Day No. 5
I’ve been meaning to keep up with these blog posts more regularly than I have. The program I’m in keeps us very busy. Much of our work centers on Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT) and Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), both are research-based approaches that are proven to help with depression and anxiety.
It has been quite a whirlwind of a week. I’ve only been here four and a half days, and I’ve already had more appointments with doctors and therapists than I’ve had over the past couple of months. Through it all, everyone continues to be incredibly supportive and kind.
Yesterday we had a Recreational Therapy session that involved a climbing activity. The challenge began with climbing a wobbly rope ladder and then stepping onto a suspended four-by-six board hanging from the ceiling by ropes. From there, participants would move across four boards of varying lengths to complete the course. It was definitely a challenge.
Before each climb, the therapist spoke with the climber about their goals and how they were feeling in the moment. She was encouraging and supportive throughout the process. As people climbed, she checked in with them about what they were experiencing emotionally. When someone expressed fear, she asked them to pause and helped them talk through it—encouraging them to sit with the feeling and use strategies to work through it. When they felt ready, they continued the climb.
I didn’t get a chance to climb this time (a bit of a bummer), but I was part of the support team for the others. It was inspiring to watch people face their fears and accomplish the goals they had set for themselves.
My first weekend here is coming up, and the schedule still looks fairly full. I’ll let you know, dear reader, how it goes. More later…
Day No. 2
So…this is day two. I’ve been awake since 4:00 a.m. and got up around 4:30, which surprised the person working at the desk. I went out to the day room with my books and my reMarkable tablet (a device I really love) and spent some quiet time reading and writing.
There’s no regular coffee here—only decaf—so I haven’t had any caffeine. I’ve had a pretty intense headache all day. Caffeine withdrawal is no joke.
I’ve participated in several groups and worked on my assignments. They keep us very busy, which I know is part of the process. It takes real effort to make progress with this illness. I’m just at the beginning and have a long road ahead, but I’m here and doing the work.
Depression and anxiety suck!
I’m here and here I’ll Stay
So… if you’ve been following along, you know I was preparing to enter Residential Care for depression and anxiety. I’m here now. I was admitted this morning.
It’s been a challenging day. I’ve filled out countless forms, answered many questions, and had my belongings searched. A few items were restricted or not allowed—paint brushes because of the metal piece that holds the bristles. Better safe than sorry.
My anxiety is high, and the urges I struggle with haven’t disappeared. When I feel overwhelmed, I want to ease the anxiety by cutting. I know that isn’t a healthy coping strategy. I’m here to learn better ones.
One technique that’s been especially helpful for me is called “Temperature.” You place an ice pack on your forehead, lean forward so your head is lower than your heart, hold your breath, and count to thirty. It often gives me a “brain freeze” feeling—like eating ice cream too fast. The sensation sort of shocks my system and interrupts my thought pattern. It really does help. The hard part is remembering to use it in the moment.
The facility itself is nice, and the people here have been kind and welcoming. I’ve met most of the others on my floor, and they’ve been generous in helping me figure out where to go and what to do.
This is going to be a long journey, but I’ve taken the first step. More later…
Today’s the Day
So…Today I leave for the program. I’m traveling by train to Milwaukee. I am sad to be leaving everything behind and I’m anxious about the future. Everyone says that it’s the right decision and that it will be very good for me, but from here, right now, it’s hard to see. To leave your loved ones and your support network behind is a challenge. I won’t see them for a while, unless it is by phone. Bummer. The grandkids will grow and change, my husband will be on his own, and I will be doing the hard work of trying to put myself back together. Here I go. More later…
A Farewell
So…tomorrow is good-bye day for awhile. I am leaving my husband and family support system to enter into residential care. I am sad and anxious. I will be there for two to three months—a long time. I will be safe there and I will be able to deal with the urges I have in an enviroment without sharps and bottles of pills. That’s most important. Then I will be able to focus on myself and try to relieve this crushing depression and anxiety. I hate this disease. I robs me of, not only my will to be alive, but also any of the pleasure there is in life. It hurts. Yesterday, was bittersweet. I am sad that I left a place with very helpful and good people. I found some relief there. Now, I am anxious about the unknown, but hopeful I will find new place with good, helpful people. A place where I can heal or at least put a big dent in this fucking (pardon my French) disease. More later…
Quick changes
So…changes are happening fast. I was told two days ago that I had to wait and it would probably be about a week or two. Yesterday, I found out the new program starts on Monday in Oconomowoc, WI. So, things are happening fast and maybe too fast for a hyper anxious person (that’s me). I am taking the Amtrack train down to Milwaukee on Sunday and my sister is picking me up. I stay over night at her house and then she is dropping me off at my inpatient program. I have a lot to do between here and there: packing—they gave me a list(thank you), getting the right kind of personal hygine items(alcohol cannot be listed in the first three ingredients), and packing art supplies. I am taking my watercolors and a ton of good paper. It’s just all happening so fast. To top things off, my best friend is coming to stay with us this weekend. It’s a bit of a mess. So, even though I’m anxious about the whole thing, I am going to take it hour by hour, minute by minute, and get things done one at a time. Sounds like a plan. More later…
A New Painiting
Just a little thing to take my mind off everything. More blue and more squares. It’s a little crooked, but I like it.
Jewel-tone squares.
More Waiting
So…I am waiting again. At the time of my application to Residential, they had space. While we were getting all the required paperwork done, they filled those spaces. So now I have to wait. I will still go to my current treatment until they open up a space. My current treatment is a PHP (partial hospitialization program) that runs during the day from 8:30 am to 3:00 pm. The people there are really great and I would recommend them to anyone. If you want to know where I’m going send me a quick email—I don’t want to say in the blog. They use CBT and Behavior Activation as ways to combat depression and anxiety. As I wait, I miss my class and all the great kids in it. They have a good sub and I hope he is being nice to my room. So, I will wait. More later…
Waiting, Waiting.
So…I am in hold mode. I am waiting on the referral, my leave paperwork, the Minnesota Paid Leave paperwork, and the insurance confirmation. A lot of extra stress when I don’t need it. My family has been really supportive and a little troubled. It is difficult for me, but it is also difficult for them. I am getting the help I need, but they have little help. They watch and worry. It is another stressor I worry about. So dear reader, we soldier on and try to keep it all together.
Tattoos I want
So…I really like tattoos and want to get some more sometime. Here are some pictures of ones I want.
I want the General computer image for the tattoo.
A Happy Mac tattoo.
Hello Kitty Skull
Semicolon Tattoo
Sakura Blossoms
More Crazy
So…I am going to be going to a residential care facility because I can’t stay safe in the meiliu I am in now. I am very anxious about this, and my depression has gotten worse. But I am fighting it and need this extra help to keep going. This disease has taken a toll on my family and me. I will keep you updated, dear reader.
My Journey Through Crazy
So…I have been struggling with depression and anxiety for a long time. It has since gotten the better of me and I am trying to work through it. I was hospitalized for three days and now I’m in a PHP program. They are teaching me skills and techniques on how to deal with this disease. I am getting a lot of support and care from the staff. It’s been really hard. I have never been this depressed and anxious before. I am going to try and chronicle my journey here.
Joseph and the sea
Joseph and the Sea
Here is another children’s book I have written. Enjoy!
Joseph and the Sea
By David M. Pliska
Joseph walked to the sea.
He went nearly every day.
On days when he was happy, the sea sparkled and splashed. Joseph and the waves laughed and laughed.
On days when he was sad, the sea was misty and forlorn. Joseph and the waves cried salty tears.
On days when he was angry, the sea was rough and tumultuous. Joseph threw rocks at the waves, and the waves crashed and thundered.
On days when he was livid, the sea was stormy. Huge waves smashed the beach. Joseph screamed at the waves, and the waves screamed back.
On days when he was giddy, the sea jumped and played. Joseph giggled, and the waves tickled the beach.
On days when he was bored, the sea was flat and tired. Joseph sat on the cliff above the beach, and his mind wandered. The waves quietly slid up and down the beach.
On days when he was joyful, the sea shimmered and glistened. Joseph skipped along the beach, and the waves kept him company.
On days when he was fearful, the sea was timid and shy. Joseph paced back and forth, and the waves worried.
On days when he was sorrowful, the sea was quiet and didn’t make a sound. Joseph sat on a rock, and the waves pooled around his ankles.
On days when he was loving, the sea was warm and inviting. Joseph stood in the waves, and the waves washed over him.
On days when he was delighted, the sea was excited and foamy. Joseph jumped over the waves, and the waves splashed his shirt.
Joseph and the waves. Joseph and the sea.
Joseph walked to the sea. He went nearly every day.
Gullycakes
A childrens book I wrote.
Gullycakes
I have written a children’s book about camping and pancakes called Gullycakes. Here it is. Enjoy.
Gullycakes
By
D.M. Pliska
I was eight the first time my dad made Gullycakes. My family was camping in the north woods in a large pop-up camper. Early one morning, I awoke, got dressed, and climbed out of the camper. The morning was crisp and clear. The sun threw long shadows of trees all over our campsite. It was quiet and still as I sat at the picnic table watching the chipmunks scurry around looking for food. There was dew on the camper and the station wagon, so I drew some cold, wet smiley faces on the windows of the car.
The camper creaked as someone else woke up. There was a thumping and bumping in the camper, and my dad came out. He yawned and stretched, “How ‘bout some pancakes?” he asked.
“Mmm,” I said, “Pancakes sound great. But shouldn’t we wait for Mom?”
“Nah, I think I can do it,” he replied. He opened the back of the station wagon and dug around in the camp box. He got out the pancake mix, a large bowl, a spoon, and the griddle. From the cooler under the camper, he took two eggs, a stick of butter, a bottle of maple syrup, and a carton of milk. Together, we mixed the batter. I cracked the eggs, and my dad poured the milk. I watched as he stirred and stirred. With the batter mixed, we moved over to the fire pit.
The fire pit was cold, as the fire from last night had completely burned out. He said, “What we need is to get some wood for the fire. Go into the woods and see what you can find.”
I went into the woods behind our campsite, and there was a gully with a creek running through it, and it was very muddy. Along the bank of the gully, I found a dead tree that had fallen over. I took what I could carry and brought it back to the campsite. My dad had a small fire going. He broke a few sticks over his knee and added them to the fire. It crackled and popped. He blew on the kindling, and the flames spread, yellow and hot. We sat by the fire and warmed ourselves while we waited for the fire to get hot enough.
Finally, my dad put the griddle over the fire and put a pat of butter in the middle of it. When the butter had melted and was beginning to sizzle, my dad poured four pancakes on it. The tops became bubbly.
“Uh…Dad, don’t we need a flipper?” I asked.
“Oh, no!” he said as he ran over to the camp box and started to rummage furiously. “Where is it, where is it?” he mumbled.
“Where is what?” my mom asked from the camper sleepily.
“Honey, do you know where the spatula is?” he called from the camp box.
“It’s in the camp box,” she said. When my dad bent over the camp box again, I saw the flipper in his back pocket.
“Dad, it’s in your pocket!” With the flipper in hand, he rushed over to the griddle. By now, the pancakes were very burnt and smoking. He took off the burnt ones and poured new ones.
“I’ll take care of these, “he said as he walked into the forest, balancing the pancakes on the spatula. While he was gone, the pancakes turned brown, bubbled, and then turned black. They started to smoke.
When he got back, he looked at the pancakes and said, “I’ll have to throw these into the gully as well.” He poured new pancakes and started into the woods with the burnt ones. By the time he returned, the pancakes on the griddle were burnt as well, and we were running out of batter.
He sighed, “I’ll try one more time.” He poured the last four pancakes and ran into the woods with the burnt ones. I used a hot pad and took the griddle off the fire and set it on a rock beside me. When I heard him coming back, I put the griddle back, and the pancakes continued to cook. They got nice and golden on the edges and smelled great. “Wow, I must be faster than I thought. These are hardly cooked at all,” he panted.
“Better flip ‘em, Dad,” I said.
“Watch this,” he said, wielding the flipper. He flipped the pancake up and over, but he missed the griddle, and it fell into the dirt. “Dang,” he said, looking at the ruined pancake. There were only three left.
“Dad, maybe…” I started.
“I bet I can do it with this one!” He slid the flipper under another pancake and, with a flick of his wrist, he flipped it up, over, and straight into the fire. “Dang,” he said, watching the fire engulf the pancake.
“It was a good flip, Dad,” I said, touching his arm that held the flipper, “but couldn’t we just turn over these two?” He looked at me and smiled. He nodded and gently turned them over. They quickly browned on the other side. He took them off the fire and put them on a plate.
We looked at the two golden pancakes on the plate. “There isn’t enough for everyone, so let’s just eat these. One for you and one for me,” he said. He took one, and I took one. They were hot and crispy, light and delicious.
“Dad,” I said, “you make great Gullycakes!”
The camper creaked as someone else woke up. There was a thumping and a bumping in the camper, and my mom came out. She yawned and stretched, “How about some pancakes?” she asked.
My dad winked at me and said, “That sounds like a great idea!”
The end.