4 Years Ago… A New Blog

4 years ago, I started a blog. I needed a way to express what I was feeling after losing my foster son back to the Department of Children & Families (DCF). It was a horrible time in my life. I have never felt so low, so pointless. I couldn’t comprehend the thoughts in my head. I couldn’t understand why my mental health was not stable enough for me to parent another child.

“Why me?!”

So many times that phrase went through my head.

Because I needed clarity, a place to vent, to try to understand, I decided to write about it. On January 5th, 2015, I published my first entry. I titled it, My First Time Was When I Was 14 through Google’s blogger. I began from the beginning, the first time I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, the first of six episodes… each one getting progressively worse.

The entries continued. I was raw, laid all my emotions out for the world to read. I was emotionally and mentally unstable.

What did I want people to know? I wanted them to understand what it was like living with a condition that affects your brain.

It was a long time before I could accept things the way they were but once I did, I was so much better. I was content. I could look at images of my former foster son and smile instead of cursing myself internally. I was human again. I thank so many people in my lives for that… my husband, my daughter, my parents, my EMDR therapist (thank you S.B.!) and, of course, myself.

4 years ago, I was dying, a corpse of my former self. Today, today I am the strength trifecta, strong physically, mentally & emotionally. It was a long journey, and although I suffered greatly, I wouldn’t change it. It has made me the me I am today.

So, what does that mean for S. Paige Writes?

I no longer struggle with Major Depressive Disorder (MDD). I no longer suffer from PTSD. Even my Persistent Depressive Disorder (PDD) is under control. The only mental illness that I still combat daily is my Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD). That being said, I still have plenty more to write in regards to all the mental illnesses I have encountered, but, I will also be writing more about, well anything.

I have been into writing since I was a child. I wrote endless amounts of stories (but never finished any of them). I wrote poetry. I branched out into publishing my life. So, why limit it to just my mental health?

I will still write about my experience with Postpartum Depression and Anxiety. I will still write about my MDD, PDD, GAD & PTSD. But, you may see a few poems mixed in, a few chapter blurbs from the fiction work I am writing, a few article reviews, local news items and a few humorous items.

S. Paige Writes is back from her hiatus with a new blog look and new content!

When You Fear Yourself

There were brief moments, tiny myopic moments, seconds that I could see my reality. In these moments of lucidity, I became scared.  I was frightened at what I was becoming and how fast my body and brain were transforming.  Fortunately (or unfortunately) these moments of clarity were scarce because my body was failing me so rapidly, my cognizance was minimal.

 

I was healthy. Off medication for a few years. Actively working out at least four times a week.  I was confident, loved how I looked and felt, a rare time frame in my life where I wasn’t self-loathing and highly pessimistic. It was a euphoric high that I never imagined I would plummet out of.  I was wrong.  Oh, so wrong.

 

The severe Anxiety hit first. I couldn’t sleep and I tried, I tried so hard.  Listening to my Therapist, I got up, left my bedroom, and went downstairs to watch TV.  I thought watching TV in the dark with the comfort of my cat lying in the crook of my body on the loveseat would do the trick.  I would be able to return to my bed and the act of slumber.

 

But, the sounds came next. My foster son would cough, my daughter would cough and it would echo through the house.  A neighbor’s car alarm would go off.  The heat, even the sound of the damn heat turning on would shatter any hopes of sleep.  Most nights, I gave up around 3am and just cried quietly.

 

It didn’t end there though. The mornings brought me Panic Attacks.  I would be short of breath and my heart would be beating so fast that it felt as if I just finished a marathon in record time.  Nausea would riddle my body and I would run to the bathroom dry-heaving.

 

Then, I started to become delusional, spewing forth ridiculous ideas that my children would be taken away from me (which in the end our foster son was removed from our house), that my in-laws would take me to court to obtain sole custody of my daughter, that I was going to die. These thoughts were constantly in my head and I couldn’t keep them there.  They came out of my mouth easily and I believed every one of them.

 

Finally, Depression and Grief set in, a split second after our foster son was removed. I was experiencing a death not only at losing this little boy who I still think about every day, but at losing myself.  It wouldn’t have been so bad if it wasn’t for those damn moments of sanity.

 

Ugh, they constantly reminded me of what I once was, so healthy and vibrant, and showed me what I had become. I felt defeated. I didn’t understand how all of this happened.  I didn’t want to go on, the fight was so hard.  I feared how much worse I would become; how much worse my family’s lives would be.  I was so scared, so scared that this episode of Major Depressive Disorder and Severe Generalized Anxiety would kill me.  In fleeting moments, I wish it would have.

 

Through all this fear, when I was lucid enough, I knew I needed to get help. I started the hunt for a new Psychiatrist.  I made sure I kept up with Therapy.  I asked for medication even though it was heartbreaking for me to go back on them.  I even fought to be hospitalized again because I knew it would help me.  I wasn’t going to let my fear kill me.  I couldn’t let my daughter lose her mother at such a young age.  I couldn’t let my husband lose his wife.  I couldn’t let my parents lose a child.  I fought for them.

 

It was a long rough journey, so bad, that I believe that the next episode will probably kill me. I’ve taken precautions though.  This time I will never go off my antidepressant.  I will continue to look for the signs, to seek out my fear.  I will be more mindful of my body and listen to it instead of fighting it.  Most importantly, I will remind myself that I have defeated Depression and Anxiety before and that looking at my track record, I am likely to win again.

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Yesterday was the 3 year anniversary of entering myself into the hospital.  Taking advice from several people (Therapist, family & friends) I do not dwell on how bad I was anymore.  When I think of that time, I acknowledge how far I fell, how bad I became and then, then I think about how far I have come.  I am healthy again, still medicated, still in therapy and still kicking ass.

A Letter To My Former Foster Son As You Turn 5

 

My Sweet Little Boy,

I can hardly believe it has been a little over two years since you left our home. I can still remember your toddler-self walking in circles around the house. I can still hear your voice so vividly as I would come down the stairs in the morning, you pointing at me, saying, “Look, it’s a Mommy!”. I can still feel the soft skin of your cheeks as I would hold your face in my hands right by your dimples and then place my lips on them.

And then I remember what happened next. I never wanted you to be a trigger for me. Countless hours as I would hear you talk yourself to sleep or cough made daggers pierce my heart. It was as if I was falling down, out of an airplane with no parachute, into another episode of Postpartum Depression. First, the severe anxiety that left me emaciated and riddled with shaking and hyperventilating. Many days towards the end, as you sat in the living room watching TV with Sophia, you remained oblivious of the delusions my mind and body played on me. Once you left, Depression set in… Badly.

Oh, my sweet boy, it was never you. You were never the problem. I was. Every day since you left, I wake up with you on my mind. You are also one of my last visions when I go to bed at night. Please know, I never stopped loving you since the moment I met you in August of 2014. I still love you that much now.

And now you are turning 5. I am completely in awe of this. In my eyes you are still this toddler discovering the world. I remember seeing you learn how to eat real food, how to interact with children your age, learning the true meaning of love. You made friends, you experienced holidays, you finally had a family who truly loved you and in return, you learned how to love back. I can only imagine the little boy you’ve turned into, with your tousled dark brown hair and deep sienna eyes.  This big boy who will be starting Kindergarten in the fall.  I wonder how much taller you’ve grown, if your reading, what you are into.

Everyday my heart yearns to see you, to know you are okay, cared for, loved for certain.  And other moments, just when I think I would be okay seeing your face, my heart reminds me of my longing for you, the pain, the ache, the realization that you will never come back to me.

My Tyler, on your 5th birthday, I want you to know how loved you are. I don’t want you to ever feel abandoned. You are still adored by us. You are cherished by your forever family. You are cared for and loved deeply.  You will always be special, especially to me.  I did not birth you, but in those few months I had the pleasure of interacting with you, you gave me a new view on life and compassion.

Today, we will light 6 candles on a cake for you… five for your age and one more for good luck because Tyler, you deserve all the luck in the world and so much more.

Happy 5th Birthday my boy!

Love eternally,

Your Former Foster Mommy