Migraine

Now that we're caught up with how we got here, I figured I'd talk about my migraines.

I first started getting migraines around 2005.  I really didn't know anything about migraines.  But I had never been in this kind of pain.  I had a really stressful job at the time, and I was dealing with some anxiety as well.  I finally got insurance through my job, so I went to the dr.  He diagnosed it as migraines.  From there, I got either an MRI or CAT scan, I don't remember which one.  The scans came back clear, so he started me on some "preventive medicine" and gave me a prescription for a rescue medicine. I also started tracking my migraines.  At this point I was in pain all the time.  That was driving my anxiety up.

Between 2005 and now I've taken so many different preventive medicines that I don't even remember what all they were.  This is also when I found out that I can't tolerate imitrex (which is one of the biggest rescue meds.)

I've tried going to the chiropractor.  I've done acupuncture.  I've had my eyes checked so many times.

I can remember one day I had an extra bad migraine.  I stapled a blanket in front of the bedroom window and threw a clock off the wall.

I've lost jobs because I called in sick too much.  But there were days when I couldn't even fathom trying to drive to work.

Finally in 2013 I was able to try botox.  It hurts so bad.  But it worked so good for me.  It was a total game changer for me.  I had 2 sessions, and then I lost my job and insurance.

Currently nothing is really helping.  I am in some kind of pain every single day.  It's so frustrating to live in pain and have no idea how to fix it.

I'm scheduled on 12/20 for my first round of botox with a new dr.  I hope it works as well as it did before because I really need some relief from this.

Thanks for reading!

How did we get here? Chapter 2

I had over 100 views on both of my previous posts!  That's a huge deal to me!  Thank you for reading.  Hopefully by sharing my story I can help someone else who is going through a rough time. 

So, the last post ended with me confessing that I wanted to die, that I wanted to kill myself. 

Of course, once my husband and family found out they were upset.  I can't say what they felt, because I've never been in their shoes.  But I know they were hurting.  They were hurting for me.  They were hurting because they trusted me, and I lied to them.  Not just once.  I had been lying for months by this point.  My mom felt terrible, and placed a lot of blame on herself.  She wondered what she had done wrong in raising me that I ended up like this.  I've told her so many times since February that this isn't her fault.  There is absolutely zero blame she should place on herself. 

My first step in recovery was going to my PCP.  She immediately referred me to Laureate (a local psychiatric facility,)  She not only referred me, she called them and made sure I could come in that same day.  My mom was with me.  I didn't want anyone to go with me.  But I'm glad she did.  Because I don't think I would have gone to Laureate that day.  When we got back to the car after leaving the PCP I just sat there for a minute.  Trying to come up with a reason why I couldn't go right then.  But I didn't have an excuse.  So we went. 

When we got there I was scared.  I didn't know if they would admit me right then and make me stay.  It was scary to have to put my purse in a locker and walk through a metal detector. 
I had my evaluation, and they told me they could admit me right then if I felt like I needed it.  She said she didn't think I needed to stay, but they would make it happen if I wanted to.  I didn't want to stay, and I knew I would be ok to go home. 

From there I started seeing a psychiatrist.  The first step was to change my medication.  I was dreading it because of the withdrawals this medicine brings.  I had gone through it once before when I ran out of meds and couldn't get a new prescription in time.  But I knew it was really my only choice.  We had some trouble getting the insurance to pay for the new medicine she put me on, so it took longer to come off the old medicine than we had planned on.  We also did "talk therapy."  She didn't just throw a prescription at me and push me out the door to handle it on my own.  Once again, talking about it out loud was so hard.  It's almost surreal to say those words out loud.  "I tried to kill myself."  But it was good.  And it was something that I knew I had to do to get better. 
Sidenote: Therapy doesn't work for everyone.  A lot of people, me included, think they are smarter than the therapist, so they don't actually allow it to work.  
I made the decision to tell my close friends at work what happened.  I also told most of the management at my facility.  I was so scared of the withdrawals, that I knew they needed to know I may have to step off the line if I got too dizzy or nauseous.  My friends at work responded in much the same way that my sisters did.  Shocked.  Worried.  Thankful I was still alive. 

For me, opening up to my friends and family has helped me tremendously.  That may not be the case for everyone.  And I didn't think it would help me as much as it has.  But knowing that other people know, so I don't have to fake it, has helped me so much.  Along with allowing the therapy to work, having other people I could lean on and talk to helped my recovery. 

My mom and I came up with the motto: One Day At A Time.  So that's been my motto for 2017.  When it gets too overwhelming to think about how I'm going to get through the next week, month, year, I can stop and remind myself, one day at a time.  It hasn't been easy.  And I still have a lot of rough days.  But I'm watching for the warning signs and reaching out when I need help.  It's so hard being honest with people.  My go-to response is always, "I'm fine."  I'm trying not to say it when it's not true.  I'm trying to be honest with my family and friends.  Being honest is a big deal, since I had spent so much time lying.  And I'm trying to teach myself that it's ok to not be ok.  I don't have to lie and say I'm fine when I'm not.  No one expects me to be 100% better all the time. So I shouldn't expect that of myself. 

It's been almost 10 months since I tried to kill myself.  I don't ever say I'm recovered.  I always just say I'm recovering.  I'm pulling myself up from the very bottom, the lowest you can go.  I don't know if I'll ever get to the point where I can say I'm recovered, or I'm all better.  But I'm better than what I was 10 months ago.  I'm still trying to find my purpose here.  God put me here for a reason.  He kept me alive that day for a reason.  So I'm going to live and work and try to find my place and my purpose.  I know my babies need me.  And now I feel like this is part of God's plan for me.  I have to tell my story.  I want my story to spread like wildfire.  If one person can read my story and realize they are not alone...so they reach out for help instead of ending their life.....it's all worth it.  That's why I'm telling my story.  I want to help other people.  Do me a favor.  Share my blog.  You never know who could stumble across it at just the right time. 

Thank you for reading!! Since we're caught up with how we got here I think my next blog will be migraine related. 

Suicide isn't selfish

Hey guys!  Welcome back!  I was originally going to continue with "How we got here" but I wanted to stop and take a second to talk about why I feel like suicide isn't selfish.

"Suicide is so selfish!"  It's a phrase you hear all the time.  It's a phrase that I myself have used.  Unless you've been to that point, the point where you're ready to end your life, you can't understand why it's actually the least selfish thing you can do.

It was really hard for me to make myself understand why other people couldn't understand how I felt.  "Why don't they understand what I'm feeling?"  But, I finally got to the point where I do understand, and accept the fact, that unless a person has been to that point in their own life, they cannot fully understand it.  And that's ok!  It's ok for them to not understand!

Why do I believe it isn't selfish?
Hear me out.  Before you jump to conclusions and think I'm a crazy person who is just making excuses, hear me out.

When you get to the point of suicide, you just want out.  But you're not looking for the easy way out.  It's so far from that.  I can't speak for everyone who has attempted or committed suicide, I'm only speaking for myself.  These are only my experiences and thoughts. 
When I was to the point of suicide, I viewed myself as a burden.  I was a burden to my husband, parents, and sisters.  I wasn't a good enough mom, wife, daughter, sister, or friend.  I felt as if I was failing at everything in my life.  My husband was working his ass off to pay all our bills because I couldn't make myself get out of bed.  Then he had to come home and take care of the kids and the house by himself because I certainly wasn't doing it.  My poor mom was wracked with worry and grief because she felt like she had done something wrong somewhere down the line that had caused me to have these problems.  I was probably on the verge of losing my job because I couldn't make myself go to work.  A burden.  All I was, was a burden.  So if I killed myself, I was actually doing everyone a favor.  All of those people wouldn't have to worry about me anymore.  Their lives would be so much easier if I wasn't around.

Now do you see what I mean?  Those aren't selfish thoughts at all!  That isn't taking the easy way out!  That is making the hardest decision you could ever make, just to better the lives of the people around you!

Now obviously the thoughts aren't rational.  One I got to the other side of that depressive episode I could see that.  But while I was going through it, it seemed perfectly rational.

When I'm at work and I hear someone talking about suicide, it always catches my attention.  I try not to butt into other people's conversations, especially if it's about to cause an argument.  But it is VERY hard for me to hold my tongue when I hear people say the words "suicide is selfish."  A lot of people don't know what I've gone through, and don't know that I attempted suicide.  I know they likely wouldn't be having those conversations around me if they knew.  I know they mean no harm.  But it offends me and hurts my feelings.  I just kinda get that sinking feeling in my gut when I hear those words.

Thanks for reading!  This post wasn't necessarily to change your opinion about suicide, but just to give you a little insight from the other side of the situation.

I will continue with "how we got here" soon!

How did we get here? Chapter 1

I decided to start a new blog to kinda separate my migraine and depression stories from the rest of my blogging stuff.  Some of my lovely friends helped me come up with the name It's All in My head!  Just in case someone new ventures in, I wanted to start out by kinda going back and explaining how we got to where we are now.  So let's go back a few years.

My mom said looking back I probably had more headaches than normal as a kid.  Not enough to really be overly concerned about it.  I would either go home and sleep it off or the school nurse would give me some tylenol and I would go about my day.  I wasn't diagnosed with actual migraines until around 2005-2006.  I was working my first actual full time, adult job.  It was VERY stressful.  I just thought I had a headache all the time.  I started tracking the headaches on a calendar.  I got insurance through my job and started seeing a dr.  He was pretty shocked with the headaches so we started the journey of trying different medications, doing CT scans, etc.  During this time I also had just gotten married, moved into an apartment, and went through an unexpected early miscarriage.  There were a lot of changes going on in my life during this time, and all of that played a big part in my mental and physical health.

When Jacob, my husband, and I decided we wanted to start trying to get pregnant, I figured it would be easy.  You just assume it's something that will naturally happen.  But it didn't.  I have PCOS.  Month after month we tried and failed.  During this time I got very depressed.  I started taking prozac, at a low dose.  I thought infertility was the reason for the depression.  I had 2 more miscarriages.  Still having debilitating migraines during this time.  I still had a stressful job.  I was missing a lot of work between migraines and depression.  My depression manifests in me being physically unable to get out of bed.  I just can't.  I don't want to brush my teeth, shower, eat...nothing.  I finally got pregnant.  But to my surprise, the depression didn't go away.  One day I had a mild panic attack at work.  Long story short, I ended up losing my job.  It was for the best, as I ended up on home bed rest, and then hospital bedrest.  Alexia Rosemay came early and spent 9 days in the NICU.  The day she finally came home I ended up back in the ER that night with super high blood pressure and a killer migraine.  I got to go back home to her the next day.  Being a stay at home mom was so so hard.  I wanted so deeply to be the kind of mom that loved it.  But I couldn't.  She had colic.  I felt like she hated me.  I needed out of the house.  I had post partum depression and no one noticed it.  On her 9 month birthday Jacob came home for lunch.  When he went back to work I started having a panic attack and just felt so irrational and out of control.  Something inside me just knew that he wasn't going to come back.  I grabbed as many tylenol pm as I could fit in my hand and I was ready to swallow them.  I just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.  I called him crying.  He rushed back home and immediately took me to the ER.  I started seeing a therapist.  Got some new medication.  Started feeling a lot better and more in control of my emotions.
That was February 2010.  Since then you could describe it exactly like a roller coaster.  Up and down.  Up and down.  With the migraines and depression.  Medication works great for a while and then it starts to fail.  So we start dropping down, down, down, until we hit the bottom and have to figure out a way to start pulling ourselves back up.
I can't even count the number of CT scans and MRI's I've had.  I have a hard time remembering all the antidepressants I've been on.  And all the migraine "prevention" medicines I've tried.  All the "rescue meds."
In 2011 we bought our first home.  We also found out we were expecting our second baby.  That pregnancy was also filled with lots of migraines and bedrest.  I knew what to watch for in my recovery time so I feel like it was a lot smoother this time around.
Around the end of 2016 I noticed the effexor I was taking for the depression was not working that well anymore.  I was having a harder time doing the things I enjoy.  Lack of interest is a big indicator for me.  But, coming off of effexor is so hard and I felt like it would be harder for me to go through that than to suck it up and try to push through the low time.
((((sidenote::for as long as I can remember it has been hard for me to fall asleep and stay asleep.  I have built up a tolerance to everything. Benadryl, ambien, I've tried it all.  I can take a horse tranquilizer and go to work and be fine.)))
I was working weird hours, getting off early in the afternoon, so I would come home and drink like a bottle of robitussin and go to sleep for a few hours.  I didn't do it to feel high or whatever.  I did it to sleep.  When I'm depressed, all I want to do is sleep.  I'm not trying to downplay what I did.  I know it was stupid.  I'm just explaining my reasoning.
February 2, 2017 I was just done.  I took a bunch of pills, robtussin, and ambien.  Planned to be asleep before Jacob and the kids got home.  But they got home and I woke up.  I honestly don't remember what happened that night.  But I know it was bad.  Jacob was scared.  He didn't know what to do.  He wanted to call 911, but he didn't want them to take me away.  So he just laid in bed next to me.  So I tried to lie and say I didn't know what happened.  Because it's embarrassing to tell someone that you tried to kill yourself and you couldn't even do that right!!!  But I finally did tell him.  I wanted to die.  I wanted to be gone before he got home.  I think this post is getting too long, but in the next post I will explain more about being at rock bottom and pulling myself back up to where I am now 9 months later.