As I spend my birthday weekend studying for this week's upcoming exams, I am struck by how much of the content in my psych class mirrors my life...especially in this set of lectures. Two of the main exam areas this week are Major Depressive Disorder and Care of the Chemically Impaired. Its no secret that I suffer from depression and have for many years. I am finally coming to terms with the fact that I will likely always have relapses and that perhaps I should just resign myself to a lifetime of anti-depressants.
It has also been an interesting process in looking at my familial history. I won't go into too much detail out of respect for my family members' privacy, but it is quite evident to me that part of my depression has a genetic component. I have had discussions with some in my family about the shame and stigma that is still attached to depression, despite the fact that the lifetime risk for men developing it is 5-12% and 10-25% in women. It was certainly not something talked about in my childhood...that I recall anyway. Part of that I believe was due to a lack of information, but part of it I believe was the stigma of shame that was attached to any acknowledgment of mental illness.
I am hoping that by being open and honest about my journey, that perhaps my son and nieces will grow up with a different perception of the disorder. I know in many ways it has become a freeing process for me to be open about it. Much like my journey in coming out as lesbian, transgender, and queer, each step towards full honesty and acknowledgment of all of me is another step towards personal freedom.
Much of the same could be said about chemical dependency and addiction. I feel like I have been very aware of issues of addiction from a very young age. I think it really shaped by adolescence and early adulthood. I guess my personal response was to go in the opposite direction. I didn't drink or do drugs in high school. I was most likely to be found at work or at school working on an upcoming choir or theater production. On the rare occasion that I did go to a party, I always chose to be the designated driver.
When I left home at 18 for boot camp and then military college (New Mexico Military Institute), things changed a little. On our few weekends off, cadets would often drive down to El Paso, TX and cross the border into Jaurez, Mexico to drink. We always made sure someone stayed sober to get us back across the border safely. I think it is safe to say that I was somewhat of a binge drinker. I discovered that I had a very high tolerance to alcohol and as a then 18-20 year old female who weighed about 125 pounds, it was always good fun to drink the guys under the table. By the end of my two years at NMMI, I realized that wasn't how I wanted to live my life and I gave up drinking the day after I graduated.
I stayed a teetotaler until well after my 21st birthday, but eventually began drinking socially from time to time. I soon found myself married with a kid on the way and quickly realized my then husband was an alcoholic and addict. I tried to change him, fix him, threaten him...finally I realized he didn't think he had a problem and therefore wasn't going to change. So I left.
To make a long story short, I was 23, a single mom and on disability (I had fractured a vertebrae falling down some stairs at work while 8 weeks pregnant). I moved back to Michigan for a few years, began my coming out process, was diagnosed with clinical depression for the first time, and began to face the reality of raising a kid alone. Thankfully during all of that turmoil and struggle, I never once looked to alcohol or illicit drugs as an escape. To this day I am still not sure how I managed it. Even though I was quite suicidal at times back then, a part of me was fearful that if I began drinking I might not ever stop. I didn't want that for my kid...I had already seen what it had done to my step son.
It is strange to now be 41 and the parent of a 17 year old, who despite all my best efforts, educating him on his genetic risk factors, etc, has himself become an addict. While I know all the intellectual and scientific causes for his disease, and am able to call it a disease, there are still times when I wish I could just shake some sense into him. I think in some ways going through Psych Nursing this semester has been good for me. It helps me to refocus on the big picture. I still have sadness for the damage alcohol and drugs has caused in my life and my son's life. I will have a social drink or two on occasion, but I have a healthy amount of respect for it. And, now that I am back on anti-depressants I will once again refrain.
The last thing I will say tonight is how fascinating I find the teaching methods for this course. Given that there are 44 people in the class, the reality that a certain percentage of us either have ourselves or have experienced in our family a great many of the diseases and disorders we discuss, I am surprised that there isn't more opportunity to talk about how this affects us personally and professionally. There has been little to no discussion about how to cope with your own issues that may come up in the course of treating a patient. I would think that this would be an incredibly important topic, specifically in the field of Psych nursing. I guess that's why I have a blog. :) Thanks for reading.
Peace and compassion...
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Ugh - what to say. I feel in a way guilty that my life has been free from issues such as depression or further horrible mental illnesses. I myself find it hard to understand what it is like and how people cope. It opens my mind to read about what you deal with and how you fight to stay sane and healthy. I commend you on the fight you engage upon on a daily bases and the victories you have had thus far. You are a wise, old soul Nick. One who humbles me constantly.
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