Amy Is Feeling Scared

This blog was inspired by this post that came up in today’s Facebook memories from July 11, 2017:

Amy Frank-Artist is 😨 feeling scared

“I've been on a medication called Abilify for a while, and in the last eight months I've started to develop Parkinson's like symptoms. My psychiatrist has done some neurological exams and has assessed that it's not Parkinson's, but a side-effect of the Abilify (which can become permanent). He has started to wean me off of it. Unfortunately and apparently, coming off a pharmaceutical can cause the same side-effects (or withdrawal symptoms) as going on the medication. Some days the tremors are minimal while other days I shake severely. My psychiatrist wants to give me Cogentin to help the shaking, but I don't want any more pharmaceuticals!!! I'm so sick of the pharmaceutical industry, pushing a second drug to help the effects of the first drug, then they offer a third drug to help the side effects of the second drug. That is a cycle I've been on before.

Are there any natural things I can try?? If anyone knows of anything, please let me know!!! So far the shaking is mostly in my left hand and arm, and my whole body is stiff. But my right hand is beginning to shake too and I'm very scared that I won't be able to draw. 😰”

NEW BLOG: Amy Is Feeling Scared

This was a painful memory. I feel the medical system unintentionally traded my physical health for my mental, but in the end they claimed both. It was very hard for me to feel emotionally and mentally well when I was struggling with medication side effects such as obesity and Parkinsonism (amongst the many other neurological, physical, psychological, and emotional side effects that I experienced over the 20+ years that I took psychiatric medications). Of course I didn’t want to leave my house when I was overweight and struggling with motor control. That’s a natural reaction to those experiences. Instead, I was prescribed more medications. Medications for anxiety. Medications for the side effects of other medications. It became a vicious cycle that never got to the root of the problem because the root cause wasn’t my brain chemistry.

Nobody looked at my internal or external environment. What was I eating? Food is the building blocks of our bodies. It affects every physical part of us including our brains and our emotional experiences (have you ever heard of a sugar high?)

How was past trauma, my attachment style, my conflict style — my relationships with other people — impacting my emotional and mental wellbeing? I’m a highly sensitive person. What about my addictions? How were they impacting me and what was impacting them?

We’re a communal species. The relationships we have with other people are amongst the most stressful and rewarding parts of our lives. I’d never been given the skills to understand, to communicate, nor navigate my emotional experiences let alone how to engage in conflict and disagreements in a productive way (I’m still learning these things).

It’s been challenging to heal as a mental health advocate. My life and advocacy were originally built (unknowingly at that time) around people pleasing and fawning because I didn’t want to hurt anyone—ever. As I’ve healed I’ve learned that it’s just not possible. I can’t actually exist in this world without accidentally hurting or offending someone. None of us can. Hearing “no” can hurt. Someone expressing a boundary can hurt. Someone speaking up that they felt hurt by X, Y, Z can feel like a judgement or criticism, which can hurt. Someone can feel hurt by the mere presence of another person as it might stir up feelings of insecurity or inadequacy.

I don’t think people who wish to be famous have put much thought into what fame entails. There’s a dark side of being in the public eye. There’s harassment and projection—it’s easy to target people who are in the spotlight. Celebrities, politicians—so many have come to learn this painful lesson.

Once I started saying “I matter too”, I started getting labeled as selfish. And that’s been my lesson: How to love myself even when others don’t. How to feel happy and okay inside even if someone else feels hurt by me. How to validate myself and hold my own sense of internal worth even if no one reacts or comments on a vulnerable blog I posted. This goes against my very nature, but fortunately I am learning. I feel grateful for AA as it’s helping me unlearn some of the painful lessons I feel that the mental health community wrongly bestowed upon me. Lessons like that the emotional experiences of other adults were my responsibility. I used to advocate in this way as well, where now I understand that I can have compassion and understanding for why someone may act in the way they do and still not tolerate that behaviour. That it’s harmful to be in be in a relationship where either person feels as if they need to constantly walk on eggshells (whether that’s at a personal or a societal level).

And, I acknowledge that I, too, am not perfect. That I, too, project. I, too, get triggered. I, too, say thoughtless things and tell tasteless jokes. I, too, am learning. In five years the things I’m saying right now might not resonate anymore. I don’t know as I’m not there yet. Life is an endless journey of lessons and growth. I’m continuously working on healing my trauma as I know it impacts me and my relationships with others. I’m working on discernment: What’s mine to own versus what’s someone else’s.

For years my advocacy has focused on kindness and it still does. Kindness and Niceness are not the same thing, however. Kindness will tell the truth even if that truth hurts because it genuinely cares about the other person. Niceness lies. It appeases, even if that lie and appeasement cause long term harm or suffering. I feel afraid to post about kindness sometimes because I know that there are people out there who feel hurt by me, who don’t think I’m kind at all—who think everything I do and say is one big facade I’m using to trick people. I feel like a sitting duck because I’m so public and what I share is so vulnerable—anybody can look me up. People can gossip and project all they want and I’m trying to learn that I have to be okay with that.

At the age of 18, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I don’t feel I’ve been wrongly diagnosed, I feel the way our society views mental illness and addiction is wrong—That our society itself is deeply unwell. That depression, anxiety, ADHD, and many other emotional and mental struggles including addiction (which extends far beyond drug and alcohol use) are natural reactions to the current state of our world.

I’ve publicly come off of psychiatric medications. Although there is a growing movement of patients, doctors, and scientists challenging the pharmaceutical industry and the mainstream narrative on the brain chemistry model, for most people hearing of someone that’s come off of psychiatric medications and is actually doing well is still unheard of. I know that because of that, because of how public I am, that the lens people view me through is going to be harsher than if I didn’t have that diagnosis and I weren’t so public in my healing journey. I don’t feel I get to muck up in the same way that others can because I have to assume, at all times, that any emotional reaction I have will be viewed through a lens of pathology. Every text. Every email. Every public comment. And I’m doing it, I’m regulated and have learned to surf my massive emotional experiences (not suppress, not avoid—surf) and it’s hard!!! Whoo! It’s like emotional weightlifting which I’ve learned is not nearly as fun as the physical kind. 🏋️‍♀️ 😅

Now that I am where I am, and I’ve learned what I’ve learned, I’ve become much more guarded of my time, energy, and who I let in. I know now that my relationships with other people, especially my close relationships (be it in friendship or romance), can break or build me. For me, no relationship is worth risking my mental health for. I take red flags seriously. Every once in a while I override my intuition and I find myself in a situation where I’m being pulled back onto that chaotic emotional rollercoaster. In those moments I’m reminded that for me, this is life or death. That an unhealthy close connection of any kind can be the difference between emotional and mental stability or being medicated and hospitalized like I once was.

In life it seems we often repeat the same cycle or pattern until we say no—until we stop, or we change something. That the same lessons will occur in various ways or various faces until we learn what the lesson came here to teach us.

As I heal I acknowledge that I’ve flipped from codependency to hyper-independence. I know that this, too, is a trauma response. I know that we all need other people in our lives, myself included. I know that as I heal I need emotionally and mentally healthy people around me so that I can continue to support others who are still in a place of active addiction and struggle.

This means that I have to be discerning. I have to be judgmental. I have to assess new relationships for markers of safety such as self-awareness, personal accountability, and long term patterns that show consistency in these behaviours. I’m learning (which for this intense little individual has been tough!) that healthy connections take time to build.

I look forward to continuing to build healthy connections with those who are further along in their recovery, who are doing the work, walking the walk, and are actively taking accountability of their role in things, as I too am working on, so that I can continue to support others who are still in a place of active struggle. And, I look forward to continuing to heal my trauma as well. I have found a new therapist so I look forward, in time, to exploring EMDR.

Thank you to all those who take the time to read my blogs (whether you comment, react, or not). ❤️

Huge Hugs and Much Love,

~Amy

Ps. The Parkinsonism did reach a point where I struggled to draw. When I was in the psych ward in December 2020, they kept me so sedated that at one point I was drooling on my art. I know now that this wasn’t for my wellbeing—as my words and my experiences of what was going on meant absolutely nothing to them—it was to make me manageable.