Life and Suicide

A year ago this month, I attended a funeral for a second cousin who had committed suicide. Even though I hadn’t seen him in years, witnessing the pain his death caused in those close to him was heartbreaking, because I know what it’s like to lose someone you love so violently.

Seven years ago today, my grandpa, “poppy”, shot himself in the head. (The story is here.) Even though so much time has passed, his death still causes a strange ache inside me. There is something about a suicide that never lets go. There is always the “why?” question that never will be answered.  I think of that day and the days that immediately followed. I think of my family and the shock and the crushing pain. Awhile back, I found myself with a handful of sleeping pills, wondering how many it would take to put me to sleep. Forever. I’ve thought about my pistol; the gun safe combination and a trigger. So simple. So quick. And then I think of my kids. And I think of poppy. And I realize that I will never do it. Suicidal Ideation is one thing; the actual act is another. No one can know what goes on in another person’s head and we have no right to judge, but for me, I know that as deep and as dark as my depressions can get, I know I will never go that far. Why poppy did, I’ll never know.

I had a tattoo created in his memory; as a tribute and as a reminder of what life is. It is several very vibrant, very life-like poppies, an obvious reference to “Poppy”. The flower is also my birth month flower; it is the flower of remembrance and consolation. They are rendered in a deep red-orange color; representing passion, happiness, life, vitality, and survival. It’s in a very prominent location on my upper left arm. It’s not a tattoo I take lightly, and every time I look at it I’m reminded of everything that is important to me. 

Inspire Me

I used to blog all the time. I’d post about 4 to 5 times a week. I had a loyal pack of followers. I was even making money doing it. Granted, it wasn’t millions, but it was a couple hundred. Enough to convince me that maybe blogging could be more than a vehicle which I simply was using to vent my frustrations. I was asked to review products and got some really cool stuff in return. Then about a year ago…what shall I say? I flipped out? Had a nervous breakdown? Became certifiably insane? One of those. Officially it was labeled bipolar, but what’s the difference?

So here I am. Kind of back. Tentatively. I don’t even remember what I used to write about that was interesting enough that I once had over 500 followers. What did I write about? I did write about pubic hair. I remember that one. And my kids, I’m sure they made an appearance. I work at home. They’re like my co-workers. The co-workers that don’t do anything but sit around and complain about the boss and the working conditions they’re subjected to.  Did I write about my friends? Maybe. But then they read what I wrote and now I don’t have any more friends. I’ll have to think of something else. There has to be some fresh topics. I have a friend on facebook who makes some really good Whitney Houston jokes. Maybe I’ll have to enlist him.

This shall serve as my come back post. Again. I think I’ve come back many times. Short attention span. But this time I mean it. Until I don’t. But I’m enlisting suggestions…any pressing topics you think I should cover? The exciting details of my day to day life?

Inspire me. Pleeeasssse.

There is only now.

Today my youngest son, Sam had to go in for hydrocele surgery. Hydroceles are caused during prenatal development when the processus vaginalis ( I don't know. I can't pronounce it either.) membrane fails to close completely. It causes fluid to drain from the abdominal cavity into the scrotal sac then the scrotum swells. If it's not surgically repaired, it can cause a hernia.

 Sam couldn't eat or drink anything after 5:00am and his surgery wasn't until 11:15am. Which was probably a good thing, since he got car sick and threw up twice on the way to Denver. And I thought I was the one with the nervous stomach.

After the four hour hike out of the parking garage and into the hospital, we finally found the admissions desk and signed in. The doctor was actually running early, which was very possibly a world record, and we waited less than ten minutes before we were taken back into the pre-op area. Dressed in his little gown and socks, Sam looked so small on the bed they had him on. But he was smiling and laughing, oblivious, which I think, was a good thing.

Only one of us got to go back with him when they administered the anesthesia, and I won because I was the only one that would fit in the gauzy jumpsuit. I could tell Sam was starting to get a little freaked out when the nurse started rolling him through the hallway. I tried to keep up, but the nurse was also trying to set a new land speed record. In the operating room, Sam kind of whimpered; all the lights and equipment were overwhelming. I may have whimpered, too. They switched him onto the operating table and I was able to lean down next to him while they put the mask over his face. He fought and fought it. One nurse had to hold his hands down, while one held his head, trying to get the mask over his face. I tried so hard not to cry, but I couldn't help it. I had no idea how hard it would be to watch your child be forcefully put to sleep like that. And then having to turn around and leave him? I hope to God that is something I never, ever have to do again.

The surgery was surprisingly quick and only took about 45 minutes. The doctor came out, said everything went well and that someone would be out to get us when Sam woke up. No one ever came...each time the door opened, both my husband and I would look up hoping it was someone looking for us. Their few minutes turned into an hour before a guy in a football jersey and a sleeve of tattoos came out to get us.

"I've never seen a kid not want to wake up like him," he said, leading us back. "I thought that maybe he'd be more responsive to familiar voices."

He wasn't.

Sam just outright did not want to open his eyes. The man with the dragon tattoo finally unhooked all Sam's monitors, IV, etc. and my husband held Sam, trying to wake him up a bit. We stuck a straw in some apple juice and held it to Sam's lips and all of a sudden he was drinking. With his eyes shut. The grape Popsicle, however, got those eyes open. They sent us home with a prescription for Tylenol/Codeine.

Sam slept on the way home and I sat there, so thankful that it was such an easy, successful surgery. It was a simple problem that was treated in a single day. It made me do some reevaluating of my life. No matter how bad it is, of course, it can always be worse and while that's the absolute last thing you want to hear when you're dealing with your personal issues, it is also so true. I thought about all the parents' that take their kids in for surgery, kids whose lives depend on it, kids who spend more time in the hospital than at home. Kids that will never live to see their teens. Parents' that have to accept that and deal with it the best way they can. I was crying over the simple process of administrating anesthesia. My heart goes out to all the families that know that without the hospital, the doctors and the medicine, that their child would be dead. My heart aches for the families that know every nook and cranny of that children's hospital, having walked the halls over and over while their child undergoes another procedure.

The several hours spent there today, made me look at my kids and realize that, yes, I take them for granted and that is

the most harmful thing I could do. "In a minute", "I'll play in a second" or "Later". I'm guilty of saying those often, but I don't have a guarantee that there will be a minute or a second or a later. So tonight, we pulled out the games and sat on the floor, eating cheetos and goldfish. There were no "in a second" or "in a little while".

There was only now.

11 Fear That Are Holding You Back (Guest Post from www.PinkBikerChic.com)

Eldonna Lewis-Fernandez, an engaging motivational speaker known internationally as The Pink Biker Chic - a brand developed to empower individuals to take control of the handlebars of their lives through the power of PINK: Power, Integrity, Negotiation and Knowledge. Don’t let the pink fool you.  Retired Air Force Master Sergeant Eldonna Lewis-Fernandez is a force to be reckoned with.  She trains women and men how to re-think and re-direct their energies for higher performance and better bottom-line professional and personal decisions. She may be reached online at www.PinkBikerChic.com. 

11 Fears That Are Holding You Back

By Eldonna Lewis-Fernandez

It’s been said that FEAR stands for “Forget Everything And Run.” It’s that uncomfortable, disconcerting feeling that causes us to take a back seat in our own life and prevents us from proactively moving forward to reach our goals and aspirations. Instead of facing a personal, business or workplace situation head on and taking control of the proverbial handlebars of life, fear causes us to turn the other way, freeze in our tracks, or poke our head in the sand. 

One way to counteract fear’s adverse impact on your life and career is to recognize the type of fear that might be defining you and driving your actions – or lack thereof.  In fact, there are many “types” of fears that will prevent you from achieving in both your personal and professional life. Recognizing the specific fears that are be holding you back is the critical first step toward breaking free of the emotional paralysis and living a more carefree, uninhibited life. As the saying goes, “No guts, no glory.”

Below are 11 common fears that hold people back from that which they desire both personally and professionally:

1.  Fear of Success – This is actually a fear of achieving your dreams and standing out. Fear of the attention you will receive should you actually realize success.  Yes, people might look at you, and talk about you, which can make you feel self-conscious. Sometimes, it’s the fear of taking the steps necessary to work toward your goal, or knowing what to do first when all seems daunting at the onset.  We all have things we want to achieve in life but, by giving into this particular fear, you lose faith in yourself and your abilities, and also faith in those who truly have your best interest at heart and want to see you succeed.  And, remember that even baby steps are forward momentum.

2.  Fear of Leading – With leadership comes responsibility, and many are afraid of being responsible for an outcome that impacts not only themselves, but also the people they are guiding. Many with this fear worry and wonder, “What if I lead them the wrong way?” This is where you need to trust your intuition to guide you and have faith that you will make the right decisions – the same faith others have instilled in you so they may follow.  Letting go of the outcome and its various possible impacts brings freedom and, with it, releases you from fearing the unknown.  It allows you to trust your leadership skills and be an example for others.

3.  Fear of Speaking – Many people fear public speaking more than any other activity.  Speaking requires a palpable level of confidence and ability. In our lives and careers, we are sometimes required to present thoughts and ideas to others.  Whether it is ideas at a school PTA meeting, a speech at a wedding or funeral, a briefing during a staff meeting or a full-scale conference keynote, it’s all public speaking. Being a confident speaker requires training, not talent.  Master this skill and you will command the attention and respect that you deserve and the successes will ensue.

4.  Fear of Encroachment – Many women and men today are working in fields that were once traditionally a gender-specific field, such as the military, manufacturing, construction, automotive, nursing, fashion and beauty, culinary arts, etc. Working in an environment with a gender-based stereotype has its own challenges and requires a high level of confidence in your abilities and a strong voice to be heard, and even supported, among others who may not regard you as a peer.  If your desires are unconventional or non-traditional - or simply go against what is expected of you by family members or friends – dig deep and stay true to who you are and what you want out of life. You don’t have to be loud and aggressive; just be unwavering in your vision and persevere.

5.  Fear of Power – Power is your proverbial fuel source – where your inner strength emanates from, your passions burn bright. It’s the juice that allows you to keep going in the face of adversity. Without power, you simply cannot move forward amid life’s seemingly endless road blocks. For all of its importance, power is simply a mindset – a genuine, heartfelt belief that you can do anything you set your mind to. Period. If you aren’t tapping into your authentic power, take some time to dig deep and cultivate it. It’s there and fully available for you to use, and it’s ready to make your dreams come true. Start small, achieve, and savor it. Then confidently aim a little higher, achieve and revel in it. Before long, you’ll be powerful enough to shoot for the stars.

6.  Fear of Inadequacy – Feelings of inadequacy can come from inherent low self-esteem or past negative life experiences.  If someone has told you that you couldn’t do something or shamed you into believing you weren’t capable of doing something “well enough,” you may carry that feeling of ineptitude and not even realize it.  This subconscious stronghold can be truly debilitating.  The best defense against a fear of inadequacy is to learn and master the specific skill, subject or activity in question and, in doing so, you will become self-assured in your execution.  If it’s more about fundamental self esteem, seek out the emotional support to help you value and believe in your own capabilities.

7.  Fear of Failure – All too often we stop short of attempting something new for fear we might embarrass our self or, worse, fail all together. Any given undertaking has the possibility of resulting in failure, which is never a desirable or welcome outcome.  But, when facing something new, a fear of failure can be amplified as anxiety, nerves, and our “fight or flight” instinct kicks in.  These intense feelings can cause us to put our aspirations on the shelf where they can languish in perpetuity.  Mary Kay Ash perhaps said it best: “Fail forward to success.” Indeed, failure is part of the road toward success and should not be feared but embraced as an opportunity for growth. 

8.  Fear of Compromising Integrity – Integrity means doing the right thing even when no one is looking or will ultimately know.  Many fear that, in order to be successful in a career, we have to compromise our integrity and go against what we believe to be right. Overcoming this concern requires nothing more than establishing a specific set of boundaries within yourself and knowing exactly where and when you will draw the line – and sticking steadfast to that plan of action. It’s a commitment to making belief-based decisions in all aspects of your life so that, when success is realized, there is no guilt or angst involved about how that success manifested.  It’s important to recognize that you CAN be successful while adhering to your personal value system.

9. Fear of Vulnerability – While it can be uncomfortable and downright scary to open your self up and expose your true inner self and your ideas and aspirations to others of importance in your life, doing so can be cathartic - and a true turning point in effecting positive change.  Letting down your guard takes courage and strength, and allowing yourself to be vulnerable can help you better relate with people on a more intimate and personal level.

10.  Fear of Being Alone – Many people stay in abusive relationships or negative career situations because they are afraid of being alone, breaking away from the pack, or being isolated from a situation and people they once valued. It’s impossible to be completely content in life if you are uncomfortable being by yourself, or if your positive frame-of-mind is contingent on anyone or any thing else - whether personal relationships or professional affiliations.  Such co-dependency allows your attempts at happiness and success to be controlled by external third parties, which will rarely bear optimal results.

11. Fear of Appearing Selfish – For some, it feels selfish to do anything for themselves so, instead, they do for everybody else and either burn out, harbor feelings of resentment, or both.  To neglect your own needs and focus solely on those of others can make you feel overwhelmed, stressed out, under pressure and weighed down. Often, it can be difficult to find a way out of this quagmire once people have developed expectations and have come to depend on you – and you’re not one to disappoint. However, taking care of your needs first is not a selfish luxury, but rather a psychological imperative to ensure you’re emotionally nourished in your own right. Only then should you tend to the needs of others, which should be in addition to and not in lieu of.

The best way to combat any fear is to hit it head on, keep moving forward and stay focused on achieving your goal.  There will always be obstacles that make reaching your goal seem impossible, and you must be disciplined and tenacious enough to stay focused and on track toward your goal. You must also be committed enough to not only make a promise to yourself, but also see it through even when the going gets tough. Only then can you keep the fear at bay and hit the fast track toward success.

My Son is NOT Contagious

I blog because I like to write. I blog as a stress reliever. I blog because I have read so many blogs that have inspired me and helped me through another day. I blog because I have received so many amazing emails and comments from people telling me that many of my posts have inspired them and helped them through another day. I blog because it helps me remember that I'm not alone. While there are a few, the majority of the people who pass through my daily circle, don't understand and can't empathize.

I don't blog because I'm looking for sympathy or pity. I'm not looking for "poor me".  And when I talk about my son, his suicidal thoughts, his issues, my bipolar...I'm not necessarily looking for advice, but I am hoping that maybe my words will find someone else dealing with the same thing and maybe keep them from feeling so alone.

Unfortunately, the recent posts where I mention my son have become "controversial" in the tiny farming town in which I live. I realize that many people who grow up in towns where the cows and corn fields outnumber the residents have major misconceptions about depression, bipolar and most other mental "disabilities". Old fashioned values and beliefs are often more prevalent than modern research and science. I am by no means referring to everyone, but it has recently come to my attention that several fellow parents are offended by what I have written. Apparently, several have requested that their children no longer play with my son. While I only have a handful of facebook "friends" who have children in school with my son, I have a very good idea about who these people are. And quite honestly, they disgust me.

We live in America. It is 2011. Mental illness is not contagious, or any indicator of a child's behavior. His suicidal drawing will not doom their children. I'm sure that they would be amazed to learn that bipolar is not, in fact, caused by angry demons. It is caused by chemicals in the brain. It is not possible "to snap out of". More often than not, it will need to be treated with medication. It is not curable, but is most certainly controllable.

From http://www.everydayhealth.com/health-report/bipolar-depression/bipolar-disorder-misconceptions.aspx   "Suresh Sureddi, MD,(is) an assistant professor of psychiatry at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center in Dallas and a director of Lifepath Systems, a community mental health clinic in Plano, Texas. Dr. Sureddi explains that it helps to remember that bipolar disorder is a chronic illness, like congestive heart failure or diabetes, which sometimes results in patients having to be hospitalized and needing ongoing treatment."

Bipolar is an illness and it absolutely does not define who you are. Misconceptions abound about about bipolar, and these misconceptions are far more harmful than people think. While they remain secure in their ignorance, they may be missing signs in their own children, or filling their children with hate and fear for those who think differently. Bipolar children and adults in general, are more creative and intelligent.

"I must admit that one of the reasons why I have specialized in bipolar disorder is because it seems like nearly every single person with bipolar disorder I see is unusually creative or intelligent or charismatic or something. Quite a few have been really profoundly intelligent to the point where I have trouble keeping up with their minds," Jim Phelps, M.D. Per http://www.psycheducation.org/BipolarMechanism/introduction.htm

The point? Read a book, do some research, know what you're talking about before you feel the need to judge.

“You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?”

Granny has not improved. I brought the kids to see her Sunday and they each went over to hug her, she touched Delaney’s face and Sam lay down on the bed next to her for a few moments and let her hold him. She cries, she smiles, she laughs…whether out of frustration or humor, I’m not sure. I bent over the bed and told her I loved her. Saturday night she responded with an “I love you.” This time she looked at me like she didn’t understand. I made the sign for I love you with my hands. She managed to get her fingers in the same sign and very carefully pressed our fingers together. I tried not to cry.  

Medicare only covers 4 days in the hospital, dying or not. They’d rather pull the oxygen right out of your nose and rip the IV from your skin and push you down the stairs before they would work with you. So they have to move her elsewhere, meanwhile the speech therapist is trying to explain to her that she is going to have to move, but no, she’s not going home, like she thinks. She will probably never go home. Her little dog will continue to race around her apartment looking for her.  

Sometimes you have to stand back and say, “Seriously? Seriously? Is this some kind of fucking joke? Really? REALLY?”

I took Sam and Delaney to the doctor for wellness checks yesterday, and Sam has a lump in his testical. The doctor said it was most likely a hernia but he referred us to Children’s Hospital for an evaluation.

Have I mentioned that our house is in foreclosure? The auction date is the 23^rd of this month, if anyone would like to come and bid. I figure that’s one way to get rid of all our junk. Let them throw it the front yard and let the neighborhood scavengers dig through it. At least I wouldn’t have to clean the house again. Let the bank deal with the missing chunks of linoleum, where I ripped them up in a frantic, manic state. They can deal with the broken kitchen cabinet that I punched or the closet door that I kicked. I’m “working” with Wells Fargo to get a loan modification and have been for the last 5 months, with no result. They continually ask for the same paperwork, over and over and over again. The first “specialist” we had never returned phone calls.  Yesterday, our new one called to say that our paperwork EXPIRED THURSDAY. And I have to send it all in again, with current information. Unfortunately, we don’t have another 5 months to wait. Wells Fargo sucks.

“You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?”

Room B467

“If I didn’t take care of myself, take my pills, I’d be in a psych ward,” The man in to room next door is loudly explaining to his nurse.  “I’m 65,” he says. “I’m not going to live that much longer.”

I’m sitting in the corner of an uncomfortably cool hospital room, in an uncomfortable leather chair. The heart monitor beeps somewhere is in the hallway. I sit, waiting for the nurses to bring my grandma back to the room. Echocardiograms, CAT Scans. She’s being submitted to those and every other kind of imaginable scan and grams that they can conjure. They’re trying their hardest to make her uncomfortable. Good intentions that are seriously annoying  the 89 year old woman that I call Granny. She can’t speak. The stroke earlier today has stolen that from her. It’s taken her ability to comprehend what people are saying. It’s taken her ability to say “yes” or “no”.  She struggles to say something, moving her mouth and lips to make words, but is unable to make them materialize as sound. She gives up, putting her head back down on the pillow with a hand over her eyes.  She cries, but can’t wipe her nose because of the lines streaming oxygen into her veins. She shakes her head, shrugging her shoulders, surrendering to another battery of tests.

Mom called earlier, saying that she had called Granny and she was completely incoherent and then she hung up. Mom babysits my nephew 5 days a week, so I packed up Sam and Delaney and headed to my brother’s house to watch the baby while my mom went to be with Granny.  By then the ambulance had taken her to the hospital emergency room.  She was unable to recognize anyone, even my mom and dad. She couldn’t function, or even follow simple directions. When she was able to produce her full name, she beamed, her face transformed into that of a child, so proud she was.

As soon as I was able, I got myself to the emergency room. She recognized me immediately as I reached the side of her bed. I grasped her hand, and even in the ER she was classy, a giant moonstone ring on her left hand, a blue-stoned silver ring on the other. A little red lipstick.  I held her hands tight and leaned down to hug her. I kissed her cotton-candy hair trying not to cry, trying not to be tangled in the wires and tubes that encased her like a strait jacket.  I held her against my chest like a child, she held me back, and we sat there for a while in silence. She looked at me, forming her lips into shapes, moving her mouth to speak, but was unable to say whatever she wanted to say. The look in her eye flashed from hope, to frustration, to fear. She covered her face with her hands and buried her face in the sheets, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold back tears. I held her, and cried, too.  I looked at her tender pink scalp peeking through her thinning white hair, the age spots on her face, neck and hands. I imagined it was me standing at that brink…knowing that I’m 89 years old. I’ve already lived long past my life expectancy and suddenly I’m facing death.  Do you want to let go? Do you want to stay? The oxygen tubes are half lost in the crepe paper skin around her neck. She looks at me, her giant blue eyes rimmed with red.

“I…don’t…know, “  she stuttered. “I…don’t…know.”