Let me start with a picture since it seems my creativeness is becoming saturated in this blog.
Meet Alexander Fraser Born 1878, my great great grandfather. A strong tall Scottish man. He fought it the boar war when he still lived in Scotland for five years not an easy war at all to survive at all I cannot determine if he was in South Africa or India. Either way surviving for five years as a volunteer (yeomanry) Calvary member is simply a testimony to the fact he was a Scottish warrior, he was a warrior.
It's funny how this conversation happened with my mother.
Me: "I was told he wasn't a very emotional man"
Mom: "He was a warrior, and that was who he was"
In 1914 he took his family and came here to Canada. and enlisted in WW1 in which he sustained a bullet injury which left Sharpnel in his body. He did NOT die during the events of WW1 but came home and continued to slowly die.
The man was digging a ditch when pain over came him and he was rushed to hospital where he died.
Digging a ditch.
When I was told this piece of information my star trek nerd-ism kicked in and my line of thought went "he deserved to die a different death, he should have died in battle a warrior like he was in battle"
Like a klingon from the Star Trek series he should have died with honor
And than I remembered not all battles are fought in a battle field.
Alexander Fraser died honorably and I refuse to believe other wise.
You see he was always poor in Scotland and here in Canada. He was fighting a battle. He was fighting to provide for his family. A family that may have been put off by the affects of war. Because I imagine mental health wise this man would have had many battles. He provided for his family and his quiet stern nature I like to imagine in my head was his way of protecting himself from fear of loss and from letting others know his strong warrior heart had been scarred by all that he had witnessed in war.
In many ways I relate to this man, and I feel strong knowing I descended from such a strong warrior that his blood runs through my veins.
You see I am fighting my own battle with mental health.
Yup I said that word "mental Health".
I am fighting an enemy I know yet don't.
You see I was never properly diagnosed with depression.
I walked into a clinic saw a doctor, told him how I was feeling and he wrote me prescription for a anti-depressant. Without sending me to a psychiatrist (which I had seen as a child that's a conversation for another day). And I have been taking it blindly for about four years. And still suffering for it.
I am learning more about my inner demons recognizing the effect it has on me and what it does to me. and am now in the process of trying to get properly diagnosed on all ends of things. and that is not easy. I LIVE in a rural area where quality of care is minimal and as soon as I turned 19 years old three years old services for people with my level of disability went POOF.
Because I do have co-occurring disabilities you often have to acknowledge the symptoms of one in a medical setting and try and isolate the specific thing you need to deal with, most medical professionals aren't interested in this what so ever. Who wants to deal with a 21 year old adult sobbing and having an anxiety attack to deal with something completely unrelated physical symptom? NOT many.
Is there such a thing as not-disabled enough. Some days it feels like that. Honestly my level of functioning in different areas is higher and than lower than others. I work a full time job and outside of that job which I am very good at my functionally slowly regresses.
I am terribly smart. YES. To the point where it is the most unhelpful thing. NO one cares how much you know about WW2 when you can't remember to make your own bed or shower on a regular basis.
Neither does any 21 year old want to admit they aren't all at the same level as their peers yet, but I KNOW I'm not.
But I am good at other things. I
I like to think I am descend from warriors
and as I fight to find a place to be assessed, fight the lack of coverage and money to be assessed by someone who is kind and compassionate. As I face the reality that this is much more than depression and as the severity of my anxiety challenges me.
I KNOW I have strong roots. and that I to am going to fight and like my ancestor I will survive.
So my distraction has definitely been a lesson in humility and strength.
Love,
Jess the Brave
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