CW - depression, suicidality, eating disorders (no specifics numbers or details.) Please take care of yourself when reading this.
This is hard to share... As I have mentioned before I am not uncomfortable discussing struggle and my lived experience with mental illness, but I often do so from an intellectual standpoint: discussing these struggles in the past tense, as a hurdle I have climbed over. While I have climbed over many difficult experiences in my life, I am also someone who lives with mental illness. It does not mean I am always unable to participate in society, be present in my life, function normally at times, or keep growing and learning. Some of my struggles are changeable and some are not; I am still navigating where I have the power to change things. I often say we do not owe anyone a neat and tidy narrative, but a part of me so desperately longs to tell one. Living is messy and we all have our own struggles; sometimes they are more present than others and that is okay.
These days I often come back to the reminder that our stories are always worth telling: that said (as a dear friend of mine once told me), "your story deserves to be heard, but not everyone deserves to hear it."
I wrestle with sharing my experiences in a more vulnerable form quite often. My hope is to bring recognition to these struggles, but my fear is being reduced to them; questioned in my capacity (particularly as a nurse.) There is a careful balance there that all healthcare providers have to navigate, whether they live with mental illness or not, but that is between them, their supports, and the profession.
I want to disrupt the narratives and stereotypes we hold about people with mental illness, though I also have to acknowledge my privilege in telling my story, receiving help, and so on. My story is part of the picture, but I am also extremely privileged to be able to tell it (even if I do so in small parcels). Many others do not have that opportunity and despite the push that we are supposed to raise awareness and share (e.g. Bell Let's Talk Day), it is not always safe to do so and we never owe anyone that. Just because we do not share our experiences, does not mean they are any less real or that we are doing a disservice to others. Our stories belong to us, whether we choose to share them or not.
At this time a year ago, I stepped into inpatient treatment for my eating disorder once more. It had taken over a year from the time I sought, to the time I received, services. All I can say is that a lot can happen in a year.
In the fall of 2019, I submitted my application for Graduate Studies and a referral for further treatment. My hope was to finally do the last leg of deeper work that would allow me to step free from the remains of my eating disorder. My depression had been worsening for some time and with it, my ability to step away from eating disorder behaviours and see a point beyond them. I was tired of this in-between place, this half-life. I wanted to move forward, towards my career goals and my hope to one day bring my passion for nursing and mental health advocacy closer together.
To do so I knew that I needed to tackle each of my struggles, hand-in-hand. While the tendency in our healthcare system, particularly in mental health (in my personal experience), is to treat illness in isolation, you cannot untangle the threads of these struggles. They intertwine and if you pull on one, you pull on another because each of these things is situated in the context of a whole and complex human being. For my depression to improve, I needed to nourish myself; the motivation to nourish myself meant tackling my depression. To do anything else would be like a playing a pointless game of whack-a-mole with different symptoms and behaviours, never quite getting to the unseen damage that lies beneath.
Within a few months I learned that my referral for more intensive support had been denied on the basis that I do not have family doctor (and I have never been able to find one taking patients in my community.) To pursue further treatment for my eating disorder, I would need to be re-referred to outpatient services in Victoria, B.C. The referral for more intensive support would need to come from them. I had been through the program before and there wasn't much more they could offer me, so it seemed rather absurd to be required to sit on one months-long waiting list - in order to send another referral - just to sit on another months-long waiting list. I understood why that process was required for ethical and legal reasons, but nevertheless, it was frustrating and my depression was only worsening with each passing week.
In the midst of the first wave of COVID-19 hitting our hospitals, what was left of my resilience broke. I had nothing left to give as a nurse or as a person. I couldn’t bear living anymore and I followed that hopelessness to its end. I went from nurse to patient in the span of a day. A year and a half later, I’m still working my way back to life.
If you had glanced at me in that time, you would have seen a highly effective and functional person. I could smile, participate in daily life (with great unseen effort), and converse normally. Suicide is devastating. It feels like a shock to those facing grief in the aftermath, but for the person living it... I guarantee that most often it is not out of the blue. Pain that is unseen is still pain and you cannot tell by looking at a person, what they are going through.
I did not die that day or end up with any longstanding physical consequences, but many people do. If they survive, they may have lifelong impairments from their attempt. This is not often discussed or showcased on social media, but I need to make that clear.
One of the most painful things this past year, has been watching my colleagues struggle through wave after wave of this pandemic and not being able to help (except by trying to focus on my own healing.) The guilt for taking up space in such a needed time still weighs heavily on me. It is something I have to keep working through; I know what I would tell anyone else, but it's easy to say you don't need to feel guilty, I still feel it regardless. We were short-staffed and burning out before this pandemic. It has not been gentle on our healthcare workers and that is why it is critical that the public knows that they are the first of line of defense (and our frontline workers are the last). Our choices to get vaccinated and follow precautions are how we help support our frontline workers and prevent further variants from developing.
From the spring of 2020 to late fall, I clung to life with barely the will to do so. Waiting for waitlists to shorten and treatment to come, dependent on family to keep me going. However, I cannot say there was nothing else in those months of waiting. Deep pain and moments of connection co-existed together, sometimes in the same, or at least adjacent moments. I spent a great deal of time in nature. What I could do was limited, but a camera was easy to carry with me and because I had an abundance of time, there was the space to notice things in more detail. I needed knowledge and I needed purpose, however small. So I learned about the life around me, hoping some of it might find me again too. I survived on these moments, on time with those I love and who love me. I was lucky that people could advocate for me, but even then, the wait was long.
COVID-19 had resulted in many options for eating disorder treatment being shut down as the beds were desperately needed. The result was a waitlist beyond the likes our provincial eating disorder program had ever seen. With only eight inpatient beds for adults (which became seven during the pandemic) for the entirety of the province of B.C., treatment length shortened to allow the list to move along faster and multiple precautions had to be put in place to ensure an outbreak wouldn't occur. The number of people (youth and adults) seeking help for their eating disorder or other mental health conditions, rose dramatically during the pandemic. We are still seeing the effects of that.
By the time I received help, I had fallen so far I wasn't sure I would ever get back up again (or even wanted to.) This is no one's fault, it's a number of unfortunate circumstances colliding with system flaws. I am reminded of the saying that it only takes a second to fall down, but to get back up again takes so much longer.
I can’t believe it has been a year of stepping in and out of treatment, trying to push my way forward, tripping and stumbling along the way. This is not where I would have expected my life to be at this point, but our stories rarely unfold as we might ambitiously plan out. I’m still trying to find my way forward through my struggles. Still trying to climb back out of the hole last year carved in my life. I’m still shaky on my feet. Sometimes I catch sight of what’s possible - my long term goals waiting out there for me like a lighthouse on the shore of a black and tumultuous sea. Other times the fog rolls in and consumes the landscape of my life.
In these moments, all we can do is take it breath by breath and remind ourselves that as long as we are still here on this earth, there is the chance for change. A sense of hope can be a tenuous thing to hold on to, but even if we have no sense of it, that doesn't mean the possibility for its return is not there. I say this full well knowing that it is easy to say there's still hope, but much harder to make our way through this bleak landscape or have a sense of why we are even bothering. It is not an easy thing to keep going when hope is hard. Still, while we all walk our own paths, we are not alone on this journey.
Gather close what things give you comfort, keep you warm, and offer shelter in this storm. Nourish that small flicker of a flame at your core. Huddle down and keep guard of it while the wind wails around you. Though the sun is obscured, it still exists behind the clouds. Hold yourself together through what means you have and the storm will break before you do. I say this as much to myself (as a reminder) as I do to you dear reader (and anyone who knows this dark place). Hope can be so utterly hard to hold onto, but at the same time, it is also difficult to lose entirely. There is some deeper drive to live in our beings: some ancient instinct. It is just that we often don't know how in this absurd and challenging time. Give yourself the grace of a chance when you can. Tune in to these deeper rhythms; to your heart still beating in your chest. Again, again, again.
- S.
Your words are powerful and needed in this world. Proud of you 🧡