But I Can and No One Will Stop Me!

       I got off of the bus one afternoon during my middle school years to see an elaborately decorated yellow car sitting in my driveway. I wasn't too surprised by the fact that there was a different car sitting in our driveway given that my mom had been running her own business from our basement since I was 6 years old. What did surprise me were the decorations and graphics displayed on the car as if it had been pulled right from the movie Daddy Daycare. I quietly entered the house, skipping the normal race down the stairs to say good afternoon to my mother, where she usually asked me how my day was. I knew she was in a meeting. 

      Instead of interrupting my mother's meeting, I took my shoes off, hung up my backpack and made my way to the toy room. The toy room was the hub for all toys, games, and a mini television that my brother and I used often. The end of the day was always used to decompress. As I entered the toy room, there sat a grown man right in the middle of the room playing with my brothers hot wheel cars. To say I was shocked, was an understatement. Who was this man and why was he sitting in my playroom playing with my toys? I left the room immediately to yell down the stairs to my mother, knowing that she would probably have an explanation for what I had seen. It turns out, the client my mother was working with ran an Adult Training Facility for adults who had Intellectual and Developmental Disabilities. The owner just so happened to have a brother who had Down syndrome. While I was only in middle school, I was well aware of what Down Syndrome was. I grew up going to a daycare where my brother's best friend had a sister with Down syndrome: Dayna. I had also gone to grade school with a girl who had Down syndrome as well: Tanya. 

     When I entered high school, it was required that I complete at least 20 hours of community service per year. Given that I had a disability myself and I had an interest in working with individuals who had disabilities, I filled out the paperwork and got all the medical testing and immunizations done so that I could begin volunteering at Sunny Days Adult Daily Living Center. Unfortunately, by the time I began volunteering at Sunny Days, Terry, the man with Down syndrome who sat in the middle of my toy room had passed away. The first day that I spent at Sunny Days, I fell in love. The staff were friendly, the people were amazing, and they had two cats. What more could I ask for. 

     When I turned eighteen, I landed my self a part-time job at Sunny Days. I began working 25 hours a week over the course of 5 days. Shortly after starting, we realized that 25 hours was too much. It would be extremely beneficial for me to work Monday-Thursday and taken Friday off. This ended up working great, but it brought up the question of what I would be capable of managing in the future. Would I be capable of managing and house and a full-time job? We didn't know. 

     Once I began college, I was able to manage a full load of classes with no problem. That being said, I had down time between classes and I had the flexibility to take naps in the afternoon or stay up late at night to study. A year and a half into my college career, I was accepted into the Occupational Therapy program. The first two semester of the program weren't bad. The third semester hit and everything went to hell in a hand basket. My parents and I began questioning my ability to function in the world again. I did great in class and on tests, but group project and application of what I learned was a nightmare. Would I be able to hand the go, go, go of a typical job? In the end we determined that I would leave the Occupational Therapy program and earn my Bachelor's in Applied Technology. This would only require one extra semester of courses and I'd be out of there. 

     Fast forward to today. I'm currently working full-time, going to Grad School part-time, taking piano lessons, I have joined a Life Group, and I'm working on my BCBA supervision hours. There have been so many times that we didn't know I'd be able to do something. When I was young, my parents didn't know if I would ever live on my own. The future didn't look very bright. An Autism diagnosis landed me in a category with an 80% unemployment rate. What would my social and communication skills affect on the job? Right now, I am in my third year of full-time employment. I have my struggles, but I have so many positives to look at. The very fact that I have managed full-time employment for three years is absolutely beautiful. This summer I plan on working 2 part-time jobs, and continuing my journey through a Master's program. I will go, and I will not stop. I can do it!! There are statistics that tell me I can't, but those statistics are just numbers. The determination I have and the places I've gone, show me that numbers are faulty. Only God knows where I will go. The sky is the limit!!! 

     

She's Moving!

       It was a beautiful fall evening in 2007. I had just gotten done playing on the playground while my brother was at his soccer practice when my mom's phone rang. It was some lady/nurse at the doctor's office where I would go the next day to meet with a Psychiatrist, someone we thought would provide me with talk therapy and if needed provide me with medication that my family physician predicted I would eventually need given a diagnosis of Nonverbal Learning Disability, hormones, and the ever fluctuating emotions that come with adolescents. She wanted to confirm the appointment with my mother and make sure her records were correct. I sat there, listening to the conversation, wondering what my future would look like. I had just spent the past 11 years of my 14 year life taking medication for Epilepsy, in the hopes of one day being medication free. 

     The following day I got called to the office during gym class for an early dismissal. My parents were there to pick me up for the appointment with the Psychiatrist. I remember leaving gym class that day, telling my classmates I had a dr. appointment, but not wanting to divulge too much information given the sensitivity and stigma that surrounds mental health. I was only 9th grade at a school of 120 kids in grades 9-12, still trying to figure out who I was. Going to see a Psychiatrist was the last thing I wanted to do. 

    We arrived at the Dr.s office right on time, if not a few minutes late. We entered the office on the bottom floor of the building to sign in. The receptionist signed me in and just as we were about to head upstairs to the children and family clinic, the receptionists phone rang. On the other line was my Psychiatrist wondering where we were, having never met us before and not knowing our ability to be somewhat prompt. The receptionist got off the phone to inform us that we better head on upstairs because the Psychiatrist was looking for us and seemed to be not so patiently waiting for our arrival. I felt somewhat intimated at first, my mother just having referred to the doctor as having a hairy eyeball. This was a phrase that I was unfamiliar with and took quite literally given the black and white thinking I had that is common in people with Autism Spectrum Disorders. Upon entering the Psychiatrists office he was much friendlier and ready to help us. 

     Heading into the appointment with the Psychiatrist we had absolutely no intention to put me on medication. From our understanding based on what my family physician had said, was that this Dr. would provide talk therapy and medication if necessary, thus decreasing the amount of Dr's I would need to see in the future. What we soon found out was that Psychiatrists don't do talk therapy. They just prescribe medication. During that first Psychiatric appointment at 14 years old, I was prescribed an antidepressant for anxiety and given a pamphlet of information about the risks of taking such a medication and the possibility of developing suicidal thoughts, as if I didn't already have enough difficulty with mood and emotional stability to begin with. That was the whole reason I was there. 

      Before I left that appointment and began taking the antidepressant for a suspected anxiety disorder, my Psychiatrist recommended a new Psychologist who had just joined the practice. The new therapist just so happened to specialize in treating Autism Spectrum Disorder's and was trained in Cognitive Behavior Therapy (CBT). My doctor explained that while I didn't have Autism and given the fact that I had a brain injury (from birth), that CBT might not work, but he suggested we meet with her. 

      At the end of my appointment we knocked on her door to see if she was available to speak with. She had just moved to the area and didn't have any clients yet so she took a few minutes to talk with us. That evening I sat on her couch as she listened to my mother talk about my history and present concerns. The therapist began asking questions about routines and rigidity. Having undiagnosed Asperger's syndrome at the time and perseverating on that very condition, I questioned why she even bothered asking about routines and sameness when I wasn't diagnosed with an Autism Spectrum Disorder. Besides that, she seemed incredibly friendly and ready to help us, so we scheduled a follow up appointment with her.  

     During our follow up appointment, she got to know me a little better. We both learned a little about each other. She had just moved to the area because her husband had landed a tenure-track job with Penn State. I am always able to get a feel for someone the first time I meet them. I fell in love with this therapist, the first time I met her. I knew she would be the right match for me, probably based the multitude of horrible therapist experiences I had, had in the past. I panicked at the idea that given that her husband had moved here for work, she could technically move at any time for work again. Over the years she regularly reassured me of her stability in her current community and the there were no plans to move. That was until fall/winter of 2009. 

     In the fall of 2009, my mom got an email from my therapist on a Friday afternoon. She wanted my mother and I to come to her office Saturday morning. This had never happened before and all I could think of was the worst. Is she leaving? Is she moving? I knew something was up. When we arrived at the Dr.'s office to meet with her, my mother completely bypassed the downstairs offices where we typically check in and headed right for my therapist's office. I knew it couldn't be good. As I walked in, panicking on the inside and showing my emotions across my face, the therapist told me there was nothing to worry about; everything would be okay. We all sat down and she broke the news to me. She was leaving that mental health practice for a mental health practice two hours away. My heart sank. 

    During that unscheduled appointment with my therapist, she explained where she was going and what she would be doing. She gave me time to process and was fully supportive of my feelings. She made a list of possible referrals she could make to other therapists and support groups and sent us on our way. Less than a year later, I was back in her office at a satellite location of the mental health practice she was working for. No one understood me like she did. I have since discontinued therapy with her, graduated high school, been a sponsored success story for Dickinson Mental Health Center,  earned my Bachelor's degree, maintained a full-time job, spoken at Soaring Heights Schools and I'm currently working on my Master's Degree. 

     The story sounds finished, but it's not. Three weeks ago, my mother reached out to this therapist for something and was informed that she was moving. This time she isn't moving just a couple hours away. She is moving half way across the country to Nebraska. She'll no longer live 15 minutes from me, or work 2 hours away from me. I'll probably never see her again and that hurts. I've taken the last three weeks to process everything, to come to a point where I could write this well and not sob the whole way through. She has done a lot for me and we will stay in touch. I am her success story. With the internet, the work is at our fingertips. 

      This may not sound like a big deal, but I want to conclude with what was accomplished when I was under her care. First of all, she looked at me holistically. She didn't just ask me about how I felt or what I was trying to say. She looked at family dynamics, took my interests into account (including some rousing games of Othello, and walking laps outside the clinic), and she did what worked for us. After a couple years of therapy and concerns raised by my parents, she was the one who finally diagnosed me with Asperger's after being continuously misdiagnosed with a whole slew of other labels. She gave my parents and I hope for the future. She told me I could when other's told me "no way". She is who advocated for me and helped provide me with the skills to advocate for myself and tools to cope. If it wasn't for her, I don't know if I would have even attended college, much less Grade School. 

     I sat in my current therapists "office" (my hammock swing on my deck)  Thursday afternoon I explained to her that I had a friend moving and I was struggling. I sat in that hammock swing trying to keep my mouth shut about the fact that I was grieving the loss of a past therapist and how stupid it was. My current therapist kept asking, "who is this friend", "which friend is this?", until I finally broke the silence and told her. I was terrified to tell her, but you know what, she was amazing. She validated my feelings. She told me that I was experiencing ADULT feelings. She acknowledged the incredible loss I was going through as I questioned every emotion I had over this adult who I haven't even seen in person since 2019 when I spoke at our local Autism school. She was amazing. She told me that it wasn't stupid at all. She told me that there was a huge difference between someone living 15 minutes away and living half way across the country. It didn't matter who it was. 

      Back in college, I had another friend graduate before me and I was so sad to see her leave. I kept making statement's about needing to say goodbye. My friend would keep reminding me that it's not a good bye. She wasn't leaving, she was just moving on. She said, "don't say goodbye, it's see you later". I have held on to that every since and it has helped me so much. Right now I'm not in the process of saying goodbye, I'm in the process of saying, "keep in touch". Keep in touch dear friend! 

      

      

     

Let's Talk About Trauma-not coping skills

        I want to write a blogpost. I really want to, but it seems that every time I try, I get stuck. It's as if what I want to say is too long for Facebook or too short of a blog. I know I've talked about being sick, like a lot, but its a huge part of the past year for me. Today, my parents are in AZ, I'm adjusting to being home with out them, and my anxiety is high. This is the first time my parents have left me since being sick.

      Yes, I said that right. My have had to cancel several trips because of how ill I was. They were supposed to go on a trip in October. Then they were supposed to go on a trip back in the spring. You know what, they couldn't. They couldn't leave me while I was in the state I was in. It wasn't a matter of me forcing them to stay home. It was a matter of whether or not I would be stable enough at home without an emergency call to my Psychiatrist or even the slight possibility that I would have to be hospitalized. It was that serious. When I say that my anxiety is hight, I'm not being dramatic. In fact it is quite traumatic

     Don't get me wrong, I'm doing a lot better, but I still have bad anxiety days. Just as I said above, my parents area away. Changes have always been difficult for especially when it deals with travel. I like to travel myself, but that causes anxiety as well. I worry about my parents or my family making it places safely. I also worry about things that could go wrong while we are away, such as a medical crisis.

     Today, I posted on my wall that I was having a bad anxiety day. Most people were sympathetic, but there were a few that weren't. One person decided to tell me that since it was a bad anxiety day, that meant that it was an opportunity to practice my coping skills. Quite frankly, I have to practice my coping skills every day. If I didn't practice my coping skills everydayI probably wouldn't be where I am today, much less even be here. The fact of the matter is that there is a huge difference between Trauma and Anxiety. An anxiety disorder is typically chronic in nature whereas trauma is severe and acute (rapid onset). The anxiety that I am left dealing with stems from trauma. When something stems from Trauma, it requires a whole new set of coping skills that one may not have had for their typical anxiety.

     There are still some things that I can still use to help with my anxiety, but a lot of the things I used to use, don't work anymore. Deep breathing became a real struggle when I developed heart palpitations. I'll never forget the night where I yelled for my mom several times and she didn't here me. I was scared to get out of my bed. I finally went to the bed she was temporary sleeping in and laid up against her. My heart felt like it was literally pounding out of my chest. I'm not talking a fast heart rate and panic attack. I'm talking about waking up in the middle of the night, truly wondering if my heart is going to explode. My mother at the time, had to sleep upstairs and right next door to me because I was frequently needing her in the middle of the night.

      While realizing that deep breathing wasn't such a good strategy, I tried distracting myself from the anxiety or illness. That was an absolute horrible idea. It sounds really great to keep your mind on positive things, but when you are so far down the rabbit whole, you can't come back up too easily. I was to the point of feeling as though I shall not distract myself from my anxiety and gods will for me. I shouldn't watch television or listen to music. I shouldn't play a game or color. Those activities were not made to glorify God, but were distractions from the devil. Heck, the internet had me believing that adult coloring was the antichrist doing his work as the rapture was on its way. Adult coloring was the anti-christs way of distracting us from God. It allowed us to color mandala's which had a center point that led to the cosmos in Buddhism. Yoga was the antichrist because the positions that you move into are ways to worship the sun god in hinduism. I'll stop there.

    When it comes to anxiety, it all becomes very difficult as well because the root of my traumatic illness was anxiety. Now when my anxiety acts up, it's not simply anxiety acting up. When it does act up, in come the flashbacks or memories. While they are not vivid in the sense of visualizing something like a war vet might, they are very real. When I feel anxious, I feel as though I am going to go through what I went through in the fall. I get scared that I'm going to go back down hill. I get scared that I will not only enter the hell I was in but that I won't return to normalcy. I feel worried that I will get so bad again, and I lose my fight.

    Anxiety is something that someone can overcome. You may be able to talk someone through the event. For example, I used to be scared of sirens. My parents would tell me that the sirens are to help traffic move out of the way. The sirens were police and ambulances and what not going to help someone. Those are thoughts you can process through. Anxiety happens around things that can be reasoned through.

     During a traumatic even like I went through, it's also hard to recover based on the cognitive processes one has to go through. During the first night of high anxiety, I went to the bathroom and had an anxiety attack on the toilet and heading back to my bed. I thought I was going to keel over dead. Therefore, I was became fearful of merely standing up or sitting down on a. toilet seat, worrying that I was going to have a heart attack and fall over. I could tell myself that it was only anxiety attack, but that doesn't take away the flashbacks or memories.

    Today, I avoid certain situations like the plague, unless I am forced to enter them. This is another difference between anxiety and trauma. Anxiety makes you worry, while trauma causes you to avoid the most irrational things. Until almost the end of the school year, I absolutely hated using the school bathrooms; four cement walls, feeling alone and claustrophobic all at the same time was really hard for me to do, feeling as though something could happen and no one would no where I was or know that I needed help if I needed it.

     This coming fall, Penn College will have there Homecoming and Family weekend again. While most people will be excited for all the festivities and be ready to reunite with old friends, I will be at a wedding. I will not being returning to Homecoming weekend this year or maybe even ever. I can't go back to a place where there is so much pain. I can't believe I've actually even managed to travel to Williamsport since everything happened. I couldn't stand the idea of going back to Atloona for some shopping after spending a day in December there with some friends, merely trying to survive. When I say that I'm having a bad anxiety day, don't tell me to use my coping skills. Tell me you are there for me or give me "hugs". If you can't do that, then please keep your thoughts to yourself.

     

Hiding

     During my college years and prior to the events of October 2018, I was the life of the party. That is as much as an awkward aspie who desperately wants friends can be. I definitely wasn't the one with the most friends or the one to go out to parties or out to drink on Friday and Saturday nights. I did do my fair share of socializing though. I was the one who went to practically every event I could while I was on campus. I even went to events that involved dogs even though I didn't care for them. I went not for the dogs, but for the people.

     In my Freshman Seminar class we talked a lot about personalities, working with others, and even took the Meyer's Briggs Personality Assessment (I'm an ESFJ if you didn't know that already). I was an extrovert through and through. I occasionally wanted alone time, but for the most part, I had to be around other people. Other people kept me energized. When there was an event in our resident halls, I was there and probably the loudest one there because I fed off of everyone else's energy Things have changed since then. 

        In October things changed a lot and while I'm better, things still aren't the same. I know I stated this before, but as I "recover" more, I'm able to take the pieces apart and realize what is wrong and what is still okay. One of the biggest things that have is my personality and my extrovert side and thats kind of hard. 

       At this point in my recovery, my anxiety is still high, but manageable. When I am around other people my anxiety increases. This never used to happen. I never viewed myself as someone with social anxiety. While I've always worried about everything that I say and do, that was a learned behavior that I gained during a very particular rough patch in my life. These days I just feel like hiding. 

     I crave having relationships with others, but I have no idea what to do. There are times when I so badly want to hang out with someone so I try and plan something. As the time comes nearer, I begin to feel more and more anxious. I just planned to hangout with a friend tonight and then became anxious when it was time to spend time with her. I make soap every Sunday and while I truly enjoy making soap, somedays I just don't want to have other demands put on me or have to interact with others. Heck sometimes, I just don't want to get out of my dog on pajama's. Then there are group interactions.

     During extracurricular activities or activities besides my work, I can't last much more than 2 hours before I want to go and hide. I go out and do soap with my friends on Sundays, but after 2 hours I'm completely done and ready to go home, but I don't mind going out to a part and having alone time either.

      During organized conversations and hanging out with multiple people, I become very anxious. I begin to just want to hide my head in my phone and play Pokemon. I get anxious because I don't know what to talk about. I feel as though I constantly talk about myself and all the medical shit I deal with and sometimes its hard for me to talk about anything else. Then the schedules get thrown in there. When you have several people your interacting, you never know what the hell is going to happen next. 

      Several years ago we sold the house where we were able to see the local fireworks from our back porch. Since we have moved, we have been unable to develop any sort of tradition. That being said, we spent 4th of July with friends at a campground about 45 minutes from home. There were probably 10 or 15 of us and only a couple hours to fit things in. I swear that we spent more time talking about who was doing what than actually getting stuff done. There was no schedule, no routine and absolutely nothing to keep my mind sane. It was also way too hot out which meant that a lot of time was spent in the pool. Then I didn't feel like being wet anymore so then I was hot again. After a quick snack, we went river tubing. I know, it sounds like so much fun, but it was the slowest tubing trip I've ever been on. I swear there were moments when we weren't actually moving. 

      I don't mean to complain. There are great things that I am doing, but when you have anxiety and social anxiety, it's extremely hard to focus on the positive when you feel like your in hell. Then I get on Facebook tonight and everyone is having babies, wedding showers, and weddings. I've been invited to absolutely nothing so far and I feel defeated. Okay, I said it! I feel defeated and it feels like know matter what I do, I can't win. When I socialize I want to hide and when I hide, I want to socialize. I never seem to be happy and comfortable anymore. 

Lying...It's Complicated

    I always tell people that my mom grew up Jewish, my dad grew up Catholic, and I was raised Christian. After making such a statement, I’m typically confronted with a statement or question back pertaining to the fact that no matter what, I'm Jewish by default since my mother is Jewish. In the end, it really doesn't matter what my descent is; it matters how I was raised and what I believe. I was raised Christian and I believe that Jesus is the Messiah. Given these facts, there are certain rules and beliefs that one follows as is the case in any religion.

     One belief that I have always been raised with is the belief that lying is a sin. In fact, I pretty much grew up thinking that as long as I didn't lie, I didn't sin. Then came the tween years and the teen years when I had to learn the difference between a lie and a fib. I had to learn the difference between a lie and a white lie. Lie's in general were not okay, but a white lie was fine because it meant that you were getting the job done or you were covering up something so that others feelings were not hurt. For example, getting excited about a gift you receive even though you already have that same thing. Another example being that you tell someone you love their shirt if they ask because if you tell them you hate it and it's ugly, you'll offend them. I always grew up learning that lies were bad and white lies were not so bad, but what people don't tell you is how complicated things can get.

      Growing up, people don't tell you how complicated things can get when someone else lies on your behalf. People don't tell you that someone else's lie on your behalf can get back to you. They also don't tell you what your supposed to do when someone else lies on your behalf and you find out later. Everything your taught as a child kind of changes when you grow up. As a child everything is built on not lying and learning that someone depends on your lack of lying to gain their trust. What happens when things change? What happens when things get more complicated than what your taught?
     
     A couple of months ago someone lied to me about something. I honest to goodness believed every word they said until today. Today, I found out that this person lied and they not only lied to me, but they lied to my parents as well. When this particular event occurred, we absolutely believed everything they said and that what they were telling me was to benefit me. We had no reason to not believe what they said because this individual has known me for quite a while. They have never, to my knowledge, lied to me before and I thank them for that. This individual cared and still cares about my well-being and while they lied to me, I still believe this statement to be true. This is what makes things so hard.

    I sit here tonight trying to wrap my head around what happen a few months ago and why someone would have lied to me. I get what they did, but why they lied is something I don't fully understand. It's also hard to understand what to do about it. Would the outcome have been different had they not lied? Yes. Would the outcome have been good if they told the true? That’s questionable. If someone you trust lies to you, do you still continue to trust them? What if their lie was meant to help you? I grew up learning that not lying and trust go hand in hand. What happens when that one lie occurs? When you have known someone for such a long time, what is supposed to happen to that trust you had with that individual? One of the hardest questions come when you find out the truth from another individual. What are you supposed to do? Are you supposed to confront the liar? Are you supposed to ignore it and forget about it? These are really tough questions. You really want to trust others and what they have to say. You don't want to hurt others for something they did that was a mistake, even if it was a really big mistake. It’s hard enough to confront someone who has done wrong that hurts you. It’s even harder to confront someone when did t with such genuinity.

      At this very moment two really popular quotes come to mind. "What you don't know doesn't hurt you" and "Kill people with kindness". I really like the first quote because it's true. My supervisor uses it a lot when we are talking about what we say or don't say to our kids on a daily basis. I don't lie to my kids on a daily basis, but as someone who works full-time with children, you learn the art of  manipulation. For example, you may artfully check your email in the middle of the day about an early
dismissal and not let the child know until it is absolutely necessary. You may also tell your child that we can talk about what ever they are distracted by, fully knowing that they will completely forget about it by the end of a lesson. I think it's important in some instances to act in such ways, but it's also important to discern what appropriate times are.
   
     In the end, I think it's important to realize that we all must kill each other with kindness. People make mistakes and we need to forgive them for that. When they make mistakes we still need to remember to love them. In the end we all make some mistakes. Some are little and some are some real doozies.

The Perfect Day!

     Today, as I stood on the playground during recess duty, I began to explain to one of the other paras how yesterday seemed to be a perfect day. I went on to explain that by no means was it an easy day, but it was still perfect. Most days I wonder where God is and why he hasn't completely healed me and my mind since October. I wonder where he is when I ask for peace of mind or joy. Sometimes I begin to doubt, but yesterday was a day where I felt like God was giving me a little tap on the shoulder. Yesterday was perfect. 

      On Friday I sat in my living room typing away on my phone through messenger. I had seen a post by a friend that had me concerned. A few weeks prior to this post, a mutual friend had been hospitalized and then life-flighted to Geisinger. I hopped on and asked my friend if everything was okay based on her post and genuine concern for our mutual friend. My friend reassured me that everything was okay and that it had just been a rough week. She then added, "i also wanted to let you know that Emily isn't doing well". As I proceeded to as questions, she informed me that she really didn't think Emily was going to make it. Saturday, Emily at the mere age of 33 passed away surrounding by loved ones at Geisinger Medical Center. 33, less than 10 years older than me. 

      Fast-forward to this work week. I texted my direct supervisor to let her know that Emily had passed away. I truly didn't know if I was going to make it through Monday without falling apart at least once. I woke up Tuesday to be informed that it was a snow day. I didn't really want a snow day. I didn't want a day to wallow in tears and think about Emily. After having a great day Monday without falling apart, I didn't need to fall apart Tuesday. I hopped on Facebook in desperation that Sunny Days was possibly open. It wasn't, so I spent the day at home curled up with my family. 

      While the previous days had been hard and with Depression setting in, I became even more concerned about another snow day on Wednesday. I needed to keep my mind busy. I woke up at 6:30am to another email informing me that the schools were closed due to ice. I absolutely could not fall asleep, but something marvelous happened. I gave my old supervisor at Sunny Days a call to see if they were open. They were, and I decided to head in to visit everyone.

      

      Heather, my friend who works at Sunny Days where Emily was a client before she became ill, had informed me a day or two earlier that they were putting a memory board together for Emily's viewing. The pictures they were using were from Emily's time at Sunny Days. I was super excited about this and allowed Heather to pull a pic of Emily and I from my Facebook page for the memory board. 

     When I arrived at Sunny Days on Wednesday, the staff were just putting together the memory board for Emily. Low and behold, they had forgotten to add the picture of me and Emily as they had planned. I asked Heather if she had forgotten to print it and informed her that it was okay if decided not to added. Heather had completely forgotten, but with a reminder from me, she added my pic in. After all the pictures were glued down, I was instructed to write a little note about my memories with Emily. Wednesday evening we had the viewing. I had never gone to a viewing before and I had never expected that the first viewing I went to would be for someone who was so young. 

     Wednesday was hard, but it was still a perfect day. We need remember that when things get hard, there is still a plan. I fully intended to go to work on Wednesday. God had other plans that he so beautifully orchestrated through a snow day. Had we not had the snow day, I would not have ended up at Sunny Days. If I wasn't able to go to Sunny Days, I would have never added my picture or written my message to/about Emily. The snow day also allowed me to grieve with the people who were closest to both me and Emily. The day concluded with her viewing and dinner with my parents. 

      Yes, I said earlier that Wednesday was a day of God giving me a little tap on the shoulder to remind me he was there. He beautifully orchestrated this day for me to grieve, but not be upset. It gave me a chance to ask question and hug and empathize with my Sunny Days family. This one day gave me that perfect chance to write something on Emily's memory board, allowing her mom to see that I am still part of the Sunny Days family and that I care deeply about the loss of her daughter who was so loved. 

     

      While the day was a great reminder that God is near, it was also a great reminder for things to come. Having never gone to a viewing or a funeral before, I had never seen a dead body. As soon as I Emily's face, my stomach turned. Looking at someone's body feels so unnatural and perfectly uncomfortable. I do believe that God made this so because we were not mental to live a mortal life. God originally created us to have eternal life. In that moment of seeing Emily's lifeless body, knowing her high spirit and energy, it showed me that there has to be life after death. Sometimes we doubt God and sometimes we really wonder about Heaven. Emily was not there in that body. Emily was completely gone. Someone who had such a happy demeanor and high energy does not just disappear. For I truly believe that Emily is in heaven with Jesus. Having these experiences has truly showed me how God is working through me and around me. He is ever present. 

      Emily, you were a beautiful soul that no one could ever forget. Anytime I walked into Sunny Days, your arms would start flailing and your legs would begin to kick. You had the biggest smile on your face, giggling with your arms stretched out for a hug. You would often times point to my belly as to ask if I was going to have a baby; you loved babies. When you became concerned about someone who you hadn't seen in a while you would reach your hand up asking if they were in Heaven. You my friend are in Heaven. I'll never forget you asking me about Grange fair as soon as the warm days of summer came. You also didn't go by a day without your ranch dressing on something. You will be missed. High Fly Emily! 

Crisis

     It has been 10.5 weeks since I first got "sick" and I truly wish for no one else to go through what I have gone through. A lot has happened since October 5th, but unfortunately the story isn't over. I've had countless doctor's appointments, numerous emergency phone calls to the psychiatrist, several changes in medication and I have had new labels added to my diagnosis list. I'm not happy, but I think I'm finally getting healthier.

    Two weekends ago I went to into crisis mode. I don't think many people really actually understand what I mean when I say crisis. On Saturday I had gone to Altoona with my mother and a few family friends. Traveling to Altoona for shopping is usually a joyous occasion. I had a horrible time, lost my temper on someone, and my mom didn't know if I was going to make it through the day without completely losing it. On Sunday we went to see a doctor at the weekend clinic who could only tell me to go home and call my Psychiatrists office. By the grace of God, I was able to talk to my Psychiatrist.

    During our last emergency call to my Psychiatrist we completely rearranged the way I am taking my medications. Prior to getting sick I was taking an SSRI and an anxiolytic regularly. I would take a medication (not narcotic) to assist in my sleep as needed. Today I am taking that same sleep aid twice a day to literally keep my body from being in a fight or flight mode. The doctor has since added Trazodone to my medication regimen for sleep. It may only be one medication, but its really hard to think about the fact that something that used to knock me out for 12 hours at a  time is now being used to keep me from panicking during the day. It has been two weeks and things have stabilized.

      A couple of weeks ago I began seeing a new therapist to hopefully help work with the anxiety. When beginning with the therapist I was extremely cautious about my optimism given that I didn't think a therapist could possibly fix a problem that a medication caused. To this day I don't think therapy would have helped without the previously mentioned adjustment. Now that I have had a couple sessions, I am beginning to see major improvement. While the improvements have been nice, there has been an increase in diagnoses and I am still not the same person I was before I took Levaquin.

     Upon initial assessment my new Psychologist diagnosed me me with moderate Major Depressive Disorder. If anyone knows me, they know that I am anything but depressed. I'm probably one of the most outgoing people you could meet, but this is what medication has done to me. Since getting my medications adjusted, I have also been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder as well. During the period of such high anxiety, it was difficult to really see what all was going on until I could fully articulate everything. I, Simply J am absolutely not a diagnosis and I would wish the stuff I have gone through on no one. Please understand, I am doing well, I am healthy, but I am not the same. Please educate yourselves before you take medications. While I have Depression and OCD, they don't have me!!!