My Essay on The Establishment: “An Open Letter To Fellow Suicide Survivors”

Yesterday was World Mental Health Day, but like millions of Americans, I don’t have the luxury of just “observing” it for a single day. It’s something I’ve lived with 24 hours a day, 7 days a week since 2003 — the year my father committed suicide.

The numbers are staggering: The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention estimates that 42,000 Americans die from suicide every year and is the 10th leading cause of death in the U.S. Add in the number of loved ones left behind in the wake of suicide and that number goes from staggering to crippling.

It’s those left behind who shoulder such an unbearable burden. I’ve felt like grief would consume me at times over the last 13 years, and all kinds of questions have swirled around in my head…


–Did my father really think we’d be better off without him?
–Would he be proud of the woman I’ve become?
–What life advice would he give me if he were still here?

I was able to give voice to these questions in my new essay “An Open Letter To Fellow Suicide Survivors On World Mental Health Day” for The Establishment. The piece went up yesterday, and I couldn’t be more happy with it. I know I sometimes post about trivial, fun things, but this type of writing — this confessional, from-the-soul writing — is truly where my heart is at at the end of the day. It’s a healing way of looking at very heartbreaking and traumatic events in my life.

Here’s an excerpt of the essay, which is one of my recent favorites…

I grew up against the sprawling backdrop of the cornfields, in a college town 75 miles west of Chicago. Despite my physical disability, my father made sure that I had a normal childhood—the kind that feels like the perfect home movie when you look back years later as an adult. We chased lightning bugs in the summer and sledded down snow hills in the winter.

Life was simple.

The idea that a loved one died so unexpectedly and so violently shakes you to the very core of your being, and as much as you may wish to deny it, you’ll never be the same person ever again. I never really understood this until I grieved my father. Slowly, however, I realized that not only was I grieving my father’s death, but I was also grieving the loss of my “old life.”

I think, in the end, the real journey I’m on is learning to say goodbye to my old life, not just learning how to say goodbye to my father. It’s important to remember that sometimes, I—you, we—need to try saying hello to our new lives, if just to see how it feels.

You can read the full essay here and I’d love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to email me anytime at mellow1422@aol.com and let’s chat! And of course, feel free to share my essay on Facebook, Twitter or even your local refrigerator. If you share on Twitter, be sure to tag me @melissablake so we can connect! I can’t wait to hear from you! Love you all… xoxo

My Essay on The Establishment: “How To Support A Loved One With PTSD”

When I discovered The Establishment, the amazing women’s site that launched last year, I knew I wanted to be a part of it somehow. And as luck would have it, I got my chance today when my first piece went live. I wrote “How To Support A Loved One With PTSD” in honor of PTSD Awareness Day and even though this is a topic I’ve written about before, it was a great experience to think about PTSD at this time in my life.

How did it feel? In a word: empowering. It made me feel strong. It made me feel like I was facing an aspect of my grief head-on — not cowering or running from it or even hiding in the corner. I was calling it out, forcing it to face me and realizing that, for as much as I get frustrated and anxious sometimes, I really have come a long way since those early, dark days.
Here’s an excerpt of the essay, which is one of the longer pieces I’ve written lately…

I’d started seeing a psychiatrist and therapist shortly after his passing to help manage my anxiety and grief. But then the anxiety grew even more acute—with the power to transport me back to the most traumatic experience of my life, no matter how much time had passed. Especially in the direct wake of my father’s passing, when my grief was its most raw and jagged, anything seemed to set me off. The vivid scenes of the hours and days after my father’s death would replay on a loop in my head. Over and over. It was like a nightmarish home movie that I couldn’t turn off.

I would learn that these types of PTSD responses are common among those who’ve lost a loved one to suicide. I was suffering from what is known as complicated grief, the type of grief that occurs after “an unexpected or violent death, such as death from a car accident, or the murder or suicide of a loved one.” PTSD and complicated grief often go hand-in-painful-hand.

When my post-traumatic stress symptoms began, I felt helpless and totally out of control for the first time in my life. Until I learned about the disorder, I had no idea what was happening to me, which only intensified my grief and anxiety. Thankfully, I’ve seen some shifts in the public’s perception of mental illness and PTSD in recent years, and this move toward understanding symptoms and treatment—and away from stigma—has benefited sufferers.

Still, it’s been a battle. In addition to seeing a psychiatrist and taking antidepressants, I’ve been in therapy for the last decade. This has been life-changing in helping me confront my feelings and issues surrounding my father’s suicide. But although I’ve come a long way, I know PTSD is something I’ll struggle with for the rest of my life.
And unless you’ve experienced it firsthand, helping someone with the disorder can feel like trying to navigate a minefield without a map—especially given our society’s tendency to push people to “just get over it,” which can make those suffering feel the need to hide what they’re going through.

You can read the full essay here and I’d love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to email me anytime at mellow1422@aol.com and let’s chat! And of course, feel free to share my essay on Facebook, Twitter or even your local refrigerator. If you share on Twitter, be sure to tag me @melissablake so we can connect! I can’t wait to hear from you! Love you all… xoxo

In fact, The Establishment is running an entire series on PTSD, full of honest and informative stories from other women who’ve been there. Be sure to read all of them here!

How to Help a Loved One Stop Addiction Before It Starts

An intervention is what we call it when a person or group takes some type of drastic action to help a loved one break an addiction, usually to drugs or alcohol. The problem with this type of intervention is that it comes too late to prevent the problem from occurring. By the time there is an intervention, there is already a problem that is probably too big to be dealt with by an informal intervention.

What’s needed is a way to identify and deal with problems before they lead to the kind of addiction we generally reserve for interventions. Fortunately, there are actionable, early warning signs. Addiction is usually the second part of what is called a dual-diagnosis. Identifying, and treating the first part can go a long way towards avoiding the second.

It is useful to know that even if the situation is too far advanced for informal intervention to do any good, there is a co-occurring disorders treatment that is customized to provide high levels of addiction treatment by knowledgeable and experienced therapists. Individuals will receive group and one-on-one counseling throughout their stay in a safe environment. But before it gets to that point, here are three problems that, if dealt with, can stop the addiction before it even starts:

PTSD
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is one of the more insidious mental disorders one can have because it is a product of what is often the most heroic action one can take. Nearly 30% of vets treated by the V.A. have PTSD. That is because they have experienced the ultimate stress of watching people die in the worst imaginable ways. These brave men and women often come back from war with physical injuries of their own.

They will frequently turn to opioids and pain killers for increased feelings of pleasure and calm. But over time, the drug turns against them, causing physical dependence and, ultimately, a lack of control and calm. Soldiers are not the only people at risk of PTSD. Anyone who has suffered traumatic stress should be considered at risk. Successfully treating this condition can be the key to bypassing a life of addiction.

ASPD
Antisocial Personality Disorder can develop early in life. But alcoholism makes the condition much worse, increasing the likelihood of more antisocial behavior. People who drink excessively are 21 times more likely to deal with ASPD compared to people who don’t. So while excessive drinking does not necessarily cause ASPD, it most certainly intensifies it. The Mayo Clinic lists the following as some of the signs of ASPD:

• Disregard for right and wrong
• Persistent lying or deceit to exploit others
• Using charm or wit to manipulate others for personal gain or for sheer personal pleasure

Bipolar Disorder
Quoting statistics from the American Journal of Managed Care, dualdiagnosis.org states: About 56 percent of individuals with bipolar who participated in a national study had experienced drug or alcohol addiction during their lifetime.

Bipolar Disorder was once known as Manic Depression. People who suffer from it are characterized by sudden mood shifts, as well as difficulty maintaining relationships and economic stability.

The thing to remember about all of these underlying problems is that they are medical and treatable. There is no need for these problems to progress into full-blown addictions if the signs are caught early and treated appropriately. Addiction can’t always be avoided. But with a bit of vigilance, we can help our loved ones long before it gets to that stage.

–Sara Stringer is a freelance writer who most enjoys blogging about lifestyle, relationships and life as a woman. In her spare time, she enjoys soaking up the sunshine with her husband and two kids. Consideration was received for the editing and publishing of this article.

Question of the Week: Question #16

Well, friends, I came up with this week’s question myself after I looked into the mailbag and discovered it was empty! I’d love to hear from you, so feel free to email me (mellow1422 [at] aol)!

How do you deal with irrational fears?
Irrational fears.

Two words. Fifteen letters. The two words don’t even look like they belong together, do they? If a fear is irrational, there is no way it should hold so much power over us. We know it’s irrational. And what’s more, a fear is just that: A fear. A fear of something that might happen, but hasn’t yet.

Remember when I last wrote about irrational fears? You know, the kind that seem to linger longer than a pesky hang nail and leave you exhausted from a bit of over-obsessing.

When we were kids, we might have been afraid to go to sleep because of monsters. We looked for them under our bed, in our closet or sitting on the branches of a tree outside our window. We’d even seek reassurance from our parents – the rational ones – who would be positive that no such monsters were haunting us. We had proof in the empty closets and lonely tree branches, but sometimes the proof isn’t in the pudding – or in this case, a lack of monster sightings.
Sometimes those fears still linger. Even when we’re adults. That’s sort of how I’ve come to see these irrational fears that keep popping up in my head. These fears are like our childhood fear of monsters. Just because I can’t see the fear up-close-and-personal doesn’t make it any less real.

Our adult-equivalent of monsters could be anything: Job stress, health woes, relationship tension. These fears, whether rational or not, are very real. We picture them jumping out and scaring us.

Ever the curious person that I am (and looking for ways to rein in my fears), I did the only logical thing: I took my question to Facebook. Who better to give me advice than my friends? Some said to remember to keep on breathing (always a good idea, especially with everything in life). Some reminded me to think of happy thoughts. Others said to do something like exercising or enjoying a new hobby and always remembering to live in the present moment.

And someone even said, “I scream, then kill them because they are usually bugs with eight legs.”

I’ll admit it. That one did make me laugh. Maybe we can rein these fears in together? How do you beat those monsters, friends? xoxo

[Photos via Audrey Hepburn Complex]

Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #151.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:
Isn’t it funny how things just click sometimes? It’s like someone suddenly turns on the metaphorical light bulb above your head, and everything that was once dark and shrouded in mystery is now bright and clear. Take the first signs of post-traumatic stress disorder I experienced all the way back in 2010. I couldn’t put the pieces together then, but looking back now, I can’t help but see that time as a precursor to the depression that would eventually land me in the hospital by the end of the year. What, Sweetpea? I’ve never talked much about my PTSD? Well, allow me to explain…

It can be something as little as the time I was standing in a hotel parking lot while on vacation one summer, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man walking toward me. He looked exactly like my father. The closer he got, the larger the lump in my throat became. Or, it can be something a little bigger, like the few dozen times I’ve walked past the building on the campus where my father worked and pictured him galloping up the stairs with a huge smile on his face. Or, even the time when I found the blue-knit cap he wore during the course of his chemotherapy and radiation to treat an aggressive form of sinus cancer and up until the day he committed suicide two weeks after finishing treatment. Or, the smell of his clothes and how they’d remind me of his big bear hugs.

That’s Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in a nutshell. It’s the body’s way of trying to process the massive stockpile of emotions left in the wake of a traumatic life event. For some, the sound of a car’s squealing tires may make them jump in fright following a car accident. And with the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, more and more soldiers are coming home both physically and emotionally scarred.
Having been born with a physical disability, I’m used to labels. But PTSD? That was a label that took a little more time to come to terms with. Before my father’s death, I’d always prided myself on being such a strong person. So to wrap my head around the idea that, “Yes, admitting I have PTSD does make me a strong person instead of a weak one” took some time. I’d been in counseling for much of the time since my father’s death. In fact, I returned again after a year off. I told my therapist I thought I needed a “tune-up.” There is nothing wrong with that, I keep telling myself.

For me, in addition to the sights and sounds that remind me of my father, I’ve also grappled with spiraling thought patterns. Because of my physical disability and the fact that I was only 21 when my father killed himself, I worry constantly about losing my sister and mother. Being alone is my worst fear, and even though I know it’s irrational, I just keep thinking sometimes about the “what ifs.”

What if I lose my mother and sister too? What if I’m all alone?
That’s why I’ve always pictured PTSD as a sort of carousel. I’m sitting on one of those colorful ponies going around and around in circles. You eventually come back to the starting point. You see it, and sometimes, it hits you like a ton of bricks. Other times, you see it and can pass it without even registering it in your mind.

It’s those latter times when I start to think I’m “over it,” which is sort of the insidious way PTSD operates. I know I’ll never be “cured,” but sometimes I can go for weeks or even months feeling just fine. And other times, like last year, for instance, every little thing sets me off. I’ll find myself crying over seemingly minor stuff. It’s times like these that remind me that I’m still trying to learn how to integrate my PTSD into my life rather than plan my life around it. It’s a constant struggle, but one I know I need to fight with all my strength. I know my father would want me to.

One of the common misconceptions about PTSD is that you can just “snap yourself out of it.” Time has passed, so it’s time you move on too. Maybe I even tried to convince myself that at one time or another. Sometimes my mother, sister and I will drive past our old apartment. It’s the apartment I grew up in — where I recovered after all my surgeries, where my father taught me how to balance an equation in high school algebra. It’s also the place where he killed himself on a March morning in 2003 while I was sleeping in my room.

Driving by it now, it’s easy to see that, on the outside, everything has changed. The parking lot is filled with different cars. The building looks like it’s been repainted. Even our windows look different. Life has gone on. As if nothing had ever happened.
But deep down, the memories are still there, memories of everything that happened inside, and that’s what makes the trauma still feel very raw and very real for me. It may be chronologically almost 9 years after my father’s death, but sometimes, especially when I think of that old apartment, it feels more like only a few months. In those moments, when I’m spinning on that carousel, all I can do is keep going. Maybe the next time I come around, I’ll see things from a different perspective.

Does that make sense, Sweetpea? I often wonder if I’ll be struggling with these issues when we meet, or if I’ll be in a different place in my life. I suppose only time will tell. Until we meet… xoxo

[Photos via We Heart It]