DBT...How it ACTUALLY saved me from melting down!

Today's post is going to discuss DBT, or Dialectical behavioral therapy, and how it has acutally helped me this weekend to not lose control. This is a huge accomplishment for me because emotional regulation is such a struggle, and triggers can easily set me off. But before I get into my personal triumph, I'll explain a bit more about DBT.

DTB is a form of therapy formed in the 1980s by a woman named Marsha Linehan (History of DBT). It was first developed to treat Borderline Personality Disorder, but has since been used to treat a wide variety of psychological disorders, including Bipolar Disorder (History of DBT). From what I gathered through going to DBT group therapy sessions is, DBT believes that actions increase our thoughts and feelings, and our thoughts and feelings increase our actions. In essence, it's a way to achieve balance. It's got five tenents: mindfulness (being aware and present in the moment), Distress tolerance (how to avoid the explode), Walking the Middle Path (balance, turning either or statements into AND), Emotional Regulation (how to balance emotions) and Interpersonal Effectiveness (establishing boundaries for yourself and how to meet your own needs). 

When my therapist originally recommended I start DBT therapy, I rolled my eyes and protested. The whole concept sounded way too zen to me--I mean, walking the middle path? Mindfulness? What the hell was I going to do with that? It sounded to me like she wanted me to drink some sort of Kool-Aid and I was less than keen. However, after some real pushing, and having the director of the DBT program come in and speak with me, I didn't really feel as though I had a choice. Fine, I decided. I would go there, but I didn't have to like it or participate. 

Needless to say, I went into my first DBT group with zero enthusiasm, zero goals to achieve, and generally a bad attitude towards it. I had my binder, which I was able to decorate (I ordinally would have enjoyed decorating it, but I was mad, and felt like I was being treated like a Pre-K student), and sat down at the table with my fellow DBTer's. They had all been in the program longer, so they were trying to be friendly, and I wanted no part of it. I was friendly enough, I guess, smiled appropriately. But I honestly didn't want to be there. 

When group started, it was led by N., a very good therapist who I happen to respect. I found my bad attitude starting to go away. She ran the group much like a college lecture, she gave information, we filled out notes. We shared and discussed. I came during a unit, Emotional Regulation, that I severely need work on, and N. reminded me of that when I was getting a bit too snarky. When she called me out on my bullshit, I respected her all the more, and decided to actually listen and give it a go. 

D., another therapist, also runs the DBT group, and I took immediately to her sense of humor and her not by the book approach. She personalizes all the skills, and gives us her own real world, concrete example of how each can be used. We also share our homework and discuss with her, but it's a little more laid back. 

I've sat through three DBT groups so far, and the three skills I learned saved my life this weekend. First, the skills, then how I implemented to keep myself sane. 

The first skill was actually naming, and understanding your emotions. At first, I was like, um I

My work: Describing my own anger

learned how to do this back during my Sesame Street days, but N. immediately changed that thought as she started to teach us the myths and the facts of emotions. For example, there is no "wrong" or "right" emotion for a given situation, and emotions don't ever just happen, our thoughts create them. We had to think of an emotion that we really struggled with (mine was anger) and we had to act like Sherlock Holmes, and mentally observe ourselves in that emotion. We had to figure out the physical reactions of our body during that emotion, our thoughts during that emotion, how the emotion holds us back, and how it helps us. Since I have a background in Laban Movement Analysis, it wasn't hard for me to go back in my mind and visualize myself angry. What did surprise me was the fact I hadn't thought to do this before. I hadn't realized, on a conscious level, anyway, that my body fully reacted to strong emotion--or at least I never paid attention to it before. 

The second skill is called "Riding the Wave" (of emotion). This skill is really hard, because it doesn't involve you doing anything. There are no coping skills to be used. Instead,  you have to sit in your emotion, and like Sherlock Holmes, analyze yourself in it. Emotions last only 10-12 minutes in their highest intensity, so if you can hang on through that, then they'll dimish. So you start the at the bottom, when the emotion starts, you ride it through its climax (the peak of intensity), and then you

My work: Riding the Wave

ride it through the descending part. It's at the descent that you can then grab a coping skill and help calm yourself. The idea behind this is we often shut off our emotions, grabbing a coping skill before we even experience them, so the energy of the emotion never fully dies. It just continues on this vicious cycle and it never really diminishes, so it just kinda hangs out, and not in a good way.  

People with mental illnesses aren't the only ones who shut off their emotions. Everyone does, no one really wants to feel "negative" emotions often or in their fullest intensity. Instead, everyone tries to cope as opposed to experience. This sounds weird, and easy, but it's really not. It's hard as hell to have an emotion, and feel it all the way through its 10-12 minute crest. It's even harder for me. I have Bipolar Disorder, so riding the wave can be like sitting on a razor blade. If it gets too much, and I don't use a skill, I can go manic or depressed. D. emphasized that for really intense emotions, skills should be used first and foremost. But for the lesser ones, riding the wave can help you understand your body, your thoughts, and what is happening to you while you're in this emotion. 

The third skill was understanding the model for fully describing an emotion. It started with

My work: Naming and Describing
 Emotions

"vulnerability factors" things that make us more predisposed to feeling an intense emotion. Some of these can be not sleeping well, not eating, medication changes, biological factors, past trauma, etc. Things that make us feel less than our best. Then there is the "prompting event #1" (the exact situation that happened to trigger the emotion), followed by the "interpretation of the event" (how we think, feel, perceived the prompting event #1). Then come the brain and body changes (how our body is affected by the event and the interpretation. These are in the inside changes, the ones someone else can't see like temperature raising, muscle tension, etc), and then our "facial and body language" (what our face and body is doing--external, shaking, grinding teeth, etc). Then we can "name the emotion" (what emotion is actually being felt) and finally, we have the "after effects" (what happens after the emotion is named). The cycle can repeat itself again with a new emotion that creeps up after the original one is named. 

The whole point of this is to know that something happens, then we interpret this event in a way that triggers a biological, mental and emotional response. By knowing what is happening in your body, you'll be able to figure out the emotion you're feeling and be able to process things accordingly. This is especially important because the body starts reacting to the emotion way before we actually process through what the emotion is. 

So this weekend was a bit of a stressful weekend (not necessarily in a bad way). On Thursday I got together with some friends for a hangout, Friday saw more friends and worked on a project, and today I've been able to decompress.

Thursday was awesome, I got to see some friends, discuss some good literature, and hang out. Was a good start to the weekend. 

Friday, however, was a bit rocky. An incident occurred that has to do with my immediate, blood family (and blood family is harder, generally, to deal with than friends who have become family). I was driving up to North Jersey once again, to meet up with some friends and work on a project. I was looking forward to it, they make up a large portion of my "crew" and our project was helping others, which is always a good thing. So I was feeling a lot of joy as I was making my way up North. 

However, as I was driving, I became aware of an incident that involved me, my step-mom, and other people in our family. I don't want to throw any of my family members under the bus, so I'm painting the incident in broad strokes. Words were said that bothered me, because I absolutely love my stepmom and the other members of my family, so the incident was quite unnerving to me. 

Immediately, I started feeling my body tense, my hands clench around the steering wheel, I grew hot and my thoughts started to race. This was not going to be good, so I knew I needed to stop the spiral before I exploded, and fully ruined familial relations. I knew, as soon as I felt it in my body, I was angry. And because I recognized the anger so quickly, I had options before I exploded and it got out of hand.  The first, I could fully engage and let it explode. The second, I could ride the wave and sit. The third, I could use a TIPP (another DBT tool for another blog post) coping skill, cut off the emotion and analyze later.  

Since I was driving up the Garden State Parkway doing around 75 MPH (I speed when I'm mad), I chose the latter. I went into my TIPP toolbox and started doing some "paced breathing" in through my nose and out of my mouth on the count of 5. This helped me relax, and even be able to listen to what the other person was saying, without the veil of anger clouding my brain

When the conversation ended, I said "okay," and didn't engage any further with that information. I had interpreted it as "I'm a problem" and knew I needed to analyze more deeply. However, I had breathed through the anger, was still driving safely, and was going to see my friends. The crisis, for the moment, had passed. 

However, there were aftereffects, but for the first time in my life, I understood what was happening and was able to act appropriately. As my friends and I got together and started work on our project, I found myself feeling irritated, and no one there did anything wrong. The physical work was hard, but I enjoy intense physical labor, and yet I found myself getting annoyed for no reason. I did a quick check in with myself, and realized I wasn't feeling anger towards my friends, but rather was still angry at the situation that had happened earlier. Once I realized I was feeling what my mom used to call, "misplaced anger," I was able to literally check myself before I totally wrecked myself and most of my friendships. I used a

TIPP, (this time intense exercise since that was what we were doing), and that anger instantly abated. I was able to fully delve into the work we were doing, and fully enjoy the company of my friends.  

This morning, I realized I was still not feeling right--the anger was still there--so I called my step-mom and the other people involved. All is good, and I'm now working through the annoyance I'm feeling that the situation even happened in the first place. 

I know it might not seem like a big deal, but my behavior this weekend was such a huge improvement from where I was.  Without the DBT skills, I would have lost very important friendships on Friday, because I would have been lashing out at people who did nothing wrong, simply because I couldn't understand my own emotions. I never would have known that the anger I felt with my friends was anger left over from the situation earlier, and I certainly wouldn't have known how to deal with it safely. In addition to saving my friendships, DBT skills also gave me the power to call my dad and step-mom, tell them exactly how I was feeling, and explain the situation. 

I don't often give myself credit, but I'm very proud of how I successfully implemented coping skills from DBT to save myself, my friendships, and my relationship with my family. Now that I know that they work, I am looking forward to learning more DBT skills, and continue to grow and learn in my ability to manage my mental illness. Things are starting to look up. 

CBT...Goals, and Trials, and letters, Oh My!

This is the second post in the therapy series, and today it's going to focus on CBT or Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. CBT was founded by Dr. Aaron T. Beck in the 1960's at the University of Pennsylvania (History of CBT). And according to the Mayo Clinic, it's a type of therapy that is done for a myriad of mental illnesses, because it "can quickly help you identify and cope with specific challenges"(Mayo Clinic CBT sources) Trigger warning: Mentions of Rape later in this post! 

Again, I do not have years of psych training behind me, but my own definition of CBT is this: it is a type of therapy that believes things (thoughts, feelings, behaviors), are interconnected. Thoughts create feelings which create behaviors. Feelings create behaviors which create thoughts. Behaviors create thoughts which create feelings--or any combination of such things. In other words, it's a way to look at pieces of you: behaviors, thoughts, feelings and see what else they are affecting.

There hasn't been a lot I've taken away from CBT, as it feels very academic, and it reminds me of my intro to psych classes in high school and at Drew.  However, there are two CBT things that I have decided I'm going to use in my life outside of therapy. The first are S.M.A.R.T. Goals. 

I will admit when I first heard I had to sit through a goal setting group, I rolled my eyes hard. I remembered all the teacher PDs I sat through with creating goals that never got met. I also thought back to my own childhood where goal setting was always something I despised and was bad at. So I was prepared, as you can imagine, to absolutely hate S.M.A.R.T. Goals.

When I finally forced myself to tune into what the therapist was saying, I realized that this type of goal setting was unlike all the other types I've tried before. It was more S.M.A.R.T! 😜S.M.A.R.T. means your goal must be:  Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Realistic, and Timely. This helps you take really big goals and break them into smaller ones that are easier to achieve. Setting goals up in this way makes the failure rate low, and success rate high. Here's a goal I set for myself, back at Carrier, and as of 7:00 PM tonight, I actually accomplished!!!!! 🎉🎈🎈🎈🎉:

Jeremy Brett-the ultimate
Sherlock Holmes. He's an inspiration
to me because he suffered from
Bipolar Disorder, and in addition
to being an amazing Sherlock Holmes,
was also a great advocate for it. 

Goal: I want to finish my Sherlock Holmes story, The Adventure of the Christmas Crypt, by writing or editing uninterrupted for 30 minutes per day for the next three weeks.

This goal is specific--it's exactly what I want to finish, it's measurable--30 minutes per day gives me a way to measure my progress, it's attainable--I can absolutely finish it in 3 weeks (and I did!), it's realistic--I have the resources I need, and it's timely--I gave myself 3 weeks to do it.


Prior to setting this S.M.A.R.T. Goal, this story had been sitting in my google docs unfinished and untouched. I liked the story, but somehow decided to abandon it as I often do. When the therapist made us set our own S.M.A.R.T. Goal, that story was the first thing to jump into my head, so I ran with it. And now, I've achieved it. I think the S.M.A.R.T. goal definitely kept me accountable, because of the measured time--I didn't have to write for hours on end. Just 30 minutes. That was very doable. The S.M.A.R.T. goal was able to keep me focused, and keep my work in the forefront of my mind.

But, I'm still me, and still struggled with reaching the goal, because one of my skill sets is procrastination. However, when I used the S.M.A.R.T. goal, and pulled inspiration to finish strong today from the great conversation I had with my friend, P, yesterday, I had the impetus to spend today and finishing the story. My next S.M.A.R.T. goal will be for the editing process and then for what to do with Christmas Crypt next. But for right now, I feel great having accomplished my S.M.A.R.T. Goal! S.M.A.R.T. goals for the win!


The other CBT strategy I love is the idea of putting my thoughts on trial. It's a weird concept, and I immediately imagined my thoughts being on a witness stand with a white-wigged Victorian judge presiding. But, as ridiculous as that image seems, it's exactly what happens. 

Victorian Judge...the look of
who I imaged to be judging my thoughts. 

For whatever reason, I've been having a lot of thoughts about my own rape which occurred when I was 21. It might be from all the homophobia I've been seeing on my newsfeed and in the news recently (that pastor dude calling for the death of gays really got under my skin). I remember my rapist told me I was being punished for being a bad girl and a gay one. He was going to turn me straight. So my little intrusive thought, 11 years later, has been: was it okay for me to have been raped because I somehow provoked it?

It seemed like the perfect thought to put on trial!

Thought: Was it okay for me to be raped because my nature somehow provoked it?

Defense (Evidence in support of the thought): The person who raped me said it because I was a dyke. I was dressed like a boy. I was angry at myself that this happened.

Prosecution (Evidence against the thought): I have a right to be me. Rape is illegal. I have a right to be proud of who I am. My sexuality is not something that can be taken from me. No matter how I am dressed, it doesn't mean it's lawful to hurt me.

Judge's Verdict: When looking at the evidence, the prosecution wins. No matter what might have happened, rape is unlawful and is never okay. The only cause of rape is the rapist. I have a fundamental, human right to be the person I am, and no one can take that from me.

I agreed with the "judge" in this instance. Although I thought it was just a random exercise the CBT therapist gave us to pass the time, I honestly felt better after I received my "judge's" verdict. There's something very soothing about seeing both sides of a thought written out,  reviewing all pieces of the "evidence" then having a "judge" pass a verdict. And it did put my little intrusive thought into jail and it really hasn't come back since. I'm not saying this is going to be my process for everything, as it's a bit laborious for everyday thoughts, but I think I'm going to keep it in my back pocket for those intrusive thoughts that tend to appear. It is also important to stick to the facts as much as possible, what actually happened, not what the feeling was at the time.

CBT is a pretty cool, but far too academic, school of therapy for me. I liked the two coping skills I took away from the groups, but the rest of it, I left in the group therapy room. I think CBT is good for certain types of things, but I can't really imagine myself doing all of the CBT strategies when I'm in crisis. I prefer quicker, more tangible skills.

Types of Therapy...The Arts Therapy Post!

I never knew there was more than one type of therapy! In the past few months, I've been exposed to a wide variety of them. This post is my way of sorting through some of the larger ones, in attempt to help figure out what ones have worked best for me, and which ones to pursue in the future. As I'm going through my little notebook that has come from psych hospital to psych hospital, I want to take a few posts to explore the different types of therapies I've been exposed to.

Psych Journal

Arts therapy is the first type of therapy I'm tackling in this blog. Without knowing the textbook definition, it seems like this type of therapy uses the creative arts to help you express your emotions in safe ways through safe outlets. I've been in three hospitals in the past few months and the most common arts therapies have been: music, writing, movement, and art. I found the creative outlet awesome, especially in hospital settings where creative expression is rare, so overall, while I don't think I'd pursue these, necessarily as an outpatient, they were rockstar while stuck inpatient.

Music Therapy: This seems like a really popular one as it has been in every single hospital, even the first one I was at. Again, the idea of this type of therapy was to help us access and express emotions through music. This seems to be done two ways, one is by choosing a song to play for the group, listening to said song, expressing why you picked said song, and then a group discussion. The second way is by playing live instruments.

The picking, playing, discussing a song really helped to improve my iTunes library! I love listening to new music, so I jotted down the names of the ones I liked, and it was really fascinating to hear how different people connected to certain songs. I chose Breaking the Habit by Linkin Park, and that got a pretty good discussion going. I chose it from a mental health perspective--I really just want to stop fucking up my life by making awful choices while manic and finally learn some coping skills that work--and others took it from the perspective of addiction and how when the habit is finally broken, then life can start again. Was a good conversation which eventually led to coping skills as a discussion group.

The second type of music therapy--the one with the live instruments--didn't really do much for me. There wasn't a lot of direction, no tempo or rhythm set, so it was really a bunch of noise, which actually made me more anxious than anything. But, having been in drum circles before, I can see how just being carried away on a rhythm and blending various sounds can clear your mind. Unfortunately, this particular attempt at it, just didn't give me that same clarity.

Writing Therapy: This type of therapy seemed to use writing prompts, both fiction and non-fiction to process through emotions and trauma. I didn't know that writing therapy was a thing, and when I saw it on the schedule I was pretty excited. This group was handled in two ways: creative and journal writing. I found both extremely helpful, and while I don't think I need a therapist, necessarily, to guide me through writing, I'm going to keep it up as a valuable part of my own healing.

The creative writing experience, while I had a good time writing, kind of blew up on me. I'm a creative writer, with a bent towards darkness, so I haven't written anything "positive" in quite a number of years. My go to, as far as narrative, is horror, and my poetry is as dark as all Hell, so I didn't exactly set myself up for success. The therapist gave us a prompt, in this case it was about a young man walking somewhere (we had to decide) during an early sunset after a rainy day, carrying a paper bag of groceries. We had twenty minutes to write. Of course, I got right to work, my brain going. Andrew, my character, had killed someone in his past during Halloween, and as he was walking through the twilight, the pumpkins and the wind seemed to speak to him, mocking him to remember. When the time clocked out, I tacked on an ending, and then we all shared our stories and discussed them. Needless to say, considering this was in a psych hospital, there were so many questions about where this inspiration came from. I had no answer, but on a positive note, the therapist, as she was making notes in my chart, stated I was "a very talented, albeit intense writer." I was pleased with the compliment, but not so pleased when the haunted voices I created in this story kept returning to therapy sessions.

We also did journaling, which is a bit safer for me in terms of creativity, and responded to journal prompts about our lives, which we shared as a group. It was really sad, to see that a common thread amongst women in one group is sexual assault and rape, but these journal entries did open a conversation amongst us and we talked about different ways of coping, and ways to remove our own victim shaming and stop blaming ourselves for the actions of others. It was a really powerful thing to share all of that, and liberating to have a place to discuss and heal from such trauma in a way that was safe and where people understood.

Movement Therapy: 
This type of therapy seems like it uses a myriad of movement, dance, and yoga to

process emotions. Considering my background in dance and choreography, I can see where it can be really helpful. In fact, I vaguely remember that when I was studying at Laban, we had a dance therapy workshop and I remember feeling very cathartic after it. This particular dance therapy group didn't leave me with that feeling. It was unstructured, and I couldn't really see what I was supposed to do. It felt like I was just wiggling around. I enjoyed wiggling and moving to the music, so it did bring me joy, which is huge in a psych hospital. So while I didn't feel that same catharsis I did at Laban, it was nice to just move and find joy in the moment.

Postcard to my future self

Art Therapy: This type of therapy seems to use a wide variety of visual art mediums to create projects for processing emotions and goal setting. This one was pretty cool. At Carrier, we had to establish a goal for ourselves. We used magazines and cut out pictures and words to create a sort of vision board that we then put up in our rooms. We also shared them and why the goals were important to us. Mine was to use my talents (creative) to make a difference in my own life and in the world. A bit lofty, but I was also a bit manic, so that makes sense.

In this new hospital, we made postcards to ourselves or to someone else with something we always wanted to say. I didn't fully follow the prompt, but I did a bunch of musical quotes and other important ideas I wanted to keep in my mind. I didn't keep the vision board, but I've kept this postcard. It's going to be put in a prominent place so that I can look at it when needed.

In Conclusion: I really did enjoy the creative arts therapies. I felt they were fun, a great outlet, and a new way to explore healing instead of just through medication, and talk therapy.

Breaking Point

There's a fine line, in my life, between keeping and losing my mind. I don't mean this figuratively, but quite literally. My brain has a chemical imbalance, a few in fact, and there isn't a lot of wiggle room on a good day, let alone when my world is slowly crumbling. Finally, 10 days ago, I lost that balance and had the first psychotic break I've had in years.

Before I continue, you're probably saying, what's a psychotic break? Again, I'm not a doctor, so I can't give you a medical definition. But for me, it's my mind falling apart "piece by piece and row by row, I don't know, I don't know, where the fucking pieces go" (Next to Normal).  I lose touch with reality and see things in a warped and fucked up way.  Imagine you're driving along the highway at 80 mph, and suddenly a rock hits your windshield and it cracks--spiderwebbing instantly, faster and faster until the road and the outside world cease to exist, because all you can see is the shattered glass, and feel the imminent terror of knowing it's going to explode in on you at any moment. That is exactly what it felt like--my brain was the shattered glass all around me, and instead of the fear, it actually started to explode inward, and I couldn't find any way out--except death. 

The only reason I am not dead is because I have been blessed with, and I still don't know why, a small little group of friends who have become my family--I am closer to these people than I am to most of my blood family. KB is one of these friends and she rode out the explosion of my break right along with me as far as she could, and then said: "You need help Kel. I've never seen you like this. You need help." She sat for hours telling me how much I'm loved, how important I am to so many people, how people care about and value and love me. She tried to make me laugh, but when none of that worked, she told me to unlock my phone. I don't know why I did, to be honest, because I really just wanted to wait till she left and kill myself, but I did, and she called my stepmom and told her how bad the situation was. Together, they figured out how to get me into Carrier Clinic, and Karen sat with me and kept me calm during Carrier's intense phone intake. When I was accepted, she helped me pack, dealt with my dad's anxiety, and cleaned up the chaos I caused while looking for my wallet. Even though I kept apologizing, she kept saying: "Stop. I'm not here because I have to be. I'm here because I want to. You're not keeping me here, I can go any time I want."

The drive to Carrier was a tense one at first, just being me and my dad. We never saw eye to eye on mental illness, he's a "you just need to stop being depressed or manic or whatever." I'm living through it, and it's not exactly easy to do that. "If you yell at me," I told him as we started driving, "you're just going to make things worse." He shocked me. Instead of getting mad, his default emotion when under stress, he got emotional. "I hate seeing you like this. I know I don't know I just want to help. I don't understand. Help me understand." He never said that to me before, and I got emotional back. So we scrounged up a bunch of loose change (neither of us had a lot of money) which was enough to buy us a Quick Check sub we shared, and before we got to Carrier we sat in the parking lot of Quick Check and talked for the first time in forever. I don't know if he fully understands my struggles, but he listened actively and that is a huge accomplishment. 

Carrier Clinic is in the middle of nowhere New Jersey. We were driving through the jungle (really it was the Pine Barrens, I think) but it was a sea of green and then BAM! This large campus looking building suddenly appeared out of nowhere. It was a nice looking place, not hospital like at all. It more resembled the resort from Dirty Dancing. I know that sounds weird, but it was so true. My father also had to protect me from a live peacock (they have several around the hospital). I've never seen a live one in my life, and was fucking terrified.

Once inside Carrier, I knew from the first minute, this was going to be a turning point in my life. Everyone was so caring it was unbelievable, from the intake nurse through all the techs to the cleaning people. But no matter how caring everyone is, and no matter how much it seems more like a hotel than a psych ward, everything had great wood paneling, was new, and my room had a shower and writing desk inside (they even give you welcome kits with all toiletries), it is still a psychiatric hospital: Lonely, isolating, terrifying places.     

My psychiatrist, Dr. Michelle Grant, literally gave me my life back. My first day at Carrier, she listened to all that I told her, was appalled by my med changes that had previously happened (she kept apologizing that it even happened), and said: "Don't worry, Kel. We've got this." (You also meet with your psychiatrist every day in Carrier, and a weekend one on the weekends. I've never had this happen in any other place, so it was pretty incredible). She safely detoxed my body (even though that was brutal) and we started back on a combination of Lithium and Lamictal (we added a third drug but I'm allergic to it. I puffed up like a pufferfish!) And within days, the cracks went away, and it was like my brain got a new windshield around it. 

The group therapists were really awesome too, and the Carrier model is pretty unique.
You own your illness, and then you work on steps to heal. The groups were informative, helpful and made me think about how much I let things affect me that I shouldn't. I also looked at my own lack of coping skills and worked with therapists to develop better, safer ones that work for me.

In spite of always having groups, and being able to socialize with people, Carrier was still a lonely place. Being it was so far from everyone, it was hard to have visitors, so you can imagine how stoked I was when my parents were able to visit, and I spoke to them on the phone every day, which was awesome, but it's hard being in your head all the time, without much to do. (The library at Carrier is my ONLY criticism).

I've got some other friends who have become family members, AM and B, who saved my life by taking my calls and calling back, AND by sending me, via my dad, a collection of 11 books. I'm a huge reader, and when I got that bag, it was like I was once again a little kid at Christmas. I had a hard time deciding what to read first, as all of them looked intriguing. 

The books were amazing and I read through two of them while I was at Carrier. B called once to see how I was fairing and we were able to discuss one of the books, Running with Scissors, briefly, which was a nice change of pace. My days at Carrier were suddenly easier with good books, and dealing with the side effects of treatment, was a lot easier being transported to a new place while reading, and being able to forget, for a while at least, where I was. The books became so vital to my healing that I slept with the one I was reading just so I had it and could hold those characters close. I was in a psych ward, after all, where people were hallucinating and stuff all around me. The books grounded me, and I didn't want to let them go--I firmly knew the difference between fiction and fact. 

Treatment at Carrier went well, but was going slowly. I filled my days meeting with my doctors, going to groups, taking my meds, reading, eating, reading, napping, eating, groups, reading, reading, socializing, naping, groups, meds, reading, sleeping. But I kept realizing that every day I was seeing a major improvement in my mood.

After 8 days, they finally released me--I'm stuck doing a secondary program but that's another entry--and when my dad picked me up, he grinned at me. I asked him why he was being weird, and he said: "I'm just so happy to see you look like you again. I know it sounds weird, but you look like you...my kid." I knew what he meant because it was the first time I felt like my old self in about two years. I know I've still got a long way to go before I'm back and "better than before" (Next to Normal) but I finally feel like I'm on a positive, solid and stable road to recovery. My last day, I actually hugged my psychiatrist, and said: "Thank you for giving me my life back." She actually got tears in her eyes and hugged me back. "Thank you, that means a lot. I'm so glad. Good luck to you."

So thank you to my family, my friends, my friends that have become family, and Carrier Clinic for getting me back on my feet. Huge thank you to KB, AM and B for getting me there, and helping to make the Carrier days easier.