You’re not under arrest

I remember the police officers giggling when they saw me.

Two beefy brute-type gentlemen, who had arrived at the Crisis Centre to escort a “patient” to the Hospital.

I’m quite sure they weren’t expecting me.

crickets

I’ve never been arrested, nor have I ever been involved in any kind of public mischief, and um…well, I look nice and gentle (because I am nice and gentle).

They were there to get me. And I was there because my family cared.

Anyway! They were there to get me. And I was there because my family cared.

Right.

I was being assessed because a few days before, I had basically given-up on myself.

I have a beautiful son, a loving family, awesome friends and I had a pretty good job but my anxiety had taken over, and it drove me into a very deep depression- engulfing me in shame.

But.

I was very good at pretending to be “ok”, so when this all came up – no one really knew what to do.  That’s when my Dad called the Crisis Centre.

So…

When the psychiatric nurse told me I needed to go to the hospital to be “further assessed,” I was pretty frustrated that he didn’t believe me- when I said I was ok.

Like, everybody else thought I was….

Here’s how that conversation went:

“You’re going to the hospital.”

“Oh, thanks but I’m actually ok. I’ll go to a therapist.”

“You’re not ok. You need to go.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” 

“No, I don’t.”

“I’M PUTTING YOU UNDER A FORM 1.”

……………………….

I remember looking at my sister and gasping…like, WHAT ON EARTH IS A FORM 1???!!!

She was also in the room, and gasped right along with me.

Apparently when the doctor said I needed to go to the Hospital- this was not a choice, instead it was a statement. And because I didn’t agree, I was now considered to be a threat to myself, therefore I was put under a FORM 1  which meant that I couldn’t leave without a police escort.

I remember my sister and I ‘kind-of’ laughing- like, this can’t possibly be happening-we had Starbucks in our hands, expecting a simple chat.

Yup.

This was the most humbling experience of my life, which has led to the most beautiful moments of my life (so far).

Alright, so that was over a year ago- how am I doing?

Well, I’m still an anxious person.

crickets

And it’s not easy being outgoing and anxious, because I love being around people, helping-out, and feeling involved.

So,  when the hype died down AKA when I was getting back to me, I found myself still doing the same things that made me anxious IE. taking on too much.

I started this blog, a podcast, a video blog, went back to work, starred in a real estate commercial, wrote ads for a radio station, volunteered at a homeless shelter, and was still managing my motherly-type duties, along with my household-type stuff. Also! Keeping up with family, friends, dating….

The spiral down was starting again.

So. I stopped…took a deep breath, and decided to make some changes.

The real work starts when you start realizing you have nothing to be ashamed of.

When you admit to having a mental illness, the whole world will rally around you- I promise you this. But.

The real work starts when you start realizing you have nothing to be ashamed of.

The podcast and video blog went away. My ad writing died down, and my volunteering took a bit of a break.

My son, family, and friends are my focus (the dating is….crickets) and yup. I quit my job to find something a bit more fulfilling.

I want to help people. I want to make a difference in my community, and I want to feel at peace. Writing, and being able to run my own podcast (and video blog) made me realize that I’m not a banker.

Hope, Compassion, Love and Laughter – it’s the very best medicine we should be after.

Faith, family and friends are supporting me on this continuing journey I call life- and I’m finally able to support them too.

Yup.

Hope, Compassion, Love and Laughter – it’s the very best medicine we should be after.

Ps. Thank you to my amazing Family, patient Friends, the wonderful Doctors  at the Crisis Centre and the Hospital, and my therapist- like, look at everything I accomplished, because you believed in me, when I couldn’t.

Oh, and thank you to the Constable the Police Service, for treating me like a friend.