The Road to Recovery – Part 2: Hospitalization

 

To be honest, I don’t think I can top my last post. I couldn’t be more honest than I was in that post. And sometimes, honesty has to be tactful. I don’t want to embarrass anyone other than myself with these, so this story will be told largely through other people’s words and art. It’s not for me to give away the secrets of others. I can only give away my own, if I choose.

Please love one another for me. ❤

dancinggirl

 

 

 

 

 

 

~ Kasani ❤

 

The Road to Recovery – Part 1: Just Another Manic Christmas…

Edit: This was scheduled to be posted on April 1st at 7am but the post never showed up so now I have to re-write it. Guess that makes me an April Fool for trusting technology…

Before I say anything else, can I just wish all my readers a happy, glorious Easter? Regardless of whether or not you’re reading this on Easter morning when I’m posting it, or years later. If you’re a Christian, every day should be Easter for you. Christ is alive, doncha know? ❤

This will be a three-part series. I mentioned in a post about a month ago that I would explain what all has been going on in my life, so this is it. In part 1, I’ll explain what happened over Christmas/New Years, in Part 2 I’ll explain how I got hospitalized, and in part 3 I’ll discuss my plans moving forward. This has easily been the most traumatic year of my life so far, but it’s also been the most freeing and validating. I’m a little nervous to see what the upcoming weeks will bring, but I’m also excited. What I’ve experienced in the past 5 months has been nothing short of miraculous on many levels.

So let’s get started, shall we?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My last big post last year was entitled “Embracing the Cross – Part 4: Building a Personal Relationship with God.” In that excessively long post I assigned us all some homework. I am now here to tell you that I failed all of that homework, through no intentional fault of my own.

Don’t ever tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humour. He does.

Overachieving is not always a good thing. Especially if you are trying to overachieve in something God didn’t make you to do.

“If you are what God made you to be, you will set the world ablaze.” ~ St Catherine of Siena.

As many of you already know, my real name is Catherine. I have many patron saints, all of whom used to intimidate me half to death. St. Catherine of Siena had direct conversations with God the Father. St. Catherine of Genoa got to visit purgatory in-person on multiple occasions. St. Catherine of Alexandria got gang-raped and killed for refusing to obey her human father. I was always partial to St. Catherine of Sweden. All she did was talk her fiance into taking a vow of virginity so they could live together chastely like Mary and Joseph (Jesus’ parents).

I think the thing that always terrified me more than anything else, though, was that nearly all my patron saints were nuns. Now, I myself am not called to be a nun. Trust me. I asked God. He told me so. But a few years back I had a priest jokingly tell me that God had told him that I would become a nun someday. I wish he hadn’t said that, because it put me into a lot of spiritual turmoil for a very long time. The thing is, everyone is called to be a saint, but not everyone is called to religious vows. Marriage is an equal calling to the priesthood or religious life. It isn’t inferior. It’s harder. That’s why St. Paul recommends to people that they stay single. It’s easier to be saintly when you aren’t living with another human being and trying to raise children. But who ever said Christianity was supposed to be easy? Certainly not Jesus…

My two favourite saints of all time (next to my mother Mary of course), are St Therese of Lisieux and St Joan of Arc. I will probably do posts about each of them at some point. On the surface, they don’t seem to have much in common. St. Therese knew God was calling her to be a nun at a young age and so she moved heaven and earth to enter a nunnery at age 15, despite everyone (except her dad) trying to stop her. And she succeeded. Eventually she died of tuberculosis at age 24, but not before writing a beautiful story about the art of trusting God (click here for the free audiobook).

St. Joan of Arc began receiving visions of angels and saints when she was a young teen and God raised her up to become the youngest Commander and Chief of France in history (she was 17 years old, and had had no prior training in anything because she was a poor peasant girl). She led France’s armies to victory against the English over and over again despite overwhelming odds and placed a crown on the head of the rightful king, just as she’d promised she would. She was rewarded for her service by being abandoned to her enemies in the hour of her greatest need and burned to death by the Church that she so dearly loved and valiantly served at the age of 19. Mark Twain wrote a fantastic book about her that you can find the free audio recording of here.

What did these two young women have in common? They trusted God completely and were willing to risk everything for him, even their own lives and reputations. So if you’re a Christian, let me ask you something:

What have you risked for God today?

I’ve already risked everything I have for him: my life, my loved ones, my reputation. I’ve been physically slapped across the face, hand-cuffed twice, drugged against my will and shipped off to a mental hospital in a straight-jacket in the back of an ambulance, all because nobody was willing to believe my repeated, calm, ruthlessly rational explanations that I was fine and didn’t need this sort of treatment. That I wasn’t planning to hurt myself or anyone else. That I didn’t need taking care-of. That I wasn’t crazy. That the only label you can truly slap on me from the time I was a small kid is that I’m a goody-two-shoes.

Yes. Kasani Zanetti was at a psych ward this year. Does that make me crazy? I don’t know. You’ll have to decide for yourself. What I do know is that I was terrified the first two days that I was there because it was a mixed-gender ward and I was afraid of the other patients (the last time I was in a psych ward at age 16, I was too innocently naive to be scared of the other patients).

Then I began to realize something.

There wasn’t anything different between me and the other patients, except that they had a whole host of life-problems I didn’t have.

I didn’t meet a bunch of crazy people. I met an anxious, homesick single mother who was ashamed to be attending group therapy at a mental hospital while her own mother looked after her baby boy at home. I met a pregnant mother, no older than myself, with a physically abusive husband at home taking care of their two other young children. I met a young, overweight native man in a wheelchair because he’d lost his temper and kicked something so hard it broke his leg. I met a teenage girl who wants to become a singer/songwriter, who joked about Monty Python and was brave enough to admit in group therapy that she was there voluntarily because she was struggling with self-harm.

And those are just the patients. Don’t even get me started on the staff.

I went to a mental hospital, and guess what? I met a bunch of fellow human beings who had various labels stuck to them but their real problems weren’t “mental” problems. They were “life” problems. And the doctors still tried to screw me over and act like they knew better than me. Fortunately, I’ve done my research and am smarter than anyone ever gives me credit for.

Yes, I can take care of myself. No, I don’t need medications to do it.

Christmas was an immensely powerful time for me. I had a re-conversion experience in which I gave my life to God completely, again. I was surrounded by friends and family and overwhelmed by the beautiful, generous gifts I received from them.

joan of arc present
The St. Joan of Arc statue me dad got for me from the EWTN religious catalogue.

My dear friend Penelope down in the U.S made me these posters and mailed them to me.

My Light…

The above picture is of my two original characters, Muir and Althea, sprites from my fantasy novel that I’m currently working on. Muir was originally Penelope’s character, Mordred, from her authorian fantasy that she’s working on,  but we thought he would make a cute pairing with my main character. So then I loaned her my main character in return and she named her Anya. (See below picture)

…and My Dark

I had already been working on a Mordred-inspired piano composition last fall but the immense gratitude I felt for all the gifts, combined with inspiration from the bible (See Mary’s canticle in the first chapter of the Gospel of Luke) helped me finish this composition early in 2018.

 

 

 

 

 

Penelope and I are teaming up as artists and pooling our resources (our fan-bases) so we can launch out into the great not-so-unknown and become published authors. Penelope already has an online business doing commissions, so if you ever need any art done, please, please check her out. She is fantastic, and you can find her Patreon page here: P.J. Manley’s Patreon Page.

 

 

 

As for me. I will continue writing blog posts, making YouTube videos, and living my life. I refuse to let other people tell me what to do any longer. I will take respectful advice but I won’t necessarily follow it unless I agree with it. If you’re interested in my Patreon page you can find it here.

Thank you all so much for being who you are. ❤ You can read part 2 here.

 

Until next time, take care and God bless!

Kasani

 

 

The Sorrowful Mysteries – Part 5: The Carrying of the Cross

In the last post we took a look at Jesus’ Crowning with Thorns and how it ties into our mental illness discussion. Now we’ve reached the Fourth Sorrowful Mystery. This particular mystery has quite a lot to unpack. Realistically I could devote an entire series of blog posts just to this one passage of scripture, but for the purpose of our current series, I’ll try to make it more concise.

If you missed Part 1, I recommend you check it out to get an understanding of why I’m writing these posts in the first place.

As with the Scourging at the Pillar, the Gospels don’t spend a lot of time dwelling on Jesus’ trip from Pontius Pilate to Calvary. Mathew and Mark only state that Simon the Cyrenian was forced to carry the cross for him (Matthew 27:32, Mark 15:21). Luke adds the bit about Jesus pausing to address the weeping women (Luke 23:27-30). John fails to mention any of the above. The Stations of the Cross, a tradition that allows a person to meditate on certain aspects of Christ’s Passion, provides a lot more detail about this journey. There are usually 14 stations, and the are as follows:

  1. Jesus is condemned to death
  2. Jesus willingly takes up His cross
  3. Jesus falls for the first time
  4. Jesus meets His Blessed Mother
  5. Simon the Cyrene helps Jesus carry His cross
  6. Veronica wipes the Holy Face of Jesus
  7. Jesus falls for the second time
  8. Jesus comforts the Women of Jerusalem
  9. Jesus falls for the third time
  10. Jesus is stripped of His garments
  11. Jesus is nailed to the cross
  12. Jesus dies on the cross
  13. Jesus is taken down from the cross
  14. Jesus is laid in the tomb

Sometimes a 15th station is included that recounts Jesus’ resurrection as well. For the purposes of this post, we’ll be discussing stations 2-9, though not necessarily in that precise order. We dealt with station 1 previously, and we’ll deal with the final stations in the next post.

Firstly, lets start with some context. Jesus has been through severe emotional torture in the Agony, betrayal by his loved ones, extreme physical torture in the Scourging, and utter humiliation in the Crowning with Thorns. He is covered with deep, bleeding wounds, dust, and spit. He’s weak from lack of food and rest, not to mention blood loss. It’s just been one thing after another, and it’s only going to get worse.

Does that last sentence ring a bell? I know it does for me.

Now a heavy piece of wood is dropped onto Jesus’ shoulders–his bruised, mostly shredded shoulders. Does he deserve this? No. In fact, he’s the only person in existence who doesn’t deserve anything of the sort. It isn’t his fault humanity messed itself up so badly. But he willingly accepts his cross, nevertheless, because it is his Father’s will.  Can we say the same for our own crosses? Of course, we aren’t innocent like Jesus was. We’re sinners. But did we personally do something so horrendous that we were cursed with our mental illnesses as retribution? Probably not. And even if we had done something horrible, God doesn’t go around dealing out punishments. But He does allow us to have our illnesses for a purpose, even though we might not have a clue what that purpose is at the moment. The weight of such a cross tends to provoke thoughts of “Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this?” I don’t have answers to either of those questions, although I’ve asked them myself in the past. All I can say is that Jesus fully understands that feeling far better than any of us ever will.

Jesus, shaking from pain and exhaustion, stumbles, and the weight of the cross drives him to the ground. As his body hits the earth, the heavy cross lands squarely on his back, compounding the pain of his countless injuries. Every inch of his body throbs, his limbs ache with exhaustion. But he hasn’t given up. He tries to gather his strength to get back to his feet, but he isn’t fast enough for the guards. He is kicked and hauled roughly up, then shoved down the road again.

Sometimes mental illness feels like an endless treadmill of misery. You go for days putting one foot in front of the other, struggling to think, struggling to focus, sometimes struggling just to breathe in and breathe out. You raise your head to look down the tunnel you’re in and you can’t see any light at the end of it. You do everything you can to try and pull yourself together and make things work. And sometimes you fail. You hit the ground hard, and you don’t know if you have the strength, let alone the will, to get up again. But you do. You don’t have any other choice. So you get back up and keep walking, even though you don’t see how things are ever going to get better again.

Jesus fell three times on that journey. Three times his legs give out; his horrific injuries slam against the earth and the stones. Each time it’s more difficult than the last to get back to his feet again. And to what purpose? There is nothing good waiting in his future. When he reaches his destination, he isn’t going to be relieved of his burden. He’s going to be nailed to the cross and left to die. He more than understands the feeling of having no light to look forward to at the end of the tunnel.

Partway through this journey, Jesus meets his mother. Can you imagine what she must have felt, seeing her only son in such a condition, with such a fate awaiting him? She is completely helpless. She can do nothing to intervene or save him. She cannot shield him from the abuse of the guards, or make his journey any easier. She stands in the place of every person who has ever had to watch a loved one suffer, unable to aid the afflicted person in any way, shape or form. She feels his pain as if it’s her own.

Anyone who has been in that sort of position can testify to the misery of it. I doubt anyone can feel more helpless than someone forced to stand by while mental illness consumes a loved one. As the person you know and love begins to disappear beneath the symptoms, or the mind-numbing side-effects of medication. Or to know your loved one is struggling with suicidal impulses that they might not be able to curb. But there’s a whole other side to the story. Jesus can see the pain he’s causing his mother. He knows its his fault that she is suffering to such an extent, even though it isn’t his fault that he’s in the position that he’s in. That’s something many mentally ill individuals can understand perfectly well. The added guilt of knowing your loved ones are worried sick, and being unable to do anything fix it.

Partway along this journey to death, Jesus becomes physically incapable  of carrying his cross any farther. The guards are faced with the prospect of him dying before he even reaches the place where he is to be crucified. That’s unacceptable. They seize a bystander and press the man into service, forcing him to carry Jesus’ burden.

There are several things about this particular station that ring true when it comes to mental illness. First, the feeling of being incapable of taking care of yourself. Being unable to handle ordinary burdens while you’re in the midst of an episode. Or being unable to bear the burden of the illness itself. Other people are forced to step in and do the work that you’re unable to complete, or take time out of their lives to look after you. Sometimes these people do so willingly out of the goodness of their hearts. But sometimes, they resent you for it. They’re being forced to deal with something that isn’t their responsibility because you’ve proven incapable. It’s humiliating and guilt inducing. But there is another side to this station. Jesus’ Father knew he would be unable to complete the journey without assistance. A provision was made for that. Whether Simon was willing or not, he wound up being there to unknowingly assist the Savior of mankind. Even though He had to allow his son to go through that brutal experience, He didn’t abandon him. He made sure Jesus would be able to complete his mission. And He will do the same for us.

Along the same vein, Veronica arrives. She breaks past the guards and has to opportunity to wipe clean Jesus’ face. Did that do much practical good? Probably not. But it likely meant more on an emotional level than we’ll ever realize. In the face of such cruelty from the very humans he’s dying to save, there is someone who willingly reaches out to him, makes a conscious effort to comfort him even though she knows there is little she can do. This moment of compassion and solidarity offers him encouragement to press forward and do what needs doing.

Have you encountered any Veronicas in your life? Sometimes they are hard to come by, but sometimes they walk into your life precisely when you need them. A well timed comment or gesture of affection can have an enormous impact. It’s hard to tear our gazes off ourselves when we’re in the midst of misery, but have you ever considered being a Veronica for someone else? Sometimes a suffering person can comfort a fellow sufferer far more than anyone else can.

Finally, we come to the women of Jerusalem. Was it helpful to Jesus to have a group of them trailing after him wailing? It’s hard to say. There is the fact that they were there for him, that they were against his unjust condemnation and cared enough to become distraught. Sometimes its comforting when people are outraged and upset about something on your behalf. But sometimes it’s just frustrating. I can’t say one way or another what sort of impact it had on Jesus, but he can certainly understand what it’s like to have the people that care about you (to some degree or another) bewailing your condition. In the case of mental illness, it really isn’t a helpful response. It can be bewildering, and downright annoying, when other people are more upset about your illness than you are, especially when you’re newly diagnosed. “I’m the one with the disease, here. What reason do you have to be so freaked out?” Not everyone encounters this problem, but some people do. Jesus understands.

This brings us to the end of the Fourth Sorrowful Mystery. Tomorrow is Good Friday. Jesus will reach the end of his journey to the cross and give up his life to save mankind. In the final part of this series, we’ll examine the how the Fifth Sorrowful Mystery, The Crucifixion, fits into our discussion of mental illness.

Until then, take care and God bless!

Kasani

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Sorrowful Mysteries – Part 1: Christ’s Intimate Understanding of the Pains of Mental Illness

This is, perhaps, a rather somber post to strike off the new year. Discussing Christ’s passion and death on the cross might seem painfully out of place amidst the joy and splendor of Christmas (a season celebrated by the Church in the weeks following that beautiful day, rather than the weeks prior to it). But let’s face it: the season is not always a happy one. Many people have painful memories, disappointments, and resentments attached to this time of year. I admit that my Christmas this year was peaceful and pleasant—something I thank God for. But I understand what it’s like to be in the throws of depression on Christmas. I’ve been there. I also understand what it’s like to be stuck in a psych ward on Christmas. I’ve been there too. Mental illness does not go on hold for the holidays and leave us alone. If anything, the Christmas holidays make it worse because of the stress and bustle and drama associated with them (not to mention the fact that winter is often a difficult time for people with mental illnesses to begin with). But there’s something we need to understand about this season that might act as a balm for some of our suffering:

Christmas isn’t about celebrations with friends and family, gifts, or good cheer. The meaning of Christmas, the truth that is so often smothered by our tacky secular celebrations, is that Christ took on flesh and came down to join us in our misery. He came down to experience our pain, our sorrow, our grief and distress. He came down to suffer and die for our sins. And he did this out of love. So if you did not have a happy Christmas, don’t feel that it was somehow a failure. Christmas isn’t about happiness. It’s about love: a love that reaches down into the depths of darkness and despair to be with the beloved, whatever the cost. Christ is with you, and he’s not going anywhere. He’ll be here every step of the way this year, whatever it brings.

This series of posts will be an examination of the 5 Sorrowful Mysteries of the rosary and how they apply to mental illness. Before my protestant readers run away screaming, rest assured that a rosary “mystery” is simply a meditation on a part of scripture–the same scripture you read in your bibles. It hasn’t been tampered with or altered in any shape or form. The Sorrowful Mysteries are a meditation on Christ’s Passion and death. The mysteries include:

Now, I could have brought these pieces of scripture up without mentioning the rosary at all. But the fact that I meditate on these parts of Jesus’ life every Tuesday and Friday via the rosary has helped me to understand how they are applicable to me on a personal level because of my mental illness, and how they are applicable to all sufferers of mental illness. The repetition has helped me grasp things that probably wouldn’t have sunk in otherwise.

Why am I bringing this topic up in the first place? I want to address an issue I found myself running into for quite a while after my diagnosis, because I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s come up against it. It goes something like this:

Christ came down to earth to be with us in our suffering, and thus He understands it on an personal level.  As St. Paul explains in his letter to the Hebrews:

“He had to become like his brothers in every way, that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest before God to expiate the sins of the people. Because he himself was tested through what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested.” Hebrews 2:17

And later on in the letter:

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has similarly been tested in every way, yet without sin. So let us confidently approach the throne of grace to receive mercy and find grace for timely help.” Hebrews 4:15

I had always found these passages to be comforting, but after going through the experiences brought on by my disorder, I began to have doubts. Of course Christ suffered. But He wasn’t mentally ill. He didn’t have schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, or any of the other numerous diseases that affect the mind. Of course, He’s God and therefore must fully understand everything in creation. But can it truly be said that He understands the suffering I experience from my illness at a personal level? How can it be said that He was “tested in every way” when He didn’t have a mental illness to battle?

This objection may sound absurd to some people, and rest assured it’s no longer something that troubles me. After all, Christ lives in me, right now, all the time. He experiences my pain and suffering every moment that I’m alive. It took a while for that to dawn on me. But setting that aside, the reality is He did experience the type of anguish brought on by mental illness during His life on earth, on all its varied levels. It’s plain to see, but for some reason terribly easy to overlook. As we take a look at each of the mysteries I listed above, as well as a few other scenes from the Gospels, I think you’ll understand what I’m getting at.

I tackle the First Sorrowful Mystery in Part 2.

Take care and God bless,

Kasani