STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES
As the story unfolds on national news about the young girl who killed herself because of bullying from classmates, I am taken to a time very long ago when I was that girl. The girl who wanted to die because it seemed the whole world hated her! Countless comments made by thoughtless children had reduced my self-esteem to a pile of ashes and my self-worth was non-existent!
To recount every word spoken is not possible, as now, many years later the feelings are fading and well, I feel I must protect the guilty. I am certain that eyebrows are raised in wonderment over my need to protect the guilty. Yet, I feel that dragging those years into the limelight would only serve to glorify what was said by school children who could not see the whole picture and did not understand how much their words can hurt. Each of those children who tormented me as a child grew into constructive, and mostly likeable adults.
The tormenting began when I was in the first grade. I was tall for my age, with very crooked teeth, coke bottle thick glasses and stringy hair. We were poor as my Dad had been hurt in a chain-saw accident in 1963 leaving him with a bent and broken hand that no longer allowed him to work like he was used to. My Mom worked two jobs to support our family and was tired most of the time that she WAS home.
Children see things at face value, they rarely think how their careless words might affect another and they say things that seem childish and hurtful. Simply because they ARE childish and hurtful!
I endured seven years of torment at the hands of children who did not know better! To chastise them now and paste their actions all over the internet would serve no purpose and the names of those children will forever grace the pages of my therapists diaries and no other pages will bear their names.
Yet the pain inflicted by these children only served as a daily reminder in my adult life as gospel truth spoken by someone who must have known what they were talking about. I took those words and made them so much a part of my life that I believed every single word of them. When I looked in the mirror I saw ugliness because I had been told over and over how ugly I was. I could not see the pretty face that God had really given me. I could only see the hurt.
Years have passed and the taunts of school-children formed my very identity. Those words affected every area of my life. Every man I dated, proved that they were wrong. The words went through my head even though I probably didn't even like that guy!
Finding old friends on Facebook has brought many of those school-children back into my life. Although the two ring leaders have never surfaced on Facebook, most of the other school-children did! Thirty five years later I sit and look at the pictures and the names smiling back at me. Telling me of lives lived, children born and how they have aged.
It was one such evening that I had a chance to speak to one of my former classmates. A boy who joined in the tormenting from time to time, even though he was not worst. Inside my heart burned and I wanted to scream at him. To tell him how much they had hurt me! How much my life had been affected by the words so carelessly spoken. The words of mean boys and girls are just words. It dawned on me that this man smiling back at me with his gray hair, had no clue that he had anything to do with the many hours of therapy I had gone through. He had no clue that my life had been so affected by the words spoken by careless children.
The realization that I was the only one keeping this story alive blew the wind right out of my anger. It was no longer about THEM, it was about me! The anger, the hate and all those years of hurt came tumbling down. I was the only one keeping this story alive. And it really needed to be put to it's final resting place.
The anger is gone now and I no longer hold a grudge against those smiling faces. My life is what I make it, and in some odd way I might almost be thankful. My life is what it is, and I would not be who I am today without EVERY piece of my life fitting together in a puzzle. It is not to say that I condone such behaviour. I do not, and I do not recommend that anyone read these words and think they are growing character by bullying another child!
Those puzzle pieces may not be what God wants for us to go through, but He is so merciful that if we let Him, He will heal those hurts. He took the pain and showed me that I had hurt myself far more, by letting it get to me for so many years, than the actual words that were said.
Recently I have made contact with another boy from my old life and this story has a very different ring to it. He was the boy I watched walk by every time I saw him. He was my first crush. I thought he was the cutest boy I had ever seen! Now he is a grown man and now, we are friends. I have heard his perspective of how things were back then and how he saw me. He did not see an ugly duckling as I called myself, no, he thought I WAS one of the pretty girls!
This part of my life has come full circle. God has placed those in my path to teach me that my thoughts were skewed. God has shown me how HE see's me. To God, I am one of the pretty girls and the words spoken by thoughtless, school-children hurt God too. Because they hurt me. God thought it necessary to teach me that He did not see me this way. I am not an ugly duckling and the words said to me were not true. Through God's intervention I am healed from that pain.
It is not to say that I won't remember it, and I won't draw on tha experience if I need to. But, most likely it will be to say to some pretty little child that the words others are saying to them are hurtful.....but....they are not true! God does not see you as the child the school kids say you are. God see's you as HIS beautiful creation! Words can never be taken back, but it is up to you to take the knife out of your side and quit digging it deeper. You are the only one needs to let the healing begin.
(c)copyright 2010 danni andrew
God Doesn't Want to Change My Situation....He Wants to Change ME!
As I sat watching his animated face, I was transformed to the place he described. My friend has just returned from a missions trip and as he told the stories of hard work, building a school and church in Belize and handing out shoes to little children, it made my heart ache. It was not an ache of sadness that I could not go with him, nor so much for the people who live in poverty half a world away. While I do feel a need to help these people, I am transformed to a day past when my own face beamed with the joy of a job well done and peace in knowing that what I was doing, was God's work.
God never misses an opportunity to change you. I could see by the glow in my friends eyes and the smile on his face that he was probably in the best place he had ever been. The pure joy of walking where God wishes you to be is intoxicating like no other drug I have ever known. I ache for that knowledge in my own life once again.
As I watched the animation in my friend I vowed to make the changes necessary within my own life, and to open my own heart to God's will. Whatever that may be. My life has become rushed and chaotic and while I feel that God gave me this job to do, it is becomeing increasingly clear to me that it is probably a life lesson and not so much a life-long lesson. It is very important that I learn the difference.
For God to work within my life and my heart I must turn my will over to His and not keep taking it back. My life is mine and I choose to let God lead it. As I tossed and turned in my sleep last night, I prayed for God to open the doors that need to be opened, and to close the ones that need to be slammed shut. My prayer is that I will learn to turn my life over to God and not keep taking it back. My heart is dry and broken right now and my only recourse is God!
I got up this morning and turned my Bible to the book of Psalms. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity And cleanse me from my sin . Psalms 51:2 As I read through the 51st chapter of Psalms the words jumped off the page and struck me deep within my soul. King David, the writer of Psalms, touches my heart deeply. I suspect that David struggled with many of the issues that I struggle with. He ran from God, hid out in the wilderness and tried to do things his own way. It was not until he finally learned to let God lead that his life really took off. My life has been a jumble of stops and starts, especially over the last ten years or so. I write when I feel like it and do my own thing when I don't.
My desire to write a book that leads the hurting out of the darkness, no doubt is what God wants me to do. Yet, while I work at it from time to time, I have yet to totally throw myself into this project. I get frustrated and go back to trying to work things out on my own. My financial situation has never been one of great wealth, yet at the same time when I was so broke I could barely pay the rent, is when I was at my happiest in my life. I have found myself face down in the dirt so many times, yet those a
are the times that I jumped for joy the most. You do not appreciate the finer things in life, until you have been face down in the dirt.
I do not speak of the finer things in life as those that make my life more comfortable. No, the finer things in life is not a nice house, a good job, the "right" partner, or a new car. No, the finer things in life are peace and joy of following God's will, and knowing that the road I walk is one that has been laid before me by my heavenly Father. Create in me a clean heart , O God , And renew a steadfast spirit within me. Psalms 51:10
My prayer this morning is one of a very contrite spirit. I am tired of banging my head against the wall in search of worldly financial stability and I lay my heart and soul at the foot of the cross. Restore to me the joy of Your salvation And sustain me with a willing spirit . Psalms 51:12 My life and my true joy must come from God, no man on this planet can give that to me. No job can bring me the stability that I need, and only God in his infinite wisdom can take any situation that I am in and use it to change me for the better. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit ; A broken and a contrite heart , O God , You will not despise . Psalms 51:17
My prayer today is that my broken heart will be healed by this situation. Lord, I pray that you will keep me in this job only as long as I am needed to be here. I also pray that you will take my broken heart and heal it. I hand it to you Lord. I also pray that I will never forget the lessons that I have learned here Lord. And I also pray that I will stay where I am as long as I need to be here, to learn those lessons that I need to learn.
God doesn't want to change your situation. He wants to change YOU! He will leave you where you are. Only as long as you need to be there. He threshes the wheat, but only so long as it will take for the goodness to come out. No longer. Grain for bread is crushed, Indeed, he does not continue to thresh it forever. Because the wheel of his cart and his horses eventually damage it, He does not thresh it longer. Isaiah 28:28
My Mother used to say, "pray like it all depends on the Lord, and work like it all depends on you"! We know that it all depends on the Lord, but at the same time, I think that God expects us to put out some kind of effort. He is not going to come in and miraculously make me a willing person. I have the choice to walk away or lay it down at the cross. Until I lay it down at the cross and turn my will and my life over to God, He is going to let me wander.
Today, it is very clear to me that this job isn't going to save me and I can't experience God from listening to someone elses stories. I love the stories, but I so need my own experiences with God. There is always a rainbow after a rain storm. If it needs to rain a little more in my life, well so be it. Because I know, that after it rains, there is truly a rainbow. That rainbow was created by God. I pray that I have learned some hard lessons, but if I haven't totally learned them yet. Then Lord, let it rain! Change my situation when it is time for it to be changed and not a second sooner. Dear Lord, please change ME!
(c) copyright 2011 Danni Andrew
The Body Remembers What the Mind Chooses to Forget!
Words cut like a knife and unwanted memories flood my mind. My thoughts race back to yester-year and I am reminded of things best left alone. Once again I am eight years old and the fear of swift and fierce retribution is at hand. Most days I am confident, and get things done in a relatively timely manner. Even if that time clock is mine alone. The childhood fears stuffed deep within the inner-most reaches of my mind are left there comfortably and hopefully well forgotten.
Until the moment when a tone in someones voice brings them crashing to the surface. Whether the voice reminds me of my Father and his leather belt and gnarled hands, or of the ex-husband whose face, a meer inches from mine snarled words that could melt solid steel. His fist striking just inches from my head as they crash through the wall behind me. The ever present fear that those words would lead to a connecting point that invariably involved my face or another tender part of my body, would disolve me to inevitable tears.
My mind fights to focus on the words of a man who would never hurt me, not even with words. His tone brought on by frustration at the situation I have found myself in. Rarely does he raise his voice, and never his hands.
Powerful hands that can do a days work without too much effort, are typically gentle and fun-loving. I know he would not hurt me, and my mind struggles to regain the composure lost by a few seconds in yester-year. The tears come and I try to explain why his words of truth have upset me so much.
The body remembers what the mind wishes to leave forgotten. Many hours of therapy have calmed most of the memories and placed them in a perspective that leads to a much quieter life. Very rarely do I find myself with the knot in my stomach and my stomach in my throat. Very few things bring fear to my life and I know that this feeling is one that must be dealt with. I pray for calm and peace as I reassure my confused friend that I know he would never hurt me like this. That the feelings that arose have little if anything to do with him.
How do I explain memories that have been long since forgotten? How do I heal pain that has been buried for so long that I had placed their very existence in the hold file? The days of running to my therapist and crying my eyes out are gone. I must walk this road alone and it is only with the help of God and a good therapist that I am able to see these feelings for what they truly are. Irrational thoughts and feelings that were learned so long ago and still haunt my mind. It is up to me to pull myself back into today and remind myself that my Father can no longer hurt me as his passing was long ago. And my ex-husband is an ex for a reason!
I am safe in my world and have learned to surround myself with people who do not pose a physical or emotional threat to my well-being. I may slip into the abyss at times, but those times are now few and far between and I am able to see them for what they are. If my heart skips a beat and old memories bring themselves to the surface it is up to me to remind myself of the impending danger. At this moment there is none, the fear lies within me and the danger is one that I can control.
Pushing those feelings back down and putting the lid on Pandora's box only serves to give them the inevitable opportunity to rise again. Facing the memories of yester-year and acknowledging them for what they are serves to be a much more useful avenue. I feel the pain of the eight year old child. I remind myself that these memories are exactly what they are...memories! A process that could take days or even weeks to resolve in the past, now can take a few minutes to a few hours depending on how much sleep I have had.
I try to explain my reaction to my friend, yet I must remember that while he cares for me he cannot ever fully understand the path that has brought me to this place in my life. Nor, do I really want him to. He cannot be everything to me, nor can I be everything to him. I must seek counsel from other friends as none of us is an island. I cannot expect him to bear all of my burdens. It is just too much. Caring for me does not mean that I have to drag him through every square inch of my recovery process. Sometimes there are things best left unsaid, memories that are mine and should not be shared. No man can fully understand my road, and portions of the past are just simply...passed! Leave them there.
Some of the simplest revelations come in the form of my own thoughts and pondering. It is not always necessary to sound them out. While the value of the spoken word is never diminished, sometimes I just need to work it out on my own. These moments of quiet reverie are necessary for my own sanity. And, quite likely are much better for my unsuspecting friend and his sanity as well.
I have found that the value of therapy has not been lost on me. I spent many years loudly voicing my anger and frustration over the path that life has led me. Getting the anger out of my system has been a necessary road. I find myself much quieter now. Allowing myself to feel the pain and not run from it. Recognizing that I cannot change what was done, I can only change my action to it. Notice, I did not say "my reaction" to it! Reaction is typically not well thought out, while action means to act upon a decided destination.
My life may never be totally void of those small responses elicited from a tone of voice or the sound of a banging screen door. One that usually announced the return of someone feared. My reaction time is now much shorter and my actions better thought out. Hiding from the past is no longer an option and facing the future my only real opporunity. To face the world with anticipation of the next great lesson that God wishes to teach me and feeling the hurt along with the Joy reminds me that I am still very much alive. A life that God has so graciously given me.
Others who walk this path are constant reminders that the lessons learned should be passed on and the lessons I have learned are not mine alone. My decision to share my story has been one with, at times, great trepidation. My fear of looking stupid and being wrong still occupy the back of my mind. Knowing that there are those who do not understand, and do not wish to understand, often has brought silence to my keyboard. My gift of the written word could so easily be silenced by my own fears. Yet the urgency to bring my heart and soul to paper overshadows the fear of appearing stupid. My fingers have a life of their own and I am powerless to stop the words that flow onto the screen. With my heart in my throat I ignore the fear and press on.
My passed memories will never be forgotten, and the value of lessons learned from those hurts reminds me that nothing is ever in vain. I am who I am today because of the good in my life, and maybe even more so, because of the bad. My Father was a complex man. His ways of handling things were not always the best but his desire to see me grow into what God had for me took him down a path that I would not always recommend. God has a way of taking those hurts and making them something beautiful. He fills the gaps in my heart and knits together the loose ends of my soul.
My Father was a broken soul as well. The hurts in his life led him to see things in his own way and to search his own path. Whether, in his later years, he realized that some of his actions scarred me deeply I will never know. My own brokenness is not so much because of my Father, it is because of my reactions to what was given me. I am a bit more sensitive than most and things said to me affect me differently than they might others. I must constantly remind myself that my view is somewhat skewed and what I heard is not always quite what was intended. My perceptions are exactly that, perceptions. And while I see life one way, it is not necessarily the way it was intended by another.
With these thoughts in mind I must navigate this road called life. God has his best in mind for me and I may not be able to see it at this moment in time, yet I am reminded that He has a plan, and I am in it! I must also remind myself that my feelings don't always have to be on my sleeve. I must be careful who I trust with my thoughts and feelings as there are those who do not, nor do they care to even try to understand. If I share myself with someone who I know will not understand and possibly make light of my heart. It is up to me to simply no longer share my innermost thoughts with that person. I must choose my innermost friends wisely, and remind myself of who is worthy of my trust and who is not.
I am who I am, and while the thorn still pricks me in the side from time to time, it is a not so gentle reminder to not take life quite so seriously. I must remember what is important and to let the little stuff slide. I must keep my feelings in my pocket as having them on my sleeve only serves to keep me in turmoil. I must be a friend to have friends and when the Holy Spirit gives me a topic to write about, I must write! Regardless of the scoffers who choose not to understand.
(c)copyright 2011 Danni Andrew
I Am Who I Am..... Because of My Mother!
I can't think. My brain is so much on overload that I cannot remember what I am supposed to be doing. So many things are running through my mind and I can't make sense of all of them. I heard somewhere that when a life ends, another begins. Or is that some figment of my imagination?
You see, my Mother is in the Intensive Care Unit after suffering a stroke, seizures and complications from diabetes . She is 79 years old. I have tried to be there for her, yet the constant battle of two very hard-headed women seemed only to make things worse. My plan was to care for her in her twilight years. Her plan was to be as independent as possible. A decision, I fear that has left her in this condition. After much frustration, I moved out only two short months ago. And now, she is in the hospital, possibly on her death-bed after being found on the floor for an undetermined amount of time.
I am not sure what to feel. Mostly I feel numb. Sitting at breakfast this morning I am thinking that I should have written her obituary when I had the brain function to remember those details that must be included in one. My Mother was the strongest woman I have ever known. She could do anything she set her mind to! She was the middle child and the only girl born to her parents.
She was born in Soda Springs, Idaho in 1932 and while the depression was still being felt in our nation she joined her family. Her parents have both preceded her in death as well as an infant sibling. A brother I think, but at this time and place that information eludes me.
My Mom had four children of her own, thirteen grandchildren and numerous great grandchildren. She was married very young to a marriage that only lasted a short time. In her twenties she married George Andrew and they had four children. After 22 years of marriage they parted ways. My Mother stayed single for seven years, then met and married Samuel Eugene Foster. George Andrew passed in 2001 as the result of a motorcycle accident. Samuel Foster resides at Cedar Ridge Nursing Home due to complications from Multiple Sclerosis .
My Mother was the driving force in the Family Planning clinic back in the late 70's. She wrote the original grant for Family Planning, a non-profit organization that helped women who had no insurance get basic health care and birth control, along with education and family planning. It has been said that the grant my Mother wrote and acquired approval for was taken over by another non-profit organization and is still in use by that organization. The organization is said to be Presbyterian Medical Services.
My Mother was an avid gardener who loved her plants and was noted for her African Violet collection. She could be seen in her garden on just about any spring morning. She would stay out there for hours and come in only when she couldn't see anymore because the sweat was dripping down into her eyes. Or her blood sugar was dangerously low.
My Mother is one of few survivors of pancreatic cancer. I say she stole 17 years from the grim reaper. When in truth she loved the Lord and He blessed us with her presence for 17 years. Now she is lying in the Intensive care unit and I wonder how she has made it this far. IT is the true grit that is deep within her that doesn't allow her to give up that wills her tired body to continue living. I pray for God's will for her that if she can get better, I hope and pray she does. It saddens my heart deeply to have to look into her eyes and see her the way she is.
It is true that my Mom and I battled on many issues. I guess the apple does not fall far from this tree and I am my Mothers daughter. Hard headed and determined to do things my own way. I write these words while she is still alive, as I am afraid that when her tired body finally gives out and I am left with the grief only a child can feel, I will be unable to write them. My heart is heavy this morning and I am unable to lift myself out of this chair and face yet another day of visits to the hospital and the nursing home and chance meetings in the hallway with my family that is unhappy with some of the decisions I have made for my Mothers care. I am her Power of Attorney , a job that is thankless and requires decisions that are not always popular.
I want to scream and cry and throw things. Instead I sit and stare at the wall. There are so many things that need to be done, yet I cannot think what they are, nor can I move my feet to get any of them done. I must lift my grieving head and face yet another day. I would not be the woman I am today without the genes of my parents. My Father was an accomplished writer, and my Mother was simply the strongest woman I know. I want to put a cape on her with big WW's on it because she truly was Wonder Woman !
I must take a deep breath, wipe the tears from my eyes and get out of the chair. Work still must be done and I must continue taking care of her and my Papa Sam Foster as well. He is having a very rough time and while I wipe my tears, put on a brave face before I go see him. I will cry my tears out of his sight. I must be strong for him. He is an old man with no one left once his wife passes. She took care of him for many years. Now it is passed to me, and I will care for him the best way I know how as long as he lives.
Sleep well my dear Mother. I understood you better than most I think. We are alot alike. Rest well knowing that when you awake you will be in the presence of Jesus. When the trumpet sounds, the dead shall rise. Your spirit lives on and will forever touch my life. I am who I am because I have a great Mother .
copyright 2011 danni andrew
Under the Influence
This is the story of how I became addicted to prescription drugs and how I got off of them!
I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder in 1995 and it took a few years before I really took it seriously. I took my medication most of the time but I would forget. When you have this type of disorder and must take medication it is really important that you take your medication, every day and don’t stop taking it! Ever! In 1999 I finally realized how important this was and began to take my medication and my illness seriously. As my medication began to level out, so did my life. I learned to be responsible for myself, and my children, I learned how to manage money and keep my house clean. Before long I had gotten pretty good at all that and began to get bored. I was on disability so I was home allot. One afternoon my daughter told me about a friend of hers who had built a website. I thought that was fascinating so I decided to give it a try. I worked for days on my website and when I launched it, I figured no one would pay much attention to it, but it sure had been fun.
Within days I received an email from a lady in Canada. She was heartbroken, her husband has Bipolar Disorder and their marriage was a mess. I wrote an email back and explained a few things to her about Bipolar Disorder. We began to correspond and I walked those dark streets with her. When she and her husband split up I cried too. I felt like I had failed her. When I told her this, she told me that by my just being there, listening and sharing my life. She had felt like maybe she wasn’t alone. There were others who wrote to me but this first one, she stuck with me and we are still friends today. Soon I had written a book and counseled with many other people. I had found my life’s work and I was thrilled.
As time went by I stayed on my medication, tried to eat right, get some exercise and do the best I could to live with this debilitating disorder. One day I was helping a friend clean house and I began to have chest pains. I went home to lie down thinking I had over exerted myself. The chest pains got worse and I called 911. They took me to the emergency room and ran all kinds of tests. They could not find anything wrong, but I went to see the cardiologist anyway. Over the next few months I went to the Emergency Room again and again. Finally the cardiologist put me on a medication and the pains stopped. I went on with my life.
A couple of years later I had taken a part time job at a hobby store here in town. I was living with my parents and trying to help take care of them. My step-dad has Multiple Sclerosis and my Mom is a pancreatic cancer survivor that left her a diabetic. Mom had gone into the hospital and I was left to care for my step-dad. I couldn’t work and take care of him too and someone had called Adult Protective Services. I had asked another family member to come stay with him while I worked, but they had never showed up. Adult Protective Services came out and forced me to place my step-dad in a nursing home, just until my Mom got out of the hospital. The morning after my Mom got out of the hospital the nursing home called and told us that the girls were putting him back to bed and they had dropped him on the hard floor and broken his leg. He was 80 years old. My stress level was at an all time high.
I woke up the next morning and I had a burning pain in my face. The left side of my face was so painful I could not touch it. Tears streamed down my face and even they hurt me. I went to a dentist, a doctor and finally a Physicians Assistant diagnosed me with Trigeminal Neuralgia. I was put on another medication and sent home. Within days the pain subsided. I had spent six days almost literally on the floor. In tears because my face hurt so bad. The relief was welcome.
For two years I had no pain in my face. In October of 2008 the pain came back. I began to read about it, trying to learn what was causing this searing pain in my face. I learned that Trigeminal Neuralgia is caused by something pressing on the trigeminal nerve high in the vertebrae, just before it goes into my head. If it wasn’t something pressing on the nerve, it was probably going to be caused by Multiple Sclerosis. I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. I have watched my step-dad deteriorate for twenty-five years. I have watched this big strong man being reduced to a helpless old man in a nursing home that can’t even wipe his own nose. I was devastated. I was barely 44 years old and I felt like my life had come to an end. Gone were the days of counseling others on Bipolar Disorder, helping them learn a better way to live with that debilitating illness. My book and my dreams lay on the shelf.
I went back to the doctor and they sent me to Neurology. I went in for an MRI. As I lay there on the table, and as they slid me into the tube I remembered one thing! I am claustrophobic! Fighting the urge to kick, scream, bite, scratch, yell and run. I prayed for God to help me get through this. I lay in that tube with my face less than six inches from the walls and sang Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. Over, and over, and over!
When I went back to the doctor they told me that they could find no sign of Multiple Sclerosis and nothing was pressing on the trigeminal nerve. Over three months time they put me on two more medications. I was on three of the highest powered medications out there. I slept twelve to fourteen hours a day. I slept so much that I didn’t wake up to meet my granddaughter’s bus one day. Something I had done almost daily for several months. The old feelings of incompetence washed over me once again. I remembered the early days after I had been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder and how stupid I had felt because I couldn’t even remember a doctors appointment.
My life was over as I knew it. I began making plans for my death and burial. I contacted a life insurance agent and began the process of purchasing life insurance. I wrote out my will and drew up papers to make my oldest son my Power of Attorney. Secretly I vowed that if this is the way I had to live, life wasn’t worth it. My youngest son was fourteen. I told myself that I would fight the battle until he was out on his own, and then I would take my own life. I looked like a zombie, I was overweight and my eyes were dead and lifeless. I was incontinent, I could barely make it to the bathroom on time during the day and almost never at night. My speech was slurred and hard to understand and I could barely walk. I had fallen off the stairs one night and I knew it hurt but I didn’t know why. I went to yet another doctor and he told me it wasn’t broken, and there was nothing he could do for me. I was a mess and I felt like I was already half dead.
When I had counseled people about living successfully with Bipolar Disorder I had been adamant about medication. One of the key problems with people who have Bipolar Disorder is that they begin to feel better once they get on medication and after a time they decide they are healed and don’t need it anymore. I’ve done it, I’ve quit, and I have known many people who have also quit taking the medication. It rarely works and it is a sign of someone who is not stable when they take themselves off of the medication without doctor’s orders. By this time I was on thirteen different prescriptions, I had a Cardiologist, a Neurologist, a Psychologist, an Orthopedist, a doctor and a physicians assistant. I had been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, Trigeminal Neuralgia, hardening of an artery, high blood pressure, incontinence, and vertigo. My life was a mess and I could no longer function. I would stare out the window and dream of what my life might have been like if I had not gotten sick. I quit doing everything. I stayed in my house, watching TV. Wishing I were dead. I was certain that there was no way out of this and my life was over. I was so depressed I couldn’t even cry any more.
In January I asked my neurologist to x-ray my hip. It still bothered me. I didn’t think it was broken, but I am smart enough to know that there are other things that can go wrong and I wanted to know what was wrong and why it hurt. He agreed and they determined it was not broken, but he sent me to physical therapy anyway. Slowly I began to feel a bit better. I saw a spark of the fun loving person I had once been and it gave me a small glimmer of hope that maybe I could work myself out of this hole I had found myself in. I knew that exercise could help lower my blood pressure and I tried to start walking again but my hip began to hurt worse. But, I did feel better!
By the end of late March I was desperate, I wanted out of this mess so badly that I was willing to do just about anything. I would dream that I had courage enough to just go off the medication. Just to see if it would help. But, my own words rang in my ears as I cautioned other people to NEVER go off the medication without a doctor’s consent. But, who would agree to that? I called my pharmacy for refills and just went on about my life. Even though it was not much of a life. When I went to the pharmacy to pick up my prescriptions they told me that the refill requests had been sent to the wrong doctor. The prescriptions were then sent to the right doctor and within a couple of days I went back to the pharmacy. I had been out of one of the prescriptions for a week by then and another for a couple of days. The pharmacist informed me that my prescription insurance had run out and I would have to pay cash for them. One prescription all by itself was $137! There was no way I could pay that. The thought ran through my mind, “well, is this it Lord”? As the days went by I ran out of another and another prescription. After being out of over half of my prescriptions for over two weeks I put every single prescription into a zip loc bag and threw them under the sink in my bathroom.
I knew without a doubt that I had not felt this good in a very long time. For the first time in several years I had energy. I was happy and my face did not hurt! At the same time I had stomach cramps, I was nauseas, and I had headaches. Different headaches from the ones before. But, in spite of it all, I felt good, really good! I no longer ran to the bathroom only to have to clean myself up because I didn’t quite make it.
When the doctor told me I had not broken any bones in my fall, he also told me that I had osteoporosis and that it had probably been caused by one of the medications I was on. I was determined that I was not going back on all of that medication. But, I was also afraid to tell anyone because here I was, the one that told everyone NOT to go off the medication and here I was going off the medication without a doctor’s okay. I prayed daily about this and finally told my Physicians Assistant. She was ecstatic. Especially since my blood pressure had dropped from 145/98 to 110/60. In just two weeks!
I made up my mind that I wasn’t going back on all of the medication. I finally told my therapist and made an appointment to see my psychiatrist. I went back on one of the anti-depressants and the medication for vertigo. I was still having some problems with those things so I decided that maybe going off of everything was not a good idea. I met with my psychiatrist and she was strangely, very supportive. We worked out a plan and I agreed to meet with her once a month until I was sure I had stabilized with the medication changes. The aches and pains had continued along with the nausea and headaches. I told my friend about it and she said, “that is called withdrawals”! I was stunned! I have never in my life taken street drugs, or even any of the ‘bad boy’ prescription drugs. I wouldn’t even take valium because I was afraid of getting addicted to it. Yet, here I was, going through withdrawals. My friend has been clean and sober from drugs and alcohol for almost six years. I knew that she knew what she was talking about and it hit me hard. The aches and pains, the panic feelings at knowing I couldn’t take the drugs anymore. I wanted that feeling again, that would take away all the hurt in my heart, not just the pain in my face. All of it began to add up. I was addicted to these prescription drugs! I now knew why I watched the clock so I could take it again, knowing that I could sink into oblivion once more. I was going through withdrawals just like I would with any street drug. I was so ashamed of myself. Once again I vowed to NEVER let myself get into that situation again.
I have been off the prescription drugs for three months now. I have never felt better. Actually, now I ‘feel’! I had not cried in years, and I had not felt anything. Nothing at all, just a very deep sadness. I cannot imagine what it was like because I honestly don’t remember allot of that time. Especially the last six months I was hooked on prescription drugs. I never took vicadin, oxycontin or any of the ‘bad boy’ drugs that you always hear about. I took prescription drugs that were given to me for a specific problem. I went through withdrawals just like anyone else who is coming down off of drugs. I am now off of all of the prescription drugs except two. Oh yes and one pain killer. I realized that my hip was hurt pretty bad when I fell. But, I was on so many prescriptions I barely felt it. I feel it now!
It is so nice to have my brain back. I lost fifteen pounds in the first two months of being off the prescriptions. I do not take anything for the Trigeminal Neuralgia, my heart, high blood pressure or incontinence. A friend of mine who also suffers from Trigeminal Neuralgia (TN) gave me the address to a website. That website explained about stress induced TN and that many people have it and don’t even know why. I do know why. I was under an incredible amount of stress trying to prove to everyone that even though I have Bipolar Disorder I can still do everything I did before. Well, not really. I do have some limitations and that is ok. I have been able to re-define my life and my life’s work. I’ve learned that it is ok to question what I am given by doctors, and it is my body and I decide what I am going to put in it. Every doctor I had known about the other doctors and the medications I was on. But, they kept piling on more prescriptions until a pharmacists mistake and losing my prescription insurance set me free. I would never have gone off the medication all by myself. I believe that God took me off of it. He reached down and untied the chains that were holding me down and He set me free. If it were not for the fact that I limp because of the pain in my hip I would be jumping up and down and running. I cannot run yet, but I can tell everyone who will listen how God set me free! Medication is a tool. I still take some, but I am very careful how much and what. Never again, will I blindly allow myself to slowly be led down a path of destruction like this one. God has truly set me free!
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Christmas 1970
I’m sure every one of us has a Christmas that sticks out in your mind more than the others. Mine is Christmas 1970. We had just moved to this town and we lived in a rundown old house with four walls, a wood burning stove and a path to the outhouse. I was six years old.
I’ve tried to write this story many times, and every time that I try to write the story, it just seems that I just don’t give it justice, or I mess it up in some way.
As the morning rays peaked through the windows my eyes popped open. The excitement in the air was more than I could stand. Visions of a tall pine tree laden with bright lights and shiny decorations filled my head. At last the sound was made that it was ok to get up. I ran down to the living area, and what I saw nearly dropped me dead in my tracks. There was no Christmas tree, and no pile of presents. What stood before me would change me forever.
My Dad was not a big fan of Christmas, so it was left up to my Mom to handle this sort of thing. Money was very tight and Mom had gotten creative. Before me were two tumbleweeds. They were tied together with string, and Mom had sprayed “spray snow” all over them. She had made a chain of red and green construction paper. She had strung popcorn, and hung a few candy canes on the “tree”! At the time I must say I thought it was the most pathetic sight I’ve ever seen! But, looking back it was amazing.
My Mom had made us each a pair of warm flannel pajamas on an old treadle sewing machine. She had gotten us each an orange, and that was Christmas. As I look back, I don’t think there was anything under that “tree” for her! But, she made sure that we had Christmas.
Since then we have had many Christmas’s come and go, many tall pine tree’s with all of the trimmings, and presents piling out from under that tree. I do not remember much about those Christmas’s! They are a blur in my memory. But, there is one Christmas that I do remember, and that is the Christmas where we had a tumbleweed Christmas tree.
I know in my life, that I don’t remember the times when I had plenty. It is the times that I didn’t have much, and I had to make due with what I had that I remember. I will always remember Christmas 1970 when my Mom made a big deal out of nothing. She made Christmas happen for four little kids, and it was really something!!!
