Welcome back! I am doing a miniseries focused on mental health. This week, I am diving into part 2 of my personal mental health journey. If you haven’t read part 1 yet, press pause and go read that first! That will give you some context for this article.
TRIGGER WARNING: Depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation are discussed in this blog post. If those things are triggering for you, please do not feel like you need to read this. It is totally okay to skip this miniseries. Do what is best for you and your own mental health.
Okay, so let’s pick up where we left off! My husband and I got married, I was taking medication that was helping me tremendously, and everything seemed to be looking up. This was the summer of 2015. My husband and I encountered some conflicts when we moved in together for the first time, but nothing unexpected or severe. We were both in college, and I started working part time at a local daycare. Life was good!
I stayed on my medication and video-chatted with my psychiatrist for about a year. She would also talk to Shane and train him on what to look for in the event that I slip into a depressive episode again. Did you know that every time you have a major depressive episode, the chances that you will have another one, and that the following ones would be even worse than the current one, increases dramatically? I didn’t until it happened to me. That’s why it was so important for Shane to know what to look for, since he was now the closest person to me in my life.
Anyways, with my psychiatrist’s guidance, I slowly weaned off of my medicine. Things were still going well after I stopped the medication. Well, actually…in hindsight, there were things that I noticed, but that I didn’t connect to my previous mental health crisis. For example, I became very anxious when it came to my job. I loved my kids (my students), but the environment was pretty stressful for me. My anxiety increased when I graduated college and was promoted to lead teacher. It was a full-time position, and with that, I was responsible for more. I was grateful to be promoted and I loved what I did, but since I was still suffering from migraines, I would have to call out frequently. I felt very guilty for this because we always seemed to be shorthanded, and we didn’t have many substitutes or floaters. I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone, so often I would go in with a migraine anyway.
There came a point where I actually had a panic attack at work. I was alone in my classroom and was tasked with putting down seven 1-year-olds down for a nap. This was always a bit stressful for me, because some of the children would try and get up in the dark, and I was worried about them hurting themselves. I would eat my lunch in the dark, sitting on the floor against the cabinets. This one day, a wave of panic came over me, even though all of my kids were asleep and safe. I texted my boss that I was having a panic attack. She sent someone to relieve me, and I stepped out of the classroom and full on panicked. If you have never experienced a panic attack, it literally feels like you are dying. I was shaking, crying, and felt like my heart was going to explode. After a while of deep breathing, I eventually soothed myself. I don’t remember if I went back in to work or if I went home.
I was also having night terrors. You know that state of being when you are partially asleep and partially awake? I would be in that state and see/hear terrifying things. I often had nightmares that took place in the room that I was sleeping in, which was unsettling when I woke up and found myself in the same place as the scary situation. I would often scream in my sleep and Shane would have to wake me up and comfort me. Looking back, those were some pretty obvious symptoms, but I wasn’t depressed, so I didn’t connect the dots.
Fast forward to March of 2017. Shane graduated college with his master’s in accounting, and together, we decided to try something new and move to Pennsylvania. For reference, we were living in northern Louisiana, and I had never lived outside of the state. Shane spent a lot of his childhood right outside of Pittsburgh, and he had been talking about going back since I had met him. He applied for an auditing job in downtown Pittsburgh, and he was accepted! We made the 23-hour-long drive to northern PA (where his parents lived at the time), and I went from wearing shorts and a tank top to wearing all of the layers I had and being welcomed by a Nor’easter. Needless to say, it was quite the change!
I obviously had to quit my job when we moved. At the time, I also worked for a direct sales company in the beauty industry. I didn’t realize how stressed I had been until I was forced to be still. I worked my direct sales job, and I was very successful at it, but it was almost all online. This was during the height of the “girl boss” movement…you know what I’m talking about! “Hustle hard, be your own boss,” etc. And I was bought into that! It paid off financially and I made lasting friendships, but it also took up a lot of my time. I worked from our tiny one-bedroom apartment in Pittsburgh. The only time I would see people would be when I would grocery shop, and when I would go to the post office. I was very isolated and lonely. I told Shane this, and he suggested that I get a part time job to help me get out and socialize, so I did! We started attending a church in a suburb of Pittsburgh, and when the position for part time childcare came available, I applied and was accepted! This was around September of 2018.
Alright, here’s where things start to get juicy. For the sake of privacy, I am going to leave out a lot of details when it comes to this story, but I will give you the most important parts. I am not going to name any names and I am going to be purposely vague, again, for the sake of privacy for myself and the people involved.
I started working part time for the church, less than 10 hours a week. I was also involved in a women’s small group. I had a very hard time making friends in Pittsburgh. When I would ask women if they would like to hang out, most of them straight up told me no. I was taken aback by that, because in the south, we at least say “oh, I’m busy” or something (lol). The only people I became close with were other transplants who were actively looking for friends, and at this point, I hadn’t met them yet, so I was very lonely. I told my small group this and that I was afraid of my depression coming back.
Inside of the small group, I met a family that was in a tough situation and needed help with childcare. I agreed to offer free childcare for the little one while the mother interviewed for jobs. We soon became close friends, and I absolutely loved the little one. I started to watch her more and for longer amounts of time. One day, the family received news that they could no longer stay where they were living. The mother was very distraught, and coincidentally, Shane and I had just moved closer to that church and into a 2-bedroom duplex. I assured her that we would figure something out; if nothing else, we had an extra room that they could crash in. After talking with Shane, we invited them to move in, and that’s what they did, a month after we ourselves moved into that duplex.
So, this is the part I am going to be vague on. Let’s just say, things started well but soon became very tense and stressful. What was supposed to be a 1 month stay turned into 5 months. My mental health was steadily declining during this period. I started experiencing chronic migraines again (which is a common theme in my major depressive episodes). I was struggling at work. I still felt very lonely, and I felt a lot of guilt for my mental health issues. The family that lived with us had been through a lot, and I thought to myself, “Who am I to feel depressed/anxious/suicidal when they have been through XYZ? If anyone should feel this way, it should be them. I must be ungrateful and selfish.”
Similar to the first depressive episode, Shane and I went to visit my family for Thanksgiving. I later found out that my mom and stepdad noticed that I was acting differently. My mom told Shane and I, and I promptly denied it. In my mind, I was trying hard and doing okay. I didn’t have the major symptoms of depression (yet), but it came very quickly.
One day in December, I went to a different campus of the church I worked for to work a 6-hour shift. It was a rough morning for the family who lived with us, it was snowing while I drove 45 minutes (which made me anxious as a southern girl), and while I worked, I felt very out of place and helpless. I ended up having a panic attack shortly into my shift and was sent home. This time, though, I recognized the symptoms and desperately looked for a psychiatrist. I called my previous psychiatrist and asked her what I should do. She told me to go to a doctor that I could get into easily and to ask for a prescription of the previous antidepressant I was on, because all of the psychiatrists that I could find up there had a 3-month waitlist to even be seen. I knew that my depression was progressing much quicker than the first time and that I couldn’t wait that long, so I went to urgent care and told them what happened.
Urgent care told me they only treat acute things, and that for this I would need to be monitored closely, so they referred me to the emergency room. They told me that hospital had a program called Intensive Outpatient (IOP), and that I could enroll in this and receive intensive group therapy and gain access to a psychiatrist that could prescribe me medication. So, that’s exactly what I did.
The IOP was, well…intense. Group therapy was not good for me. I’m the type of person that takes other people’s troubles home with me, made obvious by my situation that got me there in the first place. Everyone who was in the IOP (including me) was deeply depressed and suicidal. I was indeed prescribed medication, but as I mentioned in the previous blog post, it takes a while for it to kick in, and you have to start low in order to not shock your system. This combination, plus the fact that my mental health was deteriorating very fast created a perfect storm of danger.
My mental health became even worse than my first depressive episode. I was suffering from chronic migraines and was in constant pain. I started to lose hope that I would ever be without physical or emotional pain. I stopped bathing. I became reckless and suicidal. I would skip my IOP appointments and just drive around Pittsburgh. I stopped eating again. I survived on one or two saltine crackers a day. In my mind (which was not rational at the time), if I didn’t eat, I would eventually just die. Truth be told, I didn’t really want to die…I just wanted the pain to stop. Maybe you can relate to that. I feel that is the case with most people with suicidal ideation.
I had really loud, intrusive, ruminating thoughts. I also became paranoid and felt unsafe in our duplex. Once this came to a fever pitch, my mom decided to fly to Pittsburgh, from Mississippi, to come and help take care of me again. She was tasked with getting me to go to my IOP program. She had to almost literally drag me there, and even when we got there, I stalled as much as I could because I didn’t want to go. Eventually, the director of the program came and found me, and I ended up in the psychiatrist’s office with my mom.
That meeting is a bit of a blur, but I remember my mom asking the doctor if this was the worst that they had seen me, and the doctor said yes. Next thing I know, I was moved to a different floor of the hospital and given papers to sign to be admitted to the psych ward. I also stalled the heck out of this. It took me hours to sign it. They only had 1 female bed available, and once I signed it, I was taken from my mom and brought to the psych ward.
One thing I remember vividly was watching the elevator doors close with my mom on the other side, and me thinking, “I’m never going to see her again.” This wasn’t true and wasn’t logical, but when you are deep in depression, your thoughts don’t make logical sense. I still tear up when I think about how hopeless I was at that time.
My belongings and clothes were taken from me, and I was given scrubs, a folder with a lot of paperwork, and was led into my room. I couldn’t access my phone or even have my hoodie (because of the suicide risk of the string). My roommate also had severe depression, and we had camp-like beds side by side, with a bathroom with an interesting “door”. It was like a stall swing door, but it had no lock, for obvious reasons.
At this point, I was at my absolute lowest. In my irrational mind, I now lived at the hospital, my family abandoned me, Shane was going to divorce me, and I would never get out. THIS WAS NOT TRUE, but it was what I believed at the time. I spent a total of 5 days in the psych ward. I felt physically unsafe there. Our door was always open, and the other very disturbed patients could just walk in whenever they wanted. One of the patients, who I think had extreme mania, tried to start an uprising against the nurses, and then she punched a police officer in the face and broke his glasses. It was utter chaos. All I remember was being given a lot of different drugs and being scared the entire time. When my mom and Shane would come visit me, I would beg them to get me out of there. I didn’t shower because there was only one public one and there were many men on that floor; I didn’t feel comfortable with that. I wasn’t progressing at all.
I remember looking in the mirror of our lock-less bathroom and seeing my face. My hair was extremely greasy, my eyes were bloodshot, my lips were pale, and I didn’t recognize myself. I thought to myself, “Is this really happening?” It felt like a nightmare.
After 5 days in the hospital, I was discharged into my mom’s care. She drove me in my own car back to our house. I remember being shocked that I was allowed to leave and go back home, and that Shane hadn’t left me. I found out later that my mom made a deal with the doctors that she would get me into individual counseling and to see a psychiatrist if they would discharge me. I was just so afraid in the hospital, that I wasn’t making any progress.
So, that’s what happened. I started seeing a personal therapist that was a part of the psychiatrist’s office, so I could see them both in one go. It took quite a while to get on the right dosage of medication and a lot of silent (on my part) counseling sessions for me to come out of the darkness. My mom stayed with us for about 3 months. She would cook for me, encourage me to bathe and dress myself, take me for walks, help me with my driving anxiety, and much more. I said it once and I’ll say it again – that woman is a saint. I finally started to make some progress around the time she returned to Mississippi. Once she left, Shane’s mom graciously came and stayed with us to help me in my healing process. She also stayed for several months. By the end of April 2019, I was finally starting to feel like myself again.
Shane and I had a serious discussion. Because of what had happened with the family that lived with us, I didn’t feel safe living in Pittsburgh anymore. Shane was very gracious and told me that we could move to wherever I felt best. We decided on going back to northern Louisiana, since we had family within driving distance and several friends who had moved back there. I continued my treatment of medicine and counseling in Pittsburgh until we moved in August of 2019. By that time, I was 100% back to being myself. Shane got a job in the area, we rented a really cool house, and we started to make a different life back in the town we started our marriage in.
That’s it for part 2! I know that was a lot and pretty intense. Congrats if you have read this far! I still have more to the story, so there will have to be a part 3.
I share my story partly as a cathartic release for myself, but also to connect with others and provide some hope. At my lowest point, I really felt completely hopeless. I was trapped in my own mind again. I didn’t think the pain would ever end. But spoiler alert…it did end, and with me still being earthside. If you are struggling with depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, etc. I want you to know that the world is better with you in it. There is hope and resources out there for you. Please remember that. And please tell someone what is going on. I know it may be scary or embarrassing, but you have to give people the chance to be there for you.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
Thanks again for reading! Come back next week for part 3!
I appreciate you!
Katelyn