So... what actually, happened? Part Two.

The second part of my story has been pieced together by writing I found on my computer, the piles of notes I took during the times I don’t completely remember and asking A LOT of questions to those who remember it all.  While I am not editing what I wrote during my most vulnerable time, I do believe that providing context is important.

This post is triggering.

September 23-26, 2023…

There are a lot of questions running in a constant loop in my head:

“Where did a week go?”

“Why aren’t I at work?”

“Where are my kids?”

“What am I doing here?”

“Am I sick? Flu? Covid?”

Almost instantly I remember, “UGH… mental breakdown. Fuck.”

I would speak to Ian, and my sister, and say, “please tell me this is temporary”, “I am scared and have no idea what’s next”, “are you sure I am going to be, ok?”

How did I make any decisions? How did I function to eat? Did I brush my teeth? I’m pretty sure I managed my period during this, any idea how? How does someone survive this kind of memory loss and brain pain?

If I had to describe exactly what this feels like, physically, I can pinpoint extreme lower back pain, headaches, pressure in my sinuses, body temperature changes, heavy limbs, and lethargy. And not the kind of lethargy that is healed with a day off resetting a sleep cycle. This is the kind of lethargy that interrupts basic daily function, like going to the bathroom or getting dressed.

At this time in my life, I am the most grateful for text messaging. It takes me a painfully long amount of time to reply to any messages. No one knows how bad this is…no one knows my quick wit and sarcasm are gone.

At some point during the week, my sister magically appeared, the angelic human that she is. She crawled into bed with me, and said, “I’m worried. You need to talk to someone”. Initially, I refused and begged her not to call anyone; she had already reached out.  She set me up on an emergency zoom call with my therapist.

The following is the part of my story that begins with the doctor’s office visit that I reluctantly went to at the recommendation of my therapist. She wanted to double and triple check that my psychosis was not due to a random vitamin deficiency or something wonky in my body.

My appointment proceeded in the way most routine health appointments proceed. Provider comes in, too cheery for me, “Goooood morning Melissa, how are you?”

Crickets.

“Ya I am having a really hard time and want to make sure there isn’t anything going on that could be causing this.” Not only did my therapist and I discuss that this was something that should happen, but I also felt compelled to tell the provider, the keeper of the diagnostics, that I was justified in making this decision to have my own blood work reviewed. I was concerned that she would question why I had the authority to order testing done on myself.

The provider asks me the million-dollar question.

“Is there anything stressful happening in your life right now?”

I could not help it. I burst into laughter.

“Do you fucking think?” was what was screaming in my head.

I replied with, “yup”.

In the end of the September 2023, this was the not exclusive list of stressors, but a good starting point:

-My husband and I separated last year and have been discussing the details of divorce.

-We endure the pain of telling our children we are getting divorced, but we are going to live together.

-Every day I am shouldering massive amounts of pressure. This pressure is suffocating.

-I carry the mental, physical, and everything load for our family, and I feel alone.

-My Dad died two years ago from cancer at age 67, and I watched him take his last breath.

-My mother died of “unknown causes” five weeks after my father, and she was 62.

-I have been a police dispatcher for seventeen years; a first responder for twenty.

-I hear the law enforcement side of race, social inequality, poverty, sexism.

-I live in the house I grew up in with constant “movie reels” of my parents playing on repeat.

-My past contains a volatile and violent sexual assault history that I’ve never dealt with.

-I was in an emotionally abusive relationship with a police officer for eight years.

-My son has significant medical needs, and I don’t know if he will ever live alone.  I have always felt like those needs are my fault, mostly because the brilliant professionals he sees have no idea what happened to cause his issues.  

-My daughter is comforting her anxiety with food, and I feel responsible. She has gained a significant amount of weight and while weight stigma does not exist in my house, it’s her behaviors around food that scare me.

-I have been fat and struggling with fatness and weight gain for my entire life. My thoughts surrounding food will catapult my day into a positive or negative. My obsessions about what to eat and when to eat, and how to eat play on a loop over and over and over in my head. I remember thinking and even saying out loud that my weight struggles, my body image concerns, my hatred of my physical body would be the reasons why I wanted to not wake up.  

Should I keep going?

Instead of the above, I say to the provider, “my husband and I have been struggling, my parents died, I am a police dispatcher and...” my voice trails off into a pile of tears.

“Fill out this questionnaire for me Melissa. I’ll be right back”. She hands me a piece of paper clipped to a green clipboard, accompanied by a green pen. Ironic.

She returns to the exam room, looks at my survey and launched into a lecture…

“Eat a balanced diet to include protein, not too many carbs, drink half of your body weight in ounces of water and finally.... meditate. You can find meditations on the internet – Beach body has them and so does ‘You tube’”.

“Um, ok. I am a yoga teacher so....”

And my all-time favorite interaction in the doctor’s office that day...

“And Melissa, take the Xanax when you need it”.

I looked down to the floor for my jaw. I was in a slow-moving fog but did this woman just tell me to take my Xanax when I need to? If I took my Xanax when I needed to, wouldn’t I have avoided this entire breakdown shit show? Am I missing something?

I listened to what the practitioner had to say, and it felt like I was listening with only one ear. This was one of the many moments I would say, “This cannot be my life”.

At the time that I am starting this project I am not entirely “healed”. I am on a leave of absence from all my jobs – 911 dispatcher at a police department and a yoga teacher. I would not recommend allowing me to be the spokesperson for a zen life...I am a yoga teacher who had a nervous breakdown.

Stay tuned for part three.