A lot has happened over the past 6 months.  But it has all been for the better.
     I decided not to undergo ECT...Electro-Convulsive Therapy...shock treatments, anymore.
     They did help me, they re-booted my brain after 9 months of undergoing treatments, but it scared the shit out of me.  I would have to go through general anesthesia and I had a few problems with it, I thought I was going to die twice.  The fear drove me to psychosis, that's how bad it was.
They told me that if I stopped ECT, I would have a 50% chance of going back into a deep depression.  But so far, I am going strong, without it.  And I feel a great relief, not undergoing having my brain shocked.  It works, but it seems so primitive to me.
     I'm going through some medication changes.  We increased my anti-anxiety medication, and added an anti-psychotic.  So far, I am on 3 anti-psychotics, but we plan to eliminate one, soon.  The less medication, the better.  And I feel strong enough to do this.
     I had Bronchitis for over a month, and felt depressed towards the end, that's how I knew that I was really sick.  But after a week's worth of antibiotics, I feel well.  And my mind is at peace.  And once again, I feel thankful....so thankful for normalcy and the people that love me.
     I am thankful, Lord, for all that you have given me.

     This time of year, the summer months, are very hard for me, and I usually don't cope as well as I would like to.   It brings up a lot of memories that I wish that I didn't have, because during the summer, I would have to fly to either Texas, Ohio or Tennessee to visit the beast who is my father.  And it hurts way deep down and reaches in and tears my heart apart.   I know that I didn't deserve the abuse, but I'm the one paying the price for it.  As much as I pray, the memories and flashbacks come sneaking back into my mind, into my soul.  The tears only take the pain away temporarily.  

      Yesterday, I had a flashback and for a few moments I felt my face being held under a running faucet, as I struggled to breathe.  Someone was washing my hair in Nana's bathroom and got impatient with me.  I must've been 3 years old, if that old.  And there is only one person who would do such a thing to me, and that is my father.  He tried to kill his baby girl, he almost cut my life short.  I've had that flashback numerous times and it never ceases to make me feel sick.  So now, I'm hoping that by letting this terrible memory outside of my mind, that it will finally leave me alone.... And I pick up the pieces behind me and carry on, as I always do.  Please give me strength Lord.

     Today is Father's Day.  Much to my own surprise, I broke down and cried, heavy, deep sobs.
I have talked a little bit about my father in a  previous blog, but he can be summed up as a sociopathic abuser.  I have never met any one else as cold and evil as him, in my life.  Our relationship ended when I was 19 years old and I exposed him for his crimes against  me to try to protect my half-siblings.  He threw me away like a piece of trash and I never saw my half-siblings again.
    So today, I cried for the loss, of having no father, who ever truly loved me.

     My asthma is bothering me again and that leaves me short of breath during easy activities, physically uncomfortable, frustrated and a little scared, but I do not feel deeply depressed like I often do when I am physically ill.  Which is a really good thing, it'll make battling asthma easier.

     I was able to shower and get dressed this morning with relative ease, so I decided to keep my appointment with my Therapist and my appointment with my Psychiatrist and dragged my body into Boston this morning.  It was not easy, it was raining and I was not feeling too great physically.

But it was worth the trip.  My Psychiatrist seems to think that I am on the right track with medications, since she changed them 3 months ago.  We plan on cutting down and eventually eliminating one of my antipsychotics, so that I will only be taking 4 psychiatric meds.  That will mean 1 med. for depression, 1 med. for anxiety and 2 antipsychotic medications.  Mentally and emotionally, I am in a better place.   I do not feel depressed all the time, anxious all the time and scared all the time like I used to feel.  A lot of people in my life do not realize what I battled every day.

    Then I saw my therapist who said I seemed to be doing very well.  She said that I was making new friends, and engaging in new activities like cooking and blogging.  She said that I was no longer isolating, that I'd made a lot of strides and eliminated toxic people from my life.  She said that I had really battled my depression, that I was now on the other side of it.  I told her that right now, at this point in my life, I feel better than I've ever felt in my whole life.  I just hope it stays this way for awhile, mental illness has a way of sneaking up on you and life is full of traumas.

     I have been missing my Rudy and fighting off a bad asthma flare-up.   On Monday at work, I kept feeling out of breath, after doing simple, easy tasks.  I found my eyes tearing up.  I didn't know if it was some type of anxiety attack or if it was a problem with my lungs.   I made an appointment to see the Doctor for the next morning and asked Frank to bring me into Boston to see them.  I was afraid to go alone, I was afraid I'd run out of breath.                  
      When I went to sleep Monday night, I secretly feared that I would die in my sleep.  It was not likely, but when I am physically ill, some of my Schizoaffective Disorder symptoms resurface.  I felt somewhat depressed and scared.  And I am still mourning my Rudy.
      Tuesday morning my lungs were hurting and I was coughing terribly.  I was too sick to shower before my appointment and going into Boston seemed to take eternity.  After a Nebulizer treatment and a chest X-Ray it was determined that it was asthma.
     I am thankful that my lungs are starting to feel better and that my fears of death and  my depression have lifted.  I am thankful that I am recovering from Rudy's death.  And I am thankful for all the people who took care of me and thought of me this past, sad, hard, week.

     Last night I had to make one of life's most difficult decisions.  I had to have my beloved cat, Rudy Catkins put to sleep.  He was 17 years old, and weighed only 7 pounds...in his prime he weighed 17 pounds.  Rudy had a swollen liver, severely irregular heartbeat and arthritis. But he was blessed that he had had a wonderful life with us, and blessed because I was able to make this hard decision for him, to end his suffering.  And I was blessed that I now have the strength to go on in life, despite the trauma involved.  Just five months ago, I had been in the hospital, fighting for the will to live.  If Rudy had died five months ago, I would have been shattered beyond repair, I don't know if I would have survived.  At this point in my life, I have many tears for my Rudy and I miss him terribly, but I know that I made the right decision and I can go on.  I will hold him in my heart forever.