Slaying the Stigma

This is my first "Nobody Interview". The subject is Kellie Roylance- Canestrari. Since May is Mental Health Month I felt inspired to kick off the interviews talking about Mental Illness. I would like to thank Kellie for agreeing to participate and being so open about her condition with all of us.

1. How do we know each other?

We have a mutual friend and used to work together

2. Have you been formerly diagnosed?
and if so, what is your diagnosis?

Yes - previously diagnosed with depression.....recently in December diagnosed with PTSD and Bipolar Disorder

3.What is the hardest thing about living with a mental illness?

The stigma associated with it. The misconception that I cannot live with a mental illness and be a good mother to my children. That I cannot handle any "stress"......that I need someone to take care of me.

4. You have two young children. How much of your condition are they aware of?

Chaz (her son) especially knows that I have a therapist as he does - I tell him that this is someone that I go and talk to about how I feel - it's someone that is not my friend or my family.....they just listen and help me stay strong. As far as my actual diagnosis, they really don't know anything......when I attempted suicide, they were told that I was very tired and needed to take a rest to get stronger. They see me take my meds and I tell them that they help me stay strong so that I don't have to go into the hospital again.

5. No two people that suffer from Mental Illness are the same, even if they are suffering from the same condition. What has personally helped you along the way? What hasn't?

My spirituality has helped me tremendously. It keeps me focused on what really matters. It keeps me in touch with my body. My children are an amazing source of strength to me - just looking in their eyes or hearing their voice. It is immeasurable.
"Friends" who are judgemental of me or my behavior while "cycling" down has never helped me. After all is said and done, and the dust has settled, I look around and see those still standing by my side......that is what really matters. Not those who treat me like a mental patient even when I am not in the hospital.

6. How many times have you been in the hospital? Why do you think in general so many people that suffer with Mental Illness end up hospitalized several times?

Twice. For people suffering from conditions like depression or bipolar, I think it is an issue of medication. The medication either stops working or the person stops taking it. For more severe conditions like schizophrenia, I honestly don't think our society knows how to handle these people. The police see them as out of control and treat them like criminals. That ends up in another hospitalization.

7. You told us how you explained to your children your condition, but how do you explain it to the adults in your life who don't understand?

I tell them my brain has a short circuit somewhere......my highs are really high and my lows are really low. My medication helps to regulate this so that I can live a "normal" life on an even keel.

8. How did you find the right medication? Are you on the right medication in your opinion?

I believe it was thru trial and error. Working with my psychology team to find the right "cocktail".......and I don't know yet if I am on the right medication. The side effects of Lithium are exactly my favorite - weight gain, trembles, did I mention weight gain? Dry skin, weight gain. But mentally it has given me some balance.

9. Many remain "closeted" about their conditions because of the stigma and judgments that you talk about. I admire your bravery about being so open. Were you always this way when it came to your Mental Illness? Any advice you can give others who may still be trying to find the strength?

I suppose I was always so open. It was a part of me - I had to own it in order to be able to live with it. If I hide it and stuff it down, then I am living a lie, aren't I? And I refuse to do that. My advice would be just that - to own it. To accept it as a part of you. Love yourself - all the parts, even the mental illness. It makes you who you are.

10. I want to thank you once again for not only being part of my "Nobody Interviews" on my blog, although you a definitely a huge somebody to me, to end things on a lighter note I have a silly question I will end all my interviews on. If you could be any type of breakfast cereal, what would you be and why?

Honey Bunches of Oats - Not only am I good for you but I am sweet with a little crunch too! :)

When Envy Met Gluttony

This is my first confessional Tuesday. I was wondering just how personal I should get here, but then again I don't even know how many people are actually reading my blogs on a regular basis. (Aside from Claire and Gina who consistently leave comments).

Antonio and I have been trying to conceive for more than two years. It was last August I started to see an OBGYN who specialized in reproductive issues. And it was that appointment in August when the word "infertility" first came up.

Antonio was tested: green light, good to go, have fun!
I was tested: sounds of car coming to screeching halt

The doctor says, "You could have all the unprotected sex in the world and you wouldn't get pregnant."

I joke, "Well I wish I had known this when I was younger!"

All joking aside. It is my fault we can't conceive. I undergo further testing as to the exact reason why my body doesn't like to drop eggs. The tests don't tell us why. So I start my first round of Clomid. I'm couch-ridden day one I'm so violently ill. Then come the cramps, nausea, extreme mood swings (even extreme for me folks) and overall body aches. I think of the positive "my body must really be taking to this drug." But the sad fact is my body only took the negative effects of the medicine and none of the positive. An ultrasound confirms my body still didn't release an egg. So next month Doc will up the dosage which means upping the side effects and we'll try again. Meanwhile there will be some stupid teenager accidentally conceiving a child in the backseat of a beat down Chevy.

If it doesn't work out you guys should adopt! Can't. First of all it is much more expensive to adopt a child than to pop one out. We can't afford the lawyers and red tape fees involved. Second because of my history of mental illness the powers that be would never give me a child. They do extensive background checks and I have had three hospitalizations in my adult hood. So once again it's my fault.

Consumed with guilt over our circumstances I start to overindulge in ice cream, cake, cookies, fill in the blank. The majority of the time I don't even enjoy the food I'm eating, I barely even taste it. I'm eating to make myself physically sick. I'm punishing myself for being infertile. Funny enough it took me nine months of binge eating to realize this. It was never about the food, it was about another method for hurting myself. This is no different from when I used to take a knife to my arm.

First step is realizing why. Okay, done. Next step is figuring out how to change it.

Nightlight

Welcome to my first "Trial and Error" Monday Blog.

At 29 years old I still sleep with a nightlight. Sometimes it's not a literal night light that you plug into the wall, but a lamp or a hallway light, just something to keep the Boogie Man away.

I'll confess, although I am supposed to save that until tomorrow, that this "Trial and Error" was completely accidental. I wound up so consumed by editing my MS and Mother's Day weekend that I forgot to try something new. And coincidentally I forget to do something routine, turn on my nightlight before I went to bed.

Huddled up in bed by myself I felt safe. As many of you know I have pretty graphic nightmares about dark events from my past. When I wake up in the middle of the night with my heart racing, drenched in sweat, and gripping my sheets for dear life it helps to see that glimmer of light to guide me back down to reality.

The results are mixed. I had a horrible night of sleep because I woke up probably every thirty minutes. Maybe I have grown addicted to that light. My mind knew something was off and couldn't completely relax because of it. I do think it's an experiment worth repeating though. After all I still have my blankey and stuffed animals to protect me from the things that go bump in my head.

Pimp my Blog

A therapist once unofficially diagnosed me as having "Obsessive Compulsive Order". I have this dire need to organize by color, shape, alphabetically. It's true at one point I hung the shirts in my closet on hangers that matched the color of the shirt (black hanger black shirt, pink hanger pink shirt). It's also true that I once alphabetized the magazines on the coffee table of a waiting room. And yes I have a filing cabinet at home with hanging folders for various household paperwork.

So thanks to Claire, I have furthered my compulsion with my blog. I want a theme to keep me on track for what I post when. It'll also help when I am at a complete loss for what to post.

Monday - Trial and Error. I'll explain something completely new I tried over the weekend whether it be cuisine or activity and how that experience went. These might be somewhat comical.

Tuesday- Confessional. This will be a personal blog much like the one I posted yesterday. Something in depth about me. This is about getting out of my shell.

Wednesday- The Nobody Interview. It's easy to interview someone whose famous for something, but how about someone who is currently a no one? Maybe it'll be about their job, a hobby, or their basic view on life. After all almost everyone who is famous now was a regular Joe Schmo once upon a time.

Thursday- Bitch It Out. Every once in a while I just need to vent. It might be about the guy who cut me off on the way to work or the on-going love/hate relationship with my GPS. This is to allot myself 1 day to rant and prevent me from doing it more regularly.

Friday- Free Flow. It could be a short story or poetry, but something original to keep those juices flowing.


If I post on the weekend it'll be off the cuff and free format. I'll let my hair down. Now as good as I am at making road maps, I am horrible at following them, at least long term. So we'll see how this goes. Program set to initiate Monday 5/10/10

Coming out of Hiding

Hopefully people will respect what I am doing rather than judge me.

When I was seven years old I ran into the bathroom of my babysitters house with tears streaming down my face. Charlotte, the babysitter, had just brutally reprimanded me in front of the three other children she watched. Behind the closed door of the bathroom I could hear the children laughing at the whole situation. "There goes Laura again. What a cry baby." I wanted to scream or throw something, but I didn't.

This time it wasn't just tears. Consumed by the emotions inside me I scraped the skin of my left hand with the jagged short nails of my right hand. As the warm blood crawled to the surface I felt relief. As I held my left hand over the sink I watched the blood drops go down the drain. I lost a part of myself that I could never get back.

Everyone has a way to deal with their inner demons. Self mutilation was mine. I could do it anywhere any time when life became too much for me. The vast majority of my damage was hidden underneath clothing. No one taught me how to do this. I can't blame TV, videogames, or hanging with the wrong crowd...this was just the way I was wired.

I have lived in shame thinking I was the only one. Like you can't understand the appeal of smoking unless you're a smoker, you can't understand the euphoric effects of mutilation unless you're a mutilator. It was like I was two different people at the same time: the logical part argued why I did this in the first place while the emotional side argued I needed the pain on the outside to justify all the pain I was feeling on the inside.

People who did find out thought I was a freak. But what makes my method of destruction so different from those who take their violence out on others, drown their sorrows in alcohol, or overeat? None of these are particularly positive, but in the moment they work. I guess mine is just less socially acceptable. I'm not proud. And to this day I still blame myself for the way I am.

In and out of therapy since I was eight, four hospitalizations, two suicide attempts, and countless medications later I am still here.

I am done being silent. I am done feeling ashamed of a condition I didn't ask for. Mental Illness has this horrible stigma attached to it. People don't think it's real. Why can't I just snap out of it or get over it? Isn't there some magic pill I can take? For me I have been fighting this battle for over twenty years. There are no cures, only a multitude of treatments, and believe me when I say from personal experience it's a grueling trial and error process. But it all starts with me.

I need to stop blaming myself. It is not my fault. Maybe someday I'll actually believe it. I have decided the best story I can write is my own. Call it non-fiction, memoir, autobiography, ect. Next month I will start the healing process by putting down on paper what I have gone through. I think it will not only help me, but so many others out there like me because as it turns out I am not alone.

No title seems fitting

The results are in from my ultrasound this morning. The clomid didn't work. I asked my OBGYN if my husband and I should still go forward with the sex schedule this month. She said, "It won't hurt, but I don't see anything happening either." The game plan is to increase the dosage next month, run another test, and see if that round works.

Do I even have a right to be angry? And if so, at who? It's no ones fault I am infertile. It just is what it is. So screaming and kicking things might feel good in the moment but they won't bring me a baby.

Should I cry? I have cried so many times over this already. The pain is so deep when I realize there is a chance that I may never be a mother. Crying won't bring me a baby either.

For reasons I can't get into right now I am unable to adopt. I would love to adopt, but the system won't allow me. So if I don't have a baby by my own means, then it just won't happen.

Those who have known me a long time know my life has been a constant struggle. Nothing comes easy. Everything is some epic battle. An incurable health condition since I was three, more than a decade of bullying and torment in school/professional world, and now this whole baby thing. Am I perfect? Far from it. But I would like to believe that I am a good person who lives my life being honest, respectful, and kind. When do I get my turn in the sunshine?

It is what it is. I am what I am. It'll be what it'll be. And I'll forge forward because I don't know any other way. I just wonder if it'll ever get better and if so when? I've been waiting more than twenty years for the answer to that question.

Where My Heart Is

Judgment

I stand before you to state my case
Although the verdict had already been branded across my face
Guilty of destroying my innocence in one single act
Please place compassion where my own judgment lacked
Pleading for a second chance despite my shameful crime
When I realize all the faces on the jury are mine


When I started writing around seven years old it was poetry. Gradually I moved onto short stories, plays, and eventually my first novel. During the process of writing my novel I found myself inserting original poetry just like the one above. It reminded me where my heart has always been. Although I love the journey writing this novel has taken me on, I want to get back to my roots. Over the next several weeks I will be scouring old journals, notebooks, and computer drives for my poetry. Unfortunately most stuff before college will be lost, but that will only compel me to write new stuff. I want to gather about 50 pieces and put together an anthology. This is not INSTEAD of editing my first novel or working on my second, but in ADDITION to.

More writing might mean less of the negative things I do in my spare time.