Often I appeared to be functioning so fine at church, no one thought to ask whether I could emotionally handle the commitments they were loading on me. I said “yes” many times when I should have said “no”. I have a tendency to take on too much. Or to take on projects that backfire because I can't handle the stress of church politics.

Once again Paul was my rescuer. He clued me in pretty quick when things were getting out of hand with outside commitments. Though I often didn't listen to him when it came to church activities, I've learned to now! God comes first. Paul comes second. The girls next. Then the rest of it. Anytime I mess with that order, I make major mistakes in my life. I've learned to quit messing with it. A lot of those church activities weren't a case of “God first”, they were a case of someone else pushing their agenda onto the church.

I think it's especially important that mental health patients have a strong support network behind them. That there is someone there to bounce ideas off of, to get another perspective from, and to encourage us to do the right thing. We need to pick our close friends carefully. Many different views can be helpful, but they can also be confusing. We need people we can trust. We know what to do and what is right, but with medication it is easy to become confused and dazed and not think straight.

We need people around us to help us. For example, Paul sits beside me as encouragement when I need to make important phone calls. Otherwise I just quake at having to talk one-on-one with someone, because I never know if I'm interpreting what they say correctly. Dealing with my mother's estate has been especially stressful because of this. She died in another province, and I've had to make several long distance phone calls, not all of them pleasant. And a bad call will have me in knots and not sleeping well for several days! I've learned to pray before and after every call, and to take notes right away. Whenever possible I plan face-to-face meetings with the lawyer, the executor and financial planners – with Paul present – so there is no mistaking what is being said.

To be continued...

I worked hard to reduce stress and anxiety in my life, so I would not have a recurrence of symptoms.  And I worked closely with my psychiatrist on my day-to-day reactions to the drug.  Now I am on lower doses of medication, and have learned to deal with the side effects through other methods, I have found some creativity returning. It certainly is not what it was before, but I can live with it and be somewhat happy about it.

I always figured the doctor was only half the equation in mental illness. The other half was the patient. I doubt I will ever be able to go without medication. But despite being so drugged up initially, for two hours a day at the end of the day, before bed, I could actually focus enough to concentrate to read a book. It took me a long time to read because the words, while I read them, didn't soak in. I had trouble concentrating on the page and my reading pace slowed noticeably.

I picked books that I felt would make the biggest difference in my life. One was “The Bible”. What did I do?

• I picked verses from the Bible, typed them on the computer and printed them out to hang on my vanity – where I could see them every day.
  
• I bought fridge magnets of Bible verses and posted them on the fridge.
  
• I posted Bible verses around the house.
  
• I carried a small list of verses for times of need in my purse.
  
• I spent time with the Lord every day when I was ill. In fact, the worse the day, the more time I made for the Lord.
  
• I spent time going over the whole business of repenting, asking for cleansing and forgiveness of sins.  Of rededicating myself to God.  I moved into a study of evil and the Devil.  Of healing and grace.
• The idea of spiritual retreats suddenly became appealing. I started to dream of a month of peace and quiet, with people cooking for me and doing my laundry and cleaning (!), so I could just rest, be with God, and get my bearings again.
  

The medication was so draining and hard to live with. I was exhausted all the time.  I had headaches daily.  One of the side effects I had was a brief two week period of being suicidal.  I avoided the kitchen with its knives.  Another side effect was being dizzy.  I sat a lot.  I was sure my life was over for all intensive purposes. I was just putting in time, waiting to die.

But then there was God...and the Bible with it's message of hope...

 

Eventually the side effects from going on medication waned.  Well, at least it went to a dull roar.  Being on medication is like waking up with a hangover...every day.  And trying to fight that thick head you get from drinking too much.

I made sure I found a church home, even if I didn't stay long, or people didn't seem to talk to me or like me, and no one would go with me. During this time Paul and Meghan stopped going to church. In reality, Paul and I often couldn't agree on a church home. I realized, if I was going to get well, I was going to have to put my foot down and simply say “I am going to this one because it helps me most.” I needed a church home that believed in a living, loving God – a group of people who believed that Christianity was a relationship with God. It was the only way to manage my illness. Otherwise religion was pointless to me. I had had a few religious experiences before becoming ill, inbetween stints on medication, and while on medication, that convinced me God is alive and well in this old sinful world of ours.  

To be continued...

One thing people often think is that once a person becomes mentally ill, they are dumb, and you cannot trust them with anything. Nothing could be further from the truth. Schizo-affective people are some of the brightest people there are. In fact, studies have shown the group as a whole scores higher on IQ tests than the average person.

The reality is they are handicapped by chemical imbalances caused by a number of reasons. Modern psychiatry explains it all in terms of chemistry. That's fine. I want to know why those chemicals are doing what they are. Modern psychiatry will give a complicated scientific answer and say it's partly genetics. Well, again I ask why?

I have the benefit of a family member having a genetics degree. I know it's not that simple. Genes develop over generations. They are not static. Environment and behaviour act to modify them. So why has this gene developed in our family?  What environmental and behavioural issues play a role and how?  How do we change it for the next generation? More and more I understand the Bible when it says the sins of the father will be passed down three or four generations. How long does it take to change or eradicate a gene naturally? I mean, I'm curious...aren't you?

I am told gene therapy may one day cure this disease. But what about now? How do we live with it and manage it? In my mind the drugs do an okay job. They are something, but nothing to write home about, that's for sure! They do their job, but the side effects can be debilitating for some people. Others have no problem whatsoever I hear.  I'm not one of them.

More and more, when I ask these questions, I end up back at my Bible. Time and again I find the Word of God to be soothing to the soul and a balm to the spirit. I've spent hours researching topics in the Bible. For some reason unknown to me, at the time I became ill I bought a huge unabridged concordance of the Bible. I intuitively knew the Bible was where I was going to find my answers. For ultimately, I do believe mental illness, while used by God (as everything is), is ultimately of Satan. God, after all, wants nothing but good for us...and this is definitely not good!  I spent hours using the subject index in my concordance to guide me through my Bible, looking for direction and finding it.

The temptation when diagnosed is to rely totally on medication to solve your problems. But medication is only part of the answer. The other part of the equation is the patient.  One can give up and just take the medication as they're told, and become depressed about everything and be put on more medication.  Or one can be pro-active in helping themselves. 

 

Several changes occurred for me that I was not happy with.  I put on 50 pounds in 6 months.  I know this is medication related because when I went off medication for about a year, I promptly lost 30 pounds without doing anything different diet or exercise wise.  I can get depressed over that, in fact I did, or I can do something about that.  I chose to be pro-active and approach my family doctor about seeing a nutritionist.  After working with the nutritionist awhile, I asked to be referred to an exercise specialist.  These people are instrumental in keeping me on the right track.  I may not lose a pound, but I am eating healthier and exercising more regularily...well, as much as a broken foot will allow right now!

I also was tired all the time.  It seemed like my whole body just slowed down to a slow crawl.  I couldn't think fast, I couldn't talk fast, I read slower, TV went so fast it gave me headaches, it took longer to process information auditorily and visually.  I slept 10 -12 hours a day.  In the end my medication was changed and it took me 2 years to get it reduced to the point where I could actually function almost normally.  Though I still have my moments when people just talk too fast for me to understand them.

 

Anther change I notice is an increased sensitivity to sunlight and heat.  I avoid it now.  Or only go out with mega sunscreen on, and for very short periods of time.  No more than half an hour.  I avoid the hot hours of the day from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m.  I also cannot stand extreme cold anymore, which, if you know the Canadian prairies in winter, is not good!  I wear two layers of clothing in the house in winter.

One of the big changes I see on medication, is the loss of my ability to be creative. The drugs do not seem to have this effect on everyone. There are some marvelous artists and artisans on anti-psychotics who produce wonderful work. I am not one of them. I find the drugs very debilitating in this instance.

Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi writes in his book “Flow” about how people are happy when they reach a certain state of flow – a space where time stands still and you are unaware of its passing, as you are engaged in something that is your sole focus. I was often in this state when creating. With medication, I cannot reach that state. So while I am able to focus on the technical aspects of a project, I struggle daily with design, or anything that involves my right brain really.

I gave up designing for several years because it was just so frustrating. And I gave up painting. What used to take me a day to do, took weeks, and I just couldn't “get into it” like I used to, or 'get it right'. I would sit in front of the canvas stunned, just trying to think, or focus and concentrate, and couldn't do it. I couldn't access the part of my brain that used to do the dance – the creative decision-making. I became quite depressed. I avoided more medication however. I chose to handle it a different way. I immersed myself in my faith – Christianity – and her healing loving God. 

I also experimented with alternative health.  I found I had the best results with acupuncture.  But it is expensive.  At $360cdn/mth. (and I was going cheap) it was more than we could bear.  Paul was not happy about it.  Friends were telling me it was "not Christian".  I don't think it's any more not Christian than western medicine is Christian.  It just is.

I decided to try a product from Univera called Ageless Xtra.  It gives me energy, but it does not seem to give me that creative spark.  However, I have only been on it a short while. This is a trial for me.  It is only $100/mth.  But if early indications are any clue, it is not as good as acupuncture.

But back to when I first realized I couldn't be creative like before.  I live by the axiom “If life gives you lemons; make lemonade!” I decided to explore just exactly what I could do related to the arts. I rediscovered fibre arts. I decided to focus on technique, which did not need that 'dance' or that complete concentration that designing or painting did. I learned dyeing techniques for rug hooking. I learned different stitching techniques. I disciplined myself to working other people's designs. I actually learned to follow instructions!

I also learned how to relax. Mental health patients are ill. Ill people need time and space to get well again. We do not get well immediately on being put on medication. There are a lot of emotional scars for us from our illness. We need time and space to deal with those scars. We need loving and supportive people around us.

I found after being put on medication that I functioned best with some kind of structure or routine to my day. I instituted the calming practice of an afternoon tea ritual, complete with Bible study. I listened to praise music or classical music, instead of the loud cacophonic sounds of modern pop or rock music. I start my day writing in a journal and praying.

I turned off the TV...for good. Now it only goes on to watch videos or DVDs with Paul. At first it was just daytime TV I cut out. Then, eventually, I even turned off the news. If it's that crucial, I'll hear about it other ways. I found with medication, my dreams at night were more frequent, more vivid, and more memorable. The news made them worse. I stopped watching and slept better. I was recording dreams for awhile, but one day laughed at the technicolor stories that any Hollywood writer would be proud of, and quit. They were just taking too much time to write down!

To be continued...

So by now you're wondering what I am talking about when I mention being on and off medication and before and after diagnosis.   To go on with my story of the needle arts, I have to take a sidetrack for a few days...

Mental illness runs in our family. I had watched my mother and her marriage be decimated by what was then diagnosed as bipolar II, but what is now schizo-affective disorder. When I was finally diagnosed as having mental illness in 1998, I was determined I wasn't going to repeat her experience in my own family. I did not see going to group therapy as an option. Mom had done that, and just learned how to be a better sick person. I didn't want to learn to be a sick person. I wanted to learn how to live a normal life, and that could only come from being around 'normal' people. I had grown up identifying with a mentally ill person. I needed some 'normal' role models.

This does not mean group therapy is a no-no for everyone.  Some people may benefit from it.  My mother was not one, and I felt I would not be either.  My personality is too much like hers.

I sought social groupings to meet 'normal' people. I joined a church. In fact, I went through several! If it weren't for my faith I don't know how I would have made it through those dark days. While I needed to work through issues and deal with my fears, I also needed a place where I could be totally taken away from them and forced to concentrate on something totally different. A place to laugh and be concerned about other people for a change, instead of my own thoughts and worries. While faith calmed my fears, I needed other people to make me want to live.

I connected up with community rug hooking, stitching and quilting groups comprised of older ladies. Because my mother was ill so much of my growing up years, I'd never really had much training on how to be a woman, mother, wife, friend, or household manager. My grandmother was my main influence during those years.

Still it was difficult adjusting to these social groups. I simply was not used to being around people that much. I was used to people telling me I was thinking 'wrong' or 'weird' by then. I prefer to say I am thinking 'differently'. Plus I was aware of the gossip mill in town, and knew a lot of the members attended these groups. But being around older women in those community groups gave me a whole whack of surrogate mothers who could teach and train me. I figured the good far outweighed the bad.

They know I am schizo-affective, and they still accept me. I do not hide my diagnosis, though it has been extremely tough some days. I am an introvert by nature, and tend to bottle up until I'm ready to explode. Of course, exploding is not acceptable behaviour. I have learned, after a long time, to trust these women and talk openly with them. When I am extremely upset, their reactions act as critical feedback for me.

When in a group like that I am especially concerned about making myself vulnerable to those who do not understand the disease or it's implications. Those who make rude or unthinking comments, or act in exclusive ways, not being aware of the hurt they cause. But those are all part of dealing with the disease. And really, if I went to group therapy, there would be an even weirder group of people to deal with. People are people.

If I want to be as 'normal' as possible, I have to have 'normal' role models. I have to know how they behave and think. The way they think are keys to me...tidbits I use as comparisons to make me wonder why I think the way I do, and how to change it. What makes the difference between 'normal' and 'mentally ill'? I know I am incredibly sensitive and intuitive. I have to tune out the extra stimuli coming from my environment. The drugs partly help, but it is more a deadening of everything than tuning in to one thing. I cannot concentrate or focus on one thing or person. I am just 'blah'. Anyone on anti-psychotics knows what I mean.  Needless to say, this has impacted my creative work tremendously.

I am considered a 'high functioning' mental health patient. I am encouraged by the number of people who have told me I have made a positive difference in their lives and how they view mental illness and handle it. That is reward enough for exposing myself to such a degree.

To be continued...

By the time the girls came along, traditional rug hooking took up my time. I took my first lessons when Lisa was 10 months old. My first piece was a round table mat designed by our instructor and hooked with scrap double knits and cotton t-shirt material on burlap backing. I did not care for the design, but it was a learning piece the instructor insisted upon.

The next thing I worked on was a rug that I designed myself. It was an ambitious project. I was given the burlap from my instructor, and I went to the local thrift stores looking for old clothes to rip apart and hook. Paul thought I'd lost my mind! But the end result has lasted over 22 years now. It lives on our basement floor...directly on concrete, with a latex non-slip mat underneath.

Most of my rug hooking has been given away to family and friends. Two pieces actually wore through when people washed them and left them to sit in the washing machine to soak (a no-no with burlap). Or, as in the case of one rug, washed it three times in a row because they couldn't get it clean, and then wondered why it came to pieces! Burlap can only take so much abuse. I normally hand wash such rugs. In the old days, I did machine wash, especially the rug above. It is made of rot-resistant burlap, but for some reason burlap manufacturers decided to do away with rot-resistant burlap. Now, if you want to wash a homemade rug, you use different backings.

 

In the late 1990s, after I was diagnosed, I joined a local rug hooking guild. There I learned much about colour, fibre and design of rugs. I also took workshops and attended camp. For a brief while I was off medication and spent the whole time designing as many rugs as I could. The following include the results of that time period.

Here is a rug I hooked for my mother.  It is a primitive style of Gram, Mom and I picking blueberries.  It badly needed a border around it, but I didn't notice that till after the workshop I took. I designed this while on medication, and, in my opinion, it shows! 

Here is an original design from memory of Dad taking we kids down to the creek to collect ice to make ice-cream. That was in the days before pollution in our neck of the woods! We'd come home and dump the ice and cream in the big old butter churn and take turns churning it till ice-cream was made. This rug is made with a variety of weaves of woolen fabric on a burlap backing. The edges are finished in herringbone stitch with Briggs and Little 3 ply wool, as are most of my rugs.

When I first started rug hooking, I hooked some kits for display and sale for a commercial pattern company. I had a lot of leftover green wool from those kits. This following project was to use up the green wool. The golds and yellows were my first experiment with onion skin dyeing. The design was simple - an upside down rice bowl overlapping itself. This is on burlap as well.

When Gram passed away, we found a couple of commercial rug hooking patterns in her craft box from Rittermere-Hurst-Field. This is one I completed. It is a hot pad on burlap with fine cut wool (#3).

This pillow design came from a friend, who copied it off a card. I wish I knew the original designer to give him or her credit, but I do not. Once again, I was using up leftover wools from other projects. It, too, is done on burlap backing with a wide cut wool (#6-#8). I like wider cut wools.

A pillow needed recovering, so this was my solution.

I went to a rug camp and took a class in Azeri rug making. Azeri rugs originated in Turkey. The art and craft of rug weaving is disappearing there, along with a way of life. Archeologists and sociologists who went into the area recognized this. In an effort to etch the lifestyle in people's history an Oriental rug import company in the U.S. suggested rug weavers make rugs depicting their life. Beautiful woven rugs telling stories of people's lives came to their doorstep.

Traditional rug hookers took the idea and translated it with hooked wool. This is the story of my summer vacation one year. It was designed when I was off medication for about a year. It is not typical of an Azeri, being more chronological than most. All Azeri rugs have an Oriental border and are hooked in straight lines across the rug, as much as possible. This rug was worked on burlap with #3 and #4 cut wool - that is, a fine cut wool. It includes a fair bit of beadwork and has a fringe of silk, rayon, cotton and wool yarns and threads, mixed with beads. This rug invovled a fair bit of design time.

This rug was started by my original rug hooking teacher. She had completed the flowers in the center, but was too old to finish and had to give it all up to move into a senior's home. She passed it, along with all her other rug hooking supplies, onto me. I, in turn, finished this to give to her daughter. It is a commercial pattern, but I'm not sure where from.

And this is my current project, which is very slow in progressing. It is an original design done on medication. It was extremely difficult. I find if I only work in black and white, with pencil or ink, I can design easier. I also find my designs have to be kept simple. I simply cannot get the nuances I used to. I guess it's been sitting on the floor frame so long because, well, I really don't like it and can't figure out how to handle the background. Things like that used to be easy. Now I can't even concentrate on them or think that way. It is very frustrating, and I just don't want to waste my time staring at it without a clue what to do!

 

To be continued...

I have few pieces of stitchwork for the time between 18 and 24 years old. I was too busy living life, going to university, and getting married! But one piece I worked on during the time I was 22-23 is this first attempt at crewel embroidery.

I followed it with a Norman Rockwell crewel embroidery piece of the doctor checking the little girl's dolly's heart.

At university I did the unthinkable. I balked against a science degree and, without my father knowing, switched to an arts degree in my second year. I took first year fine art courses, and loved it! I learned a lot, and discovered I actually had talent after all...with good instruction.

But still, I was concerned about that future career. I chose to try for landscape architecture, a program not offered by my home university. I felt it would be a good mix of art and science...a way to keep Dad happy as well as me. In the end, I did not get into the program I wanted, so I went back to finish my original degree, a bachelor of arts, and met Paul. The rest is history.

One of the things marriage did for me was release me from my father's anti-artist stance. At the time, it was all I could do to go to work and keep house. I remember sketching the rooftops of downtown Halifax during my breaks and lunches, just to stay sane!

We had moved to Paul's new job just before I became pregnant. No one was hiring pregnant women. This turned out to be a blessing. It allowed me to take classes in various art forms to see what I liked. I took pottery classes for the first time. I decided to try painting classes again, with better success. I took sewing classes from a professional seamstress. I only did a few pieces of stitchwork when the children were small. One is this sample of Swedish weaving I did on a skirt for my then 2 year old daughter, Lisa.

To be continued...

Somewhere in my teen years I was introduced to needlepoint – using basic continental stitch to create pictures on cloth. I was quite enamoured with this technique and did a few little pieces in it. Here are some samples.

To be continued...