My Life As A Fish - A Mental Illness Story

This is a story of self reflection and discovery. It’s unpolished, flawed and imperfect just like me. I am by no means a writer of any professional capacity. I am a person who was recently diagnosed with mental illness, and this is my story.



As far back as I can remember, I have struggled with what most would consider the simplest things. 

? - 17 : Growing Up Broken
At home, my room was always a mess. I would fight with my mom on an endless basis just to remember to take my dishes to the kitchen. To pick up that sweater from the floor. To feed my guinea pig and clean her cage. I would promise with the best of intentions to unload the dishwasher before she returned home from a long shift at work.
I can vividly remember myself sitting on the couch, playing video games, talking on the phone, hanging out with friends and telling myself every few minutes "you should go unload the dishwasher before your mom gets home". But I never would. I meant to. I even wanted to, but somehow it would slip away from me and as her car pulled up in front of the house, I would think to myself "Well, shit". My stomach would be in knots, filled with anxiety over what I had done wrong. She would constantly remind me, harass me and tell me to do things and more often than not, I wouldn't do them. I lived in a constant state of disarray and mess that I never seemed able to conquer.
I was "lazy".

Elementary and Jr.High were rough. I was bullied my so many different groups that I never truly found my own. I had a few friends, but they were always the first to drop me when there was something even remotely better to do or hangout with. I was chubby, I had acne, bad teeth and low self esteem. I wasn't particularly good at any one thing, and the older I got the more my grades slipped. The more I became exposed to the toxicity that is other children the more I tried to please them. My desks, cubbies, lockers and backpacks were filled with garbage, papers, books and often moldy food I had forgotten about. Homework and projects slipped my mind, and remembering simple things often escaped me. 

As the classes got harder, I got further behind. I was good at English, but found myself rambling, writing in circles and unable to form what was considered organized thought. I enjoyed Social Studies but the amount of dates, names, places and events to remember never seemed to stay in my head long. Science was neat and I enjoyed doing experiments and other hands-on activities, but filling out the worksheets and recording results was constantly my downfall. Math was basically a mystery to me, and as they introduced new concepts like algebra I was mystified. Calculating and figuring out things like numbers, prices and other tangible things started to be replaced by "Find X" -no matter how hard I tried, never seemed to make any sense. 

Kids were cruel and I don't think one day went by that I wasn't someone's target. I tried to be nice to the kids who didn't like me, and went out of my way to avoid the other kids like me so I wouldn't be considered "one of them". I had a choice selection of hurtful nicknames like "Shamu" (The famous whale, yes) and was picked on for everything from the way I wore my hair to the clothes on my back. I was picked last for groups and the first to be excluded from activities. The few friends I did have hung out with other cliques and groups that I didn't feel welcome in, so I primarily spent my time floating from place to place by myself. I can actually still recall the names of every single person who made me cry, and every single person who was kind to me.

By the end of grade 9, I went out of my way to go to the high-school that was farthest from the things and people I spent the last decade tolerating for a fresh start. 

I was a "loser".

Highschool was a whole new experience. My daily bus ride was upwards of an hour, crossing the entire city. Getting up in the morning and out the door to catch my bus on time was impossible. The process of leaving one class, going to my locker to retrieve my things and making it to another was speckled with social stops, bathroom trips, and largely trying to find what I needed in my disaster of a locker. My tardiness had consequences - I was scolded, sent to detention, sat in the hall and lectured over and over by almost every teacher I ever had. Sometimes if I was late, I would just skip to avoid the conversation altogether. I would race home to intercept the daily phone calls from my school's automated system used to inform parents of their child's tardiness or absence. Luckily, I was often the first one home for the day. I remember it word for word to this day: "This is (School Name) Calling. We are calling to inform you that your son or daughter was late for or missed one or more classes today." During class, I spent more time passing notes and doodling all over my binders than doing much listening. Some subjects were better than others mind you - I had classes whose teachers seemed to go out of their way to make projects and learning more fun and immersive. Mainly however, I checked the clock after what seemed like an hour to find only minutes had passed. My hands were covered in ink from smearing across flowers, hearts and all manner of mindless drawings on every surface available. I was taking notes most of the time, but they were usually illegible and disjointed and reading back through them for studying was like trying to decipher another language. I was passing notes and getting myself and others in trouble constantly.
Tests were no students favorite thing, and I was no exception. The second the paper was laid on my desk I started to panic. I never had enough time to complete a test to the best of my ability, I often freaked in the last few minutes and started guessing. When I did know the answer, I almost never showed my work and got full credit or made stupid mistakes carelessly. I had teachers who's "style" was impossible for me to follow. Thirty minutes of talking at the whiteboard followed by assignments left me lost. I often tried to ask question to get some clarity but sometimes even I didn't know exactly what I was confused about. The more I felt judged by my classmates, the more frustrated the teacher got, the less I wanted to speak up.
My homework was done half-assed, and usually on the bus to school or in the hallway outside of the classroom before the bell rang. The same assignment that took everyone else thirty minutes would take me hours to complete. I was smart but keeping focused on one subject for any amount of time was like trying to nail jell-o to the wall. There were far more interesting things to focus on going on around me at all times.
I started to cut class to hangout with my friends. I would cut class and just sit in the library or computer lab and read, write, draw - anything but what I should have been doing. I started smoking cigarettes, and smoking marijuana. Was I doing it to be cool? Was I doing it to escape? I didn't much care, as it was far better than being stuck in a classroom for hours, trying my best to keep up, follow along and to fail every time. Trying to fit in was my main priority, I finally had friends. Going to school wasn't about learning, it was about spending time with the people who actually liked me. Chasing boys and keeping up on the daily gossip was the be all and end all of my day. I wasn't a good student no matter how hard I tried, so I focused on finally being "popular".
Eventually the poor attendance, late arrivals, terrible grades and total lack of focus cost me my childhood. I was expelled from highschool near the end of grade 11. I went to another school to try again and found myself in the same situation as before, and was expelled again before grade 12 graduation.
I was "stupid".


17 - 27: "Adulting" 
Throughout my young adult years, I had more jobs than I can honestly remember. I used to joke with friends that they could name any industry and I had somehow been employed within it. People would try to pick something seemingly outlandish for my age and personality and time and time again they would marvel at how many times they failed.

I've worked in offices, retail, promotions, marketing, sales, telecommunications, radio, television, health care, travel, door to door sales, IT, HR, AR/AP, data entry, management, beauty, bars, restaurants, nightclubs, video games, mobile games, app development, fitness, recruitment, construction, administration, reception and many more positions and industries I can't even remember.
I worked in several positions where I excelled at customer service. To the clients I was everyone’s favorite person to deal with. I loved catching up and chatting with everyone, talking about products, services and helping them with their needs. Running around non-stop juggling multiple tasks, people and things in a high paced environment felt like it was made for me. Constant people to talk to, things to do.

Management however, often didn't consider my strengths and focused on my weaknesses. Paperwork not being filed, reports containing errors, inaccurate cash-outs, assignments taking a long time. Anything I found repetitive, boring and tedious quickly got put aside and resulted in either quitting the job, or losing it.

I even landed my dream job, working for a video game developer. It was everything I had ever wanted and more. I put all my effort and love into every single thing I did. I worked though lunches constantly. Stayed late constantly. Worked overtime shifts as often as they were available. I thought to myself, I am finally going to succeed! However, once again I found myself in a position that I didn’t expect. 

Getting up on time was a chore and getting ready for work always seemed to take forever. Somehow, despite being excited to go into the office I found myself constantly rushing to be on time and often late.  After work socialization was near impossible as I was working more than one job and trying to maintain a relationship - so I was viewed as "not a team player" and "anti-social". I got easily frustrated when other staff would make mistakes that impeded my progress. I got frustrated when things were taking too long, even when they weren't. I was often getting up from my desk to take a lap around the building or go outside on the balcony when I felt overwhelmed, or a task got too repetitive. I never felt like I could be myself, my boss didn't like me for reasons I never fully understood. I tried to impress him with my work, nothing. I tried to make him like me by organizing the whole department to sign a giant birthday card for him, nothing. He just didn't like me - he didn't think I belonged there. He thought I got my job because I was a "cute girl" and the men who interviewed me were biased. 

Despite feeling like I put in more effort than everyone else combined, nothing. My contract ended and I have never been able to get back in since. 

Nothing ever seemed to last long. Either I lost interest and quit, or I was fired for a multitude of reasons such as being late, missing shifts or decreasing job performance.

I was "unreliable".

Money was always an issue. No matter how much or little I was making, I never knew how to budget or spend it. 

I found myself in massive credit card debt. Had many cell phones cancelled and had collections agents hunting me down non stop.

I knew when my car insurance came out, yet often found myself with insufficient funds and scrambling to stay on the right side of the law. 

I would turn down social activities due to not having enough money or go and spend more than I should.

Impulse purchases were my downfall, if I wanted something I didn't stop to think about the consequences of my actions and went for it to fulfill the immediate want. If I had to choose between that cute outfit, new game or getting my hair done vs. making sure I had enough for groceries - I would be eating mac and cheese every time.

The only time I was ever good with money is when I was with a partner who kept me in line and shared the bills. I was never the one who remembered what to pay and how much. I was the one who was told to pay how much and when. 

I had destroyed my credit to the point where getting credit was impossible. Rebuilding and replaying my debts was insurmountable. Even getting started was something I couldn't bring myself to do. I went for a decade hiding, paying cash for everything and having someone else’s name on accounts in order to even qualify for basic services like phone and power.
I was "irresponsible."

Relationships were always a challenge. I was impulsive and stubborn. When things were good, they were great, however my temper and impulse control were two things that constantly found me in fights and breakups with friends and boyfriends alike.

People were always waiting on me, I was late for everything and took forever to get ready. It didn't matter how long I had, I still managed to get sidetracked and fall behind.

Keeping my space clean enough for guests or to even live in didn't seem possible. Each time I managed to get the energy to clean for any period of time, things would fall into disarray again before I even knew what was happening. This effected my home and social life massively, as anyone in the house was put off by the condition, and I didn't want to have friends or family over because I was embarrassed. 

Making and keeping plans has always been tough for me. Even the most exciting night out was often met with cancellations and no-shows because when the time came, I didn't feel like it or was going to be so late it was pointless to show up. If my friends did something without inviting me, I was devastated. 

I was quick to anger and often found myself begging for forgiveness for over-reacting to situations, or under reacting I suppose as well. 

I stayed in abusive and toxic relationships and friendships because I was desperate to be accepted and thought anything else was yet another failure.

Being liked was more important than being respected. I did things that I knew were against my morals to feel like a badass. I abused drugs and alcohol and partied even though the people I was trying to attract and impress weren't good for me. I let men use and discard me in desperate attempts at not being alone. 

I jumped into and out of relationships so often I genuinely used who I was dating to carbon-date a specific time in my life. When I was in a relationship, I would forget about friends and other important things completely. When I got dumped, my whole world came crashing down and I was unable to compose myself or engage in day to day things and obsessed over every detail. Most of the time, I didn't even recognize myself.
I lashed out. I shut people out. I probably ruined a guy or two along the way. I made friends, let them down and lost them over and over.
I was a "bad person".

The only thing I seemed to find myself diving into, were video games. I would spend hours exploring fictional worlds as fantastical characters taking on insurmountable odds. I would put off chores for hours and sometimes days to play video games. I would stay up so late that the next day I would sleep in and be late for work, or call in sick altogether. I would forget to eat, forget to take medications, and blow off social situations to stay in and continue my adventures.

My spouses, friends and family couldn't understand how a grown adult could waste so much time doing something so childish. I could have been looking for a new job, getting some much needed exercise, cleaning my place - anything but what I was actually interested in doing. Hyper-focusing on escaping the real world and my problems into other realms where I could not only win, but be the hero was something I held very dear. 

I was "Immature".


27-28: A Fleeting Moment Of Happiness
For awhile, things seemed like they were going quite well. I had a job that I managed to stay at for over a year. My health wasn't great, but I was able to live life and enjoy things. I had left a bad relationship and met a wonderful man who I feel madly in love with. We moved in together quite quickly, and were engaged shortly after that. I started planning my wedding and my life. We got a dog. I cooked, cleaned, grocery shopped and did everything that I thought was important. I would even say that I was happy.

I lost my job, but I found a new one. I lost that job too, and found a new one once more.

Trying to plan a wedding on a budget was no small task. The "wedding binder" I downloaded was abandoned quite quickly. I picked the theme and the colors and often found myself being reigned in by my husband when I got too wrapped up in things. I found a venue for the ceremony and reception. I started collecting decor and doing DIY projects to keep costs low. I'd start a project then abandon it to start a new one. I'd stress about all of the things I had to do and plan. I impulsively hired a caterer who turned out to be a total fraud and scam artist who stole our deposit. I shut down. I almost called off the wedding. I was so stressed and anxious about the situation that it effected my home life and my work. I got it together, mostly. 

We got married.

I don't remember much of the day, thankfully we had a videographer capturing everything. Instead of enjoying it, I was running around stressed out. Were we on time? Was it going to rain? Are my vows stupid? Have I greeted the guests? Is the bar okay? I should check on the DJ. What if my speech sucks? Please don't wipe out in front of everyone. Don't drink anything or you'll have to somehow pee in this massive dress. Did the people I invited that declined not like me? Did I forget to invite someone important? Do my husbands friends and family really like me? Do my friends and family really like him? Make sure to smile. Make sure to say thank you. Make sure nobody drinks and drives. Is my dog okay at home? I forgot to bring a change of shoes. Is my mom okay? I should have gone with another color. I don't like the way this looks. I hate the way my hair looks. Will I look fat in the pictures? Are people having fun? 

I didn't finish my meal. I didn't finish even the one glass of whatever it was I was drinking during toasts. I didn't go to the bathroom. I didn't sit down. I didn't take pictures. I didn't even see my new husband for most of the evening. 

Before I knew it, the night was over and I was back in the morning to clean up the hall and tear down. We had some help which was fantastic, but standing in the middle of everything I felt confused, frustrated and overwhelmed. Where do I even start? A garbage bag here, a box there. This is impossible. I shut down, cried a little and wound up being more in the way than actually being any real help.

It was on the way home from the hall that both started and ended the next year of my life. Out of the blue, I got dizzy, spinny and nauseous. It didn't pass. I took a week off work. It didn't pass. I took another week off of work. It didn't pass. I could barely walk, stand, sit, lay or do anything without my whole world turning. 

I was told I had some sort of vertigo, and that it would likely resolve on it's own eventually. I was forced to quit my job, and go on medical leave. 

I saw specialists of all kinds and never got any answers or relief. I sat at home, for nearly a year doing nothing but watching TV and playing video games. I was depressed. I gained weight. I lost friends. I lost my independence. I lived inside of my own head because my body had been rendered useless. It was a very dark and busy place.

29-30: The Light At The End Of The Tunnel...

The vertigo disappeared one day, and after a cautious period of hope I was finally able to go back to work. I found a new job, somehow managed to get a mortgage and buy our first home. I lost that job soon after, but found another. I wasn't particularly invested in my work, but was hoping to use it to leverage a new position with the company in the coming days. My office was only a few minutes from home and really laid back. 

But like all things, the excitement and newness wore off and once again things started to slip. I was losing interest in my job and doing the bare minimum hoping nobody would notice. At home, the mess started to grow and the things I should have been doing at  started to fall between the cracks.

I started to loathe my job and the person I worked for. My daily duties were getting mundane and repetitive and the lack of support and respect from my employer was grating on my last nerve. Eventually I wound up snapping at the man who signed my pay cheques and we decided it would be best if I didn't work for him anymore.
Luckily, one of the people involved in the company had his own venture and decided to bring me on board to work for him in a position that was much better suited for me.

With my newfound sense of purpose and excitement for my new opportunity I set out with a positive outlook to make my mark once more.
The faith in my skills and respect for my opinions was refreshing. My boss put me through some courses to further my skills. I took over many aspects of the day to day within the company which gave me a wide variety of things to occupy my time. I was excited to go to work again and things started improving at home.
I picked up a hobby.
I planted a vegetable garden.

I started a non-profit community. 

Things were all going right for me for the first time, until they weren't.

30-32: ...Was A Train

I had spent my entire life hearing and believing many things that I had formed into the summary of my person. I may be a caring person, but I have a bad temper. I may be an honest person, but have no filter. I may be a social person, but don't know when to shut up. I may be a fun person, but get bored easily. I may be intelligent, but feel stupid when simple logic and tasks escape me. I may have a high attention to detail, but make stupid mistakes. I may be creative, but cannot finish a project. I may be a good leader, but fail at administrative duties. I may be good at giving advice, but you may have to repeat what you just said. I may be a loving wife, but am a terrible homemaker. I may be a great employee, but cannot get to work on time. I may be great at my job, but it will take me longer than everyone else. I may be beautiful, but allow one insult or comment to destroy my self image. I may have lots of free time, but I can never relax. I may be mindful, but find myself saying and doing things that I later regret. I may be well spoken, but I talk in circles. I may have lots of experience, but cannot tell the stores. I may be passionate, but am overwhelmed by the smallest problems. I may try, but I always fail. I may be a grown up, but I am fundamentally not an adult. 

My mind was a crowded place. It’s like there was always a full symphony in my head . Each instrument, another thought, task, worry, stress, fear, hope, dream, idea, memory, reminder, failure. They play at the same time, never in tune and never the same song. Picking out one single sound without it being distorted by others is impossible. Sometimes, even listening to the music is impossible as there are many other things in the room. The conductor. The audience. The fixtures on the walls. I had no peace, and I am not sure that I had ever truly experienced peace the way others speak of it. “Clearing your mind” just brings up a thousand thoughts about not thinking and trying to focus on not thinking makes me think about the things I wasn't supposed to think about. Relaxing was impossible. Sleep was terrible.

I forgot appointments and commitments often. I misplaced things and lost others entirely. I procrastinated to the point of no return and have missed deadlines on many important things. I drove with an expired licence for three months and didn't realize it. I paid for a gym membership that I literally never used once, for over a year before I was able to remember to go down and cancel. I had a bank account sitting empty when my husband and I got a joint account at his institution and never seemed to get around to closing it. If I didn't have my husband around, my tires would be bald. Light fixtures would have burn out bulbs. I would never have had toilet paper in the house. 

Work was getting increasingly hard and the things I was responsible for started to fall apart. I was unable to get to work on time on such a regular basis that people stopped noticing or caring. The daily tasks I had to complete weren't getting done. The monthly tasks I had to complete were falling behind. I found myself overwhelmed by the amount of work I had piling up, despite the fact that in reality it wasn't actually that much. 

I quit my hobby in order to lessen my load and be able to better focus on my non-profit community. Despite it being something I enjoyed, I decided that the sheer amount of things on my plate needed to be reduced in order to have a shot at succeeding.

I couldn't be on time for anything. Family gatherings?  I was reason we are late arriving for those. I was the reason that we rushed to make a movie on time. I was the reason that dinner reservations were often pushed back. If I said we would leave at noon, that almost always meant 1. My husband wouldn't even get dressed until I was 90 percent done getting ready myself because otherwise, he sat there and waited. The few friends I did have, knew not to be early for anything because I would likely not be on time. Some even told me to be ready earlier than necessary in order to trick me into being relatively on time.

I was depressed. I was exhausted. I had panic attacks. I laid awake at night thinking about everything and nothing. I picked my skin and scalp without thinking about it until I bled, and sometimes that didn't even stop me. I had dark thoughts and a lot of anger. I contemplated ending my own life, and wondered if the world and the people I loved would be better off if I did. I stressed about things I hadn't even had a chance to fail at yet. I got overwhelmed when faced with issues and would shut down or lash out. I struggled to complete work. I struggled to take care of my health and medical conditions. I overslept. Under slept. Overate. Under ate. I could sink 12 hours straight into a video game but could not find five minutes to do a load of laundry.

I needed help.

So off I went to my doctor, who proceeded to put me on anti-depressants. I spent a year switching from kind to kind.They weren't helping. I tried finding a therapist or someone to talk to. I couldn't.

For two years I tried and failed to access mental health help in my city. I did four separate intake calls with mental health services and was deemed "Not unwell enough" to merit treatment. Without being a drug addict or actively suicidal, I was referred to support groups or told had to pay thousands of dollars to access a private therapist. That was unfortunately, not an option. Every time I would go in to see my doctor, I would bring up a new problem and I think we were both starting to feel like I was the problem. Who could help someone who couldn't seem to help themselves? I begged. I pleaded. I tried my best to communicate with anyone who would listen. I was referred to clinics who never called me. I was put on medications that didn't help me. It seemed hopeless. I began to give up.

Then one day, as I was scrolling through Facebook instead of doing the work in front of me, I came across a video that was shared by a friend.
"Failing at Normal: An ADHD Success Story" by Jessica McCabe. I wasn't particularly interested in it, but as usual I found myself absorbing anything to get my mind off of the mundane task at hand.

Within a few minutes, I felt more understood than I ever had in my entire life. As I listened to her story, I recognized things in myself that have been right in front of my eyes for years. The things I struggled with, she struggled with. The things I failed at, she failed at. The problems I had, she had. The only difference between us, is that she was diagnosed and actively aware of what was going on. Was this the reason for everything?

I messaged the person who posted the video and inquired about it. She shared that she recently started medication for ADHD and that after taking it, for the first time in her life she completed a full day’s work and actually accomplished something. It was a feeling I was desperate to experience for myself. She encouraged me to talk to my doctor. I fell into the rabbit hole of the internet, self diagnosing.

I brought it up to my doctor almost immediately. I argued in circles, passionately, and brought myself to tears trying to convince her of what I knew deep in my bones to be true. At this point, after depression, anxiety and a myriad of other problems it seemed like I was grasping at straws, and she was uncomfortable diagnosing me or treating what I knew was the problem. Reluctantly, she referred me to the Adult ADHD clinic at the local hospital. This was in June of 2018. I waited and waited, doing more research and confirming my theory time and time again. I called and checked up on the referral and was told they were "reviewing my file" and I was told to wait for a call, which I would receive if they deemed whatever was in my file worthy of attention.

I am not good at waiting.
Things started to get worse.
I waited some more.
I neglected my health more consistently, and developed other problems as a result.
I waited some more.
I stopped making doctors appointments and following up with my concerns.
I waited some more.
My drive, determination and will was slipping.
I waited some more.
I lost my job. I couldn't keep up. I couldn't be on time. I couldn’t complete simple tasks.
I waited some more.
Stress started piling up, and affecting my relationship.
I waited some more.

I was overwhelmed with managing my non-profit community. I couldn't count on the person I had chose to be my right hand. I started to get angry. I started to get frustrated.
I waited some more. 

I stepped down from running the non-profit community. I didn't feel like I had a choice. I couldn't work with the girl I had chosen any longer. I couldn't do it alone. I didn't want the community to suffer. 

I waited some more.
Everything was getting worse. Depression. Anxiety. Anger. Hopelessness.

32: From Bad To Worse
It was January of 2019 when I was finally referred to a psychiatrist. My appointment was set for March 20, 2019. It felt like my last hope. I had to hold on.

The only thing I can think to compare it to is having to use the washroom when you are nowhere near a toilet. You hold it, you are uncomfortable at first but its bearable. The closer you get, the more intense the feeling is and the more you cant stop thinking about it. You are so close, but you feel like there's a chance you might not make it in time. That your bladder will explode. You keep going, using every ounce of concentration on holding it in, but can't help but think of what you will do if you don't get there in time. Will you make it before it's too late?

All I could do was try my best, and wait.

After losing my job in October of the previous year, I decided to try something new.
I started my own company working from home doing a wide scope of marketing. I thought it was a good solution to my problem being late, and having the ability to make my own hours and work from home appealed to me.
Things were going good. I found some great clients. I had enough work to keep me busy and supplement my income. I was doing social media, building websites, designing logos and consulting for all sorts of industries.

I waited some more.

I had a great assortment of clients and projects on the go, and things were going well. As I finished one job, I found another.

I waited some more.

One of my clients saw something in me and asked me to work for them in a larger capacity. It would massively help my monthly income with regular hours and duties and lower the need for more work on the side. I liked them and the company, so I continued to run their social media as a client and took on additional marketing, administrative and communications duties as an employee. They listened to my ideas, and saw value in my and recognized the things I brought to the table. Treated me as an equal. I was excited.

I waited some more.

I had more responsibilities every day. I had clients work to finish on top of my new duties with a new company. I was starting to get overwhelmed, and as the side work was completed I found myself no longer actively looking for more.

I waited some more.

Things started falling apart. I was forgetting to post regularly on social media. I started to schedule content in advance to make sure I wasn’t falling too far behind. I was creating great relationships with staff and customers but filling out spreadsheets and reports were my lowest priority. I had many suggestions and my employers loved my enthusiasm, but my follow through was slipping. I started dedicating every drop of energy I had to deliver on my promises and responsibilities. Despite that, I was still slowly falling behind and dropping the ball. My marriage is suffering. I am suffering.

I waited some more.

As I got more behind I was more determined to make sure no-one noticed. I stayed on top of emails and issues the best I could, and kept my duties afloat. While next to no reporting and spread-sheeting were done, I was making the calls I needed to make. Filling orders. Answering customer inquiries. Whatever I was doing seemed to be enough to get by. I faked happiness at work and at home.

I waited some more.

It was near the end of February and everything finally came to a head. This is where the story gets really hard to talk about.

Remember that non-profit that I quit? The passion project that I poured all of myself into, only to leave due to stress, anxiety, anger and being overwhelmed? The one that I built from nothing into a huge success? Well, after receiving an alarming number of emails and messages inquiring about the status of said community, I was browsing the internet one day decided to check in.

I was devastated. The person now in charge had done little to nothing to further the interests of the community since I left. Social media was a ghost town. No events were planned outside of what I had left for her. The website wasn't updated. No contests or announcements. I had been gone for three months, and in that time my bustling active community had flatlined. 

Without thinking, I lashed out. I publicly commented about the sorry state and apologized to the people who I felt that I abandoned. I started hearing stories from people about the gossip, lies and other things that were said about me after I left.The anger grew until I found myself spitting venom all over social media. Things were said I later deleted. Things were said that I still stand by today. Very shortly after my public outburst, magically things started to pick up again. I had lit the fire under her ass and I was both pissed off and relieved that it had actually worked. I hoped that it would stick this time.

 Literally days later, as I was browsing my feed (again, when I should have been working) I came across the single most hurtful thing I have ever experienced. 

The person who was responsible for my departure, the person who let me down, lied to me and schemed behind my back, the person who sat idle once she was given the keys to the kingdom - This person was nominated for an award based on the merits of MY hard work. "Community Member of the Year Nominee" was above her photo, next to the title she only had because of me for a thing that wouldn't have existed without me. 

How could my one success, the one thing that I did selflessly and well, the one thing I could hold up and be proud of, be the thing that someone else was being recognized for? Someone who didn't work for it. After all of my failures, this one shining success was being taken away from me by someone who didn't deserve it. I was crushed.

I went through many things in the following days. I cried uncontrollably. I was enraged. I was hurt. I felt betrayed. I lashed out. I crawled into bed. I didn’t sleep for days. I didn’t eat. I fantasized about all of the ways I could cause her pain. I felt like nothing I had ever done, or ever will do mattered. I was unable to work. I was unable to function.

I got an out-pour of support from friends and members of the community, echoing my anger but nobody was willing to speak up out for fear of repercussions or social impact. I was alone, I could do nothing, say nothing, and was nothing. Finally all of my pent up negativity started to boil over to a point where I could no longer contain it.

I wanted to kill myself. 

At first, I spent hours online searching every phrase I could think of: Suicide help, suicide help Edmonton, suicide prevention help, suicide help chat, suicide crisis chat online. I wasn't in any state to be willing to talk to a stranger on the phone, I desperately wanted to talk to someone over a live chat but could not find that service available. Without committing to speaking to another human in person or on the phone, the resources were limited to emails, message boards and forums and I didn't have that kind of time to wait for a reply. 

Next, I found myself looking at my phone and my social media pages. I realized how long it had been since many of my "friends" had checked in, and found myself looking at the lack-luster number of people who bothered to wish me a happy birthday the month before. They wouldn't miss me. I looked at the pages of people who I considered "friends" who were living it up at parties, trips, getaways, gatherings and other things out in the world. Things I wasn't invited to, things that they didn't seem to want to do with me, or even consider me for. They wouldn't miss me. Finally I took stock of what I had to show for my 32 years on planet earth. You can imagine how that went, and I quickly decided that life wasn't worth living anymore. 

I decided to kill myself.

I had a plan, I thought that it was the one thing I could do to get people to listen. I started to write the last letter I would ever write.

I wrote about how hard I tried to get some real help and how many times I was dismissed - to somehow show the people in healthcare that mental health issues need to be better addressed.

I wrote about all of the people who were fair-weather friends, who have no loyalty- to show the people around me that their actions have consequences. 

I wrote about why I truly quit and told the whole story behind my decision to step down and how this nomination destroyed my spirit - to show the girl who was taking credit for my work that she truly had taken everything from me. 

I wrote about other stuff, to other people about other things for other reasons.

I then wrote to my husband, and to my mother. I wanted them to understand that this wasn't their fault and there was nothing they could have done to change how I felt. I wanted them to know I was sorry and hoped they would forgive me after learning how bad it really was. 

I tried to kill myself.

In the few minutes after my emotionally charged impulsive decision I gained a moment of clarity. What was I leaving behind? My husband, my mother, my grandfather, my dog, my few friends. Who would I be letting down? Even if the message I so desperately wanted to deliver made some difference, would they ever forgive me? It's sad, but what really saved my life was my fear of being judged by the people I cared about. My concern wasn't for myself and my future. My concern wasn't for my well being or the hope things would get better. I was afraid of how I would be remembered, the dumpster fire that was my life. The opinions of others mattered more to me than anything else. All I could think of was my husband and how much he would hate me for abandoning him. My mother, and how much she would be disappointed in me. Whether or not anyone would even attend my funeral.

I decided to save my own life.

Luckily, the method in which i chose to take my life wasn't instant. The massive overdose of insulin that I injected into my body was counteracted by an equally massive amount of sugary and carb loaded food and drink by the fistful. I went for help. I told the ER staff that I had “accidentally taken the wrong amount and type of insulin”. (Truthfully I had made this honest mistake before and spent hours in the ER in case the food I ate didn’t work fast enough and would start to crash.) They believed me and sent me home after a few hours with a stabilized blood sugar. It happened while I was alone, and I returned and no one was the wiser. In the end, I survived with only a stomach ache and probably a few extra pounds.

I never told anyone about what I did. Not my husband. Not my mother. Not my best friend.

I knew I needed help. I also didn’t feel like I could fully tell them the truth.

The days that followed that are mostly a blur. I remember breaking down in front of my doctor but not the drive there or home. I remember crying and repeating "what's the point" over and over but not specifically to who I was talking. I told my doctor that I had considered suicide, not that I had tried it. I remember my doctor recommending me for hospitalization, which I declined. I remember convincing everyone that I was not a risk to myself or others and being sent home with some phone numbers and a heavy dose of a new anti-depressant that I had not yet tried. My psychiatrist appointment was only a few weeks away and they hoped the meds would get me through until then. Four weeks, and my psychiatrist appointment would be here. I just had to wait.

Almost immediately after starting these new anti-depressants, I felt a change. While my mind was still racing, I felt unable to express emotions on either side of the scale. I truly didn't care about anything outwardly. The things that would have normally made me mad, upset or annoyed seemed insignificant. The things that normally would have brought me joy and laughter seemed pointless. I felt like I was on auto-pilot, I was going through the motions of living but, didn't feel even remotely alive.

I tried testing myself, reading and watching things that should have evoked some sort of response. Videos of animal rescue agencies and the poor dogs that suffered so much and got happy endings did nothing. Political and social articles that used to turn me into an angry keyboard warrior barely made me bat an eye. Movies that rendered me into a sobbing mess from a love story so pure were cringeworthy. I looked deeper, to find things that would horrify, scare, disgust and challenge the morals of even the most deplorable on earth only to find more of the same.

In my mind, I still had all of the same thoughts I had before, but my soul I felt nothing. 

I tried my best to act "normal". To laugh when expected. Smile when expected. I wasn't fooling anyone. I didn't leave my house for three weeks, and during that time showered only twice. I wore the same handful of comfortable outfits until I started to notice a smell. I would not sleep for days at a time, then do nothing but sleep.

I somehow managed to keep afloat on my work duties, but even those were done with a lack of creativity, passion and purpose and I continued to fall more and more behind.

The drugs I was taking made me able to look at everything more calmly, objectively and rationally. I was more able to speak about my feelings, despite not being able to show them. I decided to try to reach out to the people around me, maybe I could now make them understand.

My husband is a wonderful man, and I love him more than anything in the world, I don't think he will ever understand mental illness. He is a fixer, and one of the most laid back people you will ever meet. Trying to make him understand that he is not the problem, that I still love him, and that he is not responsible for happiness was impossible. Invisible illness and mental health is not something he really has any experience with, and his approach to fixing things was unhelpful. He loves me, he does his best to help me and support me every day, but what I was feeling and going through wasn't ever something he would "get".

My mother, was worried for me and listened - but she is a hard woman who has been through many things in her life. A bad marriage. Re-starting her life from scratch afterwards. She watches people suffer real pain and die every single day at work. As much as she wanted to help, her experiences simply did not allow for much understanding. She is one of the strongest women alive and has been through so much. How can someone who keeps a clean house, steady job, and pays her bills on time possibly relate? Shes a superhero in my eyes. She agreed I needed help, and even offered to pay for therapy but I could not take her money. While I know she cared, her words made me feel worse so I shut down and pushed her away.

My best friend was next, and luckily she was no stranger to mental health issues. Despite being a wonderful, happy and outgoing person day to day - She has faced much darkness in her past and present. She has been on all sorts of anti-depressants, fought her demons and confronted them in therapy. She struggles still, but puts on a brave face and pushes past things that she needs to overcome. She is easily one of the most resilient, wonderful people that I know. She is also the one person I know that would listen, and not judge me. I spoke to her about everything, except my suicide attempt and I truly believe that I wouldn't have been able to get through without her support. Her blunt honesty combined with understanding was refreshing. She would never tell me to "cheer up" or "relax". She would never consider saying "well why don't you get out more, it will make you feel better" when she knew that's really not something I could do. She reminded me of all of the things that I had to live for, and encouraged me to hang on and keep advocating for myself. She helped me block out the negativity and made me finally feel like I was not alone. She saw my pain and recognized my struggles, and no matter what time of day or night was willing to listen. She offered advice and suggestions when she could, but knew from her own experience the boundaries of those things.
She helped me understand that this is not forever, that things would get better but it was hard work and took time. I will never be able to truly thank her enough, but in case she reads this - KP, thank you.

After finally having a positive experience sharing with a friend, I decided to speak to test the waters once more. Again, I reached out to someone who I knew faced her own mental health struggles. She is kind, and although we may not be super close she is someone that I trust. I told her I tried to kill myself, and then decided to save my own life. She was privy to the story behind what made me break, and was furious on my behalf but just as powerless as I was to change anything. It felt good to tell someone, and have them worry and care.

The last thing on my list was speaking to my employer. By some miracle, what I was doing seemed to continue to impress my employer, and he had offered me a larger role with the company. The idea of saying no terrified me as much as the idea of saying yes. So, I asked for a call and told him about my mental health, and was (mostly) forthcoming about my current struggles and told him I was seeking help. I declined their offer for the time being, but hoped to re-visit it later. He was very understanding and supportive. I was thankful for his response to my plight. He was impressed that I had managed to accomplish the things I had done while dealing with so much behind the scenes. He told me to let him know if he could help in any way.

I continued to try to act “normal” and put more effort into trying to pass for who I once had been. I had dinner at my moms, and was told “I was not acting like myself” afterwards. When I asked my husband, he told me “it was like living with a robot”. I went for lunch and a movie with my friend KP, and found my way through conversations. We saw a sappy chick flick, and while she and everyone else in the theater sobbed I munched on my popcorn and felt awkward. I just had to wait a few more days.


March 20, 2019: The Diagnosis
I made it - March 20th came along, and I headed off to my long awaited appointment with a psychiatrist.

I was nervous, terrified in fact. If this person dismissed me, what was left? At the suggestion of my friend, I took notes on how I was feeling, my struggles and brought them along. I prepared myself to be as open and honest about everything as I possibly could. I sat in the waiting room and sent probably thirty texts to my friend about everything and anything to keep me from freaking out.

I will remember that session for the rest of my life.

I left with an official and clinical diagnosis of (what he called fairly severe) ADHD, along with some co-morbid depression and anxiety. He helped me recognize that my depression and anxiety were largely caused by the symptoms and outcomes of things that directly relate to ADHD and how they impact my daily life. 

He gave me a sense of absolution, telling me that I need to allow myself to forgive my failures, as they were not truly my own. I felt vindicated, empowered and hopeful for the first time in a long time. The failed jobs, relationships, friendships, tasks and overall life skills were all direct results of my brain not working normally. I was not "neuro-typical" and that the things that many people find to be effortless were in fact, as insurmountable as they seemed for someone with my illness.

He told me that a large number of children aren't diagnosed at a young age if they don't present with other developmental disabilities or behavior problems. Most are dismissed as lazy, stupid, immature, underachieving and irresponsible and spend their whole lives struggling with those labels, making the same mistakes over and over again and blame themselves. 

He apologized for the failings of the system, and applauded me at my strength in recognizing the problem and seeking help. He agreed that mental health was a seriously under-educated, under-funded and under-recognized area in the healthcare system. He promised to help, and to help me access the help I needed both pharmaceutically and therapeutically.

When I left, prescription in hand I sat in my car in the parking lot for what seemed like forever. I just breathed for awhile. I cried a little. I sent a few texts to my mother, my friend and my husband about what happened. I felt so much lighter for the first time. It was not my fault. I had an un-diagnosed and untreated mental illness running rampant across my life this whole time.

I am not lazy. I am not stupid. I am not immature. I am not irresponsible. I am not a bad person. I am not a failure.


TODAY: Looking Forward
I am writing this on March 21st, and as you can guess by the length, I have been at it for awhile.

I woke up and took my first dose of stimulant medication for ADHD, and managed to get a few outstanding work tasks completed. As I sat at my computer, marveling at what I can only describe as a fog being lifted, I knew I needed to write my story. I knew I wanted to help someone like me, recognize in them what it took a lifetime to recognize in myself. I wanted to share my struggles, my truths with the world and if I helped even one person along the way it would be worth my time.

I am not "better", but I have hope.

Mental health still carries a large stigma in today's society. Depression is REAL. Anxiety is REAL. ADHD is REAL. Social Anxiety is REAL. Just because you don’t suffer doesn’t mean someone else isn’t. If someone dips their toes into the world of telling their truth, or asks for help? Please, take the time to try. Feeling helpless, alone and scared to reach out claims the lives of so many people each year. It almost claimed mine. Words and actions have consequences that you may not even consider.

To those reading, I thank you for your time. If you recognize any of this in yourself, or someone you love I encourage you to reach out. Ask for help. Offer help. Talk. Listen. Advocate for yourself. Push. Fight.

To those reading who were at some point in my life, or are in my life now I want you to know something:

I never meant to let anyone down.

My employers, my friends, my exes, my loved ones and myself. I never intended to fail you. I promise you that I always tried even when it seemed like the opposite. Learning to forgive myself for my failures is just one step on the road to learning who I am, and how to go on with my life and make the changes I need to make while learning to better adapt to my condition. I promise you that I will try. I promise you that I will do my best. I don’t promise you perfection, but I do promise you effort. I will do my best to continue to post updates, write and share my journey with you all. I hope you will share your stories with me too.

“Everybody is a genius. But, if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will spend its whole life believing that it is stupid.” - Albert Einstein. 

- S