I wish everyone could have the opportunity to attend LDS Institute classes. I have taken two so far, one last semester and one over the summer. I don't always make it to class, but when I do it is often the highlight of my day.
Institute is an uplifting environment where I have the opportunity to learn and feel the spirit. I feel like I always get something out of the class.
When I started attending Institute I expected to grow in my knowledge of the Gospel. That's why I was going, right? I figured it would be like Sunday School. I did not expect to be touched and grow as much as I did personally.
I have written before about being diagnosed with PTSD. I write for many reasons. I write to know that I am not alone. I write to spread awareness. I write to heal, but I had not completely healed because there were still things I was holding onto.
When I started this last class at Institute I had not forgiven the man who assaulted me. After going through this past class, I have. It wasn't purely the class that did it. There were several culminating factors that led me to this place.
But going to class, learning more about the gospel, feeling the Spirit and growing as a person were big components of me coming to the point in my life where I could forgive him.
For a long time I couldn't fathom the idea of forgiving my rapist. I knew I needed to. I knew I was commanded to, but I didn't know how I could. I tried to justify not forgiving him thinking, "How can I forgive this man who broke my trust? How could I forgive this man who hurt me so much? How could I forgive this man who hasn't shown any remorse? How could I forgive this man I was still afraid of?" And for a while I was content with that.
I was at Institute one night and I don't remember what the lesson was on that night, but I remember some of the thoughts and feeling I had which I wrote down in the notebook I had with me. One of which was "God accepts me as I am."
Perhaps the most powerful thing I wrote down that night was, "God loves him. God loves this man, despite the terrible choices he has made, the same as He loves me."
I had never thought about that before. I had thought about everything else. I had thought about his family, his job, his house, his calling, but I had not thought about how God feels for this man. This point I had not thought about made all the difference to me.
Throughout the past couple months Heavenly Father has been putting things in my path that were letting me know it was time to forgive. One of which was a beautiful video I saw where the LDS mother of a Sandy Hook victim was speaking about her feelings for the man who killed her daughter. (you can find that here. I highly recommend watching it) This mom's words about the shooter mirrored my feelings almost exactly.
The only person who was being hurt by my anger toward him was me. He had no idea. He didn't care. I was the one who was losing peace. I was the one who was not keeping the commandment of forgiveness.
As I was preparing my Sunbeam lesson this week which was titled "I can Forgive," (I told you the topic of forgiveness has been all over my life) I pondered on everything I've learned this past year. As I was doing this I realized I could think about this man without anger in my heart. That is when I knew I had finally forgiven the man who had raped me. And it filled my soul with peace.
Sunday, August 13, 2017
Friday, June 16, 2017
What it is Really Like in UCLA's Mental Hospital
There are many misconceptions and stigmas about mental illness and treatment. One of the biggest stigmas I have found is that of spending time in a mental hospital. So many people think that if you have to be hospitalized you are crazy or dangerous. This is simply not true.
Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen I was hospitalized five times. The first trip was at my local psychiatric hospital in my home town. The last four stays were in UCLA's Resnick Neuropsychiatric Hospital. Those are the stays I will be talking about here.
I would like to point out that this is purely my experiences. This is not what all hospitals are like. UCLA is top of the line. Many people are not so fortunate to be able to receive treatment in such a great hospital.
At UCLA I was on Unit B, their acute adolescent unit. My first stay was about a week. The second and third were about two weeks. My last stay was for 3 weeks. The days were filled with groups and doctors all designed to help me return home better equipped to cope with my mental illnesses.
We had about a dozen groups including Ocupational Therapy, Recreational Therapy, Art, Coping Cards, Mindfullness, Cooking Group, and our daily Community group where we set goals for the day.
What I like about my stays at UCLA compared to my stay at my towns local hospital was that they really did a lot to help rehabilitate and teach me new skills. When I was hospitalized in my hometown we colored, slept, and watched tv all day. At UCLA our days were filled. Every time slot was assigned and had a purpose.
The staff at UCLA was amazing. There was a very high staff to patient ratio, everyone was assigned a psychiatrist they saw every day, and a therapist and social worker who they saw respectively a couple times a week. I still remember all of the nurses and staff who I worked with while hospitalized. I will be forever grateful for the time they took to comfort me, help me, and teach me.
I am so glad that I was blessed enough to be able to be hospitalized in UCLA's hospital. I learned and grew so much there. I continue to this day to use some of the coping skills I learned during my time inpatient. So while many people think of mental hospitals as scary places with crazy people, my experiences were the complete opposite.
Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen I was hospitalized five times. The first trip was at my local psychiatric hospital in my home town. The last four stays were in UCLA's Resnick Neuropsychiatric Hospital. Those are the stays I will be talking about here.
I would like to point out that this is purely my experiences. This is not what all hospitals are like. UCLA is top of the line. Many people are not so fortunate to be able to receive treatment in such a great hospital.
At UCLA I was on Unit B, their acute adolescent unit. My first stay was about a week. The second and third were about two weeks. My last stay was for 3 weeks. The days were filled with groups and doctors all designed to help me return home better equipped to cope with my mental illnesses.
We had about a dozen groups including Ocupational Therapy, Recreational Therapy, Art, Coping Cards, Mindfullness, Cooking Group, and our daily Community group where we set goals for the day.
What I like about my stays at UCLA compared to my stay at my towns local hospital was that they really did a lot to help rehabilitate and teach me new skills. When I was hospitalized in my hometown we colored, slept, and watched tv all day. At UCLA our days were filled. Every time slot was assigned and had a purpose.
The staff at UCLA was amazing. There was a very high staff to patient ratio, everyone was assigned a psychiatrist they saw every day, and a therapist and social worker who they saw respectively a couple times a week. I still remember all of the nurses and staff who I worked with while hospitalized. I will be forever grateful for the time they took to comfort me, help me, and teach me.
I am so glad that I was blessed enough to be able to be hospitalized in UCLA's hospital. I learned and grew so much there. I continue to this day to use some of the coping skills I learned during my time inpatient. So while many people think of mental hospitals as scary places with crazy people, my experiences were the complete opposite.
Sunday, June 4, 2017
What I Want You To Know When You See My Service Dog
I am coming up on two years of having Jenny with me. She has blessed my life in ways deeper than I could ever put words to. She saved my life and gave me back my independence when she first came into my life as a medical alert dog for me PTSD. She continues to aid me everyday as we grow and learn together.
As I try to do with most things when I'm asked questions about her in public I try and answer them and educate others about service dogs. I'm not always perfect at this. Sometimes I'm busy or just not in the mood. Perhaps I've just been asked why I have a dog five times in one trip to Walmart.
I have heard what seems like every comment under the moon about Jenny. Most of them roll of my back. I have gotten very used to ignoring people and not letting ignorance upset me. There is one comment though that I always hate to hear. "I wish I could bring my dog with me too."
I always want to answer, "No you don't. Yes, she's cute and dogs are fun, but she is not with me for fun. She is with me as medical equipment for provide needed aid. When we are out together we are working. She is doing her job taking care of me and I am taking care of her. I love taking her out with me, but I do it out of necessity. For you to have a service dog that you get to take everywhere with you, you have to have a documented disability that you can't choose to leave at home."
That's usually more than people want to know and no one wants to hear that it's not all fun and games so I tend to just smile and say thank you.
Don't get me wrong, I love Jenny. I love having her with me and I am so grateful for her and the life she allows me to have, But if I could pick getting to have Jenny with me 24/7 or not having PTSD I would give her up as a service dog to not have PTSD.
The same goes for other handlers that I have talked to. We all love our service dogs but if we could give up our medical conditions we would do it. I love dogs and would always have one as a pet, but a service dog team is not about the fun of being together, it's about managing the handlers health.
I know that's not what most people are thinking of when they say they wish they could bring their dog with them, but next time you see a service dog team stop and understand that there is a medical need that necessitates that team be together.
As I try to do with most things when I'm asked questions about her in public I try and answer them and educate others about service dogs. I'm not always perfect at this. Sometimes I'm busy or just not in the mood. Perhaps I've just been asked why I have a dog five times in one trip to Walmart.
I have heard what seems like every comment under the moon about Jenny. Most of them roll of my back. I have gotten very used to ignoring people and not letting ignorance upset me. There is one comment though that I always hate to hear. "I wish I could bring my dog with me too."
I always want to answer, "No you don't. Yes, she's cute and dogs are fun, but she is not with me for fun. She is with me as medical equipment for provide needed aid. When we are out together we are working. She is doing her job taking care of me and I am taking care of her. I love taking her out with me, but I do it out of necessity. For you to have a service dog that you get to take everywhere with you, you have to have a documented disability that you can't choose to leave at home."
That's usually more than people want to know and no one wants to hear that it's not all fun and games so I tend to just smile and say thank you.
Don't get me wrong, I love Jenny. I love having her with me and I am so grateful for her and the life she allows me to have, But if I could pick getting to have Jenny with me 24/7 or not having PTSD I would give her up as a service dog to not have PTSD.
The same goes for other handlers that I have talked to. We all love our service dogs but if we could give up our medical conditions we would do it. I love dogs and would always have one as a pet, but a service dog team is not about the fun of being together, it's about managing the handlers health.
I know that's not what most people are thinking of when they say they wish they could bring their dog with them, but next time you see a service dog team stop and understand that there is a medical need that necessitates that team be together.
Thursday, April 13, 2017
Teachers Can Be Guardian Angels Too
My life has been full of guardian angels. I've been so very blessed to have so many been placed in my life to aid me on my journey.
When I look back on my years in high school they still amaze me. The fact that I graduated on time is no small miracle.
My sophomore year I started my journey with mental illness. It started with a Major Depressive Episode which transitioned into my first psychotic episode. My second psychotic episode started near the beginning of my junior year.
Due to the nature of my symptoms and the frequent hospitalizations I wasn't in school very much. Sophomore year I missed at least one day a week due to the severity of my depression. The end of my sophomore year I went on medical Home Study.
I wanted to go back to school for junior year, but when my second psychotic episode started I went back on Home Study for all of junior year. That year was so rough I was unable to do any work the whole first semester and completed the whole work between January and May of that school year.
Again, my goal was to go back to school for Senior year, but instead I went to Residential, a choice I will never regret. I did go back to school part day for the last semester of my senior year because I wanted to walk the stage for graduation.
Throughout all these ups and downs with school I received an incredible amount of help. At this time in my life I hadn't accepted my journey yet and was still embarrassed of my mental illnesses. I told hardly anyone. The select few people I did tell though carried me through those years.
My parents were my biggest advocates. My dad did most of my junior year assignments right along side me. He sometimes had to read me the text book before we did the questions because my mind did not allow me enough clarity to read.
I cannot say enough good things about the high school I went to. The administration was incredibly supportive and worked so well with me to get done everything I wanted to accomplish. They never gave up on me. I know that I was incredibly lucky to have such a great school admin.
Through all of this there is one person who stands out. I could not have done it without him. Since I have not asked permission to read about him I will shorten his name to Mr. T.
Mr. T was one of those teachers who cares an incredible amount for his students. He was one of my teachers sophomore year. When I went on Home Study the end of sophomore year he was my Home Study teacher. That means he came to my house each week and went through my work with me. He was also my Home Study teacher for most of my Junior year.
Mr. T was also one of the people on my emergency list for someone I could always go to if I had a problem at school. I could go and sit in his class if my hallucinations or anxiety got too bad. He was one of the people I was always honest with. He was a great listener and always found a way to make me smile no matter the situation.
I remember the time I had my first hallucination at school. I was in another teacher's pod. I was walking in circles unresponsive. None of the teachers, admin, or security guard could get through to me. I think they couldn't get ahold of my mom so they called Mr. T out of his classroom to come down. He just talked to me. I didn't really pay attention and I didn't respond. I couldn't, but he started making jokes. That was enough to make me smile. For a small moment he was able to pull a little bit of me away from my hallucination.
When I went back to school Senior year I tutored for Mr. T. I loved still being able to see him and talk to him when I needed to. I've gone back since graduation to see him too.
Mr. T. was definitely one of my high school guardian angels. Everyone deserves to have at least one teacher like Mr. T. in their lifetime. One they will never forget.
When I look back on my years in high school they still amaze me. The fact that I graduated on time is no small miracle.
My sophomore year I started my journey with mental illness. It started with a Major Depressive Episode which transitioned into my first psychotic episode. My second psychotic episode started near the beginning of my junior year.
Due to the nature of my symptoms and the frequent hospitalizations I wasn't in school very much. Sophomore year I missed at least one day a week due to the severity of my depression. The end of my sophomore year I went on medical Home Study.
I wanted to go back to school for junior year, but when my second psychotic episode started I went back on Home Study for all of junior year. That year was so rough I was unable to do any work the whole first semester and completed the whole work between January and May of that school year.
Again, my goal was to go back to school for Senior year, but instead I went to Residential, a choice I will never regret. I did go back to school part day for the last semester of my senior year because I wanted to walk the stage for graduation.
Throughout all these ups and downs with school I received an incredible amount of help. At this time in my life I hadn't accepted my journey yet and was still embarrassed of my mental illnesses. I told hardly anyone. The select few people I did tell though carried me through those years.
My parents were my biggest advocates. My dad did most of my junior year assignments right along side me. He sometimes had to read me the text book before we did the questions because my mind did not allow me enough clarity to read.
I cannot say enough good things about the high school I went to. The administration was incredibly supportive and worked so well with me to get done everything I wanted to accomplish. They never gave up on me. I know that I was incredibly lucky to have such a great school admin.
Through all of this there is one person who stands out. I could not have done it without him. Since I have not asked permission to read about him I will shorten his name to Mr. T.
Mr. T was one of those teachers who cares an incredible amount for his students. He was one of my teachers sophomore year. When I went on Home Study the end of sophomore year he was my Home Study teacher. That means he came to my house each week and went through my work with me. He was also my Home Study teacher for most of my Junior year.
Mr. T was also one of the people on my emergency list for someone I could always go to if I had a problem at school. I could go and sit in his class if my hallucinations or anxiety got too bad. He was one of the people I was always honest with. He was a great listener and always found a way to make me smile no matter the situation.
I remember the time I had my first hallucination at school. I was in another teacher's pod. I was walking in circles unresponsive. None of the teachers, admin, or security guard could get through to me. I think they couldn't get ahold of my mom so they called Mr. T out of his classroom to come down. He just talked to me. I didn't really pay attention and I didn't respond. I couldn't, but he started making jokes. That was enough to make me smile. For a small moment he was able to pull a little bit of me away from my hallucination.
When I went back to school Senior year I tutored for Mr. T. I loved still being able to see him and talk to him when I needed to. I've gone back since graduation to see him too.
Mr. T. was definitely one of my high school guardian angels. Everyone deserves to have at least one teacher like Mr. T. in their lifetime. One they will never forget.
Thursday, March 9, 2017
To My Ex Best Friend, I Wouldn't Change What We Had For Anything
I've heard it said that true friendship can make it through anything. I always thought that would be us. You were be best friend, the twin sister I never had. We planned our futures with each other in it.
I had never had a friend like you before. Someone I could talk to about anything at anytime. We always knew what was going on with each other. I think that is what hurts the most. When I miss you and can't text to see what's new in your life.
They say if you love someone you will let them go. Well, I loved you and I had to let you go. It breaks my heart to know what I did to you. It hurts worse to know you'll never understand why.
I think about texting you all the time, but I have to move on and I have to let you move on. We had a good run, you and I, but our lives took us in different directions. You may be the hardest thing I had to give up.
Due to our mutual love of musicals it seems fitting to end this with a quote from Wicked's "For Good," "Who can say if I've been changed for the better? I do believe I have been changed for the better and because I knew you...because I knew you...because I knew you...I have been changed for good."
Good-bye
Tuesday, January 17, 2017
Fight Song: My PTSD Anthem
Like a small boat
On the ocean
Sending big waves
Into motion
Like how a single word
Can make a heart open
I might only have one match
But I can make an explosion
On the ocean
Sending big waves
Into motion
Like how a single word
Can make a heart open
I might only have one match
But I can make an explosion
I love music especially songs with meaning. I have adopted "Fight Song" by Rachel Platten as an anthem for my life through struggling with anxiety, depression, and PTSD. The upbeat rhythm and powerful words demand that I sing along. I have a feisty side that this song feeds into well. The lyrics seem to follow a path that I also went down.
And all those things I didn't say
Wrecking balls inside my brain
I will scream them loud tonight
Can you hear my voice this time?
Wrecking balls inside my brain
I will scream them loud tonight
Can you hear my voice this time?
I go through these moods where I want to make a change. I want to do something that matters. That's one reason I started writing. It's always been a great way for me to use my voice. "Can you hear my voice this time?"
This is my fight song
Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on
Starting right now I'll be strong
I'll play my fight song
Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on
Starting right now I'll be strong
I'll play my fight song
And I don't really care if nobody else believes
'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me
This chorus is what really gets to me. I am ready and willing to fight. I've been doing it for years. I have fought for my health and my life in ways you couldn't even imagine. I fight for myself in order to advocate for my needs. I am taking back my needs and proving I'm alright. I have power. "And I don't really care if nobody else believes, 'cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me."
I've gotten to this point in my life where I am starting to be okay with all of who I am. Excluding a few friends and family I'm closest to I don't care what other people think of me. This is my life. This is who I am. If you can't accept that, if you can't make time for me, if you can't support me, then I don't need you in my life. "Like how a single word can make a heart open. I might only have one match, but I can make an explosion."
Do you have an anthem?
Monday, January 9, 2017
My Journey to a PTSD diagnosis
I have written and rewritten this a hundred times over in my head. Even when I thought this was a story I would never share I wrote it out. Somewhere inside me I knew that as part of my healing process one day I would talk about it.
That being said I know there will be some of you who don't agree with my decision to speak out about this on this platform. That's okay.
I had a secret, something I held inside me for years. Until recently I held so much shame over this secret, but I've come to realize that my life doesn't have to be a secret. Speaking takes away the secrecy and the feeling of shame. So here it goes.
When I was 15 I was the victim of rape.
That's quite a sentence for me to say. I'm not speaking out about this to shock you. I'm not looking for sympathy or pity. My only motive is for spreading awareness about sexual assault and mental illness.
I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder from my assault, however, I was not diagnosed with PTSD when I was 15. The trauma fractured my mind in a way. Our brains are marvelous things and mine knew that I could not handle the trauma at that time, so it took the memory away from me. This is not uncommon.
But my brain remembered even when my mind didn't actively hold the memories. I became extremely anxious, depressed, and experienced psychotic symptoms. My doctors didn't know why these symptoms were happening so suddenly and I was misdiagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder.
About a year and a half ago the memories had been resurfacing over time and I gathered up the courage to tell my therapist and parents. The Schizoaffective diagnosis was changed to PTSD and I started trauma therapy. I went to a residential treatment program for 10 weeks. When I started getting help for the rape I started making progress. Up until that point we were treating symptoms, but then we started addressing the root of the problem. I became stable for the first time in years.
I am still recovering. I see my therapist every week, I am in a support group with other women who've experienced the same things, and I practice my coping skills everyday. I will be working on myself for a long time, but I have absolutely no intention of letting what happened to me ruin my life.
I am taking back the control that was taken from me.
One important way I am doing this is by writing. Writing and speaking is very theraputic for me and it is so important that we start speaking out about sexual assault. I get it, it's not a fun conversation to have, but it is so incredibly needed.
The stigma is strong around those people who are victims of sexual assault. I have supportive parents and a loving family and I was terrified for the longest time to put this out there. I'm still nervous about it.
Stigma breeds shame which breeds silence.
So I am breaking my silence. If not me, then who?
That being said I know there will be some of you who don't agree with my decision to speak out about this on this platform. That's okay.
I had a secret, something I held inside me for years. Until recently I held so much shame over this secret, but I've come to realize that my life doesn't have to be a secret. Speaking takes away the secrecy and the feeling of shame. So here it goes.
When I was 15 I was the victim of rape.
That's quite a sentence for me to say. I'm not speaking out about this to shock you. I'm not looking for sympathy or pity. My only motive is for spreading awareness about sexual assault and mental illness.
I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder from my assault, however, I was not diagnosed with PTSD when I was 15. The trauma fractured my mind in a way. Our brains are marvelous things and mine knew that I could not handle the trauma at that time, so it took the memory away from me. This is not uncommon.
But my brain remembered even when my mind didn't actively hold the memories. I became extremely anxious, depressed, and experienced psychotic symptoms. My doctors didn't know why these symptoms were happening so suddenly and I was misdiagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder.
About a year and a half ago the memories had been resurfacing over time and I gathered up the courage to tell my therapist and parents. The Schizoaffective diagnosis was changed to PTSD and I started trauma therapy. I went to a residential treatment program for 10 weeks. When I started getting help for the rape I started making progress. Up until that point we were treating symptoms, but then we started addressing the root of the problem. I became stable for the first time in years.
I am still recovering. I see my therapist every week, I am in a support group with other women who've experienced the same things, and I practice my coping skills everyday. I will be working on myself for a long time, but I have absolutely no intention of letting what happened to me ruin my life.
I am taking back the control that was taken from me.
One important way I am doing this is by writing. Writing and speaking is very theraputic for me and it is so important that we start speaking out about sexual assault. I get it, it's not a fun conversation to have, but it is so incredibly needed.
The stigma is strong around those people who are victims of sexual assault. I have supportive parents and a loving family and I was terrified for the longest time to put this out there. I'm still nervous about it.
Stigma breeds shame which breeds silence.
So I am breaking my silence. If not me, then who?
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