migraine from hell. I couldn’t have any lights on, I lost vision
in my left eye, my short term memory suffered and I had to apply pressure to my forehead to even sit up. It was complete misery and basically the
final straw to my existence. I honestly
thought I was going to die. I didn’t
know what was going to kill me… a heart attack, exhaustion or something else
but I had an overwhelming feeling that my physical body was all done. It had carried me as far as it could.
The next day after truly feeling like I was going to die- I
called my therapist and said two words, “ I surrender.” I gave up.
I was all done. Nothing left to
give. No more fight. Just, done.
She told me to hang on tight and she was going to handle
everything. She called facility after
facility after facility looking for the perfect match for me. Looking for a place that could take me
immediately and also a place that fit my needs.
She put me in touch with three different places and I immediately knew
which place was the best fit. Cottonwood
de Tucson in Tucson, Arizona offered a 30 day inpatient stay to treat all kinds
of disorders but was great in dealing with co-occurring anxiety and depression. They were willing to take me that day.
Telling my children that I was leaving them one hour before
leaving them for a whole month was one of the most difficult things I have ever
done. The fear and sadness in their
eyes and the sound of their cries- I will never forget as long as I live. I knew I had failed them. I knew I had let them down and yet at the
same time, I had to go save myself to get back to them. I wasn’t acting like their mother. I was a shell of the human I once was. I lost my life and I didn’t have a clue how.
My husband bought a plane ticket to take me out to this
place we had never heard of. I quickly
made him cancel that ticket to stay with our children. They needed him and I needed to do this
myself. I needed to fight for myself, by
myself. Terrified is not a strong enough
word to describe what boarding that plane was like. I honestly had no idea if I would even go to
the facility once I go there or if I would just run away. The hopelessness and desperate sadness I felt
was all encompassing. I didn’t recognize
myself at all. I didn’t recognize who I
saw in the mirror or even my hands when I looked down at them. I was a stranger in my own skin. I was headed out to fight a battle I was
pretty sure I couldn’t win.
I arrived at the Tucson airport at midnight which was 2:00AM
my time. We arrived 30 minutes early and
my driver from Cottonwood was not there.
I’d be lying if I didn’t think to myself that it was a sign I should run but honestly I was too tired to figure anything else out. So, I went.
To the unknown. In the middle of
the night. In a state I had never been
to. And I endured the strip search,
crazy people questions, weight check and vitals. I signed papers I didn’t read and handed
over my cell phone and all my belongings to complete strangers. The only thing I had with me was a single
hope and a single prayer. I hope I
survive. I pray they can fix me.
The first place they put me was a “detox room.” This place was sterile. It had two beds and looked straight out of a
psychiatric movie. Clearly I didn’t need
to detox but since I arrived in the middle of the night, they didn’t want to
wake other patients by moving me in and they weren’t 100% sure of my mental
status so this is where I landed. Let me
just tell you that those rooms were not the plush, nice rooms with luxurious
bedding that I had seen online. It took
me about 20 minutes to completely lose my shit and cry so hard that they ended
up moving me “into the community” in the middle of the night. Of course, I had no orders for any medication
to calm my anxiety or put me to sleep so I simply waited for the sun to rise in a pitch black room with no clock and with pure sadness in my heart. I can’t imagine
a worse feeling than I felt those first few hours. It was one of fear, desperation, lonlieness
and the deepest level of internal pain.
The next days came and went as a blur. The silent tears never stopped flowing from
my eyes. I met people but couldn’t remember any
names. I went to groups but had anxiety
attacks and couldn’t stay. The migraine
from the old drugs had not subsided and they couldn’t prescribe me any new
medications until it was gone. They
tried every drug in the book. Finally
gave me a shot of something in the butt and put me to bed.
It helped for two whole days before it came screaming back. I took a bunch more drugs, another shot in
the butt and tried not to puke with all the nausea that followed. It felt like I was wasting time and getting
nowhere quickly- if at all. You guys, I
was broken. Into a million shattered
pieces.
I kept thinking about back home. About my husband and my children. I kept thinking about how much better off
they would be without me. Those kids
deserved a Mom that could participate in their life and it sure as hell wasn’t
me. I just hoped that she would remind
them to brush their teeth and make sure they said their prayers and tell them
how loved they are multiple times a day.
And my husband. I just wanted a
partner for him. Someone to participate
in life and care for him. He deserved
that. That person wasn’t me. Not anymore.
That’s the one thing I thought I
knew for sure. That’s how powerful the
brain is. That’s what my brain told me
over and over again. All. Day.
Long.
The days came and went and I was prescribed an anxiety
medication that they described using a light switch. They said they wanted to dim the anxiety
light but not me….and that is what they did.
Within a day or so, I felt like I could see straight. I stayed in my groups and I even spoke to a
few people. I listened so intently to
all the people around me. Some were
heroine addicts, some were alcoholics, some had tried to commit suicide, some
were court ordered and came straight from jail, some were suffering from the
despair of depression or from great loss, but the one thing I knew right away – they were all just
like me. We came from all walks of
life. We were close in age and decades
apart. We were male and female, married
and single, Moms and Dads. We were all
here because somewhere, somehow, our worlds fell apart. We were all there because we lost our way.
I was active in treatment once I was able to catch my breath. I participated in what I was supposed to do,
I attended the groups I was assigned to and I took the medications they
prescribed. I was put into trauma
therapy right away which made zero sense to me. I couldn’t identify a
particular trauma but once I attended the group- I realized I did have
trauma. Secret traumas I never talk
about. This type of therapy was
sometimes in a group setting but mostly one on one. In these groups with this amazing woman, I
cried. Hard and often. The
kind of crying where your soul hurts.
The kind of crying you don’t think can end. It induces physical pain to your heart. Its painful and its therapeutic. These hours were more exhausting than any
type of physical activity you could ever imagine trying. The instructions for after the one hour
therapy- go directly to your bed and just rest.
Ha, as if there was another option after that.
The only communication to the outside world was via phones
inside the nursing clinic that you had to use a calling card to dial and only
during certain hours were the phones even active. No incoming calls were transferred to
patients. No cell phones or media were
ever allowed through your entire stay.
You were truly disconnected. I
spoke to about three different people the whole time I was gone. People weren’t sure where I was. My kids told a story of my headache that was
so bad I was leaving for 30 days so I can only imagine what people told
themselves and what stories were circulating. I didn’t care. Nothing mattered other than me holding on to that
one hope and that one prayer.
I would say it took about 10-14 days before I actually
smiled. Before I put on some lip
gloss. Before I could see a very dim
light out of a very long tunnel. On day
15, the halfway point, I was granted permission to FaceTime my children. The craziest thing happened when I saw
them. I MISSED THEM. I felt something. I actually felt something. I missed my kids and I wanted to be their
Mom. I didn’t want to find someone
else. I wanted to do it. I was the one for them. I felt it and I knew right then and there
that I was gonna make it. To be clear, I
thought of my children and spoke to them before this day but the only thing I
felt was the same muted sadness I had felt for so long. I just felt sorry for them that I was their
Mom. But, now everything shifted. I was going to get it together and go home
and be the Mom I have always been.
After that phone call, my husband flew out to see me for
three hours. Yes, he flew from Michigan
to Arizona to spend three hours with me.
He got to meet my team and I was
excused from one group. These people
didn’t mess around. They only had you
for 30 days and they didn’t bend many rules if any. I told Matt that he did not need to spend the
money or waste the time for three hours but he said that he couldn’t have me go away to this place and not have
one person from my whole world ever lay eyes on it. I’m so fortunate to have him on my side. The team held nothing back and discussed my
progress thus far and expectations they had of me. Matt left feeling like things were going to
be ok if not for just the simple reason that he saw me smile. Life had been bad. There are so many things that Matt saw and
heard from me that I can’t take back and he will never be able to erase from his mind but he
never gave up on me and I’ve got a real good feeling he never will.
The rest of my stay was just hard work. Lots of groups, lots of sharing, lots of
homework and projects to be presented to groups. There was a couple of fierce yahtzee games
and there ended up being some moments of laughter. I read a book. A whole book.
I haven’t been calm enough or without anxiety to sit still long enough
to read a book in YEARS. There were lots
of hellos and just as many goodbyes.
It’s a process. As ones journey
begins, one is about to take the next step.
Its humbling. Its inspiring. Its sad.
Its heartbreaking. Its
awesome. Its life.
So, this was the month of February 2016 for Lindsay
Clark. I’m not proud of it. Im not ashamed of it. Im not perfect or anywhere near that
unattainable notion. I have great days
and miserable days. I feel excited and
deep sadness. I’m constantly making
changes and rolling through life in the very best way I know how. There really is only one thing that matters
at this point, and that is that I am most certainly not broken.
 |
| My admission photo and a 2 weeks after I was home. |
