After my breakdown in December (please see Mental Health - A history, December 2009 if you do not know what I'm talking about) , I was at some of the lowest points of my life. I spent most of December in bed, barely leaving my bedroom and wishing that each day would just let me not have to go back to my job in the prairies, not have to talk to anyone and let me stay in the seclusion of my apartment. Things were not good. I dreaded going back to work with a passion and as the day came for me to board my flight, I garnered up some courage to go back and do the best job that I could. I knew that what awaited me, was a life of solidarity, panic attacks, stress and more depression, as well as a sense of uncontrolled emotions that made me think I was going crazy. Little did I know that I was not the only one who knew that I was feeling that way. Within a week of going back to the client, I was shipped home and dismissed from my job of 9 years. The official story was there was a problem with the client, and no work in Toronto, but I knew and my employer knew that I was not well. I felt fortunate that I had an employer that understood that I was sick. They could see that I was not the successful executive that they had hired 9 years ago, who's shelves were lined with awards from former client successes, but was somehow a shell of her former self. Really a very broken shell of her former self. They saw what I didn't.
That same week,, I visited my Psychotherapist who I had been seeing for 5+ years, who told me that my problems were larger than she could handle. I'm sorry, larger than she could handle???? who the hell has their therapist fire them because their problems are too big in the middle of a crisis in their lives? I was in severe crisis and I was abandoned not only by my job, which defined me, but also by my therapist, who supported me for so many years. It was a total nightmare. Little did I know that she was right and I did need someone bigger than her. Her advice was to check into the local private medical centre in Toronto for a full medical and see if I could get into see a psychiatrist as soon as possible.
To shorten the sad story about the Canadian Health Care system, even with paying for health care in our supposed equal health care system for all, I had to wait 4 months before I could even get in the door to see a psychiatrist. The months of January, February, March and April were terrible. I spent the days crying and in a place of darkness. Nothing helped. I cannot explain the despair that I felt, but I can say that it was awful. Memories of crying on the phone to a good friend that I was going crazy while in bed were not abnormal. I stopped talking to any friends. I secluded myself from any activities. I would go out, but only on my own and normally just to maybe eat a meal on my own or to watch a movie on my own. Occasionally i would meet up with a friend, but it would usually end up with me in tears throughout the event. All in all, I was not great to be around.
The worst part was that it was not like I felt like this for one day, I felt like this everyday, all day. I wished that I was dead many of those days. There was no better option, for feeling any other way, it seemed. I caused so many, so much pain. My family could not stand being around me. I was not worthy of time or space or energy. It is amazing how some many of these thoughts and feelings are still in existence for me today.
I realized during that time that mental illness, although not always visible by the human eye, can be one of the biggest battles some of us face. And one that some of us seem to face on our own.
To shorten the sad story about the Canadian Health Care system, even with paying for health care in our supposed equal health care system for all, I had to wait 4 months before I could even get in the door to see a psychiatrist. The months of January, February, March and April were terrible. I spent the days crying and in a place of darkness. Nothing helped. I cannot explain the despair that I felt, but I can say that it was awful. Memories of crying on the phone to a good friend that I was going crazy while in bed were not abnormal. I stopped talking to any friends. I secluded myself from any activities. I would go out, but only on my own and normally just to maybe eat a meal on my own or to watch a movie on my own. Occasionally i would meet up with a friend, but it would usually end up with me in tears throughout the event. All in all, I was not great to be around.
The worst part was that it was not like I felt like this for one day, I felt like this everyday, all day. I wished that I was dead many of those days. There was no better option, for feeling any other way, it seemed. I caused so many, so much pain. My family could not stand being around me. I was not worthy of time or space or energy. It is amazing how some many of these thoughts and feelings are still in existence for me today.
I realized during that time that mental illness, although not always visible by the human eye, can be one of the biggest battles some of us face. And one that some of us seem to face on our own.
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