Tag Archives: family

My father’s mental illness made him think I was dead

I remember getting the call that my father had been rushed to the VA hospital in Phoenix. He had been in and out of the hospital a lot lately and each time seemed worse than the last. I remember it being late  – by the time I pulled into the hospital parking lot it was dark.

I was nervous as a walked through the corridor to the psychiatric unit and asked to see my dad. My parents had divorced when I was 20, so as the oldest child the responsibility of my father had landed on me. This was not my first time dealing with this situation, but it was the first time I felt its weight. I had a sick feeling as I was directed into a large room with chairs and a phone on a small side table. I could tell it was a lounge and visitation area for patients and their families, but other than my father who was sitting next to the phone, it was empty that night.

As I walked in he grabbed me. This was really unusual – my father never hugged or had shown affection towards me. I thought he was going to hug me until he started feeling around my stomach and waistline.

He asked, “Where are the bullet holes?”

Of course I was confused and asked what he meant. He continued to feel around for gunshot wounds. I had to take a step back.

At the time I was young and did not have an understanding of the extent of my father’s mental illness.  I proclaimed, “Dad! How can I be dead if I am standing right here?” My father was confused. He told me about a shootout with the police where I had gotten caught in the crossfire. He saw them take me away in a body bag. It did not make sense to him that I could be standing before him. 

The blow hit me in that moment. It was as if someone had punched me in the gut, hard, knocking the wind out of me. Until then I had not accepted the magnitude of my father’s illness.

I could not imagine living my life seeing such awful things and believing they were real. I had to stop and consider that losing his children must be one of my father’s greatest fears. Especially for it to haunt him so heavily.

My father has a hard time being convinced something did or did not occur. You can spend all your time telling him the voices are not real or that no one is conspiring against him, but you will never be able to persuade him. To him, they are real. 

There have been other instances like this one. Once he thought my siblings and I were all four killed in a car accident. He said he received a call saying all four of us had died.  At the time my brother was stationed in Afghanistan and the rest of us all lived in different places. There was no possible way we would have been in the same car together. Schizophrenia does not operate in logic. It causes the mind to believe what it wants and there is no convincing otherwise. My father didn’t fully believe we were all okay until he saw us for himself. It was a difficult concept for him, but today he will tell you that all of his children are alive and well.

My father still has hallucinations and moments of paranoia but taking his medication correctly plays a huge part in keeping them to a minimum. 

I often find myself afraid for my dad. That someday his illness will take him to a level of madness that he will not be able to return from. I don’t want him living his life continually experiencing a fear that we can only imagine. At least for now he still has great moments of reality.

I know he desires for his mind to be free.  I see it every time he tells me God has cured him, and he doesn’t need his medication anymore. And I want to believe it. I want to believe with all my heart that he is better and that his mind is no longer haunted by such horrific thoughts. I also know there is no magic pill or cure that will suddenly make him better. I know it every time I get a call telling me my father has been admitted to the hospital again.

We will never understand why this disease has chosen him, but I know he would never wish it on another soul. He is too kindhearted for that.  Yet this is a lifetime for him. A lifetime of experiences many cannot understand. All I can do is hope and pray that his episodes are few. That he no longer sees me being carried away in a body bag. That I no longer have to tell my dear, fragile father, “I am not dead, I am standing right here. I wish I could help you.”

The pain of really seeing yourself

I remember clearly the day I was somehow capable of seeing myself. I mean, truly seeing….

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I didn’t immediately seek help but it was at that moment when I  knew I needed it. I would continue on a path where it took me years to seek treatment but in the back of my mind I knew I was sick. The image of my face burnt into my memory. Why I could see myself this day and then not again, I do not know.

I had been starving myself for days. I was constantly tired and sleeping more and more. It had to be from the lack of nutrition. I loved sleeping. When I was asleep I didn’t have to worry about food or deal with people expecting me to eat. I had also convinced myself that as I slept I was getting thinner. I did eat but I would binge eat and then rid myself of all the large quantities of food by forcing myself to vomit. Then I would go without eating again. I also popped laxatives like candy. The feel of food in my stomach disgusted me. I had to get rid of it as soon as I was able too. Sometimes this meant hiding and vomiting after eating out with friends or family. I always managed to eat in front of others. I never wanted anyone to know about my secret battle with food. I thought I was hiding it but I now believe some people knew.

On this particular day I had woke up late again. I dressed quickly and grabbed my makeup bag to finish getting ready at the office. There was a small mirror in the hall where I could finish up my makeup before the office would get busy.

That is when it happened. I walked past the mirror on my way to the restroom and I saw it… I saw me. I saw a person I did not recognize. A pale person drained of life with a sunken face and large protruding cheek bones. I had brittle hair and extremely dry skin from the continual vomitting. There were black rings around my eyes and a yellowish tone to my skin. I was horrified!
I was seeing myself… the real me. A person I had never seen. I did not want to believe in that brief moment that the reflection I saw was me but I knew in my gut that it was.
I do not know what happened in that moment that allowed the true image of myself to be revealed. It was as if my mind opened up for a split second allowing me to view the monstrosity I had become. I saw what I had done to myself.

This moment prepared me to believe I truly needed help and eventually I did get treatment. It would be several years down the road but that day stuck with me.

Today I try to lead a healthy lifestyle. I still have days where I struggle with self imagine but I look back and ask myself, “was I truly happy in that condition?” Of course the answer is NO. My size, weight, ect… none of that really made a difference. What mattered most was dealing with what was going on with me on the inside. Finding what was behind my behavior. There were so many underlying issues I hadn’t faced at the time that fed into my disease…  Until I faced them, I could not truly face myself and my own reflection of truth.

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How can you love others if you can’t love yourself? It is simple, I just do.

My pastor recently shared a message on love that penetrated deep into my heart. All my life I have struggled with love. Not the love of others but loving myself. I have heard the saying multiple time... How can you love others if you can’t love yourself? It is simple, I just do.
I love others, my children, my husband and I do for others because that is what love does but when it comes to me I see every flaw. My lack of love for myself is not something I decided on one day…  It was a gradual thing that I learned as a child. Don’t misunderstand me, I know there were people that loved me and there are many people who love me now but as a fragile child seeking love and affection I worked and worked for approval but didn’t find it. I had little to no contact with my mother who left me when I was a baby. I never understood how she could leave. I realize now that the struggle was within her and not me. And of course growing up with a schizophrenic father wasn’t easy. He stayed in his room or in the hospital and I grew up afraid to speak of his mental illness. I am not telling you this to make anyone feel sorry for me. I am telling you this because children long to be loved and when they feel rejected and unwanted it determines how they will love and be loved as an adult. We need to show love and give love to our children and even to those who aren’t ours. You never know if they are receiving the love they need at home. Many are not.

Here are the points my pastor made. I hope they touch you too.

* Love that is given to someone without a guarantee of change or that they will love you back is love given in courage.

* Love has the power to catapult you past fear.

* Love makes you a conqueror.

*Learn you are valuable simply because you exist.

*God knows you and loves you better than anyone on your friend list.

*Find a friend that will stick with you in all your junk and in all your awesome.

I am learning to love myself and loving myself has been a conscious decision I have to make and then remind myself of everyday. Sadly it took a lot of time to get to this point and I still struggle and fight the negative thoughts daily but I want you to know that no matter what this life has programmed you to believe, “YOU ARE LOVED” We are in this journey together and loving and supporting each other is how we learn and grow. No matter what happens keep loving!!

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Why I hide my depression

My mom tells me I was a strongwilled child. So as long as I can remember I have bucked against the system.
Go ahead and tell me I cannot do something and I will prove you wrong. Being strongwilled isn’t necessarily a terrible thing. Especially when it pushes you to be better. But there are times being extremely strongwilled or stubborn (let’s call it what it really is) can have its downfalls. Like those times you need help but you are so prideful you cannot accept it. Why? Because you should be a strong female that can handle her own.

Well, this mindset has not always been a good thing and has prevented me (many times) from admitting when I am struggling with depression.
I feel this sense of pride, this bullheadedness, that I should be able to hold my own.  There have been times where my husband has asked me why I did not confide in him. Why did I not tell him I was having a hard time?

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Below are some reasons why I often do not admit I am struggling and what I have learned about myself.

#1. I am a mom – my children need me.
Regardless of how I may feel I know I need to be there for my boys. This often results in me making a choice to put on a happy face and going with the flow instead of asking my husband or a friend for assitance.

#2. I have responsibilities.
I have things I need to get done. There are times I want to hide and veg out on the couch but who else is going to clean the house, grocery shop, and drop off and pick up kids from work and school?

#3. I am supposed to be the strong reliable one.
People are relying on me. Plus, many of my friends and family have struggles of their own. How can I add to their stress? I am supposed to be there for them and maybe they will feel I can no longer handle it.

#4. I am embarrassed.
Pride! There I said it. This should probably be #1. I do not want anyone to know about my struggles. I am supposed to be strong. How can I admit that I am weak and need help too?

The bible talks about pride being a downfall to man. (2 Chronicles 26:16)
I know I am only hurting myself when I react to depression with a prideful attitude. It is okay to say I am struggling.

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
(2 Corinthians 12:9-10)

Overall I am learning that it is okay to ask for help or even just admit that I cannot carry the weight of everyone all of the time. There are times I am weak.

I am allowed to tell a friend or family member I am overwhelmed and cannot help out or commit to an outing.
It is okay to confide in my husband about how I have been feeling down and out and just wanted to cry all day.
Most of all it is okay for me to not always be okay. I do not have to feel bad or make excuses for what I am experiencing. I can take the time to refocus and recoup. I am allowed to take care of myself and not feel bad about it.

Beloved, I pray that in all respects you may prosper and be in good (physical & mental) health, just as your soul prospers. (3 John 1:2 NASB)

These things never happen to me

I was numb at first, but now it is starting to hit me…
My childhood seemed to be filled with challenges and as an adult I have faced many things, but in recent years life seemed to glide along, uncomplicated. I am not saying I do not have hard days but I try to have a good attitude about things. I have been in a place where I do not tend to see things negatively.  I try to be a positive person. Maybe I am.
Maybe everything IS dependant on our attitude and seeing life a certain way. I have seen things happen to others and at times those things have had an impact on me but I have not had anything happen to me personally in quit a while. I have had scares… Like the time I thought I was having a miscarriage and actually had torn a blood vessel in my stomach and baby was fine.
But this time… This time it was happening to me. Not a Facebook friend or a lady at church. It was happening to ME.
I read and signed the release that said once I was injected with radioactive dye I could not nurse my baby for 24 hours.
As I lay flat getting a PET scan to make sure I had no other masses, I knew this was real.
I have a melanoma… skin cancer.

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The Price Tag of Freedom

It was something we never talked about growing up. It was hush hush in our house except for the prayerful cry that came from my mother’s bedside in the middle of the night. She was grieving and begging God for a miracle. Even at five years old I could recognize it. My dad had been away serving in the military but he was home now. He was not dead but to my mother he had died. He was now a man we no longer recognized.

My dad told me what happened a few years ago…

“It was a normal day. We would get up and run drills and go through training. We would prepare in case there was a war. This particular day I was having a hard time. I had gotten a letter from my mother a few days prior with news from home that was hard for me to know about. All I could think was that I wanted to be home. Everyone was homesick. I was stationed in Germany at the time and we were preparing for a drill.  We were suited up with equipment and given directions. This drill used toxic gas. We went into a building and we were supposed to put our gas masks on. I fumbled with my mask and I was slow at getting it on. By the time I had gotten my mask on my eyes were burning and I could not stop crying.  We were directed out of the building and my sergeant was yelling at me to get myself together but I couldn’t control it. I was sent to the medical building where they rinsed my eyes out.

Then two days later I had a massive stroke. I was paralyzed on one side of my body and I could not walk. I had to go in a wheelchair. I was in Germany and there was no one there. No family just me. Then the military decided to send me home. I was lucky because the feeling came back into my body and I was normal again but something happened to my brain. They said I had a chemical reaction.”

My dad is a paranoid schizophrenic. After discussion with some family members the accounts above are true. There are some facts that are left out but this is his recollection of the events.  I share this with you because we do not know if the toxic gas or the stroke could have caused the schizophrenia or if the overall event was the trigger. I believe that this tragic event triggered schizophrenia in my father but because of our family history he was already vulnerable to the disease. It could have been triggered at a different point in his life if this had not occurred.

People who have been through a stressful or traumatic event, such as the death of a loved one have a higher risk of developing schizophrenia. However, a positive major life event such as winning the lottery can also trigger schizophrenia in some vulnerable people. There are also some environmental factors that can contribute to schizophrenia but there is a higher probability that a person already has a predisposition to the disease. Yet with study, scientist are discovering that genetics does not necessarily mean destiny. These means that there is hope for my children and yours.

 

(Image Source: Debby Tsuang, M.D., M.Sc., University of Washington/VAPSHCS, Special thanks to Dr. Kristin Cadenhead, UCSD)

(Image Source: Debby Tsuang, M.D., M.Sc., University of Washington/VAPSHCS, Special thanks to Dr. Kristin Cadenhead, UCSD)

 

If you are concerned that you, or someone you know, may be developing schizophrenia please contact a health professional. You are not alone.

Do you have a story about a loved one or yourself that was hurt in the military? I want to share your story. Contact me by completing the form below. 

I feel helpless

Sometimes the anger fills me up. Sometimes I get frustrated at my dad and then I am angry at myself for feeling angry. It can be a never ending cycle.  

My father has a mental illness. At this point my dad who is 59 years old seems to have the understanding of a teenager. It is such a hard thing to explain. I don’t know if this is caused from him taking so much medication over the years for his schizophrenic episodes or if it is part of the progression of his mental illness.

He seems to keep getting himself into trouble. He calls me and he is upset over the next thing he has gotten caught up in and I feel helpless.

I feel helpless that he won’t listen to me and nothing I say changes his actions.

I feel helpless that I reach out to those I think are there to help him and there isn’t much that can be done.

I feel helpless that I am always concerned for my dad’s safety and wellbeing but there is nothing I can do about it.

I feel helpless and how I feel really doesn’t matter.

My father has lived with my family in the past but moves around a lot because of his paranoia. Right now he is back living with my grandmother – his mother. She is elderly and she gets extremely upset at him. They constantly argue because she wants to help him make good decisions and he seems to defy everything she says.

There are a lot of people over the years that have taken advantage of my father. One female had him returning stolen items to Wal-Mart and getting the cash in return. He also purchased her a car and took out several payday loans for her. He was sending her money while she was in jail and supported her and her family when she got out. She continued to tell my dad she would marry him while she was seen with other men.

Another woman mistreated my dad so badly that she would pull his hair and force him to do drugs (my father had never done drugs or alcohol). She did horrible things to him as he gave her money every week and drove her anywhere she wanted to go. She ALSO made promises of marriage to my father.

This last female also has a mental disability and is younger than I am.  I am talking over 20 years younger than my father. My dad was married to her at one point but he feared for his life so they divorced after a little boy was conceived. This boy is now 10 years old and is also mentally disabled. This female blames my father saying his genes were bad. There have been constant fights as my dad has gone back and forth. She dangles the carrot (so to speak) in a constant effort to get money from him. The sad part is I have a brother I barely know and more children are involved.

I have come to the conclusion that my dad is lonely and I cannot control what my dad does. I talk to him and try and reason with him but that doesn’t seem to work. So, right now I just love him and I pray. I pray that he will make smarter decisions and that he will just be happy. I just want him to be happy because I know, really, that is what he is truly searching for.

And I pray that I can let go and stop being angry at my dad, at these women, and at myself and just be the supportive daughter that my dad needs me to be.

Me and my dad

Me and my dad