Tag: blog

Dear Menopause,

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In my last post I was talking about menopause; how brutally fast it hit me and how I felt I was rubbed from my youth.

It took me two good days of crying to calm down. My flight instinct is usually the first to kick in, and you guessed it right: I couldn’t escape from my ovaries…

So there I was, equipped with an acquired skill of acceptance and with lots of support and encouragement from my family, I had no choice but to start using my good old brain.

I looked at my soon to be 43 years of life and thought about them hard. My childhood wasn’t the happiest time of my life. My early teens were definitely unhappy years. By 16 I had lost my mother and was deeply depressed. I had a few good years from 18 to 24 then bam hormones kicked in and I was not 100 percent. With lots of good will I managed to get through to 29 and then I got pregnant.

Now I know I had postpartum depression, but at the time I didn’t. Motherhood was beautiful, would never have wanted anything else, but I was tired. A few good years from 33 to 36, and then the apocalypse.

Up till my forties I was silently surviving bipolar and I also didn’t know it. My second birth gave me a bigger postpartum depression that was accompanied by a period of change. If you are a regular visitor, you know the rest. If not here is the summary.

I got prescribed antidepressants and soon discovered they made me manic. A couple of years went by – hellish, painful, and dark. From one psychiatrist to the other, from one hospital to the other I went without any hope to feel better.

I suffered so much and so did my family and friends. The only exciting topic in my mind would be imaging my death- the end of suffering.

Finally a cure was in the horizon. I started a new treatment and after this long journey now I am as stable as I can be. I tapered down my old medication and got started on high dose levothyroxine along with Rtms.

Back to the subject at hand.

I feel so lucky and blessed to have had our children in my early 30’s. If I had started therapy with levothyroxine early on in my life, I doubt I would have been able to get pregnant or keep my pregnancy.

I don’t have enough research to back up what I am saying here. But I am quite certain that all hormones are connected, though how exactly I don’t know. For sure my treatment is a life saver. I would have been dead without it.

Yet, there is a price for everything- again this is not backed up by research and it is just a gut feeling. I probably had my perimenopause in my late 30’s and again this too went unnoticed.

Thyroxine protected me – thank you Lord- from the mood swings and depression of this tough period. When I started to have severe migraines and eyesight problems as well as muscle issues I gave it little importance. Then my period stopped and the sonogram said I had a poor egg count. My lab tests put me at post-menopause although am only 42!

I am also happy and fulfilled. I just want to preserve this state as long as I can because now my problem has shifted: I LOVE LIFE!

I might have early aging that I cannot prove to be related to my current therapy, but I AM ALIVE! Doctors do not see a clear link between levothyroxine and early aging. Not sure if it is because no one researched it before, or because they didn’t connect the dots.

I am working hard to preserve my body and mind to be able to live to the fullest. I am not afraid of death – not at all – I just want to live well.

I currently take 5 mg MELATONIN at night to lower my FSH and LH hormones – culprits of many old age diseases – thanks to my dear husband’s brilliant research and mind.

Along with probiotics and multivitamins I take INSTINOL to aid me in this murky period of change. I walk my daily 10 thousand steps and workout 3 times a week.

I eat as clean and lean as I can, wake up early, work hard, and play harder.

Enough with self pity and victimization. I don’t have time. Life is full of joy and has marvelous ways of turning what we first think as negative to be the best thing that ever happened to us. Example: me and my bipolar.

So dear menopause,

Thank you for knocking on my door. Just know dear, although you are welcome, I am not pausing anything now or ever.

I hope my warrior friends are equally fighting with zeal, loving themselves and their graying hairs. Nothing will stop us from being who we are, from being complete and fulfilled.

Let’s keep on shining.

#happily_depressed

Post menopause – a stage that came too soon

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One day that started like any other I discovered that both my ovaries and hormones hit the postmenopausal stage.

You would think that you would have the time to transit, to digest it, to say your goodbyes..

You would think that your last period would be a celebration with the words “finally” shouted over and over again.

You would think that you would throw all these pads and tampons away and say “good riddance”…

Yet, this whole stage was as brisk as missing a train by a few minutes. One day you think you are young, next day you have the hormones of a an old woman.

All the stigma, the sitcoms, the jokes, the religious connotations flood my mind.

It is really the M word? Is this it ?

Will everything from now on be downhill?

First thing I blame is society followed by the internet, then biology.

This poor female body of mine, tortured by period cramps requiring painkiller shots at 4 am, these tears that wouldn’t stop for days before menstruation … The food-cravings, the stigma, the tender breasts. The pimple outbreaks and unruly hair…

Then comes sexuality and virginity, followed by another spike in hormones during pregnancy.

A body that undergoes so many changes… expanding, contracting, opening and closing, going through cesarean and vaginal birth, breastfeeding, leaking, with stretch marks, scared, and scarred …

But a woman’s body is magical. It is beautiful.

And so is her mind…

To undergo all these changes and more.. To have the capacity of producing life, and more importantly of sustaining it.

I am ok with with menopause. I think it is just about the timing.

It is too soon for women to reach it in their 40’s. We have just figured out what life means. We have just figured out how to manage a family and a career. We have just thought that everything is supposedly under control.

We had to deal with the monthly visitor for half our lives and now we have to deal with an unwavering one.

We need to come to terms with nature and change yet again. We need to prove to ourselves that it is ok, that we will survive and ultimately be fine. We need to do all this while in control, with all other duties fulfilled.

We need to do this in silence, without drama, without shedding a tear. We need to be content and grateful. We need to be happy that we have reached this stage and that we are finally not going to worry about getting pregnant.

Instead of painkillers now we will be prescribed calcium and hormones. For those of us who are fancy and can afford it, they will tell us don’t worry you can have a natural therapy instead.

I know that somewhere very near or far, a woman just like me is going through menopause. I know that you also have had or are having your doubts or feel and felt scared. I also know that there are millions of women warriors across the globe who have done all this and that and are now grounded and serene.

To all of you queens out there I salute you. I am in owe and admire what you have done and keep on doing. Do tell us that everything will be fine. Talk about the good side of change please, help us your fellow women not be trembling believing this is the end. Send us hope from the other side of this hormonal rainbow. Just please tell us everything will be alright.

To be continued

“C” for Control…

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My last post was on how to deal with potential catastrophic situations. I talked about how a negative thought leads to fear and eventually a loss of control over one’s feelings. I also shared with you how I tried to change my thoughts to regain control and navigate those potentially difficult times.

As if the universe was reading my blog, I was faced yesterday with another one of those horrifying surprises.

I don’t know if I would have survived this one have I not been through a similar situation last week. Thought control is not my modus operandi. I discovered that it is a skill that some of us have to learn.

The saying is perhaps true: “No pain, no gain.”

Yesterday I had no choice by practice thought control. It saved me. I didn’t want to be submerged in hopelessness. I didn’t want to be a victim. I didn’t want to be “all about me”. I didn’t want to ask “why me?” or “why now?”.

I knew that these questions were irrelevant. I had to preserve my energy and come out stronger. This is the only way I can survive.

Despite how cliché it sounds, relief to me is found in “it could have been much worse.”

We tend to forget this. There is no limit to catastrophes. Things can always be more painful, or less tolerable.

I think solace is in lack of attachment, in acceptance, in finding the power to stand up again and keep going – all while knowing that you will probably fall down at some point. One has to always create reasons to live – even when there seems to be none.

Over and over again life keeps on proving that it is indeed very short. Moments are never repeated. I am trying to engrave this into my mind. Never to waist time looking at the past or hoping for a different future. Never waiting for an outside source to pull me out, or give me something I that I think I lack. It is really very simple, to the extent that it seems so complicated.

Everything is within. No one or nothing will make us feel complete. Being kind to ourselves is the best type of kindness. The best work one can ever do is working on oneself. The fruits of this labor are the reason we are alive.

Keep on going my friend despite what seems impossible to overcome. Everything eventually is over. But let us be careful, for life also can be over sooner than we know it. So let’s make it count.

#happilydepressed

On waiting for remission…

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Waiting sucks

Waiting sucks. Whether waiting for a bus; your turn in a public restroom; your birthday present; your dessert in a restaurant; or even waiting for yourself to finally fall sleep. Waiting sucks when you did well, when you didn’t do well, or when you didn’t do anything at all.

Waiting is seen essentially as a waste of time. It is the place between two radically different states. Waiting is ambiguous, monotone, and yet interesting,..

The interesting stuff lies between where you were before needing to wait and where you will be after waiting is over. It is like a twilight zone, where we discover things we didn’t know before…

How can waiting be active ?

If waiting were passive, life would be so dull. We wait all life long for things to happen: some of them we want and some we are very keen to avoid. We learn to wait as soon as we are born. We wait to be fed, cleaned and cuddled. We even wait to die…

Waiting changes as we grow. We discover sooner or later that our needs and wants are not instantly met by the world.

Frustration builds up as we face negative experiences where waiting was not just long, but led to an undesirable outcome. We resort to prayer, to superstition, to therapy and sometimes we end up in depression; waiting.

Waiting and expectation go hand in hand. The higher the stakes, the higher is the expectation associated with waiting. Waiting for a bus is unlike waiting for remission. The first is bound to happen (the bus will eventually come no matter how late). Yet, some other waiting is tricky. What happens when you wait for remission? For better health? For a better future? For a full life?

What to do while waiting other than waiting? What can be done before waiting to make waiting more bearable? What can be done to make waiting matter, so that it makes sense?

How can we wait for remission?

I have learned so far that waiting for remission boils down to two main factors. The first, is wanting to get better. (For the sake of simplifying things, we will assume that we actually and truly want to get better). Interestingly, the second factor is accepting not getting better.

It was so confusing to me. The more I wanted to get better, the more frustrated I became. After being frustrated waiting, I gave up hope, which definitely didn’t make waiting any easier or quicker.

Waiting is a skill that sooner or later we better learn to master, especially if we are waiting for something of such great value such as remission.

We could complain or wait in silence, while we are shattered internally with each second bringing us closer to the end of a bottomless void. We can swim in the darkness and sink deeper as the pain never lessens. This would not mean that we are accepting this reality, but rather that we give up. We give up hope, we can’t see any other possible scenario. This is it. And if this is the case, remission will never happen.

Yet, if we surrender, maybe things could change. We surrender to and accept the pain, the guilt, the remorse, the shame, the pity, the ugliness of it all. We accept the status quo while knowing that nothing stays the same forever. We need to know this in on our bones. Like seriously know that nothing ever stays the same forever. It is not over, until it is over. Repeat it, feel it, believe it, know it.

We should never give up hoping to get better. I always say, if I feel better for a minute now, next time I will feel better for two minutes, then three, then an hour and so on. Yes I will get worse, but then I will get better again. Hope cannot be taken out of a person unless they decide to give up. One single minute lived without pain, means more minutes will come. Just wait.

Bottom line

Wait actively. Listen to your soul and body. Don’t undermine your thoughts. You are still creative even if life is putting you down. You still have a mind, even if you are drugged down by the doctors. You know what it is that is really wrong with you. Better still, you surely know what is really good with you. Yes, there is plenty. You are just looking the other way.

Wait while searching. Dig deep, and take it step by step. Work on everything you know how to solve, and leave the rest to time. Work it like a puzzle. Your life is a giant Lego. Do the easy parts first. No one will fix you. You need to fix yourself. There is no perfect scenario. Life is not black or white. Accept being in the grey zone.

Make your bed, shower and eat real food. You can do that. Do your laundry and get a hair cut. Get back to this thing you used to like before. Was it writing , painting, composing, gardening? Pick up something you never had the chance to do before, but always wanted to learn or do. Make waiting count.

Don’t be the same person once waiting is over. You would have lost double the time. Either way you have nothing to lose.

The goal is to rediscover yourself beyond your illness. There is an “I” behind the illness. You are not the illness. Who is it who is waiting for remission? What will s/he do if they were not sick this very second? What would have happened if they hadn’t fallen sick? What is this bloody and agonising state trying to tell me?

Don’t wait for an answer. You already know it.

Think. Cry. Fall. Shout. Rise. Create. Pray. Write. Paint. Run. Sing. Build. Forgive. Love. HEAL

Make every second waiting count.

The power of unconditional love

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Love has many facades and could be expressed in so many ways. In the name of love you we do so many great things and we also commit so many mistakes. When do you know you are truly loved? When do you know you are in love?

I learned the meaning of unconditional love with my father. He is the one who taught me what it is, not by saying anything in particular, but by doing, during my 40 years of being his daughter.

You know as much as I do that we don’t choose to which family we are born to. In fact, I would not want it any differently. I would do it over and over again, with all the bad and ugly – just to meet my father.

So you guessed it. Today’s post is about him. It is his birthday, and beyond any gift I want him to read my words ‘ I love you and thank you for being who you are. You are perfection’.

The power of unconditional love that my father bestowed upon me meant a whole more than just feeling good about myself. It meant a whole circle of positivity and love.

It meant that I saw the world inherently as a good place. His way of doing with me and with everyone else taught me to try, at least try, and be less judgmental. He showed me what it is to always put myself in the other person’s shoes and to throw no stones.

Giving has no end when you know him. His generosity is not just with gifts and financial support. It is with words, time and dedication. One of his famous sayings to me when I was little was ‘I am next to you as much as you want me to be’.

His radiation of calmness day in day out has enabled me to be his friend and he became my confidant. There is nothing I cannot tell him. But that is not the point. The thing is he will never judge me, or anyone else for that matter. He has the power of unconditional love. When you are at your lowest you will still feel human and capable of good when you are beside him.

Perhaps one of the aspects that marks me the most about my father, is how he really cares about the development of others around him. He spared and spares no occasion to find a way to send a message across subtly. He would take you for walks for hours and tell you tales ranging from Ancient Greek mythology, passing through psychology, history of religion, to modern physics. He will talk to you about yogis and sufis; scientists and prophets; the self and organic horticulture. But he will talk a little bit more about non-duality, and you will get confused, and you will feel your mind stretching like you were doing algebra. But all along you will be mesmerized and you will never want him to stop.

In the power of his unconditional love I was able to come to terms with many wounds in my childhood and beyond. This would never have been possible without his patience and ability to listen, to forgive and help me forgive myself.

In the power of his unconditional love I am learning to become a parent, and a person. I also learned one of the most important lessons of all: to love and respect myself.

Because of all his love I was able to depend on him many many days and nights during my illness and and also during my wellness.

I wish you a year filled with joy and peace of mind. Always young at heart and going strong! Happy birthday ❤️

Forgiveness and recovery

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The blog has shifted gears. My writings were sometimes exercises of introspection – reflecting my state of mind during my struggle with depression, anxiety, and bipolar disorder. Other times, I would write about what I thought was wrong with the medical system as it stands today; not seeing the person as a whole or just silencing and over drugging the mentally ill till they slowly lose themselves in an array of side effects and endless adjustments of dosages. I also wrote about misdiagnosis and malpractice, and how our lives could change just by being given one very wrong label or another.

In my last few posts I started sharing with you the lessons taken home. There is no pretentiousness or ‘I know better’ in my words. I try to repeat this one way or another because it is so important!

So here goes…

Today I want to talk to you about a pivotal moment in my recovery.

You know getting better is not linear. If anyone tells you so, then they either don’t know what they are talking about, or they are simply really very optimistic, or just they were super lucky and are the 0.01%.

Recovery has so many elements. Naive, I used to think about it like a finish line. It was actually more of a destination, and to get there you have to take a bumpy ride.

To recover, I of course needed be on the right medication. I was supposed to find stability. Yes little by little I didn’t have anymore mood swings. A small relapse here, a little adjustment there…

I relate to this as trivial compared to what I went through. I didn’t feel depressed or have this huge void eating me up; true. Yet, I felt surprisingly guilty. Probably not surprisingly.

I was not able to feel relief. Why aren’t you happy now? Good question! I was faced with two major problems.

One: the aftermath of what ‘I have done’ to my family witnessing all this suffering. Two: the immense fear of this ordeal happening again. Three: I know I said two but I also had memory issues, self-confidence issues, brain fog, and 20 plus kilograms to lose to fit in my old socks because of all the meds I was taking before finding the right treatment, tapper off a few others, and of course I had to reintegrate into society.

After spending time feeling stagnant in these negative thoughts, I talked to my psychiatrist who suggested that these signs are very well similar to those of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). In brief: the experience of illness is so intense that in itself it becomes traumatic and creates guilt, fear and flashbacks. Are you familiar?

He suggested I undergo a few sessions of EMDR – Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing therapy. It is non invasive, simple and fast method of psychotherapy. I was skeptical at first but I tried and It worked really well on my trauma. Highly recommend it if you find a qualified therapist.

Relief was not immediate. But at the time I decided that I needed to open a new chapter in my life if I am to recover. Again this does not happen over night. It is a process. You plant the seed.

How can I ask those around me to forget what happened if I am constantly thinking about it? How can I be ‘normal’ if I am living every moment waiting for another attack? How can I expect to be ‘forgiven’ if I cannot forgive myself? 

Forgiveness was the magic word. And trust me it is everything but cliché.

I had no choice. I internalized this and repeated it to myself for the millionth time. Mental illness could happen to anyone at anytime. Mental illness is not a choice. Mental illness teaches you how to be human and humane. This experience showed us all how we are connected and how we love one another and how blessed I am to have my family and loved ones. They also used to tell me the same, but you know guilt…

Before all this, I had to forgive myself for the pain I went through. I decided that I will allow myself the suffering that passed and say it is ok. I don’t judge you. You were hurting and you are fine now. Again, you water the seed.

I gave myself a pat on the back and a big hug for the long road travelled and I said it is ok. I looked at all the things I have learned. How strong I have become. How loved and cared for I was and how things could have turned much much worse.

I looked at my family hoping day in day out that what dwells inside my soul will reflect into my behavior. Little by little, things began to change, and a new normal appeared.

The seed grows into a plant.

My dear reader I decided to be kind to myself because I had suffered enough and I invite you to do the same even if you are not in recovery, or even if you are not mentally ill. We have all suffered one way or another. We deserve to live guilt-free.

Allow yourself the gains you have achieved though little they may seem; for today is a good day and we only hope we replenish the well a little more tomorrow.

Bipolar – my disability

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My illness is flagrant. It is clear as sunshine. Bright as a star. Big as a 10 cart diamond ring. Obvious to the naked eye…

Yes it is when I have an episode.

But when I don’t…

It is dormant. Blends with the background. Goes unnoticed. Quiet common. Just like the flue. It is a John Doe..

I tend to forget, for am human. And we humans tend to do so. A lovely quality we have. Makes us able to live, to turn the page.

When my illness strikes back, am always surprised. It takes me a few days to adjust. As if it is the very first time am experiencing the symptoms. All fresh.

The pain is new, yet the depth of the scar is familiar. I remember the fear of falling into the abyss of mental illness with all what it means – more meds, more symptoms, more side effects, hospitalization, days in bed, fear of losing my mind, fear of losing control, fear of finally giving in to suicide…

Yet I know I can’t. Something tells me this cannot be the end. I recall the conversations I had, the notes I wrote, specifically for these moments to remind myself not to give in.

I try to summon my strength, the strength I have and the one I don’t, and pretend to stand up. I rise in my dream above myself, above my tears, above my hospital bed and tell my doctors to let me live some more.

But if you are ill like me, you will soon learn that living isn’t the point really. So what is the point of having a life with such an illness that makes hell a walk in the park? On average I get two good weeks a month and if am lucky we can stretch them to three.

I am heavily medicated, but at least the meds I take do work.

I got PTSD. I am being treated for it, but I feel mostly guilty all the time for how my illness affects my loved ones.

That’s where am at now with my bipolar. I cannot always embrace it. I don’t rise above it. I wish I could say it differently, bipolar is my disability…

Part one: On Guidelines for treating mixed episodes and rapid cycling in bipolar disorder – Beacons Of Hope: Thyroid hormone replacement and rTMS treatment.

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My problem with my illness is not my illness per se, it has always been how the medical community thus far dealt with me as a series of isolated symptoms; instead of seeing me as a whole person.

Things have been moving on though. Let me tell you my story with this new treatment am on.

But before that, we have to talk diagnosis. We have to talk guidelines. We have to talk knowledge.

Looking back, the past three weeks seem like months.

My beloved husband researched and researched my condition over and over again. He wouldn’t surrender or admit that I won’t get better. He believed that there is a way out and that I could be cured. At least he told me “let’s have the honor of trying”, bless his pure heart.

Less than three weeks ago I was self admitted to another mental health hospital. I left the very same day. Surprise! Though practically no one understood, everyone accepted, believing I had some internal compass that points to truth. In fact, I was too restless for a single room and too “aware” to stay in a ward.

In a parallel world my husband had found a doctor in London at the London Psychiatry Centre who had very convincing arguments saying that he could treat my condition. In fact he already successfully helped hundreds like me. This brilliant man is called Doctor Andy Zamar. His attitude, bedside manners, and ultimate responsiveness to his patients make him deserve my deepest respect regardless of the outcome of my ongoing treatment. He doesn’t believe in the status quo and he bothers to read what

have written before him.

We first had a FaceTime consultation during which he made me read some research he had gathered regarding bipolar disorder. Specifically, he wanted me to read in black and white as he said how wrong it is to take antidepressants when one has a mood disorder. He made me read out loud the Maudsley Prescribing Guidelines in Psychiatry for those suffering of rapid cycling. It said loud and clear to “withdraw antidepressants in all patients”.

That my friend is an interesting finding. I have been given antidepressants by the medical community that treated me in the past three years. In 2017 Effexor led me to the emergency room trying to quit it as it was impossibly painful to deal with its withdrawal symptoms. Mind you it was done under medical supervision. But that is another story.

Later on in 2018 I began self medication when I quit lithium by myself – which interestingly I discovered does not work on its own in my particular case as per the guidelines. It has also lots of side effects I could not deal with. So I self medicated and started Prozac 20 mg for 7 months. I did that because I thought it would be a safety net that won’t let me fall into deep depression.

I was wrong, I couldn’t have done myself more harm unknowingly. I did rise into hypomania which inevitably led me to deep depression. When I went to see doctors just before meeting Dr Zamar, they advised and prescribed an increase in Prozac to 40 mg and this is when hell broke loose.

Doctor Zamar diagnosed me then with ultra rapid cycling bipolar disorder otherwise unclassified. I had hypomania turbo charged, as he explained with depressive content. Talk about suicidal thoughts!

Again I read during our call what described my state. Doctor Zamar was not reinventing the wheel. The paper is called Melancholia Agitata and Mixed Depression [Koukopoulos et al. Acta Psychiatr Scand 2007: 116 (Suppl. 433): 50-57. The paper is more that 10 years old!!

So on page 52 here is the “clinical picture of agitated depression” – it was describing me in a nutshell …

Melancholia Agitata and Mixed Depression
Melancholia Agitata and Mixed Depression p.52

So people someone was saying why I was committing suicide in ink…

Check this out

Melancholia Agitata and Mixed Depression
Melancholia Agitata and Mixed Depression p 53.

The last time Doctor Zamar prescribed antidepressants was in 2004. Say what you may. But isn’t it a million percent better to be safe than sorry?

This is a heavy post I know.

My final words are those of hope. Now that we know what not to do, the action he proposed is derived from new research based on thyroid replacement therapy and rTMS.

The treatment combo am doing is that I take on one side Olanzapine known as Zyprexa which is an atypical antipsychotic that is supposed to calm my hypomania.

Secondly I do rTMS or Repetitive Transcranial MagneticStimulation; a treatment that not only has enormous success rates for treating depression but it is virtually side effect free.

Last but not least, Doctor Zamar is using Precision Medecine Nd treating me as a person. We do weekly ECGs and blood tests. He takes my side effects seriously and he doesn’t brush them under the table. He listens. Mind you this post could sound like praise to him, which it is. But listen my friend, it is to everyone of us working with people. Stop being an ear and nose doctor and look at true bloody person you are treating.

At this clinic they do take swabs to send for genetic testing to stop wasting your time. As their website says there is no “one size fits all”. Genetic makeup therefore is very important in deciding treatment, knowing what works and what won’t and also knowing what would be tolerated. In psychiatry this saves light years.

I will be staying explaining in my following post the thyroid replacement therapy.Meanwhile I urge you to read this beautiful hopeful article published on their blog: Bipolar News – Millions could benefit from bipolar breakthrough #worldfirst

TBC

Call for interviews

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As part of a bigger life project, I am conducting (anonymous) interviews on how to live/cope with bipolar disorder. Send me a message here or through my Facebook page if you are interested in participating.

Bless

https://m.facebook.com/happilydepressedblog/

Recharging

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I was reluctant to fly back home. I was worried about meeting family and friends.

I didn’t want to have to deal with pity. I didn’t want to answer questions. I didn’t want to remember who I was before I got sick, or know who I am now.

It was not easy in the beginning. I broke down because I was so ashamed of what had become. It was a feeling beyond me. I felt my failure and forgot all the progress I had made.

I was so tempted to end it all. I held on to the thought of how I would disappoint my loved ones if I do.

I shrank into a ball in bed, fighting my demons. My family and friends would come in one at a time to try and talk to me. I didn’t have words to say. I wanted to shut off the world. I hid behind my blankets to avoid seeing them- seeing me like this.

I asked for medication, I couldn’t do without. I got some tranquilizers, a benzodiazepine. I popped a few – nothing dangerous. I had to numb the pain. I wanted to get out on the other side – the good side.

I asked for an antidepressant. I am away from my doctor and didn’t want to call her. No energy to explain anything to anyone. I decided to take Prozac 20 mg as a preventive dose for further attacks. Just the thought of another one was enough to kill me.

As these things take time, not surprisingly I got another attack a week or so after. A few days before, I had started to feel the ups of hypomania; rapid thoughts, loss of sleep, increased self confidence. It was mild and honestly I enjoyed it. What a nice break from depression… but I worried about the crash after. The higher you go, the lower you will get.

One day shortly after I felt paralyzed when sitting on a small cliff by the beach a few meters away from my family.

I was trying to relax. It hit me as I was looking at the waves and the horizon. I was in harmony with the scenery and little by little I had to lie down. I could not sit anymore. So I did, and thought I should relax some more. A horrible fear of falling hit me. I couldn’t stand up, I couldn’t move a muscle, I couldn’t talk. I waited for it to pass, I do not know for how long.

My daughter saw me as she was swimming and I managed to wave to her. I asked her when she came up to tell my husband to come to me. He shielded me as I crawled away from the cliff when everything was swirling around me. I don’t know why this happened. I just hope it will be my last attack.

I will check in with my doctor once I am back about the drugs am taking.

Yet, despite all this, I am proud of this trip. I am proud I was able to break this wall of fear and to accept love and empathy.

I am proud of being loved and cared for. I am proud of receiving all these hugs and all this care. I still feel vulnerable and worry of breaking- of course there is no magic cure. But somehow I know the worst is over.

There are residues for sure. Yet for those who might have similar stories, reach out, find those who care for you. You might not want to, you might fear what they will say, you might worry about how they will see you… Don’t.

As much as mental illness is mysterious, as much as love is.

Love has a healing power, especially when it is unconditional. Don’t worry about facing the world. I was swept off my feet with care – literally. I had forgotten the power of living “in” a society versus the isolation I face when in Paris.

As much as I didn’t want to go on holidays because when depressed you couldn’t care less, as much as I knew I had to. I wanted to do that for my husband and for my children. They got so worn out that past year with so much pressure- mostly from me.

I put one foot in front of the other and did it. I was challenged to sit by the beach! Imagine that… I was challenged to see my children have ice cream! It was difficult to let go and enjoy islands and beaches and hotels and swimming pools… yes believe me when down no one cares about all that.

Yet magically the change of scenery worked. One at a time like a flower opening its petals, the family started to relax. It was probably contagious. I started to enjoy things instead of being lethargic. It took time, but it happened.

I cannot stress enough the importance of holidays. Needless to say it can be as simple as going to the park and enjoying the view, no need to travel miles to do that. I will personally try and keep this concept of having a break in our family routine. I urge you to do the same.

I will check in more frequently, and I will try to talk about this journey of mine, which I hope will end in recovery.

TBC

Bless

The concept of time and depression

Published on by Nour LoutfyLeave a comment

Yet another day unfolding, yet another 24 hours to kill. I wonder why we have to kill time when time sometimes kills us.

I used to break the day into sections; before, during and after my kids’ school. Now for a couple of days it is a continuum. I am not only fighting my illness, my side effects, but time.

Till when will this be? Till when shall I sit and watch life go by? Please do not tell me it shall pass.

You know when you are in love and talk to someone who has never experienced it? This exactly the same, they would understand you more on a “theoretical” level than on a real one.

I would do just fine if I was certain that this would end. You see I don’t mind being incapacitated by my condition- I want only to know if it my prognosis.

I lost trust in medication as much as I lost trust in doctors.

My best solution is to wait for these two weeks to be over. I just need the drugs to work – if they do. I will go back to bed now. At least I forced myself to change and to have a shower.

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.