Growing Pains

I always wondered what it would be like to be one of “those people” who always talk about how much they loved high school. And how they would love to relive it again. Are you kidding me? Seriously? High School is one of the most traumatizing events of a persons life. It was for me anyway. I’m not sure my theory of the connection between brain injury and hormones can be validated with science, but for me, that is when everything fell apart.

Being a 13 year old is such an awkward age. You are trying to find your identity. But really you get lost in what others think of you. And if what they think is either good or bad, then that must be who you are. Well, at least that was the case for me. Turning 13 was a game changer. I fell in with the popular crowd somehow, but I was always an outsider. This story is really painful, and I don’t know how to retell it at all. I’m not even sure there are words to describe it. But here it is, I did something impulsive, something not in line with who I was. I said something mean about a boy to one of my friends, and somehow word got back to him. And then that boy decided to make my life a living hell. To be honest, I am still afraid of running into him to this day. I was bullied to a point that I was scared to go to school. And it continued from Junior High well into High School. I never understood how that one thing that I said, one thing, could make such an impact on his life that he could take it out on me for years. How do you hold on to the hate for so long?

He decided to give me a name, an ugly one that I won’t repeat. Every where I would go, in the halls, when I walked into a class, he would yell or say this name. And everyone knew that it was meant for me, and they would all laugh. Because he was the most popular boy in school, and they just wanted to fit in. Just like I did. To be honest, they were probably just grateful that it wasn’t them. I wished I was invisible. I wished I would just die, and I came up with scenario after scenario of different ways that I could make it happen. Not a day went by that I didn’t hear that name being called. It finally died down my junior year of high school. I guess the novelty of it wore off. But the damage was done.

I became obsessed. Obsessed with my weight, how I looked each day, what I wore. My OCD swept into high gear. There would be days that I couldn’t get my hair to look perfect, so I would get in the shower and do it all again, and again. I couldn’t leave the house until it was perfect. I remember forgetting my earrings one day and I went in to full meltdown mode. I drove myself home in the middle of school -who cares that I missed biology- I just had to get my earrings so the anxiety would subside.

My parents recognized that I changed. That they didn’t know who I was anymore. We went to therapy. It helped for a while. I was prescribed my first depression and anxiety medication. I was just 16. Now we are treading into scary territory for me. You would think with all the things I had talked about in this blog, that being honest about all this wouldn’t be a problem. But this still hurts. So, since I couldn’t figure out how to to take my life, I found another way to relieve the pain, by inflicting it upon myself. I mean, didn’t I deserve it? I was the one who started it right? I called the boy a name and so it was all my fault. I deserved the pain. I began something that people call cutting. It actually started by accident. I cut myself shaving my legs and the pain took over and stopped all my racing thoughts. So it became part of my life. The scars are still there, and the cutting only stopped a short time ago. Any time I have a high amount of stress in my life, unfortunately I am always drawn back to it.

The perfectionist in me needed to be in control. And in addition to cutting, food took center stage. Portion control, starving myself. Then one day, full on bulimia. That part didn’t actually start until I was in my 20’s. And this will be news to almost everyone except my husband – that I suffered with bulimia on and off for 7 years. Now, I want to address this right. These are hard things. So here is a little bit of information.

From a noted Psychologist, “We can go to any school and ask, ‘Do you know anyone who cuts?’ Yeah, everybody knows someone, and very often, kids who self-harm have an eating disorder. Many are sensitive, perfectionists, overachievers. The self-injury begins as a defense against what’s going on in their lives. They have failed in one area of their lives, so this is a way to get control.”

“Self-injury can also be a symptom for psychiatric problems like borderline personality disorder (sound familiar?) anxiety disorder, bipolar or schizophrenia. Yet many kids who self-injure are simply ‘regular kids’ going through the adolescent struggle for self-identity. They’re experimenting. I hate to call it a phase, because I don’t want to minimize it. It’s kind of like kids who start using drugs, doing dangerous things.”

I am pleading with you! If you know someone who is starting down this path. If you are recognizing even the littlest of signs. Don’t ignore it. Get them proper help! This has ramifications far beyond the teenage years.1-800-273-TALK is a really great resource available 24 hours a day. All I know is that I wanted to find someone that understood. If you aren’t that person, figure out a way to become it. Get educated and arm yourself with knowledge, compassion and love. And if you are the person who this describe please know, You are NOT alone. We understand, and there is help for you!

A Little Break

Wow, that was a lot of hard stuff to cover in 10 days. Thank you for taking the journey with me. I know I have so many more stories to tell. What is surprising to me is that Seth has encouraged me this entire way. I thought he wouldn’t. To allow me to publicly, in front of the world, tell our story is very brave of him. I’ve always told my stories, never hidden from my truths. These are not easy subjects I am addressing. But I am addressing them honestly, because I would hate to misrepresent or distort my life to make it seem like something it is not. And … because I know I would get called out for it by A. My husband or B. My Parents. I am so thankful for their support over these extremely hard 12 years.

For those that have someone in their life that is lost or suffering and wants to give up I am pleading with you -please- let them read the things I have written over the last 10 days. I can’t tell you how often I felt misunderstood. Basically every waking moment of my life. That no one else in the world was experiencing the horrible things I was. And I have so much more to cover. Eating Disorders, DBT Therapy, Being bullied, Peer Pressure, Substance Abuse, just to name a few. And so many more come to mind. These are all really hard and intense subjects. But someone needs to talk about them openly, in the most honest and caring way possible.

What I want to impart most of all, in this break between emotionally difficult stories is this: I LOVE myself. I have never been able to say that ever before. And I can’t help but cry every time I say it out loud. Do you love yourself? Can you tell that to yourself honestly? Do you give yourself a break, like you give others? Or do you hold yourself to such an impossible standard that not even the best of us in the world could achieve? I am not the best mom or wife or daughter or friend. I struggle with body image issues and feeling insecure just like everyone else. BUT. I love myself. Every single time I say those words, it resinates deep within the valleys of my heart. I feel it. I enjoy it. And I let it be part of me. The more I say it, the more I know that it has become part of my truth. Love, compassion, kindness. Those aren’t things we do just for others. We need to do them for ourselves as well.

Because of DBT I pay close attention to how words, thoughts, feelings, and how my environment makes me feel. And of those things I try to make a conscience choice to let it affect me either positively or negatively. Do I let it change my course? Not much takes me off track anymore. There is a steadiness to my intentions and actions. I have known for a very long time the Spirit inside me didn’t match the sorrow and defeat that my outside image portrayed. And now, my Spirit is finally soaring free. And it is more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.

The Longest 6 Months

So once I decided to fight it took everything in me, every ounce of courage, strength, patience, and love. I fought hard for myself during that time as well. I got into a therapy program called DBT. OH My Goodness! Everyone needs DBT in their life! It stands for Dialectical Behavior Therapy. Please. Google IT.

You don’t have to have every symptom on that list to experience the therapeutic benefits of DBT! I finally found a way to be compassionate. TO myself. To forgive myself. To let go of the never-ending shame. Once I let go of the shame  I was finally Free! I immersed myself as far as I could go into the world of DBT. I’m a person that likes to learn everything there is to know about something that interests me. I don’t sleep much. So the time that I am awake I study, I research, and I learn. I graduated my DBT program in February. Four months ahead of schedule. Much earlier than anticipated. But what can I say. My life was in order, and I was finally in “remission”. In my DBT group right before I left, I shared my story. Of how I got where I was. It gave them hope. I was finally able to repay the gift I had been given, and pay it forward to so many others. There is always hope, even in the darkest of places. Keep living because you never know when the light will shine – it’s just around the corner.

While I was attending DBT I learned to focus on my family instead of myself. This is kind of funny, but I learned to play on the Playstation I bought Seth. We played Black Ops II a lot with his brothers online. Even though he wouldn’t admit it, he was impressed! I had never shown any interest in what was important to him, but for some reason everything he did I wanted to be there. To be honest I couldn’t keep myself away. I was like a newlywed again and he was my drug of choice. 🙂  I let go of myself and started to see everything I had missed while I was so preoccupied with my misery. There is so much more to that story, but I want to share the amazing part first.

December happened. Holidays are really difficult for me. Birthdays, Christmas, I have no idea why. But I reached a turning point Christmas Eve. When I told my therapist the story she shed tears of joy. She said, “Do you know what you have done??” that on that Christmas Eve, when I woke that morning on Christmas day, it was a rebirth of sorts. The symbolism of being reborn on Christmas is not lost on me. I did something that day that was uncomfortable and that I had never done before. To everyone else it might seem so simple. But for me it was the struggle of my life. Seth and I fought Christmas Eve, like normal. We were still separated and split time with the kids and we couldn’t agree on the schedule. We argued, I got mad enough to sleep in another room and I KNEW. I knew it was going to be like every other Christmas. I would be upset, smile when I needed to smile. Put on the mask of pretend happiness and joy while I was crumbling inside. But not this time. I prayed. Really hard. I am not an early riser, but on that day I woke up just before 6am. No one was awake yet. I took 10 steps to the room where Seth was sleeping. I laid next to him, and just held him. And he turned and held me back. I have always let my emotions run my life, and I finally told my emotions to get out of the way, and I made my choice. To live to be happy that day. With true happiness, no masks. It was a really great day. I wish you could have been there. We often sing songs of Peace around that holiday and I was truly blessed with a type of peace I had never known.

There were still struggles of course. I constantly told Seth I loved him and he could never say it back. It was so painful. He didn’t know if he loved me. He didn’t want to say something that would give me hope. But January changed all of that. Something happened in the weeks right before the 22nd of January that brought us closer together. I’m not quite sure what it is still. But it changed us, it prepared us for what was to come. Finally the day. Please understand this and the significance. SIX months to the day my life changed forever.

Seth told me he loved me. Did you hear that?? It had been almost a year since I heard those words. “Where have you been all this time Kristin? It doesn’t matter what you are talking about, I just love to listen to the passion in your voice. I could listen to it all day long. Kristin, you are the person I met 12 years ago and I can’t tell you how excited I am to see her again. You are absolutely amazing.”    UMMMM WHOA!!

Do you get the Lash Therapy part yet? I have been in some sort of therapy all my life. DBT was a miracle, but so was joining Younique. Being part of this company is some of the best therapy I have ever had. The women I work with welcomed me with open arms and they are phenomenal. They appreciate my contributions. I immediately made five new amazing friends. I have struggled all my life to have relationships. But these girls don’t judge. They want to help me succeed. To put positivity at the forefront of my life. I decided to give myself a challenge of 30 days. 30 days to see if working in this business would do anything for me. Why not take the chance, right? So I dug deep! I put everything I had into building, reaching out, letting my introvert self fade away. In those 30 days I did 2 trade shows, I added 4 people to my team, and I advanced 4 levels in the company in record time. And I made money. Good money! It was amazing. I now have my own team of 30. We are in five states already. And do you know what? I feel I have already won. I already achieved what I wanted. I got Seth back. And I give a lot to my team. I am empowering them with tools to find success on their terms. We are supportive, helpful and kind and I would absolutely do anything to help them succeed and they know it! They need Younique therapy just like I did — thus “The Lash Therapist”

Then there is this: Seth and I are better than we have been in 11 years. We talk every day about the plan for the days and weeks to come. It is the most amazing thing I have ever experienced. There is happiness and joy in my home every single day! If you read my Facebook wall you will see it as well! I can’t help it! I needed to write this blog so you can see, Look at what is possible? Do you understand? If you don’t, I will show you more!  

It was late when I posted this. But I needed to get it out. I will edit later! Thanks to everyone who read this LONG post!! Thank you to my readers! I don’t know who you are, but thanks for reading my stories. This is the most honest thing I have ever done. And the more I write, the more it heals me.

Loving through Pain

I am going to have to work hard if I want to get my blog current. There is just so much great information to cover and I don’t want to leave anything out. And thanks everyone!! I can’t be more excited. My blog is almost to 2000 views!!! It has been seen in 4 countries. This is so amazing and unexpected! I am extremely humbled. I really hope it is helping people.

What happened next is another phenomenal miracle in my life. It is still happening to this very day. I don’t feel the pain, anxiety, depression, or suicidal thoughts anymore. He took the darkness away. I feel extreme happiness. I guess dying will do that to a person. What a great gift God decided to give me. Because without it, I would not be here. And there is a VERY big reason I am still living. And you will get to see it play out. Maybe one of the reasons I am here is to write these very words. Who knows?

After the 22nd, I have talked about how my life changed. My love for Seth and my family changed. My love for myself changed. But Seth understandably wouldn’t let me in. At all. It hurt. It was one of the most painful things I have ever experienced. I had finally found myself, and was becoming the woman I had always wanted to be -that HE wanted me to be- and he didn’t want anything to do with it. With me. And I was pretty convinced that would never change. The divorce was still going forward.

I had a friend who decided she wanted to go on a vacation to Los Angeles and asked me to come along. At the time, even though my joy was bursting out of every cell in my body, it made no difference to Seth. So I took her up on the offer. I told my parents I was going on a vacation and they thought it was a good idea as well. I had been through so much, and a vacation might take my mind off things for a while. I was still living away from home with my roommate and I packed my bags. But I felt sick inside. Regret, darkness, fear. I pushed those feeling aside because Seth and my parents told me that getting away might be good for me. So it had to be, right? It was an impulsive decision. I came to my home to say goodbye to my girls, and something inside me knew. If I left for L.A., I might never come back. Something there would change me forever. That opportunity to spend some time with my girls Seth decided to take them swimming so it didn’t have much time with them to say goodbye. I was angry. He knew I needed to spend some time with them before I left. And the anger grew. It was first time since “The Day” that I felt that much negative emotion. I do regret that day, but I know what I was fighting for I NEEDED this time with my girls. I knew why I was so hurt and mad. If I left I wouldn’t come back, possibly ever. And this was my only chance to hug them, kiss them, hold them for the last time.

After the BIG fight, I got in my car and left. I drove to Mesa where my friend lived, but instead of going to her house, I somehow ended up in the Mesa Temple parking lot. I had never been there before, and I have no idea how I got there. I was just driving and there it was on the right hand side. So I parked, and let the feelings wash over me. My friend was anxious to leave. Her boyfriend had just committed suicide the week before. She was losing custody of her kids. She needed to get away. But every time I thought of leaving, darkness overtook my mind. I could barely think. I sat there for hours. And then I finally made a choice. The choice. I was scared to upset my friend, but I finally called her and told her I couldn’t go. And she was mad, really mad. But it was the right thing to do and I finally felt peace.

My dad called just after I made the decision. I can’t believe how much he and I felt the same things. I mean we were 12 hours away from each other. He didn’t know all the details and drama in my life, other than what I told him on the phone. But he somehow KNEW. He asked where I was. He told me to go back home, that he had been thinking all day and felt sick about me leaving. I told him I was already on my way home. He told me to stay and fight for my family. I told him that I was. He told me to move back home and fight, that it was time to stick it out, stay there no matter what. I told him that I was already setting that plan in motion. It would be hard to love someone who didn’t want to be loved anymore. Who was so hurt he couldn’t even function in his life. But I would love him through his pain. No matter how long it took.

I went home. Obviously there were bad feelings from earlier in the day from our argument. I flat out told him that I was done living apart. I was going to come home whether he wanted me to or not. That I was ready to fight for him, and I wasn’t going to walk away anymore. I was staying for good.

I gathered my things from my roommates house while she was gone to work the next day and I never came back. I know I didn’t get the chance to pack everything that was mine, but I had to get home fast. I could buy new things and nothing was going to get in my way because  I was going home. To FIGHT  – with love and compassion. With allowing him time to heal. By showing him what I knew I was becoming. I stayed. And I fought. Nothing ever felt as good as that decision I made that day. Peace and relief washed over me again and has never left. But the decision to stay would prove to be difficult. It was a choice I had to make over and over again every single day. It took a long time, but not as long as I thought. One day, he broke down and let me in. Six months to the day after I died. Coincidence? I don’t believe in them…and you shouldn’t either.

Going Home

The last few days have been really rough. Just regular life stuff, but really hard nonetheless. Birthdays have never been my thing. I keep thinking that it is not the right time to write this part of the story, but maybe it is the BEST time. Because it will help give me some perspective. To not let the regular life stuff trip me up and question my purpose here.

 

Okay, so now we all know about July 22nd. Where do I begin with the aftermath? I guess for starters you should know that I never should have survived (which seems to be a running theme in all these stories and my life). In my mind the phone ringing and the text messages finally stopped and peace enveloped and embraced me. I absolutely know some things I experienced are never meant to be shared, even with my closest family. Want to know why? Because even though I can see them, there are no words on this planet to describe what I saw. I do however remember the feelings. The first and foremost was a complete sense of calm and peace, of just feeling right with the world. I felt the warmth and welcoming. Complete acceptance, no judgments. Just that feeling that you are finally where you are supposed to be. Home. I felt my Heavenly Father’s embrace. His love. His complete understanding. It fills my heart right now just thinking about it. I wanted those feelings to last forever, anyone who experienced them would. But of course they were fleeting, because the very next thing I knew I felt a very strong hand push me back. Of everything I experienced during that time, it is the clearest of all because it was so jarring. It was definitely a hand that pushed me back, propelling me forward.

I woke up in a cold shower. My roommate had found me and was trying to get me to come back. It has to be like what a baby feels like when it is born. All warm and safe, then suddenly ripped from the quiet and peaceful enclosure to be thrust in to a world of bright lights, loud noises, and unfamiliar surroundings. Things progressed quickly from there.

That day changed me. Wouldn’t you be changed? Since that experience time has changed as well. Days feel like weeks. Weeks feel like months. It has been very confusing at times. Here is an example. I ordered a package that said would take a week to arrive. I wake up in the morning, and I get upset when I check my mailbox. Why hasn’t the package gotten here yet? It is taking forever. Then I look back through my emails. I had just ordered it the day before, actually just the night before. Of course it isn’t here yet. But things like that happen almost every single day. It’s weird to say the least. But I know there is a reason for it. Can you imagine experiencing all the things I have in my life? And you as a reader know only a tiny fraction of them. How long would it take for you to recover from those awful, painful, traumatic events? Months, Years? It took me a week. Because those 7 days felt like 7 months. And every month that has passed since that time has felt like a year. Think I’m crazy? Ask the people I live with. They know.

It was an immediate transformation. I talked to my Dad a lot after that day. My Grandfather had died earlier that year and he was still grieving the loss. We all were. My dad and I needed each other. We would talk every single day after The Event. It was interesting because he would start to say the same things as I felt. “Wow Kristin, you have come so far in just the last few weeks, I can’t even believe how much you have changed!” “But Dad, it has only been two days. It’s the 24th.” “You have got to be kidding me. It feels like a lifetime ago.” And in my mind it was. But that wasn’t the case for everyone in my life.

I have never, ever in my life seen my husband lose himself the way he did on That Day. In fact, I think I have only seen him cry twice in 11 years. He never loses his composure. But he did that day. And in the months following, when I had nothing else to hold on to, when he was a thousand miles away even though we were sitting in the same room. I would remember his words on my voicemail. Him pleading and crying for me to stay. “Please Kristin, do NOT do this, we NEED you!”

But he has no idea how much he truly needs me. He probably still doesn’t. But I do. I’ve seen it.

The Light

When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person that walked in. That is what the storm is all about. -Haruki Murakami

I have debated back and forth with myself about how much to tell of this part of my story. I talked to my husband and he said that I needed to tell it. Be honest. This is what created who I am now. So we are going to back track at bit. This is THE story. The story that changed everything. So I’m just going to start writing and see where it takes me and it may take me a few posts to get through it all–

July 21st was a really rough day. But almost every day after I was released from the hospital and was living away from my family was rough. I have been looking through my journal entries for July and I hope that you won’t mind if I share a little from it. That way maybe I can get where I need to go with this story. Because I think you will better understand my state of mind leading up to the 22nd. The day that changed everything.

Journal Entry: 7/11/13 – “I still love Seth very much, but I believe that the only reason we met was so that we could create my beautiful little girls. They are the best of me, the best thing I have ever given the world. They are THE only good thing I have ever done. And in deciding to get divorced I almost feel like a huge weight and burden has been lifted from my shoulders. Can my true life really start? Can I decide to be who I want now? No one will have to know how messed up I was. I don’t have to tell the new people I meet. I finally feel like a have a new greater purpose other then just being the person who screws up everyone and everything. And my girls will be so much better off seeing me a few times a week when I can be at my best for that short time, than every single day a complete and horrible wreck of a mother. I definitely feel sad and I know this sadness won’t ever leave. But I will make myself be the best mother I can be for now, because that is what my girls need and deserve. I may have only a little time with them each week, but I will make the most of it. I know that I have relied on others for far too long for confirmation of who I am and what I am supposed to accomplish here in this life. Today I actually feel a little bit of confidence in myself. Instead of getting feedback from the world or my friends or family, I actually feel a sense of peace in who I really am, deep down inside.”

That journal entry was during my stay at the hospital and was one of the only entries up until after July 22nd that felt positive. That I was moving forward. But the weight built up. I was alone, living with someone I didn’t know. She was kind and compassionate. She helped me try to deal with the loss. But I felt this need to still fix everything. There was no way it could end like this. I became obsessed. I called Seth a million times. He was as cold as ice. He had completely shut down. That was the only way he could deal. I tried over and over to break the walls he had built. He wouldn’t even talk to his own family. He didn’t talk to anyone. Ice Cold. Finally, I hit rock bottom. I lost myself. I felt I would never be good enough to be around my children anymore. Why would they even want me in their life? Seth would barely speak to me. Walking in the home we had lived in for years felt like an out of body experience. I would see my kids, but I was detached. I had to be. I could barely see them without breaking down. I saw my future. Them growing up with me on the periphery of their lives. Why would I even allow myself to be around them with all the chaos I had caused? But here is the thing. And it took a while to understand. This was NOT my fault. I had tried over and over. So many medications, so many awful side effects. So many different therapists. I tried SO hard. I fought to to get better all the time. I would get a few months at a time where things weren’t a fight in my head to control the madness. But it never lasted.

I decided one day, that I had enough. I couldn’t deal with the pain anymore. Everyone would be so much better off without me. I was losing my kids. I had already lost my husband and I couldn’t live with it. Not one more day.

I took my life that day. I won’t tell you how. But I left. Without a doubt. I was texting my Dad and Seth leading up until the moments when I was gone, they are still saved on my phone. They were pleading with me, crying out for me to stay. I couldn’t. I had chosen my path. I knew I couldn’t live without my family. July 22, 2013. The day I died.

Hospitals and Divorce

People always tell me I’m a bit too honest, and they are right. Hopefully you can appreciate that side of me, because to be perfectly honest, I think we could all use a lot more of it in our lives. Let’s dive back in-

In March of 2013 I was in my 4th hospital stay. My family and I were 13 months in to the hardest time we had ever experienced, which is saying a lot for my life. Both of us were exhausted and we didn’t have much hope that there would ever be answers. Let me clarify something first (and I will do a different blog post about this) I have always been diagnosed with a Mental Illness. I suffered with severe depression and anxiety since I was 15 years old and from that time until now I have tried over 100 medications to help alleviate the symptoms. With a Traumatic Brain Injury, metal illness is very common. After I had my babies, my normal ‘mental illness’ state was magnified 10 times because it was compounded with the hormonal imbalance that caused my severe postpartum depression.

So back to March. I couldn’t take the strain I was causing my family. I could see the most stoic, calm, confident husband start to crumble under the pressure. He was in his 2nd year of Pharmacy School and he was in the middle of one of the hardest quarters of his entire grad school experience. The divorce talks started. I fell apart. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t have been given a more ‘normal’ life experience. And just so you know, normal doesn’t exist. It is such a facade. Please don’t ever compare yourself to someone else’s normal. Constantly comparing yourself to the others in this world will place you in a state of captivity and you are the one who builds the jail. My personal prison was 100 miles thick. But there are ways to break the prison walls down, and hopefully I can teach you how at some point. It takes a lot of practice, patience and compassion – yes, for others – but mostly for yourself.

Anyway, I pulled myself together enough to get released from the hospital. I felt a bit better. I organized a clothing drive because people would come into the hospital with nothing, just the clothes on their backs. They would be given paper clothes to wear and it was completely degrading, especially for the women. Midwestern University and my neighborhood rallied together. I ended up washing at least 20 loads of laundry of donated clothes and taking them to the hospital. Needless to say the hospital workers were shocked, and grateful.

That was a moment of clarity in my endless storm, but it was just masking the underlying symptoms that I tried to keep at bay. I was still depressed. I still had big problems. I had a hysterectomy in December 2012 from complications (will be another post) and we still hadn’t figured out the right hormone balance. Finally, June 27th I cracked. Worse than I ever have in my life. It was my oldest daughters 7th birthday. I couldn’t get out of bed to help celebrate it, all the medication I had been given over the hospitalizations made me lethargic, apathetic, basically I just didn’t have the energy to care anymore. But not being able to care enough to celebrate her birthday ruined me inside. I saw the last 7 years of my life as a complete failure with no hope in sight. I won’t go into detail of what transpired, because that is not what my blog is about. But that is how I ended up in my 5th and final hospital.

Knowing that my future with my husband would be centered around our impending divorce, I decided I had to pull myself together and try to get better for my kids. I knew my marriage couldn’t be saved, but I had to try to find a way to become the mother I had always wished, wanted and prayed that I could be. I told every person at the hospital that I was planning on staying there until I actually felt better. Truly better, no temporary band-aids. I worked hard. I went to all my groups. I tested out more medications. While I was in the hospital my husband came to visit. We had a very civil conversation about how the divorce would go, who would end up with the kids, where we would live, how to divide our assets and debts. It was the calmest conversation we had ever had. We had decided the best thing was for me to not come back home, that I needed to find a temporary place to live while we worked out the divorce details.

I was finally released after almost 4 weeks. I felt better. I felt I had finally planted my feet on solid ground. The medication was helping and I found a place to stay with someone who needed a roommate. But my heart would ache every single day, longing for the love lost after 11 years of marriage. Knowing that what tore us apart was something we both admitted was out of our control. My illness was making everyone miserable, and we had kids to think about. In our days apart thoughts would fill my mind. My future would be filled with scheduling my visits with my kids around my husband and his potential new wife and family. I would never remarry because I would never place the burden of my illness on another person again. I knew that I would have to live with the feelings of loneliness for the rest of my life. Talk about renewed depression!

Then, the day of all days happened. The events of this day I will NEVER forget. July 22, 2013

Life is Messy

My blog will not be in order of events in my life. That is too complicated for me, and that is not how my brain thinks. And I think you need to to hear this story. This is the story is how I got here.

Two years ago I had my very last child. She is amazing and smart just like my other two girls. I have complicated pregnancies. I was actually told by my doctors never to have children. It was too dangerous. I need to take medication from my injuries and I have to completely stop taking everything in order to have a healthy baby. And my body suffers because of it. After she was born I experienced Postpartum Depression, just like I had with my other girls. But this time it was different. I later learned that if you experience postpartum depression with your first child, after each subsequent birth, the depression will last longer. And that held true for me. The first baby, 4 months of it. The second 8 months. And the third, 18 months.

It created a hell like I have never known. My parents made at least 6 trips 12 hours away from their home to help me care for my babies. My neighborhood tried to help out, but they didn’t understand the severity. No one did. But I knew. I knew everything in my body felt wrong and out of place. I saw doctor after doctor, and no one could find an answer to make it stop. Until I met a Naturopathic Doctor. All the doctors before said my hormones were in the ‘normal’ range. But until you have a saliva test on a certain day of the month, you will never truly know what range your hormones are actually in. She prescribed Amour Thyroid medication, and Progesterone. WOW the feeling. The cloud lifted for a time.

But the other medication I had relied on for so many years quit working. This may be uncomfortable for me to talk about, but it is part of my story. During the depression I wanted to die, and I made multiple attempts. I was placed in Psychiatric Hospitals after psychiatric hospitals. I was hospitalized 5 times in 18 months. My longest stay lasting almost a month. No one could help. And FYI, don’t think psychiatric hospitals just contain padded rooms with restraints. They are different, and locked down, but probably very different than you can imagine. Not quite ‘GIRL, INTERRUPTED’, but some came close.

10 days after I was released from my final hospital stay, I was placed in an Intensive Outpatient Program. I was in a Mindfulness class and the therapist said something that would forever change my world. What would finally make me well. Apparently I had been misdiagnosed for all those years. She finally asked, “Kristin, have you ever been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder?” What? Why would she ask me that? I thought it was something like a Split Personality. No way did I have something that severe. Then while in the class I Googled it. Wikipedia is amazing. As I read the symptoms I started counting. I had 33 of the 35 symptoms. Oh my.

When I told my other therapist that I thought I had this ‘borderline personality thing’ she said that she had known for some time, but wanted to get my resources lined up before we talked about it. My goodness it was a light shedding moment and she waited to tell me??? I can’t describe the emotions I felt. Anger, frustration, but relief as well.

I took 5 months of fighting, advocating for myself to get in to a program that not only could treat my disorder, but could send it in to remission. WHAT, remission? Isn’t that something for just cancer patients? But in a way, I learned I had an emotional cancer. The cancer that made me impulsive, prone to inappropriate outbursts, experiencing such highs and lows in life that made it a living hell for people living around me. Specifically my husband. What a patient man. I know without a doubt there is no other person that would have put up with what he did, and he knows it too. He is a strong man. His ability to remain calm throughout my storms is something I will never understand. I wouldn’t have done it. Stayed with the crazy one. But he did, until one day he had enough. And I understand why.

Also, did you know that Amanda Bynes has Schizophrenia among other disorders. Don’t be too quick to judge nowadays. Mental Illness is more prevalent than you think!!

Eye Opening Honesty

For my new visitors who want to read from the beginning, hit the Home button above and scroll to the posts at the bottom until you reach my very first post “The Therapist is In” You may have to click “older posts” to get there.

It will help get you caught up on the entire story and I would highly recommend it.

At the urging from a Lashtastic friend in Texas, I have decided to chronicle my crazy life experiences in the hope that maybe there will be someone out there who reads my words, reads my stories will know that they are not alone. That people can overcome even the hardest of challenges. And most important of all. That there is always HOPE in this crazy, messy, chaotic world that we are all just trying to survive. To live to fight another day.

I will be incredibly honest and transparent in every word I write. It helps me gain perspective. I grow more peaceful with every post that I publish. And I am just so grateful for YOU. My readers have been so incredible supportive and loving. You give me the courage to keep telling my story. Thank you.

Welcome to my Eye Opening Honesty

Riding in Cars

Just two months later. We were driving in a loaned vehicle while our family car was being worked on in a shop. Again this is early 1980’s, people – no carseats with 5 strap harnesses – (although my mom DID make sure we had carseats) but we were going for such a short drive, that they weren’t transferred to the loaned car. We were taking my sister to dance practice. (What is it with the relationships between dance and my accidents??). We were driving along the main street in our town and I think we were making a left turn. The car we were riding in was a type of roadster with really heavy doors. I’m not sure if it didn’t shut tight enough, or I was being the daredevil I was and played with the handle. Who knows. What I do know is that while we were driving I fell out the passenger side of the door. The car behind us was following really close and didn’t see me fall. She ran over my back and my newly brain injured skull. I have pictures of my back (hopefully I can add them to this post soon). I had bruises up my spine kind of in the shape of her tire tread. Another trip to the Childrens Hospital. They thought I was there because I was having complications from the balcony fall. When they learned this was a new accident, and the nature of it, there was shock, disbelief and I’m sure, a loss of hope.

How can someone recover from that much trauma? Just to be clear I believe in a  Heavenly Father, I believe in Angels, I believe in Miracles. I am a living, breathing one myself. And I 1000% believe that I was being watched over through each of these traumatic events and more to come. What’s interesting is that used to have dreams all the time when I was younger about these accidents. That when I fell from the balcony someone below would catch me every time. My other dream was that as I lay on the cold asphalt of the road, just before I was run over, someone laid across my back and protected me from the weight of the car. I had these dreams often enough that they became reality to me.

After both of these accidents my Dad and other Uncles, Grandpas, and Friends laid their hands upon my head, using their Priesthood Power, and my Dad commanded me to get well. Commanded me to come back. And I did. 20 years later my story is still told. We have run into the doctors and nurses that cared for me and that all shake their heads in disbelief. I am 33 years old on Wednesday. I have survived. My life is not very pretty, and I’ve knocked on deaths door many times since those accidents, but I am still here. Still surviving. Still living.

SO where does this whole “Lash Therapy” thing fit it? Oh, you’ll see. And you probably won’t believe how ‘lashes’ can change the course of ones life.

Lets Start Here…

Let me just preface this post by saying how much I love my life right now. That is a very Bold statement coming from me. I haven’t liked much about myself, the way I lived, the way I treated others, for a very long time. But now there are quiet moments in my thoughts, there is peace in my heart. This. Is. HUGE! And you will get to read why.

Let’s just get some of the crazy out there right in the beginning. I like to jump in the deep end lately, or maybe always.

I have been told this story many times, and I hope to get most of the facts straight. If not, I’m sure my mom will set me straight just after she reads this. The reason I was told this story was because I was two years old when it happened. I currently have a little two year old girl, and cannot even imagine the horrific nature of these accidents and how they would affect me as a mother. I know just how hard it is to be a parent and my heart feels so much pain for my mom and what she must have suffered seeing her child placed in these situations.

So, it was summer. I was a very adventurous 2 year old with a penchant for pushing the boundaries. We were at a dance competition for my older sister. We were up on the second floor getting her ready, when I decided to be “adventurous”. The second floor had a balcony where you can see to the floor below. This was the early 1980’s and along the walkway, there were only two bars separating the people up top on the balcony to the floor below. In just seconds, people started screaming out that someone had fallen over the edge, a 15 foot fall onto concrete. So I fell. Landed on my head and fractured my skull. I’m not sure what happened after that. I know in one of these accidents I was life-flighted to Primary Childrens Hospital. That my stay in the hospital was relatively short. And that every doctor and nurse proclaimed it a miracle I was still alive. I’ll hopefully be able to clarify some of the other details, but maybe the details aren’t that important. The aftermath is what is important. I sustained a brain injury. We would find out much later (when I was 18 or so) through an MRI that my left frontal lobe had been damaged. Google ‘left frontal lobe damage’ sometime. Interesting read. It is your executive function. It impairs your attention span, your ability to finish tasks, motivation, judgment, and organizational capacity. “Because of how your emotions are affected, the symptoms experienced from frontal lobe damage may cause you to become impulsive or assume risky behaviors.” Ummm, yes to all of the above!

I wish that were all there was to this story. Girl falls from balcony. Girl has brain damage. Girl deals with it throughout her life. That would be nice. But not even close.

By they way. The Armory where I fell is located on the campus of my Junior High School. I had classes up on the balcony/second floor where I fell. Very weird and ironic. Instead of just two bars of separation. It now contains 8. Wonder why…hmmm Liability issue, you think??

The Therapist is In

I think when anyone decides to sit down and actually write the things they have thought and spoken about their life, there is hesitation. I’m not worried about being judged, but I don’t know that I’ll be able to convey the thoughts and emotions, the sorrow and joy into words. But I’m going to try my best, Be patient with me. For some odd reason I feel like I have to, no -NEED- to get my story out there.