It's A Struggle For Sure

I've always tried to be as honest and open about my struggles because I know there are so many people out there suffering but not able to share so I share for you. I share in hope of helping just one person know they are not allow. I also share for me. For me it's a way to take all the words in my mind and give them another place to be! A place far outside my brain!

The question "who are you?" has become akin to nails on a chalkboard for me. In my mind the answer is depressingly easy, "I am a felon".
That's correct, I have spent 44 years on this earth, 11mos of it in jail, and the first answer that pops into my head, every time is, "I'm a felon".  I went to my child's Eagle Scout ceremony and as I introduced myself to people, I nearly said "Hi I'm Emily, the felon" not mother of the child, not wife, not mother of 3, nope just felon.

So last night my husband, being particularly attentive and understanding, listened to me introduce myself as Emily, the felon. Then he looked at me and said name 8 things that have happened in the past 8 years that have greatly and you'd say negatively have happened. I looked at him unamused and ask why, he responded, humor me. So I did.
My List:
My father died
I destroyed my husband's trust in me
I ruined my family's finances
I tried to kill myself
I trusted and did for the wrong people
I caused my family to feel unsafe in their home
I lost a year of time with my husband and monsters
I hurt my family

Those are the top 8 things I've lived through the past 8 years. With that list my husband asked me where being a felon was. I said not in my top 8, it's just who I am. He said, "on that list where is going to jail, being poisoned & tortured?" I answer, Not in my top 8. Then he looked at me, as I sobbed, and asked "then why do you see yourself first and only as a felon?" So I cried, ugly, sobbing cries as he went over my list of 8 again and said, "Emily is a daughter, a mother, a wife, a protector, a lover, a loyal friend". Of course I decided he didn't have to sleep on the couch last night as I continued to sob ;-)

The point that I need to share and need to get out is that for weeks, months I've been slipping further and further into a depression and the further I fall the brighter my scarlet "F" gets until it's donned some lights and started flashing!  Can I make my "F" go away? No. But what I can do and am working to do is take the lights down or at least dim them.

It's a bump in my road. If it wasn't the felony it would have been something else, that's the bigger point. When you live with Bipolar disorder and depression,  there is always going to be a letter on your chest and the majority of the time it's put there by you! That IS the disorder! How can your brain play tricks on you. And it's so easy to slip into depression. It's so easy to believe all the negative.

The other thing I'd like to share is that sharing isn't just hard because of the people that don't understand or "believe" mental illness, it's hard because mental illness is so individualized and the topic is so sensitive that sometimes when I share people, trying to be supportive don't really understand me and my illness. The best way to help someone with a mental illness is to make sure that they know how to find help when/if they want it.  For me that looks like a very, very small support system of family, a friend, okay two and doctors. They are people I see, talk to and trust everyday.  Don't read too much into my social media posts if they haven't. Sometimes I just have words I need to get out!

I'm going to end by saying, I'm struggling right now. I am working through it. I have awesome support.

So Much Hate!

It's been awhile since I last wrote, nothing to say, tired of wallowing in self-pity, LAZY, so many reasons. Now, I feel I NEED to write. I cannot stay quiet any longer. I can no longer live in a country, in a world with so much anger and hatred.

Anger and hatred, it's just everywhere! I have 3 teenagers and trying to build a positive, happy and service-centered life feels impossible. There is hate all over the news, on social media, the kids school at WalMart! It's everywhere. The reason this has really come to a head for me is that this hate, this ugliness, this lack of acceptance starts with our President! It starts at the very top! When you have the kind of Hate in your heart that the President of the United States has and shares with the world, it's no wonder it trickles down.

This hate and lack of acceptance has spread like wildfire. People seem to have no ability to have civil conversations with a person with differing views. No, we have hate rallies and protests. What are folks protesting? Race, religion, sexuality. Sure there is plenty more people are hating but race, religion and sexuality seem to make the list at least weekly.

It's 2019, how are we still hating and fighting about race? You are aware that the color of one's skin is a) not something a person chooses b) is simply an external difference, everything inside is the same no matter the color of your skin c) makes the world a beautiful place.

Next, let me tell you how over religious hate I am. As a Christian, my first goal is to live "Christ-like". What does that mean to me? It means to love and serve others. Nowhere does Christ preach to hate people that are a different race or for who they love or for any reason! CHRISTIANS!!! JESUS DOES NOT PREACH HATE! No matter how or what you read or are taught in your church, I promise you he is not for hate! I challenge you to find a teaching that says otherwise. Love thy neighbor, serve your neighbor *unless they are a different race?* *Unless the believe in a different God?* *Because they are attracted to someone of the same sex?*  Show me these verses in your Bibles because they aren't in mine.

Lastly, I cannot understand the hate for the LBGTQ community. Understand and stop lying about it because these folks aren't out recruiting your children or any children. In fact, they spend the majority of their time hiding who they are and from people so they aren't physically harmed or mentally, emotionally tortured. They often hide themselves into depression and even suicide. And you know what, each one of those suicides is on the hands of all of you that hate and Bully and shame the LBGT community. That hate kills people.

The lack of acceptance, the hate, the anger, it leads to too many deaths. Too many lives gone too soon and for nothing more than fear and ignorance of people just wanting to live their lives like you! My kids deserve more, your kids deserve more, we owe it to ourselves to stand up to hate. To break the streak of anger. Smile, say hello, stand up when you see bullying, when you see racism. Different DOESN'T mean bad, wrong; it simply means not the same. Think about it. Be positive! End Hate.

The First Twenty-Four Hours

I sat there still and somber as the judge read out my sentence, 6 counts… 1st count, Five years, four years with 10 months suspended. Second count, Five years with 10 months suspended. The third, fourth, fifth and six counts were all the same, five years with four years and ten months suspended. Quickly the words raced through my mind, what did it mean? What was happening? Jail? I was going to jail? What the hell did that mean? I didn’t understand, This couldn’t be real! And without a goodbye or even a glance at my husband and family I was taken away, off to a holding cell. WHAT!!!

Shock. Fear. Heartache. Confusion. And a million other feelings raced through my mind and body. But at the moment it was Anger that was taking charge. What the hell happened? My family, my lawyer, the case president, nobody thought I would be serving time, nobody prepared me for this. Finally, after what seemed like hours, my lawyer came to see me and explain my sentence and what I could expect going forward. Then he walked away. Free. As I sat in a holding cell at the courthouse just wondering and waiting for what was going to happen next.

Time passed, and eventually I was rehandcuffed, just hands, and lead off to collect other prisoners who had come from jail to court and were shackled, hands and feet, and then off to a waiting van destined for jail.

As the van was loaded, the guard reminded everyone that male and female prisoners were to have no verbal exchange. This warning fell on deaf ears and everyone talked to everyone else regardless of gender, everyone except me. I just sat there, sat trying not to cry, trying to seem less scared than I was.

The ride from the Courthouse to the jail was less than a mile and took maybe 3 minutes, with the majority of that time spent waiting for the garage to open. Once inside the garage I got my first real taste for how inefficient and slow everything ran at Rappahannock Regional Jail. The van was parked but we didn't move. We just sat. Everyone else in the van seemed content with this delay but not me, I was anxious to move the process along. After 15 or 20 minutes it was finally time to unload. Through the automatic doors we went, quickly hurried against the cinderblock wall to be patted down (My first, of what would be many pat-downs). With that done all the prisoners I had riden with were herded off like sheep through a metal door, I was escorted to in-take.

On first glance, in-take didn't seem like it was going to be too bad. It was quiet and fairly empty. I was led through the in-take lobby to a holding cell with only one other woman inside. Once inside I again broke down in tears. The tears must have seemed neverending because they prompted the other woman in there to attempt to console me. “Is this your first time in jail?” She, asked. “Yeah”, I responded. “Well, could you stop crying so loud, it's annoying?”, she asked. With that I sat facing the wall, crying in silence as best I could, waiting just waiting to be called for processing.

Processing, that wait was forever! Thankfully the charming lady in with me was taken long before me, as were the 5 other women that came in and out as I waited. As a guard came to bring in another woman to be processed I finally asked how much longer. “Your name?” she enthusiastically demanded. “Emily Fallon”, I responded. Seconds later the metal door slams and the guard yells “Someone forgot that Fallon, she's still in holding”. “Oh man, she should have been processed last shift. I'll get her next.” another guard said.

For whatever reason, I'm not sure what that set my tears streaming again. Take a look at my mugshot sometime, hours of nonstop tears, fear, anger, it's a keeper.

Pictures taken and it's on to questions. The basics, name, age, race, gang affiliation, etc. Onto health, meds, conditions, etc. Housekeeping, clothing size, bunk restrictions, etc. This is going alright. I mean I've been crying the entire time but it's fluctuated  between sobbing and quiet sniffling. To finish in-take the is a mental health questionnaire. This my friends was the kiss of death!

“Do you feel like you want to hurt yourself?” the guard asks. I answer, “Ummm...Really?!?! YES! Yes, I want to hurt myself, I want nothing more than to be dead right now!” “How would you do it?”, she asks. I answer, “I am going to bang my head against the cinderblock wall or cement floor.” “I'll be right back”, she says.

Back she came but not alone. She brought two extra guards with her. They explained to me that I would be taken to crisis and put on suicide watch until I could see someone from the psychiatric staff. This seemed reasonable, infact I was thrilled to hear there was a psych staff here so I could continue the treatment I was currently getting.

Crisis was a hidden closet in medical with 4 cells. Each cell was the same, cement floor, cinderblock walls, glass door and a hole with a grate over it for a toilet. As you went in you were made to strip, completely naked and you were given a green vest with velcro (that was worn out and didn't stick) and a blanket to put on the cement to sleep on. Essentially, you're left naked trying to hold a wrap around yourself in a cement room that smells like a NYC subway platform.

*as a side note here I want to add that I had my period and wasn't given a tampon or pads...again, I had no underwear. Add to this that I have no toilet paper and only a hole in the ground to relieve myself in.*

So, for the next several hours I paced and cried, I bled all over myself while I waited to see what was next.

Around 8 am, 3 guards came to get me and take me to see the therapist. This wasn't an easy task. My vest wouldn't stay on, not even a little and I was to walk through the clinic and by this point I was numb I didn't care at all. I could have walked out naked and not cared. I made it over to the therapist who took one look at me and yelled at the guards to get me a blanket to cover up. He told them it was disrespectful to parade me around that way and that I was to have a full uniform as soon as we were done talking. And that was the last helpful thing he did or said to me.

He spent maybe 15 mins with me, told me I should see my time in jail as a vacation from my life and enjoy it. A year really wasn't that long and time away from my husband and especially children was healthy. I didn't respond to this ridiculousness. I simply looked at him long enough to convince him I would not hurt myself in hopes of moving to a cell with a toilet and toilet paper!

It worked! Five hours later I was moved! I was never so happy to see a toilet in my life. What I've not seen since then is my dignity.

Dehumanized. Humiliating. Traumatic. That is what the first 24 hours in jail were like for me. More days than not I relive that day. It has shaped who I've become or better who I've failed to become.

Real Life Depression

As I sit here in church I find I'm unable to concentrate, worse I am feeling I don't care. I don't care what is being said, I don't care who is around me, I don't care about God. I just don't care. I don't want to ‘share’ my burdens nor do I want to bare others. I want to go. I want to be free. I want to run away. I don't know where I'd go or what I'd do but i know I don't want to be here; church, Stafford, Virginia, none of it! I don't want to be a wife, a mother or a friend! I want to be gone, away, alone.

This I know is depression. These thoughts and feelings I'm having and living are depression. I know this because it is not the first time I've felt this way, it's not even the second or third time. When it comes, it rushes in like a wave, a tsunami, it crushes and destroys everything it can reach and it leaves incredible damage as it slowly recedes. The damage, like that from the tsunami, is greater in some spots than other. Some messes can be sopped up with a towel or mop while others are completely devastated, unable to be fixed, so are episodes of depression (for me). And the longer the episode lasts, the more damage is done and the harder it is to clean up.

I suffer from depression, I am currently experiencing a pretty serious episode. Like most of them, this episode started slow, some sleep issues, illness, winter, teenagers, none of which would have been much singularly but piled one on top of another it's too much for me. Yes, I am aware that these are things that many people deal with all the time and do it well and don't get sad or depressed but I did and that is where I am. Depressed! I said it, I AM DEPRESSED!

Get over it. Yep, I hear it all the time. Do people honestly believe that I want to feel sad and lonely all the time? That I want to run away from my life, my family and friends? That is just not the case. My monsters and husband are my heart. All I do is for them. The thought of being with them is all that keeps me going and I don't understand why being with them is not making me happy. Why I still have to force myself out of bed EVERYDAY! I have a very small circle of friends who try everyday to cheer me up and make my burdens a bit lighter; it doesn't help. I have a therapist that listens and offers ideas, but I'm sad. NOT SUICIDAL!!! Just sad, depressed.

I am sharing all this with you so you know what depression looks like, it looks like me. Most people I see daily wouldn't know it. Most people would think I look, act like every other SHM. I'm depressed and working to not be anymore.

Thank you for letting me share my words and disorganized story with you. Smile randomly at someone today or say hello, you never know who needs it.

Chasing My Tail

Lately, I found myself in a nasty cycle of pain, depression, loneliness, pain, depression, loneliness, pain... well, you get it. My pain is mainly caused by my fibromyalgia, which helps open the door for depression (which I'm prone to anyway) and that to loneliness ( because when you feel that terrible being with people is not at the top of the list) and so depression circles back around. You know you've been withdrawn when even Facebook friends start asking where you've been :) I thank everyone of you for that! However, it doesn't motivate me to interact more or shake my depression, mostly it makes me feel guilty. Guilty because my life is good. It's So good. It's not perfect but whose life is?

What I do have and will be grateful for is waking up every morning with the opportunity to try. I know that every morning I wake up to my husband and monsters is a gift. A gift from God that no matter my daily struggles there is more for me to do. It's a gift that tells me that my pain is not too much to bare, that my depression is not too dark to find the light and that my loneliness is not real because God is always with me.

That knowledge, that faith grows for me daily, even when my skin bleeds from being scratched all night or when my tears blind me and even when I lie in bed wishing for someone to talk to, I know through that struggle and that pain that there is someone there. Someone that loves me, someone that has a plan for me even when I cannot see it. Faith does not come easily for me and there are many days I need help remembering I'm not alone and I do not need to face my burden alone because of that, I am so thankful, grateful for the scriptures and for the fellowship of my church brothers and sisters. And everyday I know how fortunate I am for a God willing to do this with me over and over again.

I have favourite Hymn at church and every time I hear it I am reminded of all that is given and done for me every day, Here is a link to listen to the hymn and also the words
https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&url=https://m.youtube.com/watch%3Fv%3DZzjy2UAe6Rk&ved=2ahUKEwi1z6rmrcfdAhUOfH0KHabbC58QjjgwCnoECAUQAQ&usg=AOvVaw3NwCqTN6gmn5ifOVEc-x-x

1. I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me,

Confused at the grace that so fully he proffers me.

I tremble to know that for me he was crucified,

That for me, a sinner, he suffered, he bled and died.

Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me

Enough to die for me!

Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me!

2. I marvel that he would descend from his throne divine

To rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine,

That he should extend his great love unto such as I,

Sufficient to own, to redeem, and to justify.

Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me

Enough to die for me!

Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me!

3. I think of his hands pierced and bleeding to pay the debt!

Such mercy, such love and devotion can I forget?

No, no, I will praise and adore at the mercy seat,

Until at the glorified throne I kneel at his feet.

Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me

Enough to die for me!

Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me!

A Year Later

Dear Emily,

It's been a year,  365 complete days, now what? What have you done with those 365 days? Where will you go with the next?

Anniversaries are milestones, we have them for the good things in our lives and the bad, we mark them because they've had a profound impact on us. Today is an Anniversary for me. One year ago today I was released from the rappahannock regional jail after spending ten and a half months there. Ten and a half months that I thought were the hardest of my life, they weren't, life since rrj has been.

Not all that has happened over the past year has been bad, in fact much of it has been very good, just not easy and not as I expected. See, while I was locked away I had nothing to do but think, reflect, plan and well, when I got home I found there were four other people in my  house and countless more throughout my life that didn't think MY ideas were great and didn't want to go with my "perfect plan" for a new life. I know, I know, it's hard to believe that everyone that came across my path didn't want to jump on board, but they didn't. Moreover, many of these people wanted me to jump in and ride with them! Crazy! ;-)

So, it's a year later and where am I? Well, I am back with my husband and monsters and for that I am thankful. While everyday is not easy and the effects of my time away are still being worked through, we are together and that's the best place we can be. The only place I want to be. Together we will make it all work!

My group of friends is much smaller and different than it was and that has been an adjustment. I was surprised by those that has both stood by us and those that didn't. I'm not going to lie, it hurt when some left and I'm not totally over that. Now, those that have stayed have been the greatest gift. While the numbers may not be great, the love and support from them is what has gotten me and my family through this year. Thank you, I hope you know who you are. I am going to give a HUGE public SHOUT OUT to my bestie both before and after, Jessie, I love you and love and appreciate all the love you give to me and my family. Thank you will never be enough <3

It's been a year. Now what? I guess we will see. I look forward to seeing what the next year brings!

Suicide/Depression/Mental Illness

This is a post I've been trying to write for some time now but have struggled with. I wasn't sure how much of myself I wanted to put into it. How much of my personal experiences I was comfortable sharing or if I would share more the stories of those that have come in and out of my life and their struggles. After some deep thought and some prayers, I know that the story I need to share is my own.

I've know what suicide is from a very young age, I had an uncle that took his own life before I was school aged and my mother was always honest with me about his death and about suicide. Whenever we spoke of my uncle she explained that he was unable to continue living his life, that it was very hard for him. As I got older she explained more about mental illness/Depression and how this can often be a factor when people take their own life. So I have always known what suicide was. It was never glamorized nor was it bad, dirty, it just was. I was always encouraged to seek help, support if I ever felt like hurting myself. And I always believed that my mother meant those words and I still do. But sometimes those words are not enough. And you are sure no one can help you.

I've mentioned it before and I will again I'm sure, that I have been in a battle with my mental illness for most of my life. It ebbs and flows much like the tides. I have really long, wonderful periods where I'm happy and life is great! Then there are dark times when nothing goes right, nothing makes me happy and I cannot even find contentment. Each of these periods can last days, weeks, months or even years; and there is no way to know when one will end and another begin. If you're one of the fortunate ones, like me, you have family that bugs the crap out of you about your medications and therapy, but even then you, yourself need to go to the doctor, take your medications, go to therapy, take your therapists advice. That's a huge amount of work and a big commitment to make. And as you're doing all this, you're struggling to understand which is the 'real' you! Some people don't find the right one and it's just too exhausting to try again.

About two years ago, I was there. I didn't want to fight one more day. I was so, so sad and making everyone around me just as sad(or so I believed). I finally had a plan, a good one too and it was going to make everyone feel better. I would be out of their lives for good and they could be happy for once. I walked around for days and played out the details in my head and each time they seemed better and better. I was all set. I had a doctor's appointment that afternoon that I kept so that my family would not have to pay a no-show fee. While I was there I very matter-of-factly shared my plan with my doctor. Maybe it was a call for help, maybe it was something else but thank goodness I did because I know I would not have made it home had I not shared my plan. Instead of being dead that night I was in a psychiatric hospital where I remained for several days. I got the medicines I needed along with therapy, all of which I am still using today. And I still have good days and bad and I'm slowly learning how to cope with those bad days. Chances are I will spend the rest of my life going back and forth, keeping my therapist in business :) And I know that's okay.

I share this story today with you in hopes of you all sharing with someone else. You truly never know what will encourage someone else to seek help or support. I share today to encourage parents to talk about depression and loneliness and suicide with your kids. Remind them that help is out there even if it's not you. Talk to them about suicide. Make sure they understand that you love them and that they are not alone in battling demons. There are more people fighting than you think, than they think. Be open. Be honest. Be Strong.