Today is not about how to exercise, or what to eat or trekking through a jungle. It's about another of my friends who hit rock bottom in their lives, but found a reason to push on through, taking one victory at a time, taking the smackdowns that life throws at us, but getting up time and time again, over and over, refusing to let the dark days win.
Enough said. Here it is, and thankyou to my great friend for sharing. Take from it what you will.
My story
Mum (Marg) and Father (Derek)
divorced when I was 6 months old. Mum remarried when I was 2 years old to Ron,
she died of cancer when I was 10. Ron took it hard; I have two half-sisters
Rach and Sal. They were 6 and 4 respectively when mum died. Ron loved Mum; he
nursed her till the end. He never got over her death. None of us have. I call
Ron Dad.
I was mums Boy. She told me
everything I need to know, she took me through every stage of her disease
process. I even went to the crematorium and put my hand in the oven. I remember
it was still warm and it still had ash left in it. She told me about the birds
and the bees, she told me about her divorce. She told me that she bought me a skateboard
for my birthday because if she died, Ron may forget to give it to me because he
will be busy with looking after us on his own, so she told me where it was so I
wouldn’t feel sad.
Dad did well to raise his three
kids, on his own. We all did well in school, had great jobs and were fit and
healthy. I went to uni for 6 weeks, and then decided to work full time.
I partook in my first triathlon
when I was 19, and by the time I was 20 I was assistant to the CEO of the large
retail company I worked for.
I saw a bong (pipe) at school
when I was 15. It didn’t interest. I didn’t even smoke cigarettes. I binged on
alcohol from the age of 16. My Dad didn’t know what a bong or weed was either.
I did eventually try weed when I
was 18, the usual way. I was at a party and peer pressure was involved. I took
a hit and loved it. One toke and I hit
the floor. It wasn’t long before I had a habit, built up a tolerance and became
dependant. Within three years I was smoking 28+ grams a week.
I loved weed at first. Weed meant
I could control when I slept and it made me laugh, and the life of the party.
It gave me a reason to get up in the morning. It made me no longer drink
alcohol. What it also did was speed me up mentally, I mean real fast. Ideas
galore, problem solve, clear thoughts and no depression. I was super human. I didn’t
know I was meant to feel this good. I’d
smoke weed in the morning, at work, after work, before bed, in bed and on the
toilet.
Than as soon as it took hold of
my life it wrecked it. If weed made me feel so good, why not try other drugs
like speed and trips, and pills. I never knew I could feel so low. I never did
much of the other drugs. They were bad.
I became paranoid, and then confused then
people around me were asking me weird questions like, “are you OK?” I wanted to
give up weed and tried, but I relied on it physically and psychologically. I
kept smoking, I lost my girl friend, all my friends other than “Pot heads,” I
lost my family because I would avoid them like the plague, to avoid them seeing
me like that and I lost hope. Then it happened. I lost my mind.
I can’t describe the feeling you
get when you have enough insight into knowing you are losing your mind except
to say – I was tormented to a point where I had no insight.
I had my first psychotic episode
soon after I turned twenty one. The details of what I got up to are a story for
another day.
My Dad and my Uncle Lou came to
my rescue. I had frightened the shit out of Sally, due to my behaviour so she
called them. I was arrested the night before, during my episode but got
released in the care of my family. Dad
and Lou literally dragged me into the psychiatric facility for help the next
day. I was admitted, and stayed 10 days.
In that time I was secluded, medicated, diagnosed and I commenced antipsychotic
therapy. I was discharged as fast as I was treated and next thing I knew I was
on to the street. I caught the bus home, to a locked house without keys, alone,
medicated glad to be released but ashamed of what had happened and what I had
become. I smashed a window to get inside my house to find the bong where I had
left it.
The only “friends” I had were
smokers (Drug uses), and I knew if I started smoking I wouldn’t stop. I didn’t
want to smoke weed, I was made aware of the risks by the lovely nurse in
hospital. I didn’t even want to smoke cigarettes. I wanted to go back to the old me. So I got
drunk, Jim Beam bottle after bottle, now I had friends and stories to tell. I
took my meds, after a couple of weeks I got sober enough to go back to work. I
was relieved of my assistant CEO role to work in the warehouse as my boss
thought the stress was too much for me, he was right. I was ashamed of myself
already; losing my job was a further kick in the butt.
I ended up doing well with my
recovery; I did try weed again and relapsed 3 times over a period of 5 years
before I got the notion I was not going to live if I kept smoking. I kept
touching the flame and getting burnt. Similar psychotic symptoms soon arose
each time I smoked. I never needed to be admitted, but I did require
intervention regularly by the community mental health team for my drug use and
depression.
I decided to become a nurse. A
Div 2. I did. I did well with study. I
had been taking Lithium (Mood stabilizer) for five years. I had gained 45
kilos, most of which I gained in the first 3 months of my initial treatment.
Alcohol, smoking and bad food choices were also to blame as well as my meds.
I never nursed when I finished
the course. I felt I couldn’t look after anyone until I could look after
myself, which I wasn’t doing. I thought I would get to know my natural father
(Derek), I worked for him for a couple of years, I thought this may help repair
my life, but that didn’t work. Dad (Ron) thought I was just wasting my time and
my failed relationships on top of everything only left me wanting one thing.
Weed, to stop the depression.
Something had to change. I got a
job as a nurse, I was way out of my comfort zone, I worked for a few years, I
struggled to sleep, I was fat, I would drink, eat and smoke cigarettes but I
refrained from smoking weed. I started to meet new people and develop new
friendships. I never told anyone about my past. I did tell my new employer
about my current medication.
A few years past and I met
Katherine. We were just mates. Kat has a story of her own. I told her mine. She
was the first to hear it from my point of view. Our relationship grew into love
and we moved in together. I decided to stop taking my meds. It wasn’t long
before someone mentioned weed and you guessed it, I was hooked again - almost.
I was going to lose the girl that
had supported me through some real crap and I was scared of losing my mind
again. I took myself back to the Doctor and got help, again and started back on
Lithium again.
So Lithium, no weed and I just
had to put up with no sleep and the anxieties, depression and stigmas of mental
illness along with poor physical health, smoke ciggies and try not to drink too
much. My life was awesome- NOT!
I bought a bike, I used to ride.
I’d ride to work, to Torquay from Geelong have a ciggie or three and a pie two
cokes and ride home. I bought a bench press. I’d ride to Torquay and then do
weights in the lounge.
People noticed. I started to feel
better. Weird, I know. I was kicking my own ass. Kat joined in. I had the
weight to lose; we started a contest with mates. We both quit smoking ciggies, rarely drank
alcohol and things were changing. I lost more weight and started to remember
how I was when I first did that triathlon back in the day. Work was going well;
I was super nurse and loved my role as a carer. I changed jobs a few times to
suit myself and my nursing skills grew.
I decided to walk into a gym. I
was just glad to get the weights out of the lounge and learn some new
exercises. My physical health and my mental health were definitely on the mend.
In 2007 Kat and I got engaged, I was 117.5 kilos and I had lost weight. I never
cared before, so I never knew my heaviest, by 2009 I was 76 kilos and fit. We
also had our first baby. Then I met Mat. Over the last three years Mat and I
have talked about the past, the present and the future. In 2010 I went back to
uni and I finish my course this year. In 2011 we had our second baby. I now
have goals; one is to work within community health, another is to take my shirt
off down at the beach. I carry scars not only physically, but mentally as well.
I’m 78 kilos, 10% body fat, I eat
a strict bodybuilding diet, train 7 days, have been med free for 6 years, I
don’t smoke anything and still need to pay for a Wedding.
I attribute my recovery to
talking, getting help but most of all - Taking the first step.
BANG!! - NOW MY LIFE IS HUGELY
AWESOME
Cheers Linc.
No comments:
Post a Comment