Carrie’s story “ From the Depths of Hell to Glorious Days”
I am a 53-year- old, single woman, living in Southeast MN. I was diagnosed with a mental illness when I was14. I had developed a penchant for drinking 4 years earlier. Despite my diagnosis, many members of my family and what few friends I had, simply thought I was a bad, aloof, violent, mouthy adolescent and refused to accept my illness. I was taken off my medication 6 weeks after being put on them because my parents got the “What will the neighbors think?” syndrome. Of course, my mood plummeted. My first suicide attempt was less than 2 years later. Obviously, having failed in my attempt, drew ire from me and I became more confrontational, physically and verbally. I broke a student’s jaw and threw my French horn at my band conductor, amongst other things. Somehow I made it through high school, without being hospitalized in a psychiatric ward.
My Freshman year of college started off impressively. I was selected for the 12-member Chamber Singers, a rare feat for a Freshman. I was also accepted into the Concert Choir and the band, as well. My depression ebbed and flowed (mostly flowed) and I was pretty much drinking like a fish. The combination nearly derailed me and I was given a stern warning, no, make that a threat, that if I ever came to rehearsal under the influence again, I would be terminated immediately from the music department. Somehow I managed to stay clean and sober, at least for their classes.
My Freshman year was winding down and I was studying for finals. I decided to take a break and headed to the TV lounge. Frankly, I don’t remember what was on. I just wanted to veg out a bit. Soon after plopping myself on a couch, a man entered the room and sat down at the opposite end of the couch. He introduced himself as Jon and, as I shook his hand, I told him my name as well. We chatted about a number of topics, until we began telling each other our summer plans. I told him that I would be employed by a neighbor, who had opened up a picture framing shop. Jon told me that his basic source of income was selling flowers & plants from out of his VW bus. He said he began before Mother’s Day and sold his merchandise until he ran out. I told him what a neat idea I thought that was, and he offered to show me his set-up. So we walked downstairs and out into the parking lot. We both strode over to his bus and he slid the door wide open. I stuck my head in and as I was turning around to tell him that the inside was empty, he shoved me into the vehicle, hopped in, slid the door shut and, as I am sure you can guess, he raped me. He was so vicious that I passed out because of the hold he had around my neck. When I came to, he was gone. Once in the shower, I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed myself until I was raw. Like many women, I blamed myself for what happened, so I never reported it to the police. Crazily, I returned for my sophomore year. Jon made that year a nightmare. He would stand outside my window and yell things; he called me on the dorm phone and threatened me and, worst of all, he followed me into town, yelling obscenities and making gestures.
I worked at the Frame Studio full-time for awhile. I could get all the free drinks I wanted next door, at a wine & cheese place, and, believe me, I used that place for re-fueling. Things were pretty dismal at home. I still lived with my parents, but our relationship was ruined, I thought, for life.
I began attending a 2-year community college part-time and in my very first class, I met a man who I thought, as time wore on, would be my husband. I did very well in school, my lowest grade being a B, and graduated with my A.A., magna cum laude, in 1986. All the while, I was dating Norman. My symptoms were still there and I continued to drink.
Surprisingly, I had never had a psychiatric admission until, roughly 1986. I started a job soon after graduating, working for the county as a financial worker. I had never held a job that had a lot of responsibilities before and the stress soon had me reeling with depression, anxiety and flagrant drinking in the office. My love life was souring, as well. I was confronted by Norman’s girlfriend, that, not only was she in the picture, he was married, as well. I was distraught. The man whom I thought I would marry, tore my world asunder. When I told him what I had found out, he laughed. I begged him to divorce his wife and get rid of the girlfriend, but he just snickered. “I thought you loved me,” I cried out. “Carrie, you are only good for one thing.” I knew what he meant. I attempted suicide again, started out in ICU and was then transferred to a psychiatric unit. Between 1987 - when I moved to MN in 1990, I had 13 psychiatric admissions, most of which were preceded by a suicide attempt. During this time, I actually quit drinking after going through a 28-day dual diagnosis rehab. When I was discharged, I never looked back. I now have 24 years sobriety. Most of the staff at the hospital pretty much gave up on me. Regardless of what they said or tried or threatened, no one could bring me out of my despair.
Because of my life in NY, I called up my parents, who had moved to MN 2 years earlier, and begged them to let me stay with them, until I got a job and a place to live. Begrudgingly, they assented to my request. So, 2 weeks before Christmas, I became ensconced in Mom & Dad’s house. Unfortunately, I wore out my welcome, quickly, and in 1992 I moved into a halfway house, one for adults with a serious and persistent mental illness. I met an incredible woman there and we soon were the best of friends. We did everything together, even sharing a room. However, as Marijo improved, my health continued to worsen, until after my final suicide attempt, I was committed to one of the state psychiatric hospitals for a period of 6 months. Marijo wrote me a letter, a post card or drew me a picture nearly every single day. Her efforts got me through a horrible time and when I was finally released from St. Peter, Marijo had completed a program. We decided to rent a 2-bedroom apartment in the downtown area. During the course of being roommates, we lived in 2 different apartments. For several reasons, we decided to get our own places, although we spoke on the phone every night and got together several times a week. One afternoon I headed to Marijo’s place to pick her up for lunch. When she wasn’t waiting for me, I arduously climbed her staircase. Expecting to find her asleep in her favorite recliner, I was horrified to discover her on her kitchen floor…dead. I managed to write and recite her eulogy at the service, but couldn’t handle going to the funeral. I was so devastated by her death, I ended up in Adult Foster Care. This was in January 2004. After 6 weeks in a lovely home with 2 wonderful people, I returned to my apartment. My “team” of health professionals stepped up and increased the amount of times I saw each one of them. Slowly, I started to stabilize, but it was no easy task. They tried 3 series of ECT treatments, to no avail, and I think I have been on 95% of all the psychiatric medication that is available. Once my diagnoses were figured out correctly, medication changes weren’t as bad. I now have a 4-part diagnoses: Schizo-affective disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, PTSD and general anxiety. I have been on the same antidepressant for over 5 years.
I will now bring you to the near-present. My entire life has been difficult. I am confined to a wheelchair; gone through 19 knee operations; 2 surgeries for double vision; spinal surgery; and a whole host of others, totaling over 45 operations. I must deal with an extended list of physical illnesses and conditions, including stenosis of the spine; polymyalgia rheumatic; ulnar neuropathy; cardiomyopathy; endothelial dysfunction; regional sympathetic dystrophy; etc., etc., etc. I must admit, I do get on the pity pot every so often, but I am doing the best I have ever done.
Currently I am on 4 boards/committees, all of which deal with mental illness and what can be done to improve the lives of those who are struggling. One of the boards deals with what money is given to which community groups that represent different approaches on how to assist people of all ages with housing; psychiatric help; job coaching; employment and a myriad of other ways of assisting.
My 2 recent proudest moments have lifted me into the stratosphere. In December 2013, my book. It is a collection of poems that includes many topics, such as mental illness, rape, alcoholism, love, nature, Marijo, friendship and many others. I am so excited about this and I am currently writing my memoir. The most recent cool thing is my position as Warmline Coordinator. I volunteered for Warmline for roughly 3 years and I am absolutely thrilled about being given a chance to prove myself. This job is part of my local NAMI’s many offerings to assist people with a mental illness.
I will close by saying that while I may lose a battle or two, I will never lose the war.