A letter; subject unknown

Blog post number one from my iPad. This could be awesome. Or terrible. Something tells  me that there will be no in between.

In the last 72 hours, an old classmate was struck head first on the interstate by a drunk 17-year-old and she was killed on impact. Tonight, an old high school counselor who works vigorously to get me into college classes while I was still at the high school level....passed away from heart problems.

If you've lost  count, it is 19 days into November and I am experiencing death number three. Some famous person that I'm too lazy to google said something about being angry was worthless....that any was a worthless emotion . Well, sir, you are not allowing yourself to experience one of the most productive and healing emotions there is on the market.

So on the note of anger, healing, and emotion , I am going to write a note. It will be a note to no one. In actuality, it's a very real note, but for the love I share for this person and I'm fairly certain this person doesn't do things intentionally, but anger and healing, commencing now:

Dear nobody,
There are some days that I would give every ounce of energy I have let to tell you how much I despise you. And in those final breaths, I would turn around and praise you for everything you've done and everything you continue to support me on.

I've come to you with bleeding wrists, crumbling from the inside and outside and you made me feel like I was merely in a nightmare.

Guess what? I never woke up. Your ways did not work. Meditating didn't help. Progressive relaxation did not help my stress. It did not help center my anger and my thoughts. It did not help me sleep.

That  St. John's Wart that you were so kindly slipping to me when I was a child (and showing signs of moderate depression but you didn't want to say anything) clearly didn't work. Herbs aren't chemicals. Aren't you supposed to be advocating for your patient. You're treating me like a patient and there isn't much advocating going on here.

I feel wounded. Alone. Crazy. Scarred. Betrayed. The world has won.

They were right. These drugs are terrible and we must not need them and I'm done. How could I even ask for them? What will my friends think? My family is going to freak out. you will not accept this as the answer. You say there has to be another way. My doctor is pleading with you because I'm sick. I have severe depression, she says. You look at her and try to argue.

I end up in counseling. That's the only way you would let me on the medicine that would help me. You knew the medicine would help me. You've seen it help this family--why didn't you want it to help me? I just want to get better. Why are you stopping that? Why are you insisting that you have to be part of every process---your involvement is complicating things and its pissing me off.

You should be focused on making me better. Not how long you can talk.

Stop telling me that I'm ruining my body with these chemicals that "may not even work."

Stop telling me that I'm full of poison.

Stop telling me that I'm dramatic when I finally find the courage to say, "I don't feel right and I'd like to get help."

Stop telling me that all I do is drug therapy when you don't know that I've been in counseling since college graduation.

You see what you want to see and that's it. There's no changing you.

But it's time you shut up. Actually, it's beyond time.

Contrary to your professional belief, I am the one who knows my body. I know what I'm feeling. I know when I need help. I know when I should ask. I know what I should ask. I know where to go. Keep your opinions to yourself if they don't prescribe the medication that you necessarily would've BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT MY DOCTOR OR MY PSYCHIATRIST AND YOU DON'T HEAR THE THINGS I SAY. THEY ARE DOING THEIR JOBS WITH MY PROVIDED INFORMATION.

I am 23 years old. You have done and continue to do a wonderful job raising me, but I need you to stop making me feel like a dramatic, dumb (don't know what I'm talking about) person that doesn't know what's best for me.

Until you have suffered from my EXACT symptoms, you have no right to say that this or that is wrong. You do not live in my body and you have not lived through the travesties I've had to endure.

I will always love you. You will always be a part of my life, but the next time you tell me "katie, it's not your depression," or "you sleep fine, just lightly," or "you're just running to drugs to solve this. It's poison."

Prepare to battle with me. And prepare to lose because I have 7 years of pent up rage coming at you, and this is not a fight I intend on losing.

Be proud of me for asking for help instead of cutting myself...or worse.

Guess the "poison" is still too much.

Never give up, people. There is always someone who is going to bring you down and you either have to ignore them or confront them. Don't let it run your whole life.

Stay strong. Find yourself again. Find a BETTER self.

Peace and love. And poison (just for kicks and grins)