Leaving Therapy
Would this be a tough decision? Have you prepared yourself?
Note: Your therapist (psychotherapist, psychologist, social worker, counselor) is an educated professional whose job it is to discuss your life’s issues. She/he is not your friend.
Presently, I’ve reached the point where monthly therapy is not required anymore. I had been in therapy for over 20 years, seen several therapists, and about 9 years with my last one, who had been an experienced trauma therapist.
This psychologist helped me most during my journey to overcome PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) and emotional abuse from my Narcissistic mother. Tackling the secrets and hurts that I’ve been holding onto for so many years needed to be heard, believed, and validated with reassurance from her.
How grueling therapy is in the first place, and yet to be so secure with a stranger, to trust and disclose your most private inner thoughts, secrets, feelings, and emotions; a person who listened to you when no one else does or ever did, never criticized, nor judged, and was absorbed in what you had to say. It’s a reassuring relationship.
Many people with mental illness, for my depression and PTSD, seldom had encouragement or validation throughout the years, believing they or their lives weren’t important enough to be heard.
Now this person is looking at ME, asking ME how I’m feeling, and listening to my response. She believes in my trauma, how tough it’s been throughout my life, and most of all validating my emotions.
Some would argue we pay for this service. Yes, we do. However, to overcome problems with relationships, perhaps your job and improve mental health, we must seek professional help.
I was overwhelmed with sadness when I finally had to say goodbye. In our last session, we discussed the progress I had achieved during our time together. I won’t lie, it took a long time to overcome the loss of regular sessions with her.
Do you believe it would be difficult to leave?
When therapy is coming to an end, it’s recommended to discuss it a few sessions beforehand. Share your thoughts in the comment section below.
Rewritten and copyrighted D. McCarthy Jan 2024
This article on ‘Finding a Therapist’ covers all therapy questions:
Tag: personal
You’re Fired!
When you first hear those two words, you automatically think of losing your job. I thought I would take it one step further and think back to some of the times I’ve actually been ‘fired’ in other situations.
I will begin with my career position. The ‘firing’ occurred during the first year I was attending therapy sessions for PTSD, which would be a slippery slide into the world of deep major depression. I was employed with this company for five years as an accounting supervisor; however, numerous hospitalizations, therapy sessions, months off at home recuperating, and returning to work did not pan out. In the end, I was basically ‘fired.’
As soon as they received the much-awaited doctor’s letter, upon what would be my final office return, they shoved a severance package envelope at me and escorted me to the door. This came after the “you were a valuable asset to the company.” I was so ill back then. However, in hindsight, I wish I had fought harder for a better compensation package.
~~~~~~~
One of the saddest times in my life was being ‘fired’ by my close friends. Felt like a kick in the stomach. I had four extremely dear friends, and during my first few admissions to the hospital, they would visit regularly. When home on passes, we would get together for lunch and chats, but as the years passed, so did they. No phone calls returned or more visits when there were further hospital admissions. It’s as if they wanted no more to do with me.
It all fell back on me in my thinking. I was the cause of this ‘firing.’ Maybe this; maybe that. Perhaps I shouldn’t have acted so glum-like, possibly not described what it felt like to be depressed, maybe joined in on a joke or conversation, or perhaps I just wasn’t the old ME. And then it hit me….why should I have to apologize for being ill. An illness? Apologizing for a condition? What other disease would have you doing this?
~~~~~~~
Now firing can work the other way, and I had the upper hand:
I ‘fired’ a couple of my psychiatrists. The first I had for numerous years; was an arrogant SOB, who had little time for me, and I was getting nowhere. I’m convinced he didn’t care that I ‘fired’ him (possibly relieved); he most likely didn’t even recognize I wasn’t even a patient of his any longer!
The second psychiatrist fell asleep on me during our second session. I did take this personally at first, then thought – no – he is the one with the problem.
~~~~~~~~
And lastly, for a point in time during my illness, when the blackest, muddiest moments of depression would not let up, I believed life had ‘fired’ me. I felt adrift, discouraged, and very suicidal. Suicide is not the answer. However, when you can actually touch the black, depressive fog between your fingertips, you identify that death is nearby anyways. So many days, I would ask myself, “What did I do that was so wrong in my life to deserve this grim life of depression.” Life’s ‘firing’ is the worst ‘firing’ of all.
Written and copyrighted by Deb McCarthy on October 2022
No Mental Illness Stigma?
What would your life be like?
What would you or your family’s life be like if there was no stigma attached to mental illness?
Do you believe your life would alter dramatically? What changes do you imagine you would observe the most? What would you desire to say to anyone, anywhere (fantasy world here)?
Discussing my illness, namely, depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation, with newer friends I may meet. (I would hope they could recognize the hardships that mental illness creates and that depression is not my fault nor a character flaw.) Should I get acquainted with them better, I would also like to bring to light the obstacles I have faced and how depression feels – so very black, a feeling of hopelessness, like walking in the mud.
To converse openly with other people and discuss my moods. Clarify that I’m not a “crazy” person, and the times I have attempted suicide were not attention-getters but the feeling I was at the end of my rope, with no way out.
Hearing fewer words or phrases such as “I’m having a nervous breakdown,” “looney-bin,” “you take too many medications,” and “psych ward” This is a sample of the countless expressions I have heard over the years.
Unfortunately, the mental illness stigma will never disappear, but it has improved since I began this blog in 2007. Education, well-known celebrities, and influential individuals have come forward to state they have suffered, from depression, anxiety, OCD, PTSD, etc., and this has lessened stigma to a degree.
Written and copyrighted by Deb McCarthy 2022
I have no more Migraines. Why?
The definition of the ‘migraine’ comes from the Greek meaning, ‘hemicrania’ or ‘half-headed’ on one side of the head,
Migraine sufferers are Migraineurs.
A migraine is a disease, an invisible illness, and “not just a headache.”
I have been a Migraineur for over 50 years.
My ‘headaches’ began as a teenager; I was about sixteen. They were sporadic but extremely painful. As the years passed, my headaches became migraines and more frequent. The pain was excruciating and “put me out of commission” for several days. It affected my social life; employment, and I often visited the hospital emergency for pain relief.
In my 50s, these migraines developed into ‘Chronic Daily Migraines’ (chronic is defined as 15+ headaches per month). I was fortunate to escape with one or two pain-free days per month. The agonizing pain was unbearable, with some migraines continuing for 7-9 days without a break. I discontinued going to the Emergency as the hospitals in my city did not offer narcotics to relieve pain, only the equivalent of Tylenol.
My neurologist tried many methods to treat these horrible migraines, but nothing was effective.
Life went on, and I accepted that I would have chronic pain for the rest of my life.
My psychiatrist discontinued the antidepressant I had taken for over a year (Effexor) and diagnosed me with severe anxiety. In June 2022, I was hospitalized for depression, and he decided to try Clonazepam (Klonopin) at a small dose of 0.5mg daily.
Clonazepam is used to prevent and control seizures. This medication is known as an anticonvulsant or antiepileptic drug. It is also used to treat panic attacks. Clonazepam works by calming your brain and nerves. It belongs to a class of medications called benzodiazepines. Source: webmd.com
After about a week, my migraines decreased, and I only got the odd headache.
Continue reading I have no more Migraines. Why?Stigma Quote
I had to write this quote as it reminded me of a relative who visited me in the hospital. Perhaps she assumed I lost my marbles along with the depression? A perfect example of stigma.
Now the police are at my door…
A few years ago, depressed as hell, I Dialed the Distress Center Hotline, speaking for what felt like forever with a counselor about my obsessive suicidal feelings and depression. Zilch was helping, and I abruptly hung up on her, which was a dreadful mistake.
Thoughts danced in my head for days, dreaming and planning for ways to kill myself, yet I still reached out for help. The counselor’s voice was grating on my nerves with no progress, so I didn’t want to talk to this chick anymore.
Fifteen minutes later, a loud rap at my door, “Police.” I cautiously opened my door to discover a male and female officer standing on my front veranda, asking if I was ok and could they could talk to me. Me? Why? Police?
They clarified the Distress Center’s “phone hang-up” policy and had no alternative but to call the police. I was ‘distressed,’ and these cops weren’t buying my story that I would be ‘ok’ now.
Continue reading Now the police are at my door…The back seat of this cruiser was larger than I expected. Neighbors, who usually don’t walk their dogs, now strolled by the police car peering in, along with other neighbors peeking through window blinds and curtains. However, I am seated with my mind in a muddle, confused, uncertain of the future, yet despising the present.
My Podcast Interview is now available at the Harvard Medical School Library
In May 2011, Dr. Anne Hallward, a psychiatrist from Portland, Maine, who hosts a weekly podcast called Safe Space Radio, contacted me. She has broadcast over 300 episodes on mental health awareness, including depression, bipolar disorder, stigma, social injustice, suicide, etc.
Dr. Hallward read my blog “Living In Stigma” and was interested in interviewing me for her radio podcast to talk about the subject focusing on stigma and bipolar disorder.
Both flattered and delighted that she chose my blog, I was nervous just thinking about talking live on a radio podcast.
The interview went pretty smoothly, and when I originally posted the podcast on this blog, I received wonderful feedback.
Many years have passed, and Dr. Hallward contacted me last week to inform me that she was winding down her podcast interviews. The Harvard Medical School Library has agreed to become the permanent home for collecting all Safe Space Radio interviews.
My Bipolar Disorder and stigma podcast will now be available for anyone to listen to!
Stigma and Being Bipolar with Deb McCarthy
MAY 18, 2011 BY SSRADMIN
interview here: https://safespaceradio.com/?s=bipolar+disorder
https://safespaceradio.com/about/
Quote – PTSD – Narcissistic abuse from mom
NARCISSISTIC MATERNAL ABUSE
I wrote this quote referring to my narcissistic mother. She cannot recall the days of ignoring me, criticizing or showing no empathy, nor caring about me the way a mother should. Her emotional abuse had enormously affected my self-worth, self-confidence, and trust. I was forever feeling guilty or questioning what I had done that she was so displeased with anything I did for her.
After my father passed away, she felt isolated and lonely. She was elderly now and displayed signs of illness, questioning, “Why don’t you ever visit or come over for lunch because it’s lonely every day in this apartment?”. Hmmm, I wonder why? Typical narcissists do not recognize their own personalities.
I finally went NO CONTACT many years ago as I was tired of her never-ending abuse. It was the best decision I ever made.
I found out she passed away two years ago and thought she could have had a loving daughter to spend time with, but she threw it all away.
re-edited and reposted August 2022
Does life make you feel like an insecure piece of fluff?
Usually, when someone is referred to as ‘confident‘, they are referring to self-confidence.
Self-confidence is faith in one’s own abilities. People with high self-confidence typically have little fear of the unknown, can stand up for what they believe in, and have the courage to risk embarrassment (for instance, by giving a presentation to a large group of people). A self-confident one is not necessarily loud or reckless.
They relate confidence as a psychological quality to, but distinct from, self-esteem. Self-esteem is usually lost because of other losses. Losing confidence is no longer trusting in the ability to perform.
My self-confidence and self-esteem went down the toilet shortly after my first hospitalization back in the mid-1990s and never really returned, even to this day. The gigantic hands of depression held onto me ever so tight. I lost my thinking process, the career I built, and mostly what I lost was me.
I went from working full time as an accounting supervisor for a large manufacturing corporation to essentially a ‘piece of fluff. People routinely came to me for answers, and when in the hospital, I spent my days sitting in solitude or meandering the hospital halls to pass the time. Was this the life they sentenced me to?
It was incredible the change in me; virtually a child standing behind her mother’s dress, frightened to ask or speak up. I was even nervous about ordering a pizza via the telephone. Previously, I was forever the one who would enter a room, introduce herself, perform a speech, and feel at ease.
Mental illness does this to a human being. Instead of possessing that comfortable leather skin that gets us through rough situations, we only find ourselves dressed in chiffon. You feel flawed.
These are rough roads and undeserved journeys. Some of us have taken these roads/journeys repeatedly and question when the “under construction” will end, giving way to the smooth, fresh pavement.
It took years to recover and land back on my feet. I revisited the working world, however, only some of the self-confidence and self-esteem returned; just enough to get me by. Starting all over and learning new computer systems and methods were incredibly difficult, yet I endured employment for 6 years before dark depression struck once again and now find myself unable to work.
I recognize I still lack it, and living jobless makes a difference; away from the working world, not connected to people, sometimes hurls you into your own little world, where you get to escape and become too comfortable. I’d still rather hide, but I know I can’t, therefore, compelled to be “self-confident” looking and sounding.
Actually, this self-esteem/confidence thing is a lot of self-talk, and the support has to be there as you begin the “baby steps.”
Re-written and copyrighted by Deb McCarthy/2022
(edited and repost)
Mom – Narcissistic Abuse
Depression: Why Do We Push Others Away?
I googled this question for myself and thought it must apply to others struggling with depression. I have a few friends who have invited me to meet them for coffee or lunch, but I don’t feel the urge or energy to do so. In fact, I dread the fact of leaving the house and chatting.
This article explains exactly what is going on in my head!
When we have depression, we often withdraw from our loved ones and sometimes, pushing people away. We don’t always know why, and it’s not always a conscious thing either. It’s confusing, painful and unsettling.
It can confuse those around us, too, because if we don’t know why we’re pushing them away, they won’t know why either.
WE HAVE NO ENERGY
Feeling like we lack energy can be tough when we’re alone. We must be careful when managing our little energy, so we don’t completely exhaust ourselves. Having no energy when we’re around others can be even worse. We’re expected to talk. People expect us to smile. We’re expected to join in. Sometimes, we don’t have the energy to be around others. We don’t have the energy to follow conversations or think of things to talk about. We push people away because we don’t have the energy to be around them. We worry we won’t meet their expectations of us.
WE STRUGGLE WITH CONCENTRATION
It takes a surprising amount of concentration to follow conversations. When we’re low on energy and have the concentration span of a flea, following conversations can be impossible. This is stressful because we worry about looking silly or rude or losing track of what’s going on. The fear that we won’t be able to keep up can make us freeze. It feels easier to push people away than worry about having to do things we don’t feel able to do. We just don’t want to let anyone down.
This article continues here @ blurtitout.org
Living in Stigma August 2022
PTSD ~ When a child comes to you…
If my parents had believed me when I was five years old, I wouldn’t have been in therapy for 20+ years, healing from the impact of their ignorance. Thank you, Mom and Dad.
Quote: “Learning from the Old Me”
PTSD – Why Are We Keeping Secrets?
I’ve written many posts about my PTSD (childhood sexual abuse), a ‘dirty little secret.’ Have you ever held on to secrets for years and years?
Also, who are we protecting? The abuser? Our parents or caretakers who were supposed to be caring for us? Why were we supposed to be the ones to “keep the secret”? We did nothing wrong. It seems so unfair and convoluted, doesn’t it?
As I recollect my past, at around five or six years old, as my friends and I freely played in our front yard, the evil predator would either sit next door on his veranda, relaxing, puffing on his cigar, or in the driveway repairing whatever was under the hood of his old car.
I felt panicked for both my friends and me, wanting so badly to warn them of this sexual deviant and express to them of the sexual abuse at the hands of this man, yet felt compelled to “keep the secret.” I had a secret; an ugly little secret to something that I didn’t cause–or did I?
There was the distressing apology forced by my parents to blurt out and recite with sincerity to this predator for abusing me. While apologizing to this revolting man, it bewildered me, wondering how I had wronged him. All kinds of feelings swished around: hate, helplessness, and frankly, it humiliated me. My parents warned me never to tell anyone about this.
Depression – Have you ever felt handcuffed to your house?
Yes, it felt as if I was handcuffed to my house.
It sounds dramatic, but I was at the time.
For countless years, and even today, depression with its dark, unforgiving black clouds still hovers over me. Eventually, I recovered from those darkest days.
Recalling the arduous years of major depression, I was housebound and felt isolated from the world. Blackness overpowered my life; dark and muddy, depression was unrelenting, and the massive hands took hold of me, demanding each full minute of my day.
Days were devoted to gazing out my living room window and enduring life in the house, rarely venturing further than the end of the driveway.
Appointments with my family doctor or psychiatrist developed into an enormous production; questioning what to wear, panicky about riding the bus or mixing up route times, and what to review with my doctors.
Continue reading Depression – Have you ever felt handcuffed to your house?
The Fog Between My Fingertips
BLACK DEPRESSION
Hollowness, loneliness
Black hole
No light at the top
Drowning
No one saving me
Why?
No future
Just black dreams
Despair
Feels like a prison cell
Handcuffed
Black fog
Feeling the fog between my fingertips
Nothingness
Empty
Are no treatments working?
Are no doctors helping?
Why?
What kind of life is this
Black death sentence
Written & copyright by Deb McCarthy
reposted July 2022
Quote ~ PTSD and The Broken Soul
CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE – BROKEN TRUST
The “Everything Happens for a Reason” statement is Crap
Opinion
I think about this statement often, and when someone utters these words, it makes my skin crawl.
What precisely does it mean, and why do people say it? Are they so narrow-minded, wrapped up in religion, or in another world?
Does it mean when there is a world disaster, a plane crash because of a mechanical issue, multiple school shootings, childhood sexual abuse, people diagnosed with an illness, cancer, kidnapping, serial murderers and rapists, riots, war veterans killed, or any other horrible occurrence, it happened for a reason? Please explain.
For me, it goes way back to my very ill years of struggling with major depression and my mother regularly commenting on the ever so “everything happens for a reason” words.
Really, mom? You mean the sexual abuse, which led to therapy, which led to depression, which led to hospitals, a myriad of meds, which led to suicide attempts, countless ECTs, which led to losing my career, almost foreclosure on my house, hubby losing his job, losing friends and let’s include the horrible migraine headaches, etc. What exactly do you mean?
I don’t believe people recognize how much these words can sting. It’s almost a “whatever”, said in a flippant moment. IMO, just support that person who is hurting, and show comfort, empathy, and compassion. So, to everyone else, keep your trap shut.
Edited and reposted
Written and copyright by Deb McCarthy 2022
What about the Funeral? ~ When Your Abuser or Estranged Relative Dies
Yes, what about the funeral, what about when your abuser dies? Are you expected to attend, expected to pay or share the costs, feel guilty or make excuses for not attending? It’s a crappy time for everyone. Do I pretend or fake I’m sad? Why should I pay for years of misery and abuse?
My narcissistic mother passed away a few years ago (we cut ties in 2013). My brother, whom I was also not in contact with, unexpectedly texted that she passed. I have no idea if there was a funeral, nor did I want to know.
Searching high and low for a detailed answer, I came across this well-written article:
One of the biggest dilemmas faced by escapees from abusive families is what to do when their abuser or estranged relative dies. Should we appear at the wake and funeral, or not? Should we go to the burial? Should we send flowers? Should we offer our condolences- and if so, to whom?
To the very people who took our abuser’s side against us or shunned us from their family, what kind of performance will we have to put on if people offer condolences? How will we be able to pretend that the death of our abuser was a great loss when we can’t even come up with one nice thing to say about him/her?
See the rest of this article at:
My blog is NOT a “religious” blog and I frown upon people who express their spiritual opinions, but (https://luke173ministries.org/) site offers oodles of mental health information.
(reposted with editing July 2022)
Are you faking PTSD for attention? or is this a scam?
I have CPTSD (sexual and emotional abuse), and just hearing the word “fake” & “scam” was enough to cause an actual trigger to my past, coupled with huge anxiety and intense anger.
A few weeks ago, while sitting in a coffee shop sipping tea and reading a book, two women around 30 – 40 years of age sitting behind me, actually had this conversation. True story. I’ll call them A & B.
A –Do you believe in all of this PTSD shit?
B –I don’t know what to think sometimes. I do know a co-worker whose sister is going to therapy for it, I don’t know what exactly for, but she just said something that happened to her when she was young and has PTSD now.
A –Do you think it’s for real, or is she looking for attention? How old is her sister?
B –I think she’s in her 30’s, not sure. It’s something about molestation when she was a kid or something, I didn’t want to ask and be nosey.
A –Yeah right, like she can remember things that happened when she was a kid!
B –Well it’s her business
A –I’m just asking because I saw a show last night showing how some men in the military and some police are actually faking having this PTSD, just to collect disability. Some of them have collected $100,000.00, what a shame when people that have an actual disability need it.
And, their discussion continued……..
PTSD is a psychiatric disorder that can occur in people who have experienced or witnessed a traumatic event such as a natural disaster, a serious accident, a terrorist act, war/combat, rape, or other violent personal assault. PTSD is a real illness that causes real suffering. (source: psychiatry.org/ptsd) Continue reading Are you faking PTSD for attention? or is this a scam?
Chronic Illness – You Know You
(I originally wrote this poem years ago, but it took a lengthy healing journey in therapy to finally reach the point where I felt strong and believed in myself).
******************
YOU know you are strong inside despite what mental or chronic illness has dealt you.
YOU know you are doing the best that YOU can, with what life has handed you.
YOU can pat yourself on the back right now, for a job well done. Mastering and surviving each day with an illness, in my eyes, is a full-time job.
Only YOU will know when it’s time to return to the working world; if that’s your goal. It’s alright to be coached and nudged, but YOU are really the best judge.
Only YOU know the blackness felt during depression – how the thick black mud swallows you up and is unforgiving.
Maybe YOU don’t know how very precious YOU are, and that you didn’t ask for this illness, and didn’t choose to be ill, and that mental illness is not a character flaw.
YOU will find society’s thinking and attitudes on invisible illness stigma still remain, but with education, perhaps people will alter their opinions and/or judgment.
But YOU know YOU, and that is all that is important.
(Edited and reposted)
Written and copyrighted by Deb McCarthy/2022
Should I feel Like A Burden – Depression
For years I felt as if I was one enormous burden, a grumpy pest that hung on for sympathy and purposely alienated people.
In the late 1990s, while in hospital, they diagnosed me with Bipolar Disorder. They were wrong!
Bipolar I. Moods can swing from extremely ‘low’ (depression) to an exhilarating ‘high’ (mania). My disorder was BPII, meaning I still experienced ‘depression’; however, the ‘high’ (mania) is lesser of a degree and therefore named ‘hypomania’.
For a decade, I literally “lived” in and out of hospitals. My wonderful, supportive husband stood by me through those turbulent years. Years of endless hospitalizations, electroconvulsive therapy (ECT, shock treatments), suicide attempts, and a myriad of medications became the norm.
My immediate family (my side) was absent when I needed their support most. Friends? They were supportive at first, regularly visiting me in hospital, but as the years lingered on, friends became scarce. Had this been cancer or heart disease, would they have been more empathic or more eager to support me?
I believe it is the stigma attached to mental illness that drives people away.
Are mentally ill people dangerous? No, but some surmise they do! A family member (my husband’s side) cut ties with us during the past years of my illness and hospitalizations, assuming I was dangerous and feared for his children. At Christmastime, only my husband’s name appeared on the Christmas card–it excluded my name. We haven’t seen them since 1998.
One family member visited me in the hospital, stating perhaps I had a “bad case of the nerves”. Bad nerves? Anxiety and anger are connected to depression, though.
Continue reading Should I feel Like A Burden – DepressionThe Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers
Unfortunately, I am the daughter of a narcissistic mother, and the words above portray my mother to a tee. Going “No Contact” with her in 2013 was tough at first, but the wisest decision I have ever made. My mother passed away in 2019. I had no feelings of sadness, regret, or grief; just the disappointment that she missed out on a great mother-daughter relationship.
(I will write future articles on PTSD and emotional abuse relating to parental narcissism, as it crushed my soul and ruined my life for countless years.)
Deb
Women Have Heart Attacks Too!
Ladies, go with your guts. The chest pain you may experience could be a heart attack and not indigestion, a panic attack, or just in “your head”. Don’t be afraid to show your face in the emergency room just because you are a woman and the facts have shown that men usually suffer from heart attacks.
My story occurred in August 2018:
My chronic migraines strike daily, and I suffered a horrendous two weeks of these excruciating headaches, and measuring on the unintelligible doctor’s pain scale of 1-10, the pain was nothing short of 10+ each day.
However, migraines had nothing to do with what was to follow.
Seated on my recliner chair, attempting to ease the throbbing migraine pain, I suddenly felt an unusual aching; surrounding my chest area above my left boob. It wasn’t an intense or stabbing pain, but similar to somebody wrapping and pulling a massive bandage across my chest, becoming more and more agonizing.
As my upper left arm and shoulder gradually felt a terrible pain, it was now radiating down my left arm and behind my shoulder blades. Also, breathing was becoming difficult.
What the hell was this? It puzzled me and frightened me at the same time.
I’m aware of health research that pain felt on the left side of the body can signal a heart attack, but as a healthy female, with no prior heart problems or family history of heart attacks, I was questioning the ‘heart attack’ theory. Besides, the pain wasn’t overly “painful” compared to my migraines. Continue reading Women Have Heart Attacks Too!
Please Don’t Cry At My Party
You are reluctantly attending a party when you feel like crap. Imagine planning your escape route the moment you enter the room?
Envision feeling isolated yet surrounded by lots of people; with friends, celebrating a birthday party at somebody’s house. You experience emptiness. Chatter, laughter, and enjoyment are overwhelming, yet you are numb.
Depression is lonely. Curled up in a ball–lonely.
This happened to me many years ago. I felt obligated to attend a birthday party, and although I resisted, I soon surrendered since it was for a beloved friend, and I was absent from all other celebrations throughout the past year.
Seated in a Lazy-Boy for part of the evening, I held firmly onto a diet Coke and observed the party from afar. I thought it polite to rise and finally mingle, express a smile, and pretend to enjoy the evening, yet the feeling of hollowness was debilitating. Laughter echoed.
For most of that year, my hospitalizations for major depression were frequent. Depression was black and muddy; most times, feeling like a zombie and imagined they dumped me into a black hole and left me for dead. A life filled with doctors, nurses, medications, lonesome times, seated cross-legged in my hospital room corner daily, attempting to make sense out of anything. I understood there was light up at the top of a hole, yet I was forever waiting to witness any.
I exchanged small talk with some people, yet avoided others as much as possible. Many people at this gathering did not know me, which was a significant relief. I escaped having to share stories of my unpleasant life with my mind drifting throughout any minimal conversations.
I was becoming exhausted, dragged down by feelings of nothingness and hopelessness at every moment. Escaping from this gathering was my only option.
Apologizing to my friend for my lifeless presence, she looked at me with sadness and hugged me. Strangely, I was lonely yet preferred to be alone, which was bewildering to even me.
“Depression, best known of all the mental illnesses, is difficult to endure and treat. It renders one feeling hopeless. Experiencing a wintry solitude, feeling completely immobilized, void of any light of optimism. It creates emotional and financial fallout, coupled with a horrible emptiness and black death-like existence. Life tastes sour.” —– Deb
It took over ten years to level my depressive moods and switching psychiatrists to prescribing new medications helped.
I returned to the workforce a few years later. After enduring six years with this company, I succumbed to depression and chronic migraines, forcing me to go on disability.
Today, thankfully, I’m seldom in that black hole and have pursued my writing and artistic passions.
Re-written and copyrighted by Deb (cherished79.com) June 2022.
Should My Boss Know About My Depression?
For nine years I struggled with depression, resulting in repeated hospitalizations, and scraping by on disability. Life was bleak and meaningless, but long story short, I recovered enough to return to the workplace.
I worked at a call center in a large bank, and although battling depression off-and-on, I performed my duties and worked there for six years. I managed not to divulge my “mental illness” secret to anyone, including my supervisor or close colleagues. (This was in the late 2000s when major stigma was still prevalent in the working world, and although companies were attempting to change their rules and attitudes toward mental health acceptance, I didn’t trust their sudden acceptance or empathy).
It’s a personal decision, one that you may feel secure revealing, but what about the person you confide in? Can they be trusted, will they empathize, do they have “loose lips” and spread the word, or will it bite you in the butt for yearly reviews/raise/no raise?
Rewritten and copyrighted by Deb McCarthy (June 2022)
Welcome – Connecting With Everyone Struggling With All Invisible Illnesses
“Living in Stigma” connects with everyone coping with chronic pain, mental illness, and all invisible illnesses.
Launching my blog in 2007, “Living in Stigma” the goal was to share my life experiences with mental illness with others, and aspire to receive feedback from those also struggling with their own depressive illnesses. I felt as if I was living in stigma with my own major depression.
Many forms of mental illness comprise Depression, Bipolar Disorder, Personality Disorders, PTSD, Eating Disorders, Alzheimer’s disease, and much more.
While I struggle with both mental illness and chronic migraines, along with news articles, social media, research, and my valued blog readers’ comments and opinions, it’s a reality that invisible illnesses such as fibromyalgia, lupus, headaches, recurring back and leg pain, cancer and so many more are also a vast portion of invisible illness stigma. Continue reading Welcome – Connecting With Everyone Struggling With All Invisible Illnesses
How Graphic Design Has Helped My Migraines
As you have noticed, I have deserted my very own blog!
I suppose this is accurate, but I’ve been on a bit of an adventure and spreading my wings too thin.
I’m delighted I kept this blog open and sincerely thank everyone who continues to read all of my earlier postings while leaving comments that I’ve neglected. I genuinely apologize for that.
In early fall 2017, I began writing articles for a site called Virily.com (they pay writers for their work) and thoroughly relished writing quizzes of all things. My writing has steered me to various spheres, but I’m new to inventing a quiz!
What was most exhilarating was realizing an old passion; art design!
When I was on Virily, a blogging friend revealed that she designs for a site called “Redbubble.” This miffed me, but as soon as I heard the word ‘design,’ I needed to investigate.
Redbubble.com is a ‘print-on-demand’ (POD) marketplace whereby a designer or artist uploads an image of their design to appear on a multitude of Redbubble products. They sell merchandise such as framed prints, apparel, mugs, pillows, duvets, cellphone cases and laptop sleeves, clocks, tote bags, via online shopping.
All production, shipping and customer service is their responsibility, therefore, you don’t have to carry your own inventory and uploading is free. They pay you a percentage of each sale.
Quote – PTSD – Narcissistic abuse from mom
NARCISSISTIC MATERNAL ABUSE
I wrote this quote referring to my narcissistic mother. She fails to recall the days of ignoring me, criticizing or showing no empathy, nor caring about me the way a mother should. Her emotional abuse has had an enormous impact on my life, and I remain in psychotherapy to this day.
Now she is elderly, feels isolated and displays signs of illness questioning “Why don’t you ever visit or come over for lunch because it’s lonely every day in this apartment?”. Hmmm, I wonder why? Typical narcissist, not recognizing their own personality.
I finally went NO CONTACT three years ago as I was tired of her never-ending abuse. Best decision I ever made.
Is your doctor always running late? Does 10:15 become 11:15?
Doctor’s appointments. Do you ever get in @10:15?
I doubt it. Success in seeing your doctor at the scheduled appointment time is like a crapshoot, and typically not my luck. I’m forever on time, I don’t know why she never is and I keep forgetting to bring my camping gear to set up for the day.
You recognize a dilemma when the receptionist slides the plexiglass window and smiles, “Hi Deb, she’s a little backed up this morning, we’ll call you soon”. ‘Backed up a bit, call you soon?’ “Backed up” in my experience translates to at least a minimum of 1 hour or more.
I detest these ‘backed up’ doctors, people are trapped in the waiting room fearful to leave for even a snack or pee break in the event they call your name. I think to myself, “Why did I take all morning off work, run like an idiot for the bus, not grab a coffee or something to read on the way, all so I wouldn’t be late for this appointment? Why do they book every 15 minutes, when they’re never on time?
After you have called everyone you can think of (most are at work or waiting at their doctor’s office), play scrabble or crossword on your phone or delete old contacts and your cell is frantic for a charge… they call your name. Yippee! Now you are escorted into a smaller waiting room to wait and wait and wait some more!
~~~ Article written & copyrighted © by Deb McCarthy
Little Girl
LITTLE GIRL
Hey, little girl, I saw you with that man
what were you doing, letting him have his way
didn’t you know it was wrong, why didn’t you stop it?
you could have said no, but you still let it happen
what’s wrong with you? how could you not know?
~~~~
I tried to say no, he was bigger than me
yet he made me feel wanted and special for once
I was his “princess” and he said I “danced like an angel”
and I was invisible to everyone else
even though it hurt, it was worth the warm feelings
that I craved so much, and he granted me so lovingly
but then came anguish and pain
~~~~
Finally, I did try to tell, but no one would listen
the words came out, yet no words were heard
no one will really know
that my mind and my heart
died back then
I was little and
I didn’t know how to say no
_______________________________________________________
Written & copyright Deb McCarthy/2017
*I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, and it feels so much better to be able to say ‘survivor’ rather than ‘victim’ now.
Mother, Do you deserve a Card? PTSD – Survivors of Abuse
As an unloved daughter of a narcissistic mother, the cards or flowers I handed to her with ‘love’ throughout the years were given with the expectations and desires that one day she would hug me with love. Giving her a card each year was presented or mailed with a fake smile or strained “Love you always mom.”
She by no means ever deserved a card, lunch or dinner out, and especially a visit when I was an adult. When I moved across the country, there was one year I ‘neglected’ to send a card or call. This resulted in a ‘hissy fit,’ possibly threw one of her notorious tantrums including tears, resulting in my father phoning me, blasting “how could you treat your mother like this?” I can’t recall my reply, but more than likely, I said I was sorry.
A few days passed, and what do I receive in the mail, a multi-page letter from my mother ranting how self-centred I am, this is the way I treat her after everything she’s done for me throughout my life, took care of me, and will sever our relationship now. This was due to not sending a card?
To be honest, I feel jealous of others who have/had a wonderful mother.
So to all of those who are survivors of narcissistic emotional abuse, or never received the motherly care, empathy, encouragement, and love; I dedicate this post to you. You are all Warriors!
Hugs,
Deb
It’s not just a ‘headache’ ~ It’s ‘CHRONIC MIGRAINE’
These chronic migraines are not “pop 2 aspirin and call me in the morning” headaches……
Chronic Migraines
That’s me, that’s what I suffer with. Winter has been unkind to me, especially January through March, where very few days did I escape not having a migraine headache. The pulsating, throbbing head and face agony had me bedridden most days, and other times unable to wear my glasses due to tenderness over the bridge of my nose.
Since thoughts of jumping over the balcony crossed my mind to end this crap and a trip to the emergency isn’t an option anymore (wait times approx. 10-14 hrs. and their refusal to use narcotics), I had to ‘suck it up’.
My neurologist suggested Botox treatments, but I’m unsure of this method for chronic migraines, and the research I’ve done has shown some people were worse off with the treatment due to constant stiff necks and even more pain + medications. I am considering chiropractic or acupuncture methods, but for this past week, I’m experimenting with a natural herbal medication which has shown good progress so far. Fingers crossed!
This wonderful link provides a more in-depth look at migraines @ HealthCentral.com http://www.healthcentral.com/migraine/cf/slideshows/migraines-visible#slide=1
(updated and reposted)
Broken Trust
Trust was broken
you knew it was
But that didn’t stop your
desire and craving
~~~
My hands were tied
literally
above my head
to the bed
Who cares, you thought
I’m getting what I want
~~~
This secret between us
no one will know
I’d never tell
because you persuaded me
told me I was lucky and special
to have someone like you
a special person
for protection and care
Trust wasn’t broken
You were was entitled to this
______________________________
Written and copyright by Deb McCarthy/2017
Sunday Quote
Am I being punished for having Depression?
Rummaging through my unorganized closet, I came across an article I wrote during my years in the hospital fighting depression. A roommate during my stay, whom I became close friends with, recalled her descent into hellish depression, as well as her suicide attempt. She gave me permission to write this article (excluding her name).
Dreaming. In tranquil waters. I’m sitting in my dinghy cross-legged, floating. The sea and sky are black.
I awaken. Black. Black is black. The room is black, but it must be morning. I’m all mixed up. I thought I heard the food trays arrive. The halls look black, but I sneak a quick look out of my room. All I sense is dread. Am I in a dream world? I shuffle back to bed.
Dark Clouds and Shattered Sanity
Dark clouds, isolated
Lack of faith
Laughter faded, only tears
~~~
I hate my mind, I hate my brain
I hate my heart for it breaks every day
~~~
I will perish this way I know
I’ve run away from life
I don’t fit outside
I don’t fit inside
I drown in my disgrace
~~~
Black circles beneath my eyes
Hands grip my head
I’m all alone
My life isn’t cherished
Why should I pretend it to be?
I’m not living for me
I’m living for you
~~~
Shattered sanity
Worthless, pointless, hopeless
Tears flow from my eyes
Depression has taken over
Written and copyrighted by Deb McCarthy/2017
Originally posted on Niume.com
Do I want Group Therapy? Yikes!
Most of my therapy has been individual, and I shied away from group therapy due to the fact that I was uncomfortable sharing my problems relating to depression and sexual abuse with a bunch of strangers. To be honest, my biggest fear was losing it and looking like an idiot if I started bawling my eyes out! However, I had no choice at the eating disorder program, it was 90% group and about 10% individual therapy.
I loathed it initially, others speaking out about themselves, revealing deep dark secrets that they had been holding onto, and slowly I became to trust them and I opened up. In short, it was very helpful in my recovery, yet I have to say honestly, I still prefer one-on-one. Give it a try though, it may suit you.
This article appeared in PsychCentral.com
Individual psychotherapy will always be the staple. It establishes the bond. It explores the ups and downs of that bond and probes the depths of the psychodynamic patterns of that bond and other bonds. It is the primary mode of understanding. It exists of and for itself and is not dependent on anything else. Group therapy is an adjunct to individual therapy.
What happened next when you told someone about your sexual abuse?
There has been a secret you’ve been concealing, that’s most likely eating you up inside, however, you now have mustered enough courage to tell someone you trust. It’s rough, and you’re just a kid.
Protection and trust have already been shattered by your abuser; you just couldn’t take it anymore, now it’s time to receive compassion, tenderness and told you were so courageous for coming forward and that person will be punished.
It may perhaps have been very positive for you, you were believed, acknowledged, obtained love, affection, sorrow and apologies for this ever happening; possibly counseling. You went on to recover with perhaps some difficulty, but you received support.
OR
Instead, it was the most regretful day of my life.
Continue reading What happened next when you told someone about your sexual abuse?
I was incarcerated because I panicked
This was my first time “behind bars” taken via a police car and booked tonight just because I panicked. One feels this is jail, tossed into a cold cell awaiting the guard to slam shut the heavy metal door. Lying there frozen, shivering, alone peering down to shackled ankles. Why do I deserve this? Jailed because I have a mental illness?
Bolted down. Incarcerated.
Eyes open slowly and encircle a dingy room. Everything is bolted; windows, a desk, chairs, and including this bed. The windows have bars attached, walls are an ugly light pink and the curtain dividing my neighbor’s bed looks hideous also, but what was I expecting; a hotel room?
Is it daybreak? A rap on the door startles me, followed by a female voice stating, “breakfast and meds”.
I prefer not recalling what happened last evening, dialing the Distress Center, talking for what felt like hours with a counselor who had a monotone voice about my obsessive suicidal feelings. Thoughts danced in my head for days, dreaming of ways to carry out my demise. Then, at some stage in this conversation, I became irritated and slammed down the phone, prompting an unexpected visit from the police. Next a knock at my door where I was unconvincing as to my state of mind, and there a decision was made, I was to be transported somewhere?
Neighbors, who don’t as a rule, walk their dogs, now saunter by the police car, peering in, along with others peeking through window blinds and curtains. The back seat of this cruiser is larger than expected, however, I am seated with my mind in a muddle, confused, uncertain of the future yet despising the present.
Both police officers chat quietly in police jargon; I assume they are awaiting word of which hospital to take me, then suddenly I’m on my way. The drive is a speedy drive, yet for me, a lengthy one. A time to reflect… a time to sob…. a time to sit in wonderment. In the back of a cruiser – how can this be? Punishment? I’ve never committed a crime in my life. Will I go before a judge; am I to be sentenced and charged for suicidal ‘thinking’ and (to some) selfishly wishing to end my life?
Living in Stigma 
