My mom said that the
Take Me To Church post was deep. Well this one gets dark. If it's too much for you, I completely understand. I'm going to talk about the very scary thoughts and actions that your mind may spiral to.
People don't realize how the side effects of medications and epilepsy can slowly start changing your perspective and train of thought. If you're struggling with similar issues, I hope this story will encourage those to reach out for help. I'm one of the most stubborn and prideful people I know. I needed the help and I got it. I'll give you some resources at the end.
I'm in no way condoning my actions, in fact, they were very selfish and impulsive. But, some of them were what I needed at that time. It doesn't make it right though, I hurt people that I love.
Let's go back to February 2016. Joel works ten hour days and I stay home on disability. It gives someone a lot of time to think. I would get the cleaning done, decide what to make for dinner, and watch a movie or something. That was my day. After we lost Nana, it seemed like I had too much time to think. Everything I did was so draining. There were days I was emotionally sensitive and days I was just numb.
I was already an impulsive person. I was still on Zoloft, Onfi, and other shit. Anti-depressants, in the past have caused me to be more impulsive. I was just slowly rolling deeper into my own mental state.
I was crying at any given time, day or night. I would sit on the couch and have some out of body experience. I was back at the cemetery looking at the casket over the hole she would be placed in. Looking down that hole to try and see Grandpa's. Then I would be back on my couch with tears rolling down. Joel had been trying to snap me out of it. I'd get our plates and head to the kitchen and cry over the dishes. This went on for months.
We would get into some arguments as couples do. I just didn't care what he was upset about. Then there were the very bad times. I had so many downers and my tolerance was so high that it would put an average person into a comma.
I was sick of it. All of it. The seizures. The pills. How I felt from the pill. The emptiness. The lack of purpose. Feeling like a burden. The arguments. The doctor appointments. My VNS not working. Feeling hopeless. It was a pretty endless list.
We would argue, I would cry, we'd yell, he'd go to bed, and I'd go sleep on the couch. I would look around in our house. It was just silent. In those moments, there wasn't anything to keep me here. I wanted to see Nana and Grandpa.
I'd get in my pharmacy. I'd take out my drowsy ones. Took way more than prescribed and just popped them. I'd go lay back on the couch, close my eyes, and just wait.
Then, I realized what the the F**K I was doing. I had a flash of all my family and friends at my funeral. I jumped up from the couch and started chugging water. Refill. Chug. Refill. Chug. Refill. Chug. Sleep. Wake up. Deep breath. Said, "Thank you" over and over, followed by, "I'm so sorry."
I did this twice. I was letting the meds take over. My twisted way of thinking would just take hold.
My nose surgery gave me some much needed distraction. The pain and pain meds brought me out of it a little. Once I was healed up, I had to figure out how to get out of this slump. I went back to smoking herb. I was using it probably four days a week. No it's not a gateway drug, sorry. Pills are closer to a gateway drug.
I needed to add something. I started drinking. I had drank quite a bit in my college days. I hadn't drank in a very long time. Especially not on so many pills and having so many more seizures. I didn't care though. I needed to feel care free.
I couldn't handle shots anymore, it had just been too long to start that up again. I was a fan of Boone's Farm. I'd go down to the gas station, get a few of those bottles, and whatever bitch beer I felt like. Then I'd drink them with Joel. He didn't like that I was drinking, but he wasn't going to be able to stop me.
I needed something during the day to relax me a little. I started smoking menthol's. I started out slow. Maybe a pack a week. Then a pack every few days. A full pack when I was drinking.Then, I was just chain smoking.
I stopped drinking and smoking about four months later. Keaton had come outside while I was smoking on the porch. I was having a grand mal. He had to see it. That was it for me.
I went to a psychiatrist, very different than a psychologist. My psychiatrist, Dr. Hazle, really did save me. I was able to vomit all of my thoughts. He was very kind and never made me feel crazy.
He was very empathetic to my epilepsy and recent loss. He also helped me understand that I had been suffering from traumatic brain injury, concussions, and PTSD for many years.
Turns out that people with epilepsy are recommended to get a psychiatrist or cognitive behavioral therapist, because of the trauma and medications. If you do not have either one of these, get one!!! No joke. It was a breath of fresh air!
If you or someone you know are having thoughts that need to be addressed NOW, please look at these sites and get immediate help. You're not alone I promise. Then see your doctor for something more long term.
Here's some more information on how depression and mood are effected by epilepsy.
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There was a time at our old house, when her and I were just watching some TV. I had an absence seizure, a pretty long one. Then she hopped up and licked my face. I was hopeful that she would turn into a service dog. She just turned into a bigger baby. I love that baby so much. She saved her mom too just by having her with me. I mean, I am the one who's home with her, yet when DADDY comes home it's all about him. When she gets in trouble, who does she run to? Her mommy :)
