Category: Motherhood

On finding meaning in your 40’s

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Like millions of women around the globe, I have been defining myself as a mother ever since I was pregnant with my beloved first child.

Being a mother is not only my job, but also my passion, my confort zone and my cherished responsibility. It is a role that I have always loved, a privilege and a blessing.

Having any other role besides it always seemed redundant an infeasible.

I always had an admiration for working mothers, and looked at them with awe; unable to comprehend how they manage to divide their attention and identity to fill more than one shoe.

Years went by and my frustration was building up. I felt that something was missing, especially as my children were becoming more and more independent.

Many unsuccessful trials filled with self-doubt and self-judgement to find a job work, led me to more frustration and shame for wanting me being anything else but a full time mother. Nothing was worth leaving my established identity for. I was convinced that I was only good at what I already knew how to do best. Why look elsewhere? Why make any change?

I was struggling to find the right moment, the right idea, the right motivation and the right remuneration to get back on the employment market. I couldn’t understand that I didn’t need an identity shift or any kind of change. All what I needed is to trust myself and allow myself to expand.

Once I let go of my fears ending with the same suffix (employability, compatibility, feasibility, proximity, etc), I switched to “ action mode”.

I stopped thinking that I my last paycheck is in fact older than my teen. I stopped thinking of all the limitations and chains I had built around myself refraining me from moving forward. I stopped blaming myself or others for my choices and from seeing my destiny limiting. I stopped thinking of how much I should make or I can make per year. I stopped thinking of who would and who wouldn’t employ me. And most importantly I stopped feeling guilty for wanting to expand.

I always tell my children to look at life as an opportunity to gather tools to put in their toolbox and use later when in need. I encourage them to search for as many as possible of these tools and build an immense box. This way, they will always know what to do wherever they are and no matter what situation arises.

Indeed, I found myself doing the same. I had forgotten about my own massive toolbox! I opened it and I was so pleasantly surprised. All these roles and tasks and chores and challenges and opportunities I went through that can’t be written in a CV were priceless when stacked together. I had tools as diverse as breastfeeding to dealing with suicide. Each and everyone of them made me who I am.

When I saw it that way, I stopped wanting to be anyone else and I thus I wasn’t incomplete. Nothing was missing, it was just how I chose to perceive my existence. I had also gotten ridden of any guilt feelings. With this solved, my confidence and creativity were recharged. Instead of jeopardizing all my attempts with ill-conceived ideas about who I should and shouldn’t be, I started doing and enjoying what I do.

One foot in front of the other, I didn’t overthink. I started cooking, packing and distributing meals in front of hospitals. The following week I repeated, and the one after and the one after. Each time I gained a little more knowledge about how to perfect the process. Then I repeated again and learned some more. Word got out and I found people wanting to help. We cooked, packed and distributed more meals, and repeated. Each one of us added a little bit more to the process.

In this repetitive cycle, I found solace. I started acting on ideas that were forming in my mind. And little by little it was more than just cooking, packing and distributing meals. It was about finding meaning. Our small group had and has one mission, making others happy.

In the process of giving to others, you give to yourself. In physical exhaustion working for a greater cause, one forgets to worry about one’s little life. The joy of giving is ecstatic. It fills you up with light and gives you energy to keep going. Nothing beats putting a smile on someone’s face.

Yes I work long shifts and have zero monetary gain. But I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world. Doing volunteer work is therapeutic to me before being of any value to others. It grounds me, gives me purpose and endless satisfaction.

I am still a mother and always will be. It is who I am- I will always want to fill this role. I have simply expanded my identity and decided to give back to my community, and in doing so my existence makes sense.

Perhaps this formula works for you, perhaps it doesn’t. Regardless.

Whatever you do if you feel like I felt for many years, don’t doubt your capacity. Look into your own toolbox and stack all the tools you have gathered along the way and start.

Do anything you enjoy and the rest will follow. Don’t overthink it. One step will lead you to the next. Just keep being in action. Perfect your own process. Ask for help, learn from others, get inspired and inspire. Listen to your heartbeat as you create something for yourself. Enjoy feeling fulfilled and make it contagious. Don’t stop, repeat, perfect, add to it and start all over. You will find solace too 🤍

A birthing story (5,037 days later)

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Motherhood is a beautiful phenomenon. It is perhaps the least selfish role that ever existed. Equally, motherhood is one of the least “rewarded” jobs in society. For about 50% of the concerned population, motherhood comes as a surprise. To top it all up, no manual is provided. You are expected to be on call 24/7 including during your summer holidays, and even on Christmas Eve. There is no job description (it would take thousands of pages to describe what a mother does), and it definitely has no monetary compensation.

For most, motherhood begins soon after conception is confirmed. A strange feeling of expansion begins to form. The woman’s well-being starts to become slowly and surely linked to that of her embreyo. This bond is formed in 9 months, and in most cases becomes unbreakable for the life span of the mother and her child(ren). Some would speculate that the bond is so strong that it lingers on into the after-life.

One would wonder, why would a strange and tiny creature growing inside the uterus have so much power over its bearer? Why would this nausea producing, sleep-depriving, stretch-marks-generating life-form enchant its carrier? What makes mothers smitten and cooing for a good portion of their years to come, despite being depleted attending to every whim and need of their newly-acquired midgets? Now, why do these poor mothers sacrifice their health, wealth, careers and waist size for these minions?

Last I checked, women and mothers are not by default crazy, or enjoy life-long self-inflicted pain (honestly this last point is highly debatable, but you get what I mean). So why do some women work consciously towards having children? To highlight this further, why do we freeze our eggs? Why do we go through multiple IVF treatments and spend money that would buy us a couple of convertibles? Why do we keep at it and get our hopes crushed every bloody time? There must be a reason, and a good one indeed.

Motherhood changed me profoundly, more than any other life event. Once I found out that I was pregnant, everything else in became less important in comparison to this piece of bewildering news. Mind you, I was full-on career woman, with a plan to conquer the world. No time to be wasted, I was shuffeling two and sometimes three jobs at a time, commuting insane distances to go from one to another. As a psychologist, I was teaching undergrads, doing research, and also working hard on incorporating psychology in mainstream businesses. I was on fire! Yet, once the lab results confirmed that line I saw on the pee stick a day earlier really meant I was pregnant, all I wanted and craved was nestling.

Ever since, my main concern, my main priority was and remains to be my child(ren). I got books, I joined prenatal classes, and I did my homework. How can I be ready for this creature? What should I learn to welcome it best? I even got a small alarm from Amazon to time feedings and diaper changes. I read about potty training before she was even born, and I got a baby-food blender before she even had a sip of breastmilk. I devoured books on sleep methods and learned how to swaddle a doll.

You guessed it right, I was so full of information that I felt I became a boss. My husband and I decided that we want to deliver naturally. And so we did. We chose midwives, waitlisted at the best homeopath pediatrician in town and managed to find a spot for our future to be born daughter. We booked a doula, found a lactation consultant, and prepared the apartment for home birthing. We got the plastic sheets, the big trash bags, and my husband rehearsed cooking for the birthing team. All was ready. Except us, except me…

The very first day of the new year my Layla, – our pride and joy- was born. For the sake of documentation, I will tell you how it went in great detail. I was overdue, like many expecting mothers. For those familiar with natural birth, you will understand that being overdue is quite terrifying. At some point, if things don’t progress naturally, the chances of a cesarian quadruples. We wanted the most beautiful and naturally welcoming birth for our daughter. I was due on Christmas Day, but Santa came and left and nothing happened. My midwives told me that if I don’t pop by New Years’, they will have to induce me. I was quite scared.

On the 30th of December 2008 I started to have contractions. A few hours in, they became regular. I called the clinic and signaled a birth. Not long after, the team arrived. They helped me set the bed. I got into my gown specifically bought for this occasion. They checked how far I was dilated, and it was a slim 2 cm. It was now nighttime. Nothing happened, except regular painful contractions. At some point, they asked my husband to go buy a certain drug that will get me more dilated. Meanwhile, they put me in the shower, and then my water broke. Now the medicine was useless. His errand on this cold and snowy day was useless. They couldn’t interfere. It was now up to Mother Nature to make this birth happen.

They checked me again because I was screaming so much. My baby had decided to turn and resumed a posterior position , or what is commonly known as “sunny side up”. This simply meant that she decided to come out to this world, not only head first, but also facing up. To translate this on the pain-scale, well there are no more digits left to plot my suffering then. This is the jackpot of natural birth: you got normal “beginners” front-door labour going on, accompanied by back labour involving the spine and the sacrum. Basically, a 360 degrees natural labour without any pain killers.

It went on and on, until I used to profoundly sleep the minute or two between contractions. I lost all sense of time. I left my human form during these 67 hours (2.7 days of active labour). I was an animal, or perhaps a goddess. I didn’t know what was happening, but somehow it felt right despite all the tears. I was screaming this child out into this world, willing it to get out of me.

I saw their faces change expression, I was crowning. I knew crowning was when the infant’s head finally shows. I was well familiar with this concept from reading and from the classes. I knew I had to push really slow or else I would really tear. I knew it was all about breath work and control. I tried to remain “composed” but this is the most confusing demand a person will ever hear. On one hand, your body wants to expel with all its might this being trapped inside, and on the other they tell you to take it slow. I couldn’t the first time, and neither the second as a matter of fact (a totally different birth story by the way).

New Years’ had passed, and the first day of the year brought some more snow. Around 9:30 AM and after pushing a few more times, my Layla came out. I had finally finished the long race. I was rewarded by this perfect newborn that stole my heart away. Would you believe me if I told you that the moment I saw her, I had no recollection of any physical pain? How is this even possible? To this day, I won’t be able to fully explain this dramatic shift in emotions. I know that oxytocin (the famous love hormone) flooded my nervous system. My neurons shot little cuddle-enticing messages all over the place. From now on, I would start to like cute animals videos and share them on social media. Facebook will remain my favorite medium. I will now play Candy Crush. I was officially a mom.

Meanwhile, my angel midwives placed princess Layla on my tummy. Is it just my daughter or are all new borns athletes; Layla “crawled” and reached my breasts. I instinctively wanted to feed her, but she had other plans. Layla began looking at me. Her gaze was intense, almost inquisitive. She said in not so many words: “It is you, finally we have met. I want to have a good look at you, and get to know you.” If I had melted from love when she was born, now I had evaporated! The conditioning was done. Looking at Layla = pure love. To honor and respect her birth and entry to this world, the umbilical cord was cut later after it had stopped pulsating.

I was sure then that I was a goddess, if not only a superwoman. No-one can do this except my clan of women. We are superheroes, and we produce amazing creatures. My hemorrhoids and even the double episiotomy were a totally fair price to pay to have the honor of birthing this child. Now, thirteen years later, I can confirm that I would do whatever it takes to take care of this beautiful gift I was given. I would do the same sacrifices and many more to have her in my life. I would move mountains to see her smile. I would also kill entire nations if someone just compte m’empilâtes hurting her. She makes waking up every morning worthwhile. She surprises me daily with how perfect she is. She drives me crazy and makes me pluck out my hair, but I wouldn’t want it any other way. She is all what I have ever wished for and much more. I am proud to have been granted the privilege to be her mother.

I love you Layla ❤️

TBC

In the world of rapid cycling

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Hello everyone. Bla bla bla yes I haven’t written for a while, miss you, etc.

You know it is not me who is inconsiderate or rude: am rapid cycling.

Say what? Say one day am high as a kite (a small kite since am bipolar 2), and the next am digging a tunnel to the the after life (does that even make any sense?)

You get the picture. Am a yo-yo, I am a roller coaster, a bullet train with bad breaks.

I enjoy my ups and do accomplish a lot; especially if you count shopping as an accomplishment. I spend hours without eating (big high five since I tend to feed like a newborn every 2 hours). I even live on 5 hours of sleep and I am Eeyore on any other day.

Woke up at 6 am today (weekend here on my side of the world) and hoped into my trainers and on to the kettle and to my smokes.

Am sociable, am pretty, am smart and talkative. I love it.

I wrote this down to me Nour. Yes to me, for in a few hours I will feel like dirt is better than me. I will feel empty and useless and I will become a burden. I will get back to staring at the ceiling and doing nothing but dealing with suicidal ideation.

Today however I will kiss my kids, a lot and lots more. I will go for a long walk like the book says. I will have lunch with my beautiful loving family and I will dress to impress. I will put on my make up and my new earrings. I will take a selfie or two and hashtag them to mentalhealthawareness.

Meanwhile my rapid cycling friend; I freakin feel you. You are my hero.

Remember, for every down there is an up coming and heck yes we shall ride the wave and rise to the moon.

Bless

TBC

If I were

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If I were at the hospital

I would wear my pyjamas all day

I would say good morning to everyone

I would wake up on time

I would have breakfast at the communal table

I would go for a smoke when the nurses say so

I would wear a nicotine patch To get me through the day, and I would be allergic to it

I would use the communal shower and dry up with a bed sheet; I would find hair everywhere and stay with my slippers on

I would wait for the doctor to pass by and say the daily bla-bla-bla;

I would play Sudoku- pen and paper sir not online

I would stare at my family’s portrait hung on the window and imagine them touching my face

I would move my chair around to be in the sun, seeking emotions and failing to find none

I would be disconnected; off the grid and not feel guilty about it

I would pretend it is doing me good to be here

I would take my blood pressure and temperature every day

I would talk to others about side effects of this or that

I would fancy getting better

I would know it is good for me, it has to be; it better be

I would feel guilty about the kids, my husband, my father; my kids, my husband, my husband, my husband, my father, my father, my father, my father….but my kids…

I would wait for 2pm when visits start, no no tears this time

I would wait for 7pm when I can call the kids and ask them to sing me a song, sometimes they would

I would give them imaginary baths and diners

I would blow imaginary kisses and I would make belief that I am tucking them to bed

I would kiss my husband good night and say a silent prayer, god let tomorrow be normal – one more day

I would beg for the drugs to black me out at 8pm

Dinner would be sprouts and more sprouts. Some borrowed olive oil here and some salt

The other day I took the kids bowling and felt so self accomplished just as if I landed on the freakin moon

I am sitting by the louvre sipping my Bloody Mary with tears

People are standing up here and there trying to get a perfect picture

They bend and jump into strange angles to look like the pyramid is on the palm of their hand

It is all make belief, looking for the perfect moment

A tour guide has an umbrella up for everyone to follow her

Where else would they go I wonder? Isn’t this the perfect moment? To follow someone without thinking? Tick this box and that one. Been there, done that…

We talk and talk and talk and talk

We shut up and up and up and up

We should know better

I am writing compulsively, but you don’t have to read me

It is building up

I know myself, I wish I didn’t

Solve it; for you god brought me here in the first place

No shame; maybe some

No regrets; just a few

Oblivion where are you?

TBC

Talking out loud about your mental illness

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A few weeks ago my daughter overheard a conversation about my blog. She wanted to know what a blog was, so I walked her through that. Then she wanted to know about my own blog.

“What do you write about Mama?”

It then hit me. My blog is public.

One day she might read it. I am not sure I am ready for this now. So, future me will deal with that.

With children, the rule of thumb is to answer “difficult” questions with as little information as possible. One question at a time. No need to draw a detailed account I thought, just the basics to answer to her curiosity.

So I told her my blog is about my experience. I started writing I said when I fell sick last year. I write about health, my health.

So she asked me again, like what? Then I said I write about mental health. I didn’t think she will understand. But she did. I was swept off my feet with what she said later. A lot of explaining has been done to her by my husband I thought. What a good job he had done.

She told me, oh so you write about how you feel so others who have the same problem know? I said yes, she kept on talking. So when you share your story they can know what worked and what did not? Yes love I said. That is great Mama, this is much better than just writing I take this medication and that medication. When you write how you feel it will be more useful for others.

I felt I was talking to a friend not my 9 year old daughter. She got it without lots of words. She sensed it. Those youtube DIY videos she loves to watch must have taught her something after all!

Yesterday, as I was checking my email, I found a message from someone who prefers to stay anonymous. He told me that he suffered from anxiety, panic attacks and depression in the past and that he read the blog. He raised a few important points on his experience that are common to mine.

He told me I am brave to talk about such a personal problem in the open. He said that for him and for many, it is not that easy to open up. I reflected on that and remembered the talk with my daughter. As I wrote back to him, it struck me that this is not courage at all. It is survival.

I didn’t do this blog for anything other than a deep need to be heard. I wanted to know if there was someone somewhere going through the same and feeling despair.

It happens that yes, I am not alone. You are not alone. We are all together in this. It does not matter what country you are from, what age you are, whether you are single or not, atheist or not, poor or not.

I discovered that I am read in so many different places like Greece, Austria, India, Australia, Egypt, Spain, France and many more.

This means that we all have our moments of doubts, we all go through tough moments, or witness loved ones goin through them.

When life is unbearable as my friend said in his message, the last thing you want is someone who doesn’t know what it is to feel despair to tell you what to do. Come on, it cannot be that bad they would say. You have a lot of good things in your life despite (…). Think about people who lost everything. You are much better than that. Pull yourself up. Go for a walk, watch a movie or come out with us this weekend.

Not very helpful unfortunately. The mind of the depressed doesn’t work that way. Words of actions are the last thing we want to hear. We know it looks like everything is ok with our lives, that maybe our feelings are not justified. Yes that is part of why we feel so low. Sometimes we don’t even have a good reason whatsoever to feel depressed. It does not help. Depression defies logic. It is not maths. I wish…

So back to my first story.

No, I am not worried that one day my children will read this blog. Actually, when they are old enough and god knows when this will be, I will be happy to share with them what I went through. Ideally they will know that yes we can dive as low as it gets. We could recover, or find a balance, or worst of all we might linger on in despair. It is normal.

They might then look at others differently. They would perhaps judge less. They might offer the right soothing words to someone one day. They will understand that we are made of flesh and blood and that it is not shameful to be sick.

Don’t worry; you are not alone.

Bless

TBC

Failed experiment – on being human

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I want to take a pair of scissors and chop my hair off

I want to break both legs

I want to cut my face with a knife

I want to slice my wrists and watch blood oozing out of my veins

I want to live on the street

I want to never speak again

I want to never feel again

I want to never see again or hear again

I took the drugs today. Don’t know why or how many… probably lithium 250*3, Prozac 20*3 and a couple Temesta 1.

I had gotten so angry before it. Not mad angry but scary angry; where nothing matters anymore. I have been there and it is not pretty. I am getting numb now. Getting slower. My nerve endings are not painful anymore. My upper back has stopped wanting to detach itself from the rest of my body. I am mellow. I am high and low and I will hit the ground faster than I know it.

I couldn’t succumb to what I wanted to do. Is this safer? No. Is this what I want? No. Did I lose yet another month or two trying to be a good girl responsible for her body and mind? Yes. Do I gain points in this game or does my score go back to zero each time? What now? A life of broken promises and misery all around to which am the catalyst always. If I could just be on an island free to live or not as I please. Would it change anything?

The worst feelings I have are about those around me. The destruction I create in their eyes. I don’t want to talk to them or look at them. I don’t want them to see me. I should be locked up alone like a crazy relative in the attic. In a bare room with a small window. I wouldn’t be let out because I lost my confidence and words remain words. What is a promise? Why is it so important?

I want to see my children grow from far away. No need to get them messed up with me. I will tarnish their childhood with worry, fear, and dread. Their small hands come to me to cuddle and my skin burns. Their kisses burn my face. I know I shouldn’t have been their mother. It burns and I feel I am contagious. What did they do to get me? How could I have predicted my state now 10 years ago? I love them too much to hurt them. I hurt them just by being a mass in a bed that moves right to left all day. I hurt them when they cannot play because Mama is in pain. They cannot go out band cause Mama is having a bad day. They cannot have friends over because Mama needs silence. They know I am sick and they ask me what hurts. They bring me dolipran and ask me if I want coffee. They tuck me in. The small one tucks me in ans shuts the door behind him… How long will I be able to lie?

I want to get my father only on the phone. I don’t think I can even handle this. I don’t want him to see me a bag of bones. I am his life and that is the problem. What kind of life is that? Tormenting my old man is what I do.

My husband…

My husband, I don’t know what I want for him. I want him to go on and not stop because of his handicapped wife who should be locked in the attic. I want him to forget me and that is the toughest of all. I want him to forget 19 years of mostly joy and a year of mostly hell. I want to erase his memory of me and maybe remove all love and pity from his heart. If he forgets whom I was before maybe he will let go easier…

I want him to stop believing it will pass. I want him to stop hoping it will not be like this tomorrow. There is no more older me, a me of those were the days: she is gone. He says: She is getting used to new drugs, she reached the therapeutic level of the drug to work, she is having side effects from the drugs, she is in withdrawal, she is …. she is…she is done habibi that is what she is. The one you loved dearly is not me and I am not her. All what we had has been taken away with my illness. We got robbed 20 years and only you have at least a couple more 20 years to live. Don’t live in hell.

I want it to stop being about me.

Is this too much to ask? I want him to go to work. I want him to travel for work. I want him to do his job as he should. I want him to have friends and hobbies. I want him to have fun. He cannot with me around. How can I disappear? I want him to plan his life like anyone should be. I want him to stop walking on eggshells all the time. I want him to stop detonating my bombs right and left… I want him to live and embody life for our children. He can do it.

The nausea is kicking in now. My body is very heavy. I have a few hundred steps to take back home. It is sunny. I had coffee. People are in summer dresses. The street is buzzing. Kids in strollers and people on bikes. Motos ans buses make the most noise and it is annoying. The world is not stopping…

TBC

On being human – a month afterwards

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Dear all, thank you for checking in. It has been over a month now that I have quit all psychotropic drugs.

I hate putting pictures of myself online. I need to do this. Here is me: one in ER while on a cocktail of drugs and one DRUG-FREE on a night out (with my husband cropped out of the selfie for his privacy)…

A picture worth a 1000 words
Midst depression & suicide, hooked up to machines at ER

A “person” taking a selfie...
Listening to Jazz with my husband – DRUG FREE

They scare you…

This is a rather long entry. I will be telling you about how the experience has been. I will also tell you at the end my two cents on my last psychiatric appointment. I will also refer to what I do to be able to manage my withdrawal after almost a couple of year on heavy drugs.

They sacre you…

Ever since this experiment spectrum of emotions, thoughts and physical sensations have been revealed to me ever since.

I am partially proud and relieved. I have this sensation of being in charge of who I am and once again responsible for my decisions and thoughts.

It is not an easy journey. A layer of artificial pain has been lifted away quite dramatically from my being. I discovered the traces of other pain beneath. It was thrilling to regain emotional and bodily sensations again. It is spectacular to be human and mostly to feel like one.

I find myself unable/unwilling to think or plan ahead. I try to live a minute at a time and not to complicate anything. Although I can achieve a wider range of feeling, I prefer to dwell on the surface.

They scare you…

I am prudent. I once read that bipolar patients are always waking on eggshells. I think it is also true for those who suffer from recurrent depression. I worry about the consequences of my feelings and try now to stay at the surface. I think that this is more than anything, a survival mechanism.

Bad dreams have been happening. They are too vivid for my liking. They are probably the most vivid I have had to memory. Why are they so scary? Because they are not based on fantasy. They surprise me as logical, and this is why all the while during the nightmares I think that I am actually loving those moments.

Tears are close by. Menial tasks requiring mental skills are tough for me. I need to concentrate with all my mind. Adios to multitasking. One thing at a time.

My weight is soaring. As big as a whale; as if I have eaten every problem I have ever thought about.

Together with my limited mental capacity, I feel short of who I am.

They scare you…

My 38th birthday is around the corner. I am worried about the forties, worried of turning 41 – the age at which my mother died.

I think of her a lot lately, with more understanding. Though my turmoil was partially due to my childhood with her and to her sudden death, my illness has taught me to see our relationship differently.

I understand her now more than ever. I feel for her suffering and instability. I cherish her ability to have taken care of me to her best; with her limited means. I don’t blame her anymore. I couldn’t have done better myself.

I hope for the years to come to be able to see my illness as tough-love; as a blessing in disguise.

They scare you…

A disturbing fact though remains.

I had gone to my latest appointment with my psychiatrist 10 days after quitting. She was of course against it. She said quitting suddenly has severe consequences. Depression of course was a runner up. I was also told that lithium won’t probably work again should I need it. Rebound is possible, no one knows when, how or for how long. It would be very dark I was warned.

Perhaps I could live with all that. Nothing she said was new until she told me something quite harsh.

They scare you…

Knowing that I write about mental illness, she told me that I should put a warning when speaking about going cold turkey. She said: ” Mothers who kill their children and then commit suicide do that because of depression”.

They scare you…

She left the sentence hanging in mid air; either to refer to potential readers who can harm themselves by listening to me. She could have also meant me; I was left to choose.

Besides being deeply offended and utterly shocked, I felt a lot of self doubt that I now regret. I dwell on this almost daily.

I say with utmost confidence – something I generally strongly lack – They scare you…

Bullshit; No one can pretend to know you better than yourself.

Bullshit; Stop stigmatizing mental health patients; you of all people should know how to weigh your words.

Bullshit; No! Our loved ones; for that fact my children are a red line that no one is allowed to cross.

Bullshit; no! Crying, anxiety attacks, binge eating/ drinking, nightmares, dark thoughts, are and were never ever directed to anyone else.

BULLSHIT!!! STOP!! I will not let your narrow single sided knowledge of an incredibly complex topic such as the human mind dictate how I should live my life.

I tell you my dear reader. I warn you like she asked me to do not to quit cold turkey. But I add to that; this road is not to be travelled unless under certain circumstances that are very complex.

You and you alone can decide how to live and what to do with your life. You alone will know when or when not to quit. You alone know down deep inside your motives for such a decision. And most important of all, you alone know if you are god forbid dangerous to yourself or worse to others.

Whatever you do, do not quit believing in yourself medication-free. Yet better, do not quit the hope for one second of being illness-free.

Without any conspiracy theories, let us not have the world of pharmaceutical companies tell us how to live or love our children!!

I do not deny that yes unfortunately such miseries do happen. Yet, millions of millions live and die without committing any of such acts and hopefully you and I are no different.

Should you decide to cut off or quit. I urge you besides doing it at the right time and weighing the benefits and the doubts as well as the consequences, TAKE SUPPLEMENTS.

I have a routine filled with micronutrients, vitamin D, omega 3, probiotics, and amino acids. I also use essential oils for withdrawal pains such as headache, back ache and insomnia. They help me a lot. All this is due to my dear husband. He has done incredible research on the topic and I do take all my supplements religiously. On most nights I sleep, and on most days I go out of the house.

Please I’d urge and beg you, if you are reading this before you go to your first doctor’s appointment because you are suffering, considering an alternative route. Do your own research, ask a loved one to do it for you. Just don’t start with antidepressants, mood regulators and benzodiazepines. You might just need iron and vitamin B complex instead. So take charge and do your homework. There is an alternative route – less travelled nowadays yes but real all the same.

No one will care when you have a zillion side effect but you.

I will be writing another follow up to let you know how things are progressing. Feel free to comment or ask questions…

Go sacre them with your humanity…

TBC

Fighting demons

Published on by Nour Loutfy1 Comment

I left the hospital about a month ago.

I didn’t write earlier for many reasons. Initially, I was denied technology for the first 10 days of my hospitalization at the closed-up ward.

They took everything. I was allowed my bed and a few magazines. My luggage was searched. Chargers and electronics were sent home. Glass was separated from plastic. Belts were taken away from clothes. Everything else went into either a small closet to which the nurses held the key, or to the nurses’ office, access to which was upon their discretion. My cigarettes and lighter were locked up too. I got about 3 to 4 smoking breaks; always accompanied.

Interaction was limited. The idea was to spend time to heal without any distractions. Noises were rare – except for the TV that was on low volume. I remember watching Forest Gump while sitting (luckily) on one of the three recliners. Lights were dimmed.

I had visits from my family daily. I was eventually allowed to go down to the yard and cafeteria with them. I would have coffee and sometimes a kinder bueno. I slept 12 hours and ate together with the other five patients at the common table. My diet was mostly derived from the cabbage family. I think this was the cook’s punishment for vegetarians. I surely don’t have vitamin K1 deficiency.

We traded food as we complained about it. It was the highlight of our day. We also shared two bathrooms and a shower. They gave me a bedsheet instead of a towel. Sometimes people forgot to flush. I had to return my shampoo as soon as I finished. At night they sometimes did random searches of the rooms. They would put things back in the closet or their office. This period always reminded me of the Jungle Book song “The Bear Necessities”…

I had daily visits from either one of the doctors or the intern. They would ask all sorts of questions initially to establish my story, my case. It was intense in the beginning then it became more of a routine. I was weaned off my long list of drugs and little by little I had 3 instead of 8.

Without a mobile, we had access to a phone line from 2 to 8 pm. It was religious for me to call home at 7. I would then speak to the children. I would beg the little one to sing me a song.

I began to cry after a few days. I missed my kids and although I could see my eldest in the garden, it was very impersonal and cold. My problem was my youngest. I was dying to hold him. He had never been away from me all that time and I had plenty of time on my hands. I obsessed about seeing him. I dreamt of him, heard him calling my name. I held his tiny blue car I had taken with me to the hospital. I looked at his picture most of the time. I was itching inside to see him.

Doctors had mercy eventually and I was moved to the open section. It basically meant that I could soon have the right to go out for a few hours. I was in a triple room though, I had absolutely no privacy. At the time it didn’t matter because all I cared about was holding my children tight.

My phone was given back to me but I could neither connect to social media, nor write. My stay at the closed ward influenced me to a degree I cannot explain. I thought it shall pass. I thought I will eventually answer calls or at least reply to messages. I am still in my bubble. This is where I feel safe. I still have dinner at 6 PM.

Eventually I was let out. I was on Prozac and lithium. After a few painful blood tests done by intern nurses, the doctors agreed that it is time to move to the real world. I could manage my nausea then. I hadn’t talked about this side effect to anyone. I feared they would change drugs again. I had had a few “mock” stays at home for 48 hours, and as these went well, they had no reason not to let me out.

I was extremely happy. Cured I thought. I was on a cloud. I savored my sheets, my coffee, my family. I felt liberated and free from the weight of all the previous drugs that left me with countless side effects.

I was managing my own medication. No suicidal thoughts. I could get dressed and go out for dinner. I didn’t fall asleep by the time the starter arrived. I did not snore or have awful nightmares. I didn’t wake up at 3 am to empty the fridge.

Yet, I could not write. It drove me crazy. It was as though my mind was emptied – literally. This caused me great pain. Little by little the cloud of happiness was disappearing. Gravity hit in fast and I was left with my initial illness of 2 years ago that hadn’t been treated till now. I felt all the personality changes that follow taking so much drugs. I look at the mirror and wonder who is looking back at me. I barely recognize myself, although I guess we keep the same values.

What keeps me afloat is my family. I cannot break my husband’s heart by falling again. I cannot imagine not seeing my baby boy. It is unthinkable to put my daughter through this one more time. And I honestly don’t know if my father can survive one more of my attacks.

You get the general feeling. I am scared. I also tremble. It is from the lithium. My hands are shaky and my face twitches sometimes.

I look like all color has been taken away from me. My world is black and white. I laugh sometimes, but it is momentarily. The thing I love doing the most is staying in bed alone, but my doctor says I shouldn’t.

My main concern is that this illness has taken over my brain, my life. It is the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I have on my mind at night.

I sleep poorly and have had some ugly panic attacks. My husband sits me through them and holds my hand to help me breath. He tries everything from rubbing my feet to aromatherapy. It eventually passes and leaves me incredibly tired as if I ran a marathon.

Now, I have to start therapy but I don’t feel like talking to a stranger. It has been three weeks since I had to take an appointment. I am scared of the slightest changes. When will I say I am me again? Oh dear, do I really want that?

TBC

I don’t want to hurt myself

Published on by Nour Loutfy1 Comment

I don’t want to hurt myself. I do not want to end up in an emergency room.

My only weapon is my writing.

I have to fight myself as much as I have to fight the system. What on earth am I supposed to do not to end up in an emergency room? How can I control my impulses?

Could my pain make my heart explode? Is this physically possible? Will I let my children see me this way? What does the system offer to those in my position? Waiting and some more…

I wish I could feel numb like the last 48 hours. Today it hurts like an open wound. Will I keep on bleeding endlessly? will I hold this scream till the end of time? Will my tears ever dry? What can I do to protect my children from me? Leave? Go where? Die? They will be motherless just like me.

I have given all my strength in this fight. There is nothing left in me, not even pride. All what I ask is for is that it be quick. This separation that is tearing me apart, could it happen in the blink of an eye?

I am rambling, scared like a lost child in a forest. How can I be a mother when I am like that? God, if you exist help me… and if you don’t, then let me be…

Help me if you can

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I packed my pyjamas, I packed my socks and leggings. I packed my sweethearts, tooth brush and lenses case.

I packed my nail polish, I packed my cotton buds. I packed my headphones and I packed my bathrobe.

I couldn’t pack my children, I just packed their picture. I packed a picture with both smiling, angelic as they are. I couldn’t pack their smell, though I packed their perfume.

I packed blue-tag to hang their picture on the wall. I just pray to god to hold strong till Tuesday. I have to wait Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday. How can I bring myself to wait for not seeing them?

How can I pack my husband’s hug? How can I pack the smile of my father? How can I pack humanity in a bag?

Anyone who has gone through this please help me. I can’t stay home, the hospital won’t take me for a few days. I am being torn up alive…. Help me

On waiting

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I want to be readmitted to the hospital, but there is no place for me today. Maybe there will not be either till Monday. That means I have to keep my will to go for hospitalization alive till then. That means I have to give my family and specifically my babies the cold shoulder. Otherwise, I will change my mind again.

I know no one else understands the cyclical problem I am facing. Today is the last day before the weekend. This means today is the last day before total meltdown. I want to be safe before it. For others all days are the same. The dread of the weekend is creeping up on me like a thousand ants…

Will I have the will to go after the weekend? What will happen? I keep my drugs with my father. I will not go out alone. I do not even want to go out. I have to wait and waiting is what I hate the most about this whole process. If I could manage to sleep it through…

We have to wait for doctors’ appointments, for drugs to kick in, for drugs to taper off, for places in hospitals, for visits at the clinic, for permissions to go out, for the right moment to leave the kids when on perm, for the nurse to give you the pills, for the lunch tray, then dinner tray, for healing to occur, for convalescence to endure….

We have to wait to kiss our children goodbye, we have to wait to greet our children… We have to wait to explain over and over again what is wrong with us.

To hell with this waiting, yet we even have to wait for hell..

TBC

A call for help…. I can’t beat Sunday

Published on by Nour Loutfy4 Comments

I thought with the new treatment I am following, that I will manage my feelings better on weekends.

It is unfortunate that nothing makes the weekend tolerable. Not my best friends coming for a surprise visit, not me going on a weekend with my family, not me getting help with another nanny specially for that, nothing works.

Please someone tell me if they feel the same like me. It is driving me insane and I have lost all ability to make myself feel better.