An Uncommon Friendship
a memoir of love, mental illness, and friendship
BLOG!



Stew with Honey, when he was still in Seattle
How Do You Cope?

December 15, 2011

If you're a caregiver for someone with a mental illness or cognitive issues, I'd like to hear how you cope. Taking care of ourselves is one of the most important things we can do for our loved ones who need us to look after them. You have to put on your mask first before you can help anyone else with theirs. That's just the way it is. 

I didn't always do that when I was taking care of Stew. I let myself and my mental health be subsumed by what I thought was the immediate and more urgent need: taking care of him, to make sure he was okay. But how could I do that when I wasn't okay?

It's a tough job, taking care of someone else. This is true under the best of circumstances. Under the worst, it can be hell.

So how do you cope? What do you do for yourself to keep yourself whole? 




November 16, 2011 

There I was, looking for graphics for my business website, and this popped up. And I had to have it. There’s Stew, on the right, needing help, despondent with his auditory hallucinations, his depression, his anxiety, and on the left are all the people who can’t see him, much less notice what he needs. It’s not that they don’t want to see him, and it’s not that they don’t care (though some of them don’t – people are people, after all), but they’re so wrapped up in their stuff that who has time to see what’s going on with other people? Especially when what’s going on seems overwhelming. 
Mental illness sucks. I don’t think there’s anything surprising in that statement. We all know it, don’t we? It sucks for the person with it, and it sucks for the people around them, and it sucks for society when Bad Things Happen. Major suckage. That’s a word, right? 
I mostly remember the good things about Stew. His enthusiasm, his jokes, his ability to suss out a solution to a problem, his belief in me, and his determination. Those are easy, just like focusing on those things when he was alive was easy. And it was easy for people to be around him when he was himself, Stew, happy and good company, willing to try out new things, excited about life and the possibilities before him. 
And when he wasn’t well, it was hard for people to be around him. They didn’t know what to say, or what to do. Sometimes even I didn’t know what to do. His emotions would ricochet so suddenly that we could be in the midst of a good day and then suddenly everything would go black, as if a thunderstorm had moved in fast, plunging us into darkness. Half an hour later he might be back to his happy self, with no memory of the darkness. Often it was the other way around, with no memory of the good times, and I would have to remind him that he wasn’t always miserable. 
Sometimes I’d catch him being happy and not knowing it, and I’d point it out to him so he would know that there was still joy in life, however fleeting. 
It’s the bad times I don’t want to remember. The times when he was at his worst, and he was in so much emotional pain that I didn’t know how he could bear it. 
I learned to disengage. I had to. It was the “put your oxygen mask on first” syndrome. If I didn’t, I couldn’t function well enough to help him. My ability to disengage is still with me, it’s become an integral part of my psyche. If I see you’re in pain I want to help, I want to do something to make it easier for you, but at the same time I’m going to continue living well because there’s no point in both of us being miserable. There just isn’t. 
But I’ll do what I can to help. Maybe not to the extent that I did with Stew, but I was married to him, after all. And if you’re in pain and need help, tell me, because how will I know otherwise? I might notice, but the chances are, I won’t. I’m busy over here, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. And sometimes I keep busy with my numbers so I won’t care too much. So I won’t lose myself again. I’m like most people. We want to help, but sometimes we don’t know where to start. 
Taking care of Stew made me smarter. I wish everyone could have someone like him in their lives. He made me a better person. And I hope that I helped him get through the worst of it.




October 28, 2011

This just in from NAMI:

Today in America:

  • One in four adults—about 57.7 million Americans—experience a mental health disorder in a given year.

  • Despite effective treatments, there are long delays between the first onset of symptoms and when people seek and receive treatment.

  • Fewer than one-third of adults and one-half of children with a diagnosable mental illness receive mental health services in a given year.

  • In the United States, the annual economic cost of mental illness is estimated to be $79 billion. Approximately $63 billion reflects the loss of productivity as a result of illnesses.

However, there is hope...

With proper care and treatment, 70 to 90 percent of persons with mental illnesses experience a significant reduction of symptoms and an improved quality of life.


October 26, 2011

Survival Skills!

Part 1

It could be that people think that what I went through with Stew was detrimental, but I disagree. I developed Life Skills during that time that could only help me in the future. Oh sure, it wasn’t all fun and games, and we had our moments of sheer terror when the demons wanted us dead, but there were learning moments too.

For example, I learned that I could do without the expensive stuff I’d been moving around for years. I sold anything that was worth anything so I could pay rent – the silver, the crystal, the Wedgewood. Unfortunately, that meant I kept the stuff that wasn’t worth anything, but every learning experience can’t be perfect. Anyway, if any of the cheap stuff broke it wouldn’t matter.

I learned how to get money for my jewelry. Maybe this is a widely held skill set, but I’d never had any idea what to do. There are these places called pawn shops, and if you go to one, they’ll give you cash money for your stuff! It’s the coolest thing ever!

Perhaps I’d led a sheltered life until then. I’d never had to sell anything to get extra money, and I’d never had to wonder what to do for the weekend when there wasn’t enough money to get food. So I was spoiled.

I learned more about how banks operate. There’s a reporting system wherein all banks know what sort of trouble you’ve gotten into with other banks. So if you say, have no money and your bank closes your account because you’ve taken too long to clear it up (since you spent all your money on food and meds), opening another account at another bank may not happen. This lesson was so painful that I now have multiple accounts at multiple banks, just in case.

I learned that if you don’t pay the electric bill they’ll come knock on your door before they turn the electric off, and if you give them money, you’re good to go. This is useful to know, isn’t it?

I learned that not having a phone is not a bad thing. The world is peaceful and quiet when there’s no phone to answer.

I learned to sleep wherever and whenever I could. In the car, often, though I’d usually pull over and park before falling asleep. I’d miss appointments because, instead of getting out of the car, I’d sit there and fall asleep, and wake up when the appointment should have been over, and I learned that missing the appointment was no big deal.

I learned that if your car is repossessed (as opposed to just being possessed), you will get a bill for twice what the car was worth, and that even when you beg them to just take the damned thing away it will take six months.

I learned to accept help when it was offered, which was really hard for me, since I’m very stubborn that way. Even better, I learned to ask for help when it was necessary. This was even harder, since asking for help meant I was a useless human, and I had enough issues. And I learned that when you ask for help, sometimes people come through, and sometimes they don’t, and it’s all good.


Web Hosting Companies