......one SMALL step for Me one GIANT step to Normally
- justmeandi
- Mar 17, 2021
- 11 min read
…….one small step for me, one giant step towards NORMALLY
Jonestown at that time was, I guess, what you would call "REDNECK." By now, Krista was 13 years old, I believe. Hell, I am not sure and hate to admit that, but besides what trauma does to your memory, the ECT's to a certain extent was killing my neurons. "Brain areas implicated in the stress response include the amygdala, hippocampus, and prefrontal cortex. Traumatic stress can be associated with lasting changes in these brain areas. Traumatic stress is associated with increased cortisol and norepinephrine responses to subsequent stressors." I think I am a poster child with that brain. "This is your brain on "STRESS."
I have to stand back and remind myself it was not only the trauma and stress in my adult years. As I continue to share my story, I will "Circle Back to you with that" to coin a Jenn Psaki phrase and give you what childhood memories that I can conjure up. I am not telling you this for pity, and I am not a victim of anything but my own ignorance. Maybe you have had the same experiences in your life. Perhaps you are afraid to talk about it. I guarantee you the more you hide it, the deeper it digs into your life, your physical self, spiritual, and every part of your soul.
Oh my, got off topic a bit there. Eddie (remember him?) was in and out of our life. While working in the factory at 3M my supervisor came to my house for a Saturday night party. Yes, I was still a party kind of gal back then. Eddie was a full-time player. He was a good-looking 6" 5' tall drink of water and a handsome cowboy kind of guy. If you are not familiar with an East Texan drawl, you would have to listen very closely or keep asking him to repeat what he said. I do not know how I missed the exact time that Eddie and my supervisor hooked up, but by gosh, they sure did. This would lead to my next trip to the world of ECT's.
I was to the point where the last thing I wanted in my life was a man. I use to tell the girls that I was going to find myself a "Motorcycle Mama." And ride happily into the sunset. I was only half kidding – it was an area I never explored, so hell, I was open for just about anything. I seemed to be staying pretty stable at that time and, of course, decided again that I did not need medication anymore. See, I was a really slow learner when it came to life decisions. Up to this point, I was batting a thousand in bad choices, so why change now !! Each day came and went, and I pretty much stayed with the same routine, and life was quite boring if the truth is known. I should have never let my guard down; I should have paid attention to my past history. I apparently was practicing "cancel culture" long before it became fashionable.
Working the second shift (3 pm to 11 pm) was not bad for me; I was not much of a morning person. It was a terrible thing for Krista. At thirteen, she was charming, beautiful, and popular, apparently more than I could handle, LOL. I had this rule that the worse thing she could do was to lie to me. We could work anything out, no matter how bad. But, lie to me, and you would have to see a dentist. She ran with all kinds of kids. In the town we lived in, there was no class system and really no clicks. It was a relatively small group of teens and my bad that I was not as much of a helicopter Mom back then. I probably should not tell this story, but since she has now turned into one of the most beautiful, productive individuals, it shows you how things change. I am not sure what day of the week it was, but we did the same boring routine every day. Usually, by the time I got home at night from work, life pretty much settled things down at home. I remember being surprised that there were no lights on in the house. Up comes my hypervigilance mode; my anxiety immediately is in charge. I went into the house, and no Krista – just a blinking light on what we use to call an answering machine. Yep, we still had landline phones in our homes.
I fumbled to get the answering machine to work. When my anxiety reaches those levels, all reason disappears.
"Hello, Ms. Daniels. This is Officer So and So at Travis County Sheriff Department. We have your daughter Krista Daniels in our custody. She was in a stolen car with (I forgot his name). I don't remember the rest of the message, but I managed to write his number down and call him back. I will shorten the details up for you. She was with her friend Heather (not her sister Heather). Seems they were joyriding with a guy who had stolen the car they were in. They informed me that she was being held in a youth detention center and I could come and pick her up. I immediately call my Heather for some kind of support. Her reaction was as follows. "Mom, you need to go get her and kick the shit out of her" Okay, I thought right, that is precisely what I was going to do. I proceeded to call Angie, Heather's Mom, to see what she was doing with her wayward daughter. After a considerable lengthy conversation, I decided to leave her sit the night out at the detention center. God, that hurt me more than the bruises I was going to impose on her.
That was a very long night for me. Angie had gone to rescue Heather, but I was bound and determined to stand my ground. It was painful, and I punished myself all night for all the things I had done wrong. In the morning, Heather called and offered to go kick her ass with me. She was so pumped up – it reminded me how she use to hold Krista by one leg over the toilet and flush it while threatening to flush her down. It was a relatively long distance to where the Detention Center was. Heather kept pumping me up about how she deserved what she had coming.
Skip to about 30 minutes into the future, and what came next was so typical of the way things usually went. Heather and I got out of the car – all of a sudden, Heather started yelling at me !! 'MOM, YOU AREN'T REALLY GOING TO HURT HER, ARE YOU? Please don't hurt her Mom, pleaseeeee!!" To this day, I do not know if I did the right thing or the wrong thing. Both Heather, Krista, and the boy involved insisted the girls had no idea that the car was stolen. Parenting is a hard job. It is hard without a partner than throwing an unstable mental case in the mixture. I only have God to thank for both my girls making it through to become functional, productive everyday lives. After looking at her red eyes from crying all night, there was no way I was going to do anything but hug her.
Fast forward a few months. Things were getting a little tense between my supervisor at work and me. It surprised me for several reasons, one being I thought we had become pretty good friends. The people-pleaser that I was, I did not believe I did anything to offend her. Things were really sliding downhill rapidly. No medication, fixating on what a lousy parent I was, and Erin seaming to be bullying me at work; I was on a slippery slope once again. It has taken me years and years to lose the stubbornness to beat this disease on my own. Learn to not wait until it reaches the no return point in its insidious progression. I should have learned by now that it was a battle in the war. I was not going to win the way I was handling it.
One night at work, I could feel that Erin was fixin'" to give me a verbal ass-whoopin' for what I knew not! I was in one of those funky moods, and I could feel that feeling I knew all too well. If I did not do something, it would not be long until I was going to be that ball of rubber bands unwinding while rolling down a very long hill. I can not tell just what the trigger was, but suddenly I was being told in not so nice a tone that she (Erin) was pregnant, and guess who the father was? You got it right; Eddie was going to be a daddy again. He was apparently not having it, and she had to take it out on someone. That someone just happened to be me. . The co-dependant I was, and still am at times. Not just a practicing codependent, mind you, I was a full-fledged master codependent. "A codependent is someone who cannot function on their own and whose thinking and behavior is instead organized around another person, process, or substance. Many codependents place a lower priority on their own needs, while being excessively preoccupied with others' needs."
I seriously believe that I was born codependent. I always felt that I had to burden myself with everyone else. Not that I wanted to, I thought it was my responsibility. That is what God put me here for. To FIX everyone!!! Here is an excellent link about that very subject. It gave me lots of insight into myself that actually was really embarrassing for me to face. https://exploringyourmind.com/the-fixer-mentality-people-who-try-to-fix-others/
So now I felt I had to, in some way, be responsible for the fact that Eddie and Erin could not have enough sense to protect themselves. It is some way had to be my fault, right? I look at that now and know for sure my thought pattern was totally screwed. Going to work every night got to be something I did not want to do, and before long, I would not have to.
Anxiety has always been something that I absolutely could not control. Even now, I never have been able to use the tools they give you to fight off the terrifying feelings Panic causes me. "Most people who experience panic attacks would describe themselves as feeling instantly out of control during Panic. They primarily complain about losing control of their body: suddenly, physical symptoms come rushing into their awareness, and they feel overwhelmed. Although Panic seems to occur instantaneously, in actuality, several events tend to occur within our mind and body leading up to Panic. If we could magically slow down this physical and mental process, we would typically find that a person's anxiety involves several stages. The tricky part is that some or all of these stages can take place outside your conscious awareness. And they can all take place in a matter of seconds. That's why Panic can feel like such a surprise: we are not consciously aware of the stages we go through before a panic attack. (https://anxieties.com/9/panic-step2) .
If you suffer from Panic or know someone that does, the above article is a good source explaining what is happening in your body.
I can not tell you exactly what occurred that last night I had another psychotic break. What I remember is arguing all night with Erin over what I could not tell you. I can probably admit now that I was probably way too sensitive, and I am sure that her torment was not nearly as bad as I perceived it to be. Something triggered one of the most intense panic attacks I have ever had. I wish I could remember just what triggered me to fall on the floor in the fetal position. Not only was I soaking wet from sweat, my heart felt like it was beating so fast I felt for sure it would explode. Most people do not understand that the person in this state of panic can not hear anyone trying to help; they can't even understand what they are telling you.
Okay, here once again is my compulsion to keep totally open and honest. I pissed myself; yep, you heard me right. I lost total control of my bladder. Now the embarrassment rushed in as the warmth of my crotch heated up.
If the phrase "Psychotic Break" scares you, please educate yourself on exactly what it is. Most people think of psychosis as a break from reality. In a way, it is. Psychosis is characterized as disruptions to a person's thoughts and perceptions that make it difficult for them to recognize what is real and what isn't. These disruptions are often experienced as seeing, hearing, and believing things that aren't real or having strange, persistent thoughts, behaviors, and emotions. While everyone's experience is different, most people say psychosis is frightening and confusing. Hearing, seeing, tasting, or believing things that others don't
· Persistent, unusual thoughts or beliefs that can't be set aside regardless of what others believe
· Strong and inappropriate emotions or no emotions at all
· Withdrawing from family or friends
· A sudden decline in self-care
· Trouble thinking clearly or concentrating
Usually, these breaks come on gradually, and maybe this one did. If it was coming, I was ignoring the symptoms (which was my usual pattern). No matter how or what put me in a break, I definitely was. I remember EMS coming, and the only thing I was thinking about except my wet jeans was, "Keep that woman away from me!!. I was not just thinking it; I was yelling and yelling those very words. I was not thinking in any form of rationality. How bizarre it must have been for my friends there and others just looking on. See, I was the bubbly make you feel good full-time joker in the room constantly. There was no reason for me to fear Erin. Not many people knew what was going on between her and me.
I was shuffled off to another Mental facility Shoal Creek Hospital. I was still under the care of Dr. Tracy Gordy; I loved that man. He retired right after this episode, and how we joked about his leaving because of me. I am not sure if I mentioned earlier that I have a problem with medications. They work well for me, then they just stop. It has been like this ever since I can remember. Treatment-resistance is a clinical term used to describe the situation when your condition doesn't respond to prescription medication as expected; it may work partially or not at all. Unfortunately, this is an all too common experience for patients diagnosed with major depressive disorder. Tragically this is an all too common experience for patients diagnosed with major depressive disorder. This phenomenon, however, has not been realized until just the last decade or so.
After a couple of days of trying to figure out just what has happened, Dr. Gordy suggested it was time to go at the depression with another round of ECT's. I thought my head would explode. I had told myself I was never going there again. Here is another case of Never saying NEVER. Yet once again, I trusted and believed whatever doctors told me. Just a heads up, as we move through more periods in my story, my attitude has done a complete 180° turn in my thinking.
Typically, ECT (whether inpatient or outpatient) is given two to three times a week for a total of six to twelve sessions. Some patients may need more or fewer treatments. These sessions improve depression in 70 to 90 percent of patients, a response rate much higher than that of antidepressant drugs. I was kept in the unit for the entire twelve sessions. Nowadays, insurance makes you do them on an outpatient basis. Thank God for my insurance. I had through 3M. At that time, 3M use to be one of the best companies to work for to treat their employees well. This hospitalization would end up being a real turning point in my life.
As you will see in my next chapter, there is about to be a change that really felt like a fierce slap-in-the-face moment; at least it felt like that, but in reality, my life would soon change.
I will leave you with this:
“I have accepted fear as part of life — specifically the fear of change... I have gone ahead despite the pounding in the heart that says: turn back.”
Erica Jong
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