Day 5: What Happens When You Go To A Mental Hospital And Ask For Help

by Laura Fleetwood | Oct 5, 2015 | Anxiety

I drive past the hospital almost every day.  It sits directly across the busy road from our church & school.  In fact, I see it when I look through the glass of my office window.   I never thought much about the people, though.  The people who work there – the psychiatrists, therapists, doctors. The people who go there – their lives overtaken by issues that have become unmanageable.  For 12 years I drove by and never thought of them.  Until I became one of them.

It had been 3 months since the auction and my anxiety was worse, not better.  A general practitioner prescribed meds, but I thought they made things worse.  I started seeing a therapist and working through some issues.  On top of the anxiety, I now was depressed.  I was disappearing and losing hope.  I want to use this post to give you insight, to help you understand.  Author Glennon Doyle Melton recently wrote a brilliant description of anxiety and depression.  Every word of it is true.  She writes…

When I slide back into anxiety and depression—well, it’s hard to explain, but I’ll try. You know how—when something scary or really hard is about to happen—you feel fluttery and wired and nervous until it’s over? Anxiety is a little bit like that, except “the thing” is never over. The thing is life. And the constant fear/jitters/whateveritis makes it impossible for me to enter the moment. This is the best way for me to describe it—I am never ever landed. Never relaxed. Never present. On stage in front of thousands or in my kitchen talking to Amma about her day—I am not THERE. You can look at me and see me but I am not THERE. I am not feeling the feelings that one might be expected to feel in a given circumstance because all my energy/thought/emotion is going to calm my nerves and soothe myself. Anxiety is like a shaky hovering.  Good times.

And depression is like putting a heavy, itchy blanket on top of anxiety. It’s like pouring spilt pea soup all over fear. It’s like a sucking out of the soul. It’s a disappearing act, really. It takes all the colors that a person is and bashes them all together until no color is left at all and all the person is or feels or reflects is gray, gray, gray. There is no LIFE anymore, just existing.”

That was me.  I was existing, but barely.  Justin was soon leaving for another 3 week trip, and I knew something had to change.  After 3 consecutive nights of no sleep – torture on top of torture, I just lost it.  That Sunday I curled in my bed, crying and screaming in frustration.  I was so bitter that this was happening to me.  I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t getting better.  I had no hope.  I could see no future.  There seemed to be no way out.  I didn’t make plans to hurt myself, but I finally understood why people did.  The thought of living like this day after day was unbearable.  I had prayed and begged for healing.  I knew God was there – He was the only thing holding me here.  I tried to see a psychiatrist, but after calling several with new patient appointments no sooner than 4 months out, I knew the time had come.

I got out of bed on Monday morning.  I kissed my girls goodbye and told them I didn’t know if I’d be home that evening.  I was going to a hospital to get help.  It was a beautiful summer day.  Blue sky.  White clouds.  It was surreal.  How did I go from having the “perfect life” to walking into a mental hospital in a matter of months.  I couldn’t even wrap my head around it.

Justin and I walked into the lobby, which looked more like an upscale hotel than a hospital and signed in for an evaluation.  As we waited, I looked around the room.  The people were normal.  We could have been sitting in any doctor’s waiting room, not the stereotypical “One Few Over The Cuckoo’s Nest” at all.  I was numb.  What was I doing here?  I didn’t belong here, did I?  Would they keep me?  Would they drug me?  The waiting was the worst.

Finally, they called my name and Justin and I walked back into a small room where we filled out more paperwork and more questionnaires.  The woman interviewing me was named Sarah, and she was lovely.  She asked me to share my story, and gave encouraging nods as I went along.  In the end, they said I was not a risk to myself or others, but recommended an outpatient program where I would be able to see a doctor weekly and do group therapy 3 hours a day for 3 days a week.  I started the very next day.

Driving home that day, I felt a tiny bit lighter.  I still didn’t know why this was happening, but I was finally doing something about it.  I was just doing the next right thing and sometimes that is the best you can do.

A year later, God would redeem this experience of walking into a psychiatric hospital in two miraculous ways.  I will share those stories at some point in this 31 day series.  In the meantime, I have some words for anyone standing at the crossroads of asking for help.

Asking for help does not mean you are weak.  It means you are strong.  So very strong.
You don’t have to go it alone.  Ask someone to go with you.  If they say no, keep asking until someone says yes.
The people who work in mental health are God’s angels on earth.  They want to help.  Let them help.
There are no magic cures.  Healing takes time, but it starts the moment you reach out.
One in four people will need help for anxiety and/or depression.  You are not alone.
It’s often the people who seem least likely that need help.
There is hope.  There is ALWAYS hope.
Whether you know Him or not, Jesus is with you each step of the way.  He will never leave you.
Evaluations are completely free.  You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.
A good place to start is the National Alliance on Mental Illness.

This week just happens to be National Mental Health Awareness week.  Coincidence?  I think not.  Ask for help.  Walk with someone who needs help.  Together, we can break the stigma.  It.  Is.  Possible.

L.

#IAmStigmaFree

This series is not a tidy story of a fairy tale life.  It is messy and truthful.  For 31 days, I will share pieces of my journey, practical coping techniques for dealing with anxiety, spiritual insights, emotional struggles, and a whole lot of other.  I will likely  jump from here to there as the Spirit leads.  I invite you along as I share my experience, my strength, and my hope. Thank you for being part of this journey with me.  Together, we shall seek the still.

Day 3: How A Book Gave Me Strength To Share My Story

by Laura Fleetwood | Oct 3, 2015 | Anxiety

This post is about the intersection of my life with a book two distinct times, more than five years apart, and a chasm of change between.  I believe books choose us.   I can’t explain in much greater detail that that, other than to say that books seem to show up in my life through various channels and guide me through necessary growth and pain.  That being said, I rarely read a book twice as it seems a disappointment to already know how the story ends.   In this case, it wasn’t the ending that I needed to read again, it was the journey in between.

I do not specifically recall when I first read Eat, Pray, Love, but it was sometime between seeing Elizabeth Gilbert on Oprah and the debut of the movie.  I have an unwritten rule to never see a book-based movie without first reading the book, and as a first-born, rule follower this was no exception.  In that season of my life, I was a fairly new mom with two little girls and was somewhat desperately attempting to keep my head above water after leaving the corporate world to stay at home while my daughters were young.  I was naïve about the demands of motherhood, missing the achievement and drive of being in the workforce, and trying to repress the feeling that I wasn’t doing this right at all.

I was “ in between.”  In between life stages, in between feelings, in between relationships…just in between.  And I remember feeling envious of Elizabeth’s story and even a bit skeptical.  I mean, she was able to just pick up and visit three countries for three months each?  Who gets to do that?  Certainly not me stuck at home because we had just one family car, not to mention two adorable little girls with separation anxiety.  And what about those coincidences that kept happening to her?  She hears the voice of God on the bathroom floor?  I had been a Christian my entire life and never had that honor.  She speaks the name of people on her side and miraculously receives a call that her husband finally accepts the divorce?  She meets incredible friends everywhere she goes, gets herself off anti-depressants, and meets the love of her life?  Yes, I was skeptical and jealous, but I was also inspired and encouraged – on a surface level, not yet a soul level.  The truth was that I had not yet experienced enough suffering in my own life for Elizabeth’s journey to sear a mark on my soul.  This book needed to find me again, and it did.

This next part of the story, I hadn’t written about before this 31 day series.  I hinted at it for a while here at Seeking The Still.  I tried to write it many times, but words wouldn’t come.  This is what Eat, Pray, Love helped me do the second time around…it finally helped me share my story.

I am the quintessential first-born of four girls.  Highly driven, intelligent, responsible, high achiever, people-pleaser, and perfectionist.  The girl with the midas touch.  And 18 months ago, at the age of 37, I had a complete emotional and physical breakdown.  It was a perfect storm of events.  With my girls old enough to be in school, I was working part-time at the church connected to their private school and was also chairing the upcoming school auction – the biggest fundraiser of the year.  My husband was traveling out of the country three weeks at a time, and the stress tightened me like a violin string until I did something I never thought possible.  I snapped.  Anxiety gripped me like a vice.  I didn’t sleep at night, I couldn’t eat during the day.  My mind raced with “what-ifs” and “why me” and “what the hell?”

Finally, after three consecutive nights of no sleep, my husband got me out of bed on sunny morning and drove me to the nearest mental hospital for an evaluation.  I didn’t want to go, but every psychiatrist I called said it would be at least 4 months before they had a new patient opening.  I didn’t have four months.  So, I packed my purse, said goodbye to my girls and told them I didn’t know if I would be home that night.  I have never been so afraid in my life.  People have asked me to describe anxiety to them and there are just no words.  It’s like my thoughts and body are betraying me by trying to kill my soul and all I can do is say, “I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared.”

“What are you afraid of,” they asked.

“I don’t know…and everything,” I replied.

The hospital did not think I was a risk to myself or others, but took one look at me and promptly admitted me to an intensive outpatient program where I participated in group therapy for three hours a day, three days a week, for 8 weeks.  This for the girl who had never been in counseling, never seen a psychiatrist, never had an inkling of this kind of pain.  I had worn a mask for 37 years, and it was about to be ripped off.  This time it would be me crying relentlessly on the bathroom floor begging God to tell me what to do next.

For the next year, I was in survival mode. I dutifully saw my doctor, sought out a naturopath, went to counseling, and fought medication every step of the way.  I tried to control my way out of this mess the same way I had controlled my life from the time I could remember.  The more books I read, the more yoga or meditation techniques I tried, the more I resisted and despaired, the deeper and deeper I fell.  And then slowly, reluctantly, I did the only thing that truly helps anxiety, I gave in.  I saw a new doctor and new therapist and did everything they told me, including taking an anti-depressant.  Acceptance and healing did not happen instantly the way I wanted it to.  It is happening more in patches, like a few sunbeams breaking through the clouds here and there.  And in the midst of those patches, Eat, Pray, Love found me once again.

A girl in group therapy suggested that I read it.  A friend told me she listens to it on CD in her car.  I started following Elizabeth on Facebook and saw the request to share Eat, Pray, Love stories.  Then I went to my sister’s house the day before summer vacation and Eat, Pray, Love was sitting there on her steps, bidding me to pick it up once more.  So I did.

And this is what Eat, Pray, Love did this time around.

It made me feel known.  I wasn’t the only strong, successful person to fall into the pit of depression and anxiety.

It made me believe in my own miracles.  Those coincidences in the book were validated by my own experiences over the past year when the seemingly impossible became possible.

It made me appreciate the people in my life.  I didn’t have to travel to Italy, India, or Indonesia to meet people who would change my life.  They were right there in my family, community, and church.  I just had to learn to be vulnerable to receive their love.

It made me laugh.  I saw myself comically reflected in Elizabeth’s story so frequently that it truly was laughable, right down to the blond hair, light skin, and penchant for good pasta.

It made me hope.  I began to wonder what was right around the bend for me, and I dared to believe it would be good.

It made me trust.  I realized that my idea of God was way too small.  At the risk of being cliché, He truly does have the whole world in His hands.

Most importantly, Eat, Pray, Love gave me the confidence to begin writing again.  My blogging and journaling had screeched to a halt during this time and through Elizabeth, I realized that it just might be a key to healing, not only for myself but also an instrument that God could use to heal others.

I’m so thankful for authors like Elizabeth Gilbert who have the strength to share their stories, and this opportunity to finally share mine.  Revelation 12:11 says we will “overcome by the blood of Lamb and the word of our testimony.”  I am beginning to overcome and these are the words of my testimony.

Seeking The Still and Smiling with My Liver,

Laura

P.S.  Elizabeth Gilbert just released a new book called Big Magic.  Please, oh, please read this book.  You have treasures inside, and the world desperately needs you to share.

This series is not a tidy story of a fairy tale life.  It is messy and truthful.  For 31 days, I will share pieces of my journey, practical coping techniques for dealing with anxiety, spiritual insights, emotional struggles, and a whole lot of other.  I will likely  jump from here to there as the Spirit leads.  I invite you along as I share my experience, my strength, and my hope. Thank you for being part of this journey with me.  Together, we shall seek the still.

The Introduction: 31 Days of Seeking The Still

by Laura Fleetwood | Oct 1, 2015 | Anxiety

Note:  This series is not a substitute for therapy and/or medical help.  I am neither a doctor, nor a therapist. I am simply a sojourner sharing my story of hurt, hope, and healing. If you are struggling physically, mentally, or emotionally, please ask for help.  It will be the bravest and wisest thing you ever do.  

It was supposed to be so beautiful, this story of mine.  A fairy tale, really.  It certainly wasn’t supposed to involve an emotional breakdown and a trip to a mental hospital for anxiety and exhaustion.  No, certainly not that.

Seeking The Still started as a way to capture the ordinary moments of raising two lovely daughters with my knight in shining armor.  It was a space to preserve precious memories before the flow of life swept them away.

But this space has now become so much more. It has become sacred ground.  When my life fell apart, I began to learn what Seeking The Still really means.

In the middle of the storm…be still.

When you don’t know what tomorrow will bring…be still.

In the glow of majestic sunsets…be still.

On your knees…be still.

On the mountain top…be still.

In the pain and panic and uncertainty…be still.

Between inhale and exhale…be still.

In a loving embrace…be still.

No, this series will not be a tidy story of a fairy tale life.  It will be messy and truthful.  For the next 31 days, I will share pieces of my journey, practical coping techniques for dealing with anxiety, spiritual insights, emotional struggles, and a whole lot of other.  I will likely  jump from here to there as the Spirit leads.  I invite you along as I share my experience, my strength, and my hope.  Please check this page every day in October for the latest post or sign up to receive new posts directly in your inbox.  Thank you for being part of this journey with me.  Together, we shall seek the still.

Total Truth Tuesday: I’m Afraid of 31 Days

by Laura Fleetwood | Sep 29, 2015 | Anxiety

I’ve tried twice and failed.  In two previous years, I started 31 days of writing in October.  My intentions were good, my follow-through not so great.  And yet, this year you told me it’s important to you.  You said you’ve been struggling, too.  You wonder what I’ve found most helpful and most difficult in this journey of seeking the still amidst the never-ending, unrelenting chaos of life.  I want to tell you.

There has been so much heartbreak, brokenness, and unmaking.  There have also been miracles, mending, and healing.  I want to tell you so much in these 31 days, but I’m scared.  I’m scared I’ll start and not finish.  I’m worried how I’ll fit it in.  I don’t have a plan.  I don’t have 31 topics ready, no posts written, no outline to depend on.  I want to take a pass, but you’ve shared your needs with me.  You’re finding community in these words, through this journey.  So if you’ll accept my fear and give me grace to find my way, I will do my best to offer you 31 days of Seeking The Still in October.  No plans, no promises.  Just my heart and yours. And we’ll trust God for the in between.  Begin with me on Thursday, October 1.  We’ll do it together and see what He has in store…

Total Truth Tuesday: Why I’m Afraid of the Car Wash (It’s not what you might think)

by Laura Fleetwood | Sep 15, 2015 | Anxiety

As a young child (maybe 3 or 4), I was petrified of drive-through car washes.  I vividly remember the panic I experienced watching those big brushes slam my window – no possible way of escape.  But today’s Total Truth Tuesday isn’t about my fear of the brushes (I actually got over that).  The reason I now refuse to enter an automatic car wash is that I can never seem to get on the track.  I don’t know if it’s my depth perception or what, but try as I may I just can’t get my left wheels into place.  This typically results in the young man on duty emphatically waving his hands this way and that (why do they always seem so angry?) and me breaking into tears because I. Just. Can’t. Find. The. Place. For. My. Wheel.  It’s the truth. I am afraid of failing…at the car wash.  So I avoid them at all lengths.  I bribe my children to wash the van or pray for a downpour.  But until this past week, it never occurred to me to simply ask someone else to drive me through.

Our van was covered in country dust from Nicole and Clint’s wedding at the barn, and I was embarrassed to park the dirty thing in the school parking lot one more day.  So  sucked it up.  I admitted to my husband and the girls that I was scared to drive through a car wash and asked Justin to take me through.  With Justin behind the wheel, I laughed, made fun of myself, and drove out with a sparkly new van.  No panic or failure involved.  In fact, it was fun!

I often feel similarly about other areas of my life.  I know the result I want, but I’m too afraid to get on the track that will take me there.  Fear of failure is the cornerstone of my nemesis, perfectionism.  And so I avoid things like car washes and relationships and hard things because I think that I have to do it all on my own, or that I’ll look dumb or have to admit that I’m not all that…

But since my breakdown, I am learning that there is another way to face this fear of failure, whether it’s getting my wheel in a track at the car wash or sharing my journey with you through a screen.  It’s called asking for help.  Not being ashamed to admit that I can’t do it all, and relying on God and others to help me.  We were not made to be solitary creatures, to live this life on our own.  We were made to be in relationship with our Creator and with those He places around us.  But to do so, requires vulnerability.  It’s hard for me to ask for help, but I’m practicing.  Sometimes it involves rejection or betrayal.  But most often, people are happy to help.  All you have to do is be brave enough to say the words.

Earlier this week I asked Justin to drive me through the car wash…something I never would have done 2 years ago.  Next time, maybe I’ll ask him to sit in the passenger seat to help me manipulate the wheels into the track on my own. Because admitting we need help is NOT failure.  It is the very thing Jesus came to help us do.  Because He lived a perfect life for me, I can come before him and admit that I simply can’t make it on life’s track alone.  My sin often prevents me from getting on the track and many times causes me to fall off when I do make it on.  Jesus says,

It’s ok, dear one.  I am the track that leads you through.  Ask for help by admitting your sin (imperfections), receive my forgiveness (the help you need), and enjoy the beauty of the ride.  In this way, your filth is made clean day after day until the track leads back to your Heavenly home and My loving arms.

Ask Jesus or someone in your life for help this week.  It could be a big or small thing, but please practice because it makes all the difference in world.