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    Community Voices

    I’m new here!

    Hi, my name is lonelyhart21. I'm here because I am passively suicidal and my heart hurts all the time. I recently had an incident with a family member who is a narcissist and belittled me my entire life. I have a soft heart and tried to help this person recently and they continued to use and manipulate me no matter how much I gave to help them. I ended up being hurt physically and mentally. My son is suffering some of the same because of this person. My job has suffered as well and I am always feeling like I am walking on eggshells at work and at home. Some days I just want to eat myself into a coma but my son is my reason for not doing something selfish. I recently read an article by someone on this site that gave me the inspiration to keep fighting no matter what, so I am here.. in the middle of the night… reading so that I can convince myself that it is OK to not be OK 100% of the time.

    #MightyTogether #BipolarDisorder #Migraine #Anxiety #PTSD #OCD #Grief #EatingDisorder

    7 people are talking about this
    Community Voices


    Hi, my name is Jessica. I have posted on here several times and haven’t received one message of support or acknowledgment of the people that I have responded to, not that I expect ppl to say anything, but not one is a little weird to me, especially with the amount of support I see others getting. So I’m wondering if I didn’t post right or made some other mistake. About 2 weeks ago I attempted suicide, and almost succeeded. I was on a ventilator and in a coma and life flighted. It was weird, just a normal day struggling with bpd, ptsd but not anything exceptional. That night I started taking the pills to help me sleep, I have terrible insomnia with nightmares when I do sleep. And I just kept finding different pills and downing them not really thinking about anything, except going the sleep and escaping the pain. I wasn’t thinking about family or anything, and really I was surprised to wake up in the hospital. I guess my mom had found me, barely alive. A little longer I wouldn’t have made it. I am both pissed and happy. Because I should of been thinking about my daughter, and I’m ashamed that it didn’t really cross my mind. She’s 15 smokes weed every day and is a alcoholic. Before that she had done so so many things to purposely hurt me. But she didn’t deserve what I did. There are times when we are closer but she knows how to make me feel the worst. Because of my Illness I’ve always questioned if I was a good mom because I took parenting classes and did everything I could to be a good mom. And that’s where she hit. That I traumatized her with my nightmares, etc. I have never been mean to her no matter what she did, she got what she needed and more. I have always been there for her, taking whatever she threw at me. If she needed to vent. Never ever hit her or emotionally abused her in anyway, I stopped my life 15 years ago to be a mom. Never leaving her with a babysitter, never going out because I wanted to be there. Her father went to prison when she was 4 months old and got out when she was 7. No child support, or money at all after he got out, no visits, cards. No one in his family. So I wanted to be there. I don’t know where I am even going with this, but I wanted to see if I would even get anyone to take the time to read this. To support and be supported by. I hope everyone is doing as good as possible today, and all my thoughts, prayers and love is to lose who are hurting.

    2 people are talking about this

    Recovering From a Coma: Why Reducing Medications Can Be Traumatic

    Upon awareness, pain erupted throughout my body, and perspiration sprang up to bead my skin. I opened my eyes and looked around my hospital room through blurry double vision. An overlapping pair of identical nurses were replacing an empty IV bag with a full one. “Where’s my mom?” I croaked through parched lips. Two heads swiveled to look at me and smiled. “She left about an hour ago,” two mouths said with one voice. “But I was just talking to her.” “You fell asleep, my dear. She’ll be back tomorrow morning.” I nodded and closed my eyes, hoping to drift back into blessed unconsciousness. It had been a few months since I emerged from the medically induced coma, and the injury to my brainstem from a rare illness was causing multiple “system malfunctions” that made simply existing feel virtually unbearable. My body thrummed with various types of pain, my skin felt like it was crawling with biting fire ants, and the sheet under my supine form was constantly moist and filled with wrinkles that felt like thin serrated blades pressing into my flesh. Wires and tubes snaked from my body to and from bags and machines that hummed and beeped. I was but a breathing bag of flesh and fluids, alive but irrelevant, just another unit in a warehouse of broken bodies in various stages of repair. I wanted to die. The mental torment was as fierce as the physical agony, and every waking minute was permeated with deep depression and dread of the future. Sleep was the closest thing to death, a blessed empty void into which I could escape the prison of my flesh and the cyclone of my thoughts. This is why I had a meltdown when my mother told me that the family had asked my doctors to reduce my medications. “Why?” I cried. “Why would you do that to me?” The look of startled confusion on her face made me cry harder. My mother tried so hard to support me, leaving behind her home and work to live with my aunt so she could be by my side every day, all day. I knew in my heart that her only motivation was to ease my suffering. How could I explain why this decision would only increase the pain I was enduring? “Honey, the high doses make you sleep so much, and you get so upset when you miss our visits,” she explained gently. “But it’s my only escape,” I replied, trying to find a way to convey my desperation. Mom was right. I did become terribly confused and sad when I woke up to discover that my mother or husband was no longer at my bedside, or that I had slept through a visit from loved ones who had traveled to visit me, or that I could never tell what time of day it was and my memories of recent events blurred together in a timeless fog. Being a recovering alcoholic, I knew that relying on drugs to cope with the unbearable state of my current existence was unhealthy and potentially dangerous, but it felt like the only tolerable option. Without the medicinal cocktail that bore me into peaceful unconsciousness, I would lie awake in pain and fear, my mind racing through an ugly internal dialogue that drove me deeper into depression and hopelessness. “I can’t stand it, Mom! It hurts so much…I’m so scared! Sleeping is the only way to make it stop.” Sudden understanding and deep empathy bloomed on my mother’s face, and she tenderly stroked my forehead with a cool hand. “Oh, honey, I know! I’m so sorry.” A wave of shame washed through me. What a burden I had become! Once so proud and independent, I had become an infant again, in body and mind, helpless and dependent on others for my most basic of needs. What would become of me? Would I spend the rest of my life languishing in a hospital bed in a drug-induced fog, periodically waking to pain and misery? Had I traded one type of substance for another to escape the reality of what my existence had become? If I couldn’t bury myself in the void of unconsciousness I would, quite literally, go insane! But I didn’t. In fact, I grew stronger, in mind as well as body. Oh, it didn’t happen immediately, and the strengthening of my mind took far longer than the recovery of my body. But with the reduction of the medications came the ability to help myself. I was able to stay awake and aware enough to begin physiotherapy. I could spend time with loved ones who came to be with me, which greatly alleviated the boredom and loneliness of hospitalization. And I was able to begin advocating for myself and have a voice in directing my care. In time, I learned to tolerate and cope with physical pain more effectively, and as I slowly recovered, I required less and less medication. I look back on those days with the wisdom and hindsight of one who has journeyed through intense trauma and returned, scarred and broken, but stronger from the forging, and with a new zest for life. Free of the intense pain and desperation that clouded my thoughts and enflamed my emotions, I am able to view the woman I was with empathy and gentleness. I recognize that there is no shame in wanting to escape suffering by whatever means necessary, and that logic and healthy decision-making can elude us in that quest. I am grateful for the medications that helped ease my suffering at that time, and equally as grateful that I no longer need them. Mostly, I am grateful for the personal growth I have experienced as a result, and all the people who supported me along the way.

    Community Voices
    Community Voices

    I'm new here!

    Hi, my name is Gwen_6. I'm here because I am a single, older mom with disabilities who is the primary caregiver of my adult daughter, 36 yrs old, who already has several chronic physical illnesses and mental health issues who recently suffered major complications after elective surgery for gastroparesis and was septic and has PTSD after being in ICU on a ventilator. She lost her job, has no income, is disabled and malnutritioned with feeding tube and IV port. She feels hopeless and I am exhausted. Her dad, my EX, lives far from her but finally came during her hospital stay and then left after taking her to her own home. He caused major problems to me with his sudden taking control over her while she was in a coma and I was her health care POA, but nobody respected her 5 wishes. She is not nice when she doesn't feel well and I try every day to be positive and keep her hopes alive but I can't do this alone and I can't cover her mortgage and debts and utilities as I am on SSDI and struggle. Her Gofundme ran out and I can't find her help for personal cares and some chores in her home and she is waiting to get appeal for SSDI or SSI and it's 3-6 months wait so nobody will help her until SS approves her. She is now on Medicaid but she can't live without funds and she needs to keep her house she can't move in with me. Her sister is 21 and they won't talk anymore. She has EDS but is adopted but my bio daughter has many similar characteristics of EDS. I'm suffering from trauma taking care of her needs because of her many needs and she doesn't treat me very good at times and I'm her driver and her only person who is available after she's been home 3 months. My 21 year old is living in my home but i barely see her and I have a cat dying of liver cancer.

    #Depression #Migraine

    3 people are talking about this
    Community Voices

    I'm new here!

    Hi, my name is MistressPlaid. I'm here because I'm struggling with adult-diagnosted ADHD and anxiety disorder, and am having a hard time getting timely and useful care from my psychiatrist, and am struggling with adulting on almost every level.

    My ADHD symptoms have been getting progressively unmanageable the older I get, and tonight's late-night tunnel-vision research was centered on trying to find out if my childhood spinal meningitis (and resulting 2 weeks in a coma at age 2, right-side brain damage and inner-ear hearing loss, and more) would help explain my ADHD, and see if I can find a path to manage it.

    I'm a former sex educator and sex toy expert (though that one might be something that never stops being a super power) and have used my ability to be in the flow to be present with people and help them know they are *normal for them* and are worth loving. I'd love to flex those neglected helpful muscles here, too, if the opportunity reveals itself.

    #MightyTogether #ADHD #Anxiety #SexEducation

    2 people are talking about this
    Community Voices

    Thoughts for tonight..

    It’s like falling, waking up out of this emotional coma that I call Bipolar and PTSD combined..
I feel sick, every time I think of her. I want to fall to my knee’s and cry, not just cry but breakdown with tears streaming down my face. I feel like I’m falling, into a constant well even when I’m waking up out of this said emotional coma.

It’s the grief of losing a child to another family, that is partially hers- that bit I don’t understand. I do not understand how I can grieve for a child who is alive but somewhere else..

I feel like I’m a zombie most days, due to these meds, I have gained excess weight, I have stiff joints, I have pain in my muscles too. I feel dead inside. Thats what I feel. Most of my time. Dead. Inside.

    2 people are talking about this
    Community Voices
    Community Voices

    Why am I here?

    23 years ago this month I got into an auto accident that hurt me a great deal physically and would later progress into segmental Dystonia.

    I feel very very ambivalent this month each year because I’m not sure why I survived. So I take it easy on myself and become pretty quiet.

    I don’t know and I don’t believe anyone does. So I do the best I can after surviving a coma, broken bones, a ruptured spleen, etc. Sometimes it’s best to just be quiet and other times it’s best to get busy.

    We’ll see how it goes today…

    13 people are talking about this

    Struggling With Religious Belief After Medical Trauma and Disability

    I was born into a Roman Catholic family. We went to mass on religious holidays, had weddings and funerals officiated by priests, and prayed before meals at family gatherings. Like most of the other kids I knew, I was baptized, attended Catholic school from K-12, and celebrated my First Holy Communion, Confirmation, and Confession. I read the Bible, completed the mandatory Religious Studies in each grade, and memorized the Lord’s Prayer and the Hail Mary. In my child’s mind, God was a mysterious and powerful figure who watched over me (which was simultaneously comforting and frightening), Heaven was an ethereal idea of the wonderful place waiting for me when I die, and Hell was the terrifying end I would experience if I had been a bad person. In my teens, I learned about other religions of the world, and my perspectives on spirituality expanded and evolved. While I did not doubt the existence of a Higher Power and the possibility of life after the death of my physical body, I began to question the contradictions and circular logic within the religion I had grown up in. As a result, I abandoned Catholicism, and became Agnostic for many years. In my late 20s, I discovered Paganism. This earth-based faith, with its triple aspect female deity and her male consort, supported the values and ideals I had developed over the years, and I embraced its practices and celebrated its holidays with enthusiasm throughout the following decade. But a few months after my 38th birthday, my life took an unexpected turn, and my attitude about spirituality did an about-face. After a series of vaccines, I developed a rare neurological autoimmune illness that hospitalized me for 18 months. As a result, my spiritual peace of mind came to an abrupt end, and I have been living (perhaps even struggling) with its absence for the last 12 years. The illness and rehabilitation process was the most terrifying, depressing, traumatizing chapter of my life, and not once did I experience the support of a higher power or any indication of an existence beyond the physical realm. Did I pray? You bet I did! I prayed in earnest. I begged. I raged. I tearfully pleaded for relief from the pain, fear, and loneliness I was enduring. When I didn’t receive a response from the Goddess of my Pagan faith, I reached out to the God of my childhood. Sometimes I prayed for healing, sometimes for guidance, sometimes even for death. I received no reply. Twice, while I was in the six-week coma, I teetered on the brink of death, but I was completely unaware of it. There was no tunnel, no white light, no passed loved ones coming to greet me, and certainly no godly entity welcoming me to an eternally peaceful plane of existence. There was nothing. Just a blank space where time continued to march on without me. I was certain that such a sudden and traumatic event should elicit some sort of spiritual experience or divine intervention. When it didn’t, I felt disillusioned and slightly betrayed. I had spent so many years having faith in a higher power, but when I needed them the most, they were nowhere to be found. I came to the conclusion that it must be because no such entity exists, and there is no realm beyond death; when we die, we simply cease to exist. I have shared my feelings and conclusions with many different people, and it has been met with a variety of reactions, from sorrow for my “loss” to outright judgment of my “attitude.” I have been given advice on how to find God again, and heard all the vague explanations and platitudes: “Everything happens for a reason.” “God only gives you what you’re strong enough to handle.” “Maybe there is a lesson in this that you’re supposed to learn.” “God works in mysterious ways.” “God always has a plan.” But none of these have been helpful to me in coming to terms with my experiences versus my expectations. In fact, many times, they have only created more questions. My husband once said, “You can pray as much as you want, but sometimes the answer is ‘no.’” My response to this was, “But why?” Why would a benevolent, loving, compassionate god not want to help if it’s within their power to do so? Why would they stand aside and allow such intense suffering to continue? And if there is some divine purpose for it, why wouldn’t they at least offer a guiding hand? It made no sense to me. The alternative was much more logical. It was even somewhat comforting to imagine that death was like falling into a dreamless sleep, where all my pain and worry would simply wink out of existence. So I’ve spent the last 12 years denying the need for spiritual practice, and viewing life and death in much more “realistic” scientific terms. Recently, however, I have found myself revisiting the possibility of a higher power and life after death. My husband passed away from liver cancer two months ago. He had a lifelong faith in God and Christ, and was always curious (even sometimes excited) about what his existence would be like after his death. He loved astronomy and absorbed every bit of new information about space and the latest scientific discoveries. He often said that he hoped, when he died, that God would let him fly around and explore the universe. I miss him terribly, and often talk to him, hoping he is listening. The possibility that he no longer exists is deeply disturbing to me. I cannot stand the thought that he might not have gotten his wish for his afterlife. And the idea that I will never see him again fills me with a profound sadness. The dichotomy of believing there is no existence beyond death and hoping my husband still exists somewhere created an eddy of uncertainty that has sparked a whole new conversation with myself. So, once again, I am allowing myself to explore the possibility that there is more to life and death than science can explain. I am only human, after all, with knowledge and perspectives limited to my existence on this plane, in this reality, in this physical vessel. Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. Who am I to say what other possibilities and realities exist? I have no idea where this new openness will carry me, but I must admit that releasing my anger at god(s) and resistance to spirituality has calmed a simmering tension, and created a budding sense of calm. Most importantly, it has reminded me that spirituality is deeply personal, and is impacted by our experiences and circumstances. No one has all the answers, and no one alive knows what exists beyond this physical realm. There is no “right” answer, no step-by-step guide to attaining enlightenment. Every journey is valid, regardless of what you believe and where you are on that journey. If, like me, you have struggled with spirituality, be gentle with yourself. Allow your thoughts and feelings to evolve in whatever way feels right to you, and don’t let anyone convince you that you’re wrong. You don’t have all the answers, and neither do they.