(Note: This was also typed from Jess' handwritten notes. Still no computer. Typo's and punctuation still my fault. -- Shane)

Today is my third day here. Thursday I was still high all day from the clonazepam, so I don’t remember much of what happened except for being very scared.

Yesterday as the day wore on I started to make friends with some of the people here. Every life has a very interesting story and every life is filled with sadness and joy and love and hate.

The night I was admitted a young boy named Jessie was also admitted. He was left in a locked surveillance room for the night and woke everyone up banging on the door screaming “I want a shower!” Over and over. They let him out to shower and then for some reason let him down stairs for a cigarette. He stole a wheelchair, rode it down the big hill to 7-11 and nobody has seen him since.

I am the only one on the ward not allowed outside. Escorted or not. This place is not a place to make you happy or feel better. I suppose it is what you might expect. Boring. We mostly stay in our rooms or sit around in a lounge-type area waiting for the television to be turned on at 3:30. We sit and talk sometimes about medications we are taking or joke about escape plans. We quietly discuss all the ways we have tried to kill ourselves, each scare a badge of honour. We sit and wonder what is going through Sarah’s head.

Sarah is our resident schizophrenic. She has been here since November 2005. She has good days and bad days. On good days she’s a lucid, intelligent lady who can tell you about the job she used to have as a biologist (etymology), how she volunteered in the community garden.

On other days like today she will start out fine and then all of a sudden come heavy footing down the hall with a hair band pulled over one eye pirate style with her glasses over top obsessing about something in the nurse’s station. She wanders around the glassed in, locked-tight office tapping lightly on every panel, starring up at a black plastic bag taped to one of the ceiling panels. She will wander the halls all day, doing this dance around the station with lots of “fucks” and “fucking crazy people” in between. Her crazy manic ranting getting louder until it reaches a roar at midnight when I suspect she finally passes out.

My two favorite people are Brendan and Jessica. He’s 19 and she’s 22. He came in after taking a massive overdose of some mood disorder medicine. He was in a coma for several weeks. He sleeps a lot and wakes up late. Then he sits in a chair in the lounge and talk to whoever happens by.

He’s now totally medication free. They don’t really know what is wrong with him, but his whole body is full of cuts and scars that he has self-inflicted. I haven’t seen anybody come and visit him. He hasn’t told me much about himself. He’s very interested in my iPod and I’m fairly sure he wants to steal it. I like him anyway. He’s got these gentle, sad eyes that speak to me. They speak to me of a sadness that nobody can make better and nobody can understand.

(Note: This was typed from Jess' handwritten notes. She still doesn't have her computer and wanted to make sure you knew I was responsible for the typo's and poor punctuation. -- Shane)

I don't have a computer so the thought of writing a blog post out on a piece of paper to be transferred later seems rather daunting and kind of ass-backwards.

I am in the mental/psychiatric ward on a 48 hour hold, which they have already extended by another 48 hours, so I will be here until at least monday.

I saw my G.P. this morning and she actually let me have some clothes, no shoes. I really feel as if I have made a terrible mistake being here. I miss my children immensely and am worried about the toll this will take on them.

I have to earn privileges but I am not really sure how in a place where everybody scares me. People are divided into two groups; the elderly in dementia and younger people who sleep in video monitored rooms and are schizophrenic. Funnily enough I feel like an outcast in high school. I can tell there are chairs that people sit in, chairs that are "theirs". I am scared of upsetting someone and getting the crap beat out of me.

I have used up all my resources at home, as far as taking care of my kids. Soon there will be on one left there to watch them, as grandma dawn has to leave soon. Shane has to work. I want to go home and I am unsure how to make that happen. I want to see my children.

I have been here since 10pm wednesday on a 48 hour hold. After so many visits to doctors and emergencies and failed calls to crisis lines i was fed up.

On tuesday night afetr not being able to get through to the crisis line for an hour shane called an ambulance. At 4am the doctor released me with nary a worry that i had no ride home or way to get home. I sat alone in the waiting room begging every janitor and security guard for a quarter to call home.

Finally, i took a risk that my credit card would work and headed home in a taxi. By wednesday evening at 9pm i was huddled in the corner on the deck in tears, dreading and fearing the next day. We called a friend to come watch the kids and shane brought me into the hospital again. I was at the point where i could feel myself, without a doubt, in a crisis.

In the waiting room it is impossible to communicate a mental crisis to the triage nurse unless you have (a) overdosed or (b) say "i'm going to kill myself if you don't let me in there." I didn't do either and was placed in the chairs behind a long list of other people.

As time wore on something in my head, and i can't tell you exactly what, got incredibly tired of the back and forth of bad help, bad medicine and bad feelings. And i began to overdose on my clonazepam. I started taking them four at a time. I had this stupid idea (and if you are reading this and on the verge of suicide or have suicidal thoughts it was a really fucking stupid idea) that i would just take them until they took me into the back room. I guess it took awhile and i just appeared drunk. I don't really remember. I don't remember anything.

I remember waking up in the morning, on the psychiatric ward, no clothes, no shoes, no outside and a very angry psychiatrist who won't talk to me. He tried but i was still all woozy so he stormed out giving me no priviliedges till monday.

Shane just snuck in my laptop and i managed to find two lines of wireless in a back corner, but my nurse caught me with it and i fear it will be gone soon. Except the schizophrenic lady is having a really bad night and keeping everyone busy.

Thanks for all your thoughts,

jess

i am in the hospital, see you soon.

jess

xxoo

Wow. Making me think. Here's the questions answered (ones sent privately don't count - sorry.)

1.if you could be anything, what would it be? ANYTHING!????!???

I'd be marmalade the cat. Chase a few mice. Get a few scratches and tummy rubs. Eat whenever i ask. Sleep whenever i want.

Or, i'd be a politician. But, from experience, it's much easier to dream of change than to actually make change happen.

2.If you could live anywhere, where would that be?

Right around here. But, down the road a few miles right on the Lake with, at least, 25 acres. I would have more cats, more dogs, more chickens, a donkey and a jersey cow. I would swim every single day in the summer and i would skate in the winter. I would have a huge vegetable garden. My house would also come with housecleaners.

3.If you could choose between being invisible for a day, or being rich ($100,000 in your pocket) for a day, which would you choose and why?

I thought about this one all day. But in the end i'd have to go for the money. I'd be too scared to hear or see something i didn't want to if i was invisible. Kind of like the internet. If i had $100,000 i'd pay off my credit cards, i'd pay tuition for a year and speech therapy for a year and i would go on a vacation with my whole family that didn't involve tents or no showers. I would also give mike some money.

4.Do you like girls?

You silly. Of course. I have two daughters.

Oh. Wait. You mean like. Well, i was a women's studies major. Let's just say i've dipped my toes in that pool and though i would like to say never say never - i am a married woman.

5.What was your favorite thing to do when you were 6 years old?

My very favourite thing to do when i was six was bake with my mom. I had my own mini tart tins and cooking tools. I fondly remember sitting with my mom in our kitchen making jam tarts, punching down bread dough, rolling pastry. I loved each and every moment i spent alone with her in our kitchen covered in flour.

6.What is your favorite activity to do alone?

Sit in the school when it is empty and type. Write my novel. I like being here in the evening, knowing, and feeling, the immense energy that fills it all day. Feeling the remnants of that and the anticipation of the next school day. Yet it is quiet and calm and dark and all i can hear are the frogs in the pond next door. Plus the school is 100 years old and i like to sit in the dark and picture all the lives that have danced and laughed in these hallways.

7.are you still raising chickens?!?

Well, my chickens were all killed by a cougar. We still have one wild chicken living in the trees. We are, tomorrow actually, going to pick up 5 brahma pullets, 5 old english pullets and one of each rooster. I am going for the small chickens this year. I have missed them, but they are dirty and gross too. I really miss Stanley. He seems to have been reincarnated in Marmalade the kitty - who also thinks he's a dog.

8.Favourite memory from 1997?

June 7, 1997, 1:18a.m.

Tristan Thea Sparks born via forceps.

9.What's your favoritest music album of all time?

Impossible question.

Ten favourite bands?

The Shins
Wolf Parade
Jawbreaker
Sebadoh
Buzzcocks
The Police
Modest Mouse
Matthew Sweet
The Clash
The Cure

10. Who was the first guy you ever kissed, and what was it like?

His name was Kevin. He was a singer in a band. I was in grade 9, he was in grade 12. He sang "I'll Melt With You." It was my first love. It was amazing and still fills me with such happiness. But he broke up with me after three short weeks. I was heartbroken. I've never let anyone break up with me since.

I am tired. Today i am tired of talking about me. So. Let's talk about you.

Well, let's let you ask about me. I want to know what you want to know. Ask me your questions and i will tell you no lies.

I'll simplify it a bit. No questions about my family - my parents and siblings. I had sex twice yesterday and i do own a large purple vibrator which is hidden under my dresser and hasn't seen the light of day in months, if not years.

Other than that. What do you want to know? First ten questions answered.

So, that's that.

I'm on an Adam Sandler kick having watched "Punch Drunk Love" last night and "Reign Over Me" today. Both, probably a fitting way to close out what will forever be known as the hardest week of my life.

I have spent so many hours in counseling this week that my brain is weeping out my eyes and my heart is broken into millions of sharp shards. Each one causing me to double over in pain whenever i think about it.

I met with my new psychiatrist for two exhausting hours on friday. Everything i ever thought about psychiatrists was proven wrong by this very kind man who coaxed every little rotten, horrible secret out of me.

We talked about my life. My whole life. All the little things, moments and events that seemed insignificant at the time but added up to a gigantic mountain of grief and ended with him saying;

"my god, i feel depressed just having listened to all of that, no wonder you're such a hard shell."

Best of all? He told me it wasn't my fault. I didn't do anything wrong to become who i am. I have made mistakes. I haven't asked for help when i should have. But, goshdarnit i'm a good person.

And, i'm not bi-polar. We're just not buying that.

Instead i fit into these three intertwined circles. The first, Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Social Anxiety Disorder, the second, Seasonal Affective Disorder and underlying depression, and the third, personality (my life.)

I need to concentrate on five things - food, sleep, exercise, fun, and medicine and moderation (go together.) On the medicine front i am continuing on 75mg of Effexor for two weeks while i introduce Cipralex - 5mg to start then 10. I also need to eat and i need to sleep. Exercise and fun are starting next week with the beginning of softball season. I need to moderate and wean off clonazepam and exercise moderation in alcohol.

And so? And so that is where it all begins. Again.

I will see my psychiatrist every two weeks for the next few months. And? And i am never going to emergency again. Did i tell you they wheeled in - right next to me - a guy who had just slashed his arm open elbow to wrist one inch deep?

What a week.

You know that theory? The fight or flight response?

Normally i would consider myself a fighter. I've had a few run-ins in my life that required me to have some sort of backbone and i have definitely learned over the years the need to be strong willed when it comes to children.

But this week? It has left me with this overwhelming desire to flee. Fly away jess! Fly away home to a place that is comfortable and warm. Where things will always be the same. Where you don't have to confront your feelings and your fears. Your lost desires. Admit grief over things you have no control. And, most importantly, you don't have to go over the same painful story every single day to a different person every time who has that damn file in front of them that says exactly what you said yesterday and every day before that.

Except the lost in transcription part. At the doctor today he asked me what shane was up to, work wise. I explained same old, same old.

"Wow," he said "because here it says he's trucking at night."

That would be a busy shane, but the idea of him behind the wheel of a big rig did give me my first real laugh in days.

Tomorrow i get to see my new psychiatrist. My doctor assured me he's not crazy like all the other psychiatrists. He will give me a diagnosis, drugs and behaviour modification therapy. Sounds like i'm headed into the lab at some medical school. I wonder how long it will take me to ring the bell to get more drugs.

Fucking hell.

I am in hell.

Will someone please just come and kiss me on the forehead and tell me they like me just the way i am.

I am so tired. I am tired of the "i don't like it when you..."

"The problem with you is..."

"What you need to change is..."

"You're biggest problem is..."

Shane, being the optimist, keeps calling me encouragingly and telling me this is the best week of my life.

I have four beautiful children who are well liked, socially adept, loved. Teachers tell me they can see it. It's my greatest accomplishment. Yet, i get no acknowledgement.

I have suddenly become "the crazy one." I don't like it.

It is not the best week of my life. Possibly the worst.

I am trudging through. Two more doctor appointments to go.

I think i can. I think i can.

I'm tired of talking about me. That's my face, taken on my cellphone, after too many hours of "tell me about..."

Instead i will tell you about my beautiful children.

Spring break is happening. Tristan and Toby just returned from a fun-filled trip to saltspring. Parker, eliza and i went swimming before we picked them up. I sat back in the freakishly warm kiddy pool and watched them show me all their new tricks. Their pride in blowing bubbles out their noses or the fact that they can touch the bottom almost all the way from one end to another.

We went out for a lunchtogether afterward and sat three in a row in a booth. Me in the middle. We coloured, played tic-tac-toe and giggled at parker's potty jokes. We shared some salad and pasta and garlic bread and headed off to the ferry to pick-up the two big ones.

Often when tristan and toby go i am comforted by the fact that they are in loving hands and having fun. This time i really missed them. When they left sunday morning my eyes were red, raw and puffy. I knew they noticed. Tristan called several times with just a "Hi mom" on the other end of the line. Her way of checking in.

They raced off the ferry, running straight into my arms. Leaving grandma running behind with their suitcases and bags full of artwork. It was a moment of joy. Just like a movie. But so real. I have never been so in love with them. I have never needed them more.

Tonight i lingered by their beds as shane put parker to bed. Toby asked "so mom, what did you do while we were away?" I just sighed and told him i had seen a lot of doctors. I leaned in and whispered i loved him in his ear, that he was my very favourite oldest son, that i was proud of him and happy to have him home.

"Right back at you mom."

You know that icky feeling you get when someone starts talking about, or even worse, asking you questions about a topic that makes you particularly uncomfortable? It may be "the healing touch", or your sex life, your income, or even your "feelings."

On saturday night as shane and i were driving home from a party i started talking to him about how i had been feeling. That i had the feeling that my control over my emotions was slipping out of my grasp. That my anxiety and depression were getting the better of me. I guess i was asking for help. I told him, in a half joking manner, that if it weren't for the kids i probably would have killed myself by now.

He drove me straight to emergency. I cried the whole way. The closer we got the more the feeling of dread washed over me. I agreed to go for him. I knew it was probably the right thing to do. Knowing what's right and doing it are two very different things.

We checked in and waited. Both of us nervously tapping our toes, remembering all too vividly the last time we had been in emergency under these circumstances. The thirteen years that had passed in between seemed, in those hours, to be just a few days. Eventually, i got called into the back. I waited another hour or more and then got up and walked out.

Shane screamed at me in the car all the way home. He called my family. His mother was already at our house, babysitting.

When i woke up in the morning. A massive intervention swooped down upon me. Everybody was worried. Alarm bells had been set off and i found myself in the most uncomfortable of situations. Having to talk about my feelings. With lots of people.

Shane drove me back to emergency in the early afternoon. Much more calmly we talked. We came up with a plan. That was sunday.

Today i spent another six hours at the hospital. They wanted me to stay. I didn't want to. I told them that being away from my children would cause me much more anxiety than any rest i might get in a hospital.

But, i am on the fast track to many services, including a psychiatrist appointment later this week and a PERT nurse phoning me every twelve hours to make sure i am "OK."

I don't know that i am OK. In a way i feel much worse. Forced to confront all this shit swirling in my head. Forced to accept help. Forced to say that i need help.

The doctor today did feel that most of this is a combination of withdrawal symptoms and withdrawal from an anti-depressant that was actually working, despite my feeling that it wasn't.

So. What did you do this weekend?

It's spring break. Yup. Ten days with four children = impending sense of doom.

Not really. We have many plans including;

• three days on saltspring


• swimming


• a movie - at the theatre!


• bonfire with s'mores and hot dogs


• clean yard


• make a new video


• bowling


• a trip to victoria to go to the giant toy store, visit chinatown and all our old favourite parks


• buy toby his own computer that he can use at school to help him with his work.

Also included, but not necessarily fun for the under nine set - sleep. Lots of sleep.

I am suffering from effexor withdrawal. Symptoms include (from the manufacturer):

agitation, anorexia, anxiety, confusion, coordination impaired, diarrhea, dizziness, dry mouth, dysphoric mood, fasciculation, fatigue, headaches, hypomania, insomnia, nausea, nervousness, nightmares, sensory disturbances (including shock-like electrical sensations), somnolence, sweating, tremor, vertigo, and vomiting.

For me?
agitation - check
anorexia - trouble eating.
anxiety - double check
confusion - always
coordination impaired - well, i have a broken tailbone.
diarrhea - so fun

Oh heck - just say yes to all of the above except vomiting. The fun is never ending.

At least my slightly green pallor goes well with this irish holiday.

In march 2005 i wrote my first post for drowninginkids. I had dabbled in small, anonymous pages on live journal for a few years and then took the leap into blogger.

And here i am now.

I read through my archives today.

I am thinking i only need four categories to sum this whole thing up:

kids
animals
husband
depression and anxiety

As i read back over the 600+ posts i realized how little things change, yet, how a few small words here and there gave me hope. The hope that i can continue to see the pretty little things. That my children will continue to grow. That i will let them experience all the highs and lows of life without always being fearful that they are going to fail, or even worse be unhappy.

There is no success without failure. Such a difficult lesson to learn, one i haven't mustered the courage to accept. Sometimes a little unhappiness brings great introspection. And sometimes it is just gut-wretchingly self-absorbed. Sometimes sadness opens the door to pure joy.

So, first off i should let you know that my very lovely husband did the graphic design of the site, including the little fishy banner that is based on my business cards from BlogHer last year. All the complicated Movable Type stuff, including the drop downs and 700 emails from me were done by a lovely and patient and canadian! fellow named bruce. We started on sunday morning and were all done by last night.

I can't tell you how happy and excited it makes me to have this new site. So pretty and pink. Pretty in pink.

Spring is coming in like a lion. Is that right? Whatever. There are daffodils and crocuses everywhere. The sun is shining. It's all rosebuds and chubby baby bums.

I am feeling much better. The heavy burden of depression is lifting from my shoulders. I feel like the winter has aged me. Made me grow a little more weary. Made my steps not quite so light. I am on half my original dose of effexor now. I can feel my hair growing again, literally. Tiny electrical impulses through every follicle. All the time. My head feels a little lighter though, like a sponge that has had a little of the water wrung out of it. I am thinking, so far, that i made the right choice. My anxiety is a little peaky. I can tell that the lower dosage is not helping with that so much. The clonazepam is helping me deal with that.

I am hoping to be drug free in another month. Then re-evaluate. See what i want. I don't like the thought of my liver being destroyed by chemicals. That the chemicals are doing things the doctors are not really sure about. Rescue Remedy sounds better all the time.

My back hurts like crap. Nothing i can do about that. It better heal soon because softball season is starting.

xx
jess

In pain.

Broken tailbone.

Beautiful blog.

Stupid ice skating.

My kids school teaches in themes. At the beginning of each year the kids pick six themes and the year focuses around each theme in six to eight week groupings.

At the moment they are doing the mandatory, by ministry of education standards, safety and anatomy.

It has been driving parker to all kinds of deep thoughts. He has been somewhat focused and fearful of death for some time now. He seems so young, at three, to be worrying about such big questions.

Learning about anatomy has amplified his fears. We are in the midst of dealing with daylight savings and can i just say that one hour can really screw up a household? So, he's up at 10pm. Refusing to sleep - or even try.

He just came out of his room and said "Mommy! I have a tummy ache."

"It's because you're tired. Go to bed." I said.

"NO! It's because i'm hungry. I'm hungry and if i don't eat i'll die. Right!?"

"Well. Yes and no. Here's a cheese stick."

Posting will be light for the next day or two as i get ready to unviel my brand new site.

Ooooh. It is so cool.

It's gonna knock your knickers off.

Special thanks go here.

In other news shane and i went out for dinner last night. We shut down the restaurant. The only other couple there were very drunk and on their way to Vegas in the morning for a quicky divorce. He had apparently spent eight years in prison, just had his foot sewed back on and offered to service shane in a most dirty way.

I am feeling squiggly in my head, but a little better now that i am on the third day of lowering my dosage.

See you soon.

My head is somewhere else today.

I feel sloppy, dizzy and dopey. Like some screwed up effexor version of the seven dwarves.

I spent most of the day in and out of bed and now i am sitting at the school outside of a meeting where i can hear them talking about me. In many negative ways.

It is a positive and uplifting way to end a shitty mental health day.

This morning i woke up tired and sad. All i wanted to do was stay in bed. Pull the sheets over my head and have everybody. just. leave. me. alone.

I went downstairs for my usual cup of coffee and a swift kick in the ass by the mother in me to get it together. Face this day. Another day.

When all the kids had come down puffy eyed and straggly haired. I asked them "who wants to go to school today!"

They all said, simultaneously, "Not me!"

"Well then. Have some fun. Get some breakfast. I'm going back to bed."

"And oh yes, don't let parker go for a walk down the street."

I went back to bed and slept until 11.

I woke up again. Started again with a fresh coffee.

I spent the day jumping on the trampoline with the kids.

All of us in our pajamas.

I was looking at my oldest daughter today as she ran through the house looking for some aveeno for her dry skin. She was naked, fresh from the shower, red bummed and still very much a little girl.

Yet, soon she will be ten years old.

Ten years. Where does the time go.

I've been thinking about that. Time. My life has felt so long. At moments too long. Like waiting for this suffering to end.

But then? But then i look at my kids. I look at that picture. I think about all the things i have done from 26-36 years of age. The woman i have become.

I am proud of who i am. I am proud of the children i have. I am proud to have four kids who make me happy, frustrated, sad, in love, madder than i ever thought i could be. I am happy for the life they have given me.

Chapter Two

I remember the first time I ever saw him. I was in college, living with an insignificant first boyfriend who afforded me the opportunity to get the hell out of my parent’s house. We had been living together, tumultuously, for three years. I first saw Shane standing on top of a picnic table reciting poetry aloud to a group of admirers. He was all gangly -not yet a man - ganglylimbs, spiky black hair and black leather motorcycle jacket.

I walked by in my matching jacket. Nothing happened. It was just one of those moments. A moment where you see someone and know that you are destined to be with that person.

It wasn’t until the next semester that we met. We ended up in the same poetry class together. A class full of promising young writers and a professor looking to reclaim his lost youth as part of the Tish Group in Vancouver.

Shane and I, along with a soon to be lifelong friend Eric, were picked out by the instructor to be his prodigies. We met at the bar down the road many late nights, drinking beer and planning our emergence on to the young writers scene in Vancouver.

We began an anonymous poetry chat sheet. Funded, unbeknownst to them, by the English Department. We picked the best of the poems submitted to us every week (often one of our own.) Photocopied them on coloured parchment and distributed them across campus and around town.

We began submitting our poetry to local literary magazines, attending poetry readings and crashing parties at famous Vancouver writer’s houses; George Bowering, Gladys Hindmarch, Stan Persky.

We spent our evenings drinking beer at a cheap hotel downtown and feeling powerful.

One night Shane and I met at his little apartment. We went to the liquor store and bought some vodka. We mixed it with orange juice. Nervous and alone he asked me if I was going to kiss him.

I did.

I went home that night and broke up with my boyfriend and slept on the couch. I rented myself a bedroom in a crappy house in West Vancouver the next day.

My life was beginning. I was so full of hope for my new future. Knowing that I had finally found something that I could do well. Something that made me happy.

I have been overwhelmingly busy.

The thing is? As kids get bigger the activities get bigger and longer and later.

My days begin with a running start at 7am and the race continues straight through to midnight. Even later if i write.

Things don't seem destined to slow down. I think more hours need to be added to the day.

Or less sleep required.