Category: Uncategorized

The holidays are both joyful and sad

by Amy Gamble, posted in Uncategorized

When I think of the holidays, I’m reminded of all the large family gatherings with lots of traditional fixings, laughter and cheer. Leading up to the big day, I remember the smell of cookies baking in the oven, while I sang along with my sister at the piano playing our favorite Christmas tunes.

A little over a week before Christmas my family would get together and celebrate my birthday. Yes, December was always an action packed month, mostly happy times, as it is for many people.

But this year the holiday season is arriving right at a time when two of my family members have passed away within the past few months. Losing a loved one is hard no matter when it happens. Picking up and trying to move forward with life is difficult without tossing in a holiday with so many traditions right in the middle of the early part of a grief process.

I have mixed emotions about the holiday season this year. It’s one of my favorite times of the year, and yet I’ll be without my beautiful mother for the first time in my life. I’m sad she’s not here and I miss her dearly.

And (not but) I still put up some Christmas decorations. At first, it felt strange to put them out and then I realized they made me feel good. The bright colors brought a smile to my face and the holiday music I played in the background reminded me of me good times.

Finding something that makes us feel good or brings some kind of joy during an otherwise sad time, is a reflection of resilience building. It’s taking something that could be overwhelmingly painful and without guilt or judgement, allowing ourselves to feel the happy memories along with the sadness that comes when we know our holiday season will never be the same again.

The ability to hold two opposing views in our minds at the same time is called cognitive dissonance. It’s possible to have joyful memories and deep sorrow all at the same time.

I’ve smiled when I’ve heard a favorite song and cried moments later when I acknowledged the hollow feeling of sorrow. I’ve made myself busy and I’ve sat with my grief. I’ve discovered over the years that feeling a wide range of emotions is one of the best types of self-care I can practice.

On social media I’ve noticed some posts that reminded others this was not a happy time for some. I acknowledge that is true. It made me feel sad for the person who posted it. And then, it made me feel sad for me too.

Sometimes it’s much easier to get locked in the “negative emotions.” Sadness, sorrow, pity, pain, hurt, etc. But there’s also another side to grief. Grief holds joyful memories too. And those joyful memories lift us up and help us get through times when all we want is to have our loved ones back for just one more day.

I can’t say this is an overall happy time for me. I don’t feel happy. But I do feel joyful in the many pleasant memories I have. I also feel sadness for the missing happy birthday voice who will not be singing this year. I feel sorrow for the faces that will be gone from our annual holiday celebration.

The holidays have a way of putting our losses under a microscope. It’s like zooming in on something with a giant sized magnifying glass. I’ve challenged myself to allow a wide range of emotions and to focus on not only the hole in my heart, but the many blessings I’m fortunate to have…the friends, acquaintances, family members who are all still here.

I want to wish all my readers a happy holiday season and a big Merry Christmas too! I hope your holidays are joyful, but if you experience sadness, grief or in general are stressed out, know that you’re not alone. Remember you have a foundation of resilience that can help you make it through no matter what emotions pop up.

Amy Gamble
Author and Olympian

Amy gamble

Amy Gamble is a National Award winning Mental Health Advocate. She recently finished her second book, Unsilenced: A Memoir of Healing from Trauma.

Amy’s Author Page

Speaking up for Mental Health

by Amy Gamble, posted in Uncategorized

If you’ve been following my blog for any part of the past 10 years, you know I’ve written mostly about bipolar disorder, recovery and anxiety. One of my struggles I didn’t write much about was PTSD. I always felt like my journey with PTSD was very complicated and honestly there were some taboo topics I didn’t feel comfortable writing about… until this past year.

In January 2023, I began an 11 month journey to write a book about my experiences with mental health challenges. Almost everyday I wrote to finish a manuscript and ultimately had a book available on Amazon called Unsilenced: A Memoir of Healing from Trauma. I found the entire writing process to be unexpectantly be very empowering.

Finally, after all these years, I had spoken up. In my book I write, “My name is Amy Jean Gamble and I will speak my truth.” And that is what I did.

As I began writing I had found a Brene Brown quote that says, “One day you will tell your story of what you went through and it will be someone else’s survival guide.” It’s my hope that the readers know they are not alone and find some comfort in knowing someone else went through some serious stuff as a result of trauma. But in the end, even though so many bad things happened, recovery was real and possible.

Here’s an excerpt from my book: “I had to come to terms with each piece of my past. From the sexual assaults, which wreaked havoc with my life, to the interactions with the criminal justice system and a near death experience. One event was quite a bit to cope with, but layered together, it was a lot to process. I tended to focus on one small piece at a time. Healing and grieving weren’t a linear process. The memories ebbed and flowed. I researched and found many stories of people who had struggled. Their stories shined a light for me that gave me hope I could fully recover too.”

It’s my hope that the stories I share in Unsilenced will give hope to someone else too.

Unsilenced

Unsilenced: A Memoir of Healing from Trauma is a deeply moving story of one woman’s journey through trauma’s unexpected, devastating effects and her ultimate recovery. Amy Gamble’s Story will leave the reader optimistic that even the darkest days can lead to bright outcomes.

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Mindset is a powerful antidote to trauma

by Amy Gamble, posted in Uncategorized

In 1981 the book, When Bad Things Happen to Good People was initially published. Since that time it has sold over four million copies. I think those sales numbers are proof the title resonated with many people. I would say unequivocally that everyone has had something or multiple things that are bad happen to them. Some of us have had multiple adverse childhood experiences and could have easily allowed ourselves to be defined by the traumatic events.

My premise is there is no question bad things happen. However, I can tell you if you’re reading these words then you have survived! This is the more than subtle shift in perhaps a long healing process. 

Revisiting traumatic events in therapy or even when triggered by some reminder can leave us stuck in a victim mode. Acknowledging we are a victim is one thing, but realizing we are a survivor shifts our minds to the fact we are not helpless or weak. We are strong and capable. No matter what we have been through we have in fact survived and in many cases learned how to thrive.

In recent years there’s been a major shift in bringing to the forefront trauma-informed approaches. Whether that’s in the classroom, in a therapy office, a workplace environment or just about anywhere really. The four R’s of a trauma informed approach are: realize, recognize, respond and resist re-traumatization. I believe we can benefit from self-reflection using a trauma-informed approach.

First, realize the prevalence of the trauma experienced. In other words, what was it and how often did some type of trauma occur. Secondly, recognize signs and symptoms we may be experiencing. Trauma effects mental, physical, and spiritual health. Third, have empathy for us. Be kind and gentle with self-talk. Fourth, and this is important, resist re-traumatization. 

The first step in coping with some type of traumatic event is in the acknowledgement of what happened wasn’t good and it probably has had some kind of effect. Recently I had taken a grief writing course (I lost my mother in September). One of the writing prompts was a reflection on where my grief story started. I came to realize my grief story mirrored my trauma history. It was in this very realization that I was better able to cope in the present. It did have an effect on me, making me a little tired and somewhat foggy. But I was able to bounce back quickly. 

When it comes to realizing things from the past which may have been traumatic, my philosophy has evolved into saying “the past is a place to visit, not to stay.” I realize, then I recognize how that trauma may have impacted me in the present. And then I respond, I take actions to move myself toward a different mindset. 

And above all I resist re-traumatizing myself. I’m very particular of what information I expose my brain to. One example is, I stopped watching much of the news. I realized it was so incredibly negative all the time. I simply didn’t want to be doused in the constant stream of fear inducing information. It’s not to say I’m not aware of what’s happening in the world, it simply means I choose not to focus on the many things I have absolutely no control over. I tend to focus on the things I can control, of which are few.

In my soon to be released book, Unsilenced: A Memoir of Healing from Trauma (You can preorder the Kindle version here) I tell my story of how I faced a great deal of trauma and was re-traumatized by therapy itself. In the past, it really frustrated me to know I sought help and the very help I received made my situation and overall life much worse. Even putting me in a life-threatening position on more than one occasion.

But the truth is I’ve come to realize that what helped me move forward in my life was to constantly check-in with what my thoughts were telling me. If I stayed stuck in the past, angry about clear injustices, and frustrated with an unaccountable mental health system, I would essentially keep re-traumatizing myself. Instead, I shifted my focus on how to take what I have learned and experienced and attempt to help others by shedding light on subjects and topics that inform, educate, and hopefully inspire.

Unfortunately, bad things do happen. But if I’m breathing, I have survived. And since I’ve survived, I can thrive. My mindset allows me to do just that. 

I encourage you to increase your awareness and reflect on your experiences with a focus on the fact that you have survived. Be kind to yourself. Shower yourself with empathy. And know that whatever happened to you, you are not alone!

Amy Gamble

Walking in the grief wilderness without a map!

by Amy Gamble, posted in Uncategorized

My grief map is a topographical map of the wilderness, except I left home without it. I don’t think I can re-draw a grief map. I actually feel as if I’m wondering in the wilderness a little lost without a map. Being lost is not foreign to me, because I’ve actually been lost in the wilderness before for a few days. Having had that experience I’m not really frightened of not having a set way to find my way through grief.

I’m comfortable with the idea of wandering. Of not knowing when to turn left or right, east or west, north or south. I’m just walking and going with the flow, as if I was following a stream downward in hopes of finding civilization. 

I’m lonely at times. The grief I feel can overwhelm me, but I manage to compartmentalize. I’m taking one small step at a time, because any faster and I won’t be able to keep the pace and any slower and I’ll feel as if the grief wildnerness is going to swallow me up. I’ve decided the best option is to take one day at a time.

Even though I’m sort of wandering and a little lost, I’m still noticing the beauty in the scenery. As I remember the massively tall beautiful evergreen trees with snow bunched up on the bushy limbs their beauty is like the people I’m meeting along the way in my grief expedition. Their beautiful souls give me hope, just as nature’s beauty gave me hope when I was lost.

Sometimes I doubt myself that I’ll be able to make it to wherever this path is leading me. I feel like I’d be better served with a guide. But I lost my guide to the otherside in September. If she were here I’d feel a whole lot better about walking without a map. But I do draw upon her strength spiritually. I know she’s with me, just as I knew how much she loved me when I was actually literally lost in the wildnerness.

Like many of my experiences I have a tendency to share with other what I learn. Right now, I’d share that I’m not sure grief really does follow any kind of map. I think everyone really has to figure out how to get from here to there…wherever here and there is. 

What I’ve come to learn is that the more I explore grief, the more I find it. Sometimes lurking in the shadows of the past. I ask myself, “Shouldn’t that 30 plus year old loss not bother me today? Why do I still feel pain and sorrow?” And then, I laugh as I answer my own question. “The pain is tolerable. The memory of loss will always be sad. There’s no way to make it happy…to turn it into something it wasn’t.” 

Walking step by step, one day at a time and noticing all the things that make me feel one way or another is helping me heal. Though healing isn’t always linear. It doesn’t matter if I go East, South, North or West, as long as I’m walking I’m surviving. And as in the case when I was acutally lost in the wildnerness, I eventually found other people in the wildnerness who helped me, I’m finding other people now who are helping me navigate the grief process.

As long as I keep moving. I’ll find my way. It may not be easy and the terrain can be treacherous at times, but I’ll draw on my inner strength and the fact that I was loved unconditionally by a woman I called mom. The love will help me survive long enough, until I meet other travelers along my journey.

I can rest peacefully knowing I will be okay. 

Author and Olympian

amy gamble

I’m an author and former Olympian who writes about mental health. Having recently lost my mom, I’m writing my way through grief.

Amy’s Author Page

What’s in my grief garden?

by Amy Gamble, posted in Uncategorized

            My grief garden is plowed in the hills of West Virginia where the windy roads mirror the snake like shape of a rushing creek. I discovered through writing my garden isn’t only one plot, but a multitude of plots with years of grief planted, buried several feet into the ground and fertilized with good ole’ fashion coping mechanisms, some positive and some more on the negative side.

            The more I write every day, the more I’m vigilant about allowing the sun to shine on the seeds that were buried long ago, I’ve begun to see the harvest. In a strange kind of way my mom dying in September was the most powerful fertilizer I could have ever imagined. Her passing allowed all the seeds to break through the ground and began to allow me to pick from the garden.

            As I’m walking in my garden if I’m not careful, I take my shoe and push back a pile of dirt.  over the plant. I never cover the roses that still bloom, even as the summer gives way to the fall. They remind me of when my mother asked me to plant them. We had to try twice because the first knock rose bushes died. The second time around these bushes survived a wicked spring frost. As I see the petals gently blowing in the wind, I’m reminded of how much my mother loved those roses. I can see her smiling, as we sat at the patio, and she raved about their beauty.

            Suddenly, I need to move past the roses because while at first, they brought me great joy, my happy memories lead me down the path of coming to terms with her being gone. As much as I know it’s okay to cry, I just seem to want to limit how much watering I give daily.

            As I walk through my garden, I pick up a green pepper. I bring it in, cut it and take all the annoying seeds out. It makes me happy to have another vegetable, but then I taste it and it’s bitter. I try again, same result. Sometimes things look so beautiful on the outside, but then, well then, the harsh reality sets in. Not everything leads me down the pathway of sweetness, most things end up in the same place. Sweet and yet bitter. Will I ever get to only sweet or will there always be the looming taste of bitterness awaiting me?

            I dig in my garden. In the same way I helped my father dig up potatoes planted in the annual potato patch. They lie less than a foot below the surface. It’s not hard to dig them up…just like it’s not hard to dig up my stories of grief. For a moment I stare off into the distance looking at that potato patch. It was always a happy place for me. It still is. It’s not the garden or what’s planted I’m afraid of, it’s what happens when I pull them out with clumpy, clay dirt and must my get hands dirty.

            I think I just like to keep my hands nice and neat. But the garden requires my hands to be dirty. And that’s what I’m learning about grief. If I want to really explore all that grief has to teach me, I’ve got to roll up my sleeves and not be afraid to go shoulder deep into however far down I need to dig.

             I believe anyone who crosses paths with me in this life will benefit from my grief garden. As I learn I can teach and as I heal, I can help heal. I’ll share the beauty and maybe even share a little of my dirt if needed. 

Author and Olympian

Amy gamble

I’m a former Olympian who loves to write. I write about topics related to mental health. I’m speaking from my heart about the topic of grief as a way to heal. I also want to help normalize the topic, as holding in or ignoring emotions aren’t good for our mental health. 

Amy’s Author Page

The tree of life heals my heart!

by Amy Gamble, posted in Uncategorized

It was spring 2021, as I sat outside on the patio with my mother enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face. 

My mother said, “I want to plant a tree just above the hill. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a great idea. I love trees,” I answered with a great deal of enthusiasm. “What kind of tree do you want?” 

“I like a maple tree. They have beautiful colors in the fall,” she said as her green eyes sparkled with the possibility of seeing her vision through.

And so the maple tree was planted. I cry some tears of joy for the beautiful memory she gave me and tears of sadness for my aching heart that misses her with all my heart. 

The fall season has arrived and the little maple tree’s leaves have turned red and yellow. just as she said it would. I have to stop writing to wipe my river of tears away. I’m so touched by her lasting gifts.

When my mother passed away I decided to plant a tree in her honor. As I scanned through my emails this morning I found the certificate of memory for her tree. I smiled thinking she would be so happy to know there’d be a tree in the forest planted with loving intention. 

A year or so ago I was out west and came upon a store called “Karma Luck.” I went into the store and found a copper made tree of life that was supposed to have been made in Tibet. The little tree with black colored leaves coming out of a white rock is a symbol of the source of life. Legend has it if you put notes under the tree the universe will bring to you what you have asked for. I have since learned many other religions have the tree of life as a symbol representing the source of life or a cycle of life and death itself.

My mother loved that tree of life I gave her so much, she purchased a bedspread that had a pattern of the tree of life. She was a woman of great faith and believed God really does answers prayers. 

About a month after my mom died, I went to church for the first time in a long time. As I sat in the wooden pew I glanced up at the alter. On the right side hanging from the ceiling was a giant white banner with colorful symbols and the lettering which said, “The Tree of Life.” 

I sat amazed and then immediately started to cry. I cried because I couldn’t go home and tell my mom about the tree of life I saw at church. I cried because I felt disappointment and a sense of loss that I didn’t have her to share my news with. I was sad and then I became peaceful knowing that she would have thought my discovery was pretty cool and not ironic at all.

So, there was sort of this theme about trees that brings up a variety of different emotions – sadness, joy, smiles, sorrow, and the pain of loss. And yet, as the summer gives way to the fall and the trees grace us with their beautiful colors, I am reminded that one of the best gifts my mother gave me was planting that maple tree. Because I think she knew anytime anyone saw that tree we’d think of her and her endearing spirit of love we were so fortunate to have.

If all of these elements were in a kaleidoscope, I’d see darkness as I’d feel the sadness wash over me. As I turn the kaleidoscope, I’d see beautiful red, yellow and green colors that represented hope and life and gratefulness. I’d hear the whispering wind blow as it shook the leaves from the trees. And as the sun retreats further away, I’d remember that sunny spring day when the little maple tree was given a place to grow in my backyard. A real live tree of life representing the beauty and spirit of a woman I’ll never forget.  

Author and Olympian

Amy gamble

I’m a former Olympian who loves to write. I write about topics related to mental health. I’m speaking from my heart about the topic of grief as a way to heal. I also want to help normalize the topic, as holding in or ignoring emotions aren’t good for our mental health.

Amy’s Author page

A recipe for my grief soup

by Amy Gamble, posted in Uncategorized

My recipe for grief soup is full of sorrow, a cup of joyful memories, three cups of peaceful silence, a dash of acceptance, a dash of denial and a pound of tears. 

The first element is sorrow which turns into sadness as I pour it into the pot. In a very slow cook, the sadness thickens as the pound of tears gets added to the mix causing it to boil. Then, a moment of steam clearing happens as I turn down the heat and relieve the pressure by taking off the lid. I breathe deeply and allow myself to feel the steam.   

And then as the tears dissolve a joyful memory is added. It goes into the pot and I laugh as I’m reminded that my grief soup doesn’t only contain sorrow, but it also contains joy. My heart is filled up thinking about how long I need to let the joy simmer. When the joy permeates the other elements, I add a dash of acceptance. 

Sometimes when I make the soup I overcook the sorrow and the sadness tastes overwhelming. To balance this out I over correct and add to much denial. Too many dashes of denial blunts the sorrow and makes the pound of tears seem like they are ridiculous to add. Denial is the element that causes a resistance to what is and blocks the flavor of acceptance.

After the joy is added, peaceful silence begins to pull all the elements together. Solidifying each and every element and allowing me to taste all of the ingredients.

If I took my grief to lunch I’d talk about all the elements of joy and sorrow and how they both belong in my grief soup.

Author and Olympian

Amy gamble

Amy is an author, former Olympian and a person recovering from the recent loss of her dear mother. She’s writing for healing and to feel all the feelings. She hopes you’ll find one thing relatable in what she’s sharing.

www.amygambleauthor.com

A Letter from my sixth sense about suicide

by Amy Gamble, posted in Uncategorized

For anyone who may struggle with suicidal thoughts…

Don’t quit. Don’t you dare quit. When you’ve struggled you’ve always made it through. I promise you, you will get back up and be bigger, faster and stronger. Your light was meant to shine for a very long time. Don’t put out your light before you’re called.

Erase the whole idea that giving up is even a possibility. I know it’s hard for you. But taking your own life isn’t a solution. The only thing suicide should be is a thought and never an action. The moment you have those thoughts I want you to think of our conversation. The time when you confided in me how after the first time you wanted to die, literally three years later you walked into Olympic Stadium as a 1988 Olympian. If you die by suicide the ripple effect of all the good you did would be erased.

And that’s what you have to think about. The ripple in the water you want to create. All the people, places and things you want to see and touch. The legacy you want to leave. Don’t cut yourself short, because I know for a fact that things will look better in the morning. The moment you open your eyes and take a breath. Your problems may not go away overnight, but you may look at them a little differently. And if you don’t, talk yourself through another day with the promise that tomorrow will be just a little bit brighter.

So, don’t you quit. Don’t you dare quit. Don’t indulge those dark, toxic thoughts. There is help. There is hope. And most importantly there is love. More love than you can imagine. Open your mind to the possibility and hope that your emotional pain will have a powerful salve.

Believe healing is possible. Time may not heal all wounds, but it sure helps. The more distance you get from a difficult situation the lesser the pain it inflicts.

For your friends who struggle, have them make a mantra for the dark nights and soul less days. In that mantra make sure they tell themselves suicide is not an option.

Every action begins with a thought. Control the thought..control the action. Even impulsive decisions start with a thought. Monitor your thoughts.

Above anything, if your friend is struggling don’t drink a drip of alcohol. It clouds judgement and erases our ability to think rationally. No booze and no pills. Your life depends on it.

I know that apathetic feeling well. A shrug of the shoulders, a tilt of the head and there you have it a desperate notion to just give up.

Don’t do it. Don’t you quit. Tell yourself right now, “I’m not going to quit. I’m going to fight no matter what!”

Life is a precious gift. Hold on to yours gently and remind yourself how worthy and beautiful you are. Things will work out, I promise. Everything always works out.

This is written for suicide prevention month. I am personally not struggling with suicidal thoughts. I’ve written this in hopes of helping someone who might be struggling.

Amy gamble

Amy is an author and former Olympian who writes about mental health. Her second book, “Unsilenced,” will be published in 2024.

www.amygambleauthor.com

My Personal Journey with Psychosis

by Amy Gamble, posted in Uncategorized

into the abyss of mental illness

When I think back in time to that cold day in February 1999, my eyes begin to tear up. The memory of my first episode psychosis is entrenched deep into my psyche. It’s layered with so many complexities, so much stigma and so much hurt. After all these years, I know intellectually it was not my fault that I had a psychotic episode. In the past I contemplated if I was responsible for taking care of myself, I couldn’t help but wonder how I could have let something like that happen to me. The remnants of self-blaming thoughts I finally have broke free from.

I can see myself sitting in the community hospital bed, hoping to get some relief from the overtly painful gynecological symptoms I was feeling. I can feel the shots of demoral sting into the side of my hips. Over five days, every four hours a potent dose of opioids ran through my blood and began to cloud my brain with confusing thoughts not based in reality. Though it was a gradual onset of psychosis, beginning first with paranoid thoughts and escalating into a full blown psychotic episode.

By the time I left the community hospital I had temporary nerve damage from all the shots they had given me. I was basically a victim of poor healthcare with no recourse and at the time no ability to hold my doctor accountable for addicting me to pain medicine and causing life changing onset of a serious mental illness.

My next stop was my first dreadful visit to an aging psych unit. Before being admitted they stripped search me to make sure I wasn’t bringing any drugs onto the unit. Even in my state of mind I found it humiliating. And it was certainly a traumatizing event, given my history with past sexual assaults. I was vulnerable, violated and in no position to stand up for myself. The people responsible for advocating for me were no where in sight. For two nights, I was left alone mortified and trembling all night long in an extreme activation of my stress response system.

Bipolar disorder diagnosis

At the time, my partner and one of my sisters thought it was a good idea to spring me from the hell hole psych unit and drive me two hours away to Johns Hopkins Mood Disorder Clinic. All the sudden everyone was diagnosing me with bipolar disorder. Not taking into account the atrocious amount of opioids that had been put into my body.

While the facility at Johns Hopkins was much newer and cleaner, it was shocking to be given a tour of the dining facility. I remember the huge padlock on the refrigerator door, as I was on a unit for both mood disorders and eating disorders.

Within two days of being on that unit, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, told I was addicted to pain medicine and accused of using steroids. I was given a cocktail of four high dose psychotropic medications, and injected with buprenorphine to treat the withdrawal symptoms.

After five days on that unit, I was released from the hospital. I was confused, not stabilized and completely overwhelmed with the entire situation. What made matters worse was the people in my life were ill-equipped to help me make sense out of what happened to me. There was zero acknowledgment, compassion or even an ounce of grace given to me for all that I had experienced in such a short amount of time. I was left by myself to sort it all out.

Looking back, I’d say it was a kind of cruel abandonment. The kind of thing I’d never do to someone I cared about.

After that cold day in February, my life was forever changed. It was a collision course with a domino effect. Most of which could have been avoided with a certain safety net in place.

Instead, I had to learn how to advocate for myself. I had to learn how to overcome all the trauma inflicted upon me, without any acknowledgement or compassion from others. I had to dig deep and fight back if I was ever going to have a life again.

Sometimes life changes come as unexpected surprises that end up bringing us to a pathway we were meant to be on. Because one way or another I feel as if I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

I would never have chosen this path, but the path chose me. I have a responsibility to advocate for those who have no voice.

In my upcoming book “Unsilenced,” I give a voice to the woman inside of me who wanted to speak her truth. I hope when the book is released you’ll pick up a copy and take a walk down my journey with me. My hope is you’ll become “Unsilenced” too!

Breaking the Silence: A Journey Into Why I Understand Psychosis

by Amy Gamble, posted in Advocacy, Bipolar Disorder, Stigma, Uncategorized

Psychosis is a scary word

June 1984. I arrived back home to West Virginia from Knoxville, after completing my freshman year at the University of Tennessee. It was mid-morning and the phone rang. On the other end of the phone, was my uncle telling me my mother was injured from a fall she took off a thirty foot balcony. “What the hell?” I wondered out loud. All my Uncle said was, “You have to get to the hospital in Baltimore and help your mother.”

I was confused. My mother was over in Baltimore visiting one of my sisters. I knew from talking to my mom on the phone that she seemed somewhat confused. But how could any of this of happened?

After several hours on the road, I found myself standing in front of a psychiatrist. He was raising his voice at me and telling me my mother had a psychotic episode. He said, “You need to convince your mother to sign herself into a psych unit voluntarily or we’ll have to send her to the state institution. You don’t want that do you?” Of course I didn’t want that. I’d seen the 1970’s movie One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest, I was horrified my mother was going to end up on a psych ward like the horrifying one in the movie.

Overwhelmed. Overwhelmed is an understatement to how at 19 years old I was being asked to process so much information at one time. I’ve come to learn that what I experienced was a traumatic event. But I had no idea at the time. So, I did what my instincts told me to do…I wrote down all the words the psychiatrist was spewing out and put them on a yellow legal pad. Psychotic episode. Hallucinations. Manic-depressive illness. Schizophrenia. Psychosis. Psychosis. Psychosis.

There was no google back in 1984. Instead, I took myself to the library and looked up every word on my piece of paper and wrote down the definition. I had to understand intellectually what was happening, but I needed to understand the language first.

All those words were like a foreign language to me. They were scary, “crazy,” words that would begin to come out of my mouth regularly for the remainder of my life.

And that was my first encounter with the words psychotic episode. Honestly, I could have gone an entire life without ever understanding those words. But I didn’t get that choice. We don’t get to choose what illnesses effects ourselves or our loved ones. I simply had to deal with it, because it had become a part of my life. Front and center.

What is a psychotic episode?

A psychotic episode is a period of time when a person has a break from reality. During this time a person may experience significant disturbances in their thoughts, emotions, perceptions and behaviors. Usually it involves hallucinations (see or hearing things that aren’t there) and/or delusions (holding fixed, false beliefs). Psychotic episodes are often associated with mental health conditions like, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder or major depressive disorder. A psychotic episode is a temporary occurrence and can vary in intensity and duration for each person.

My mother had a psychotic episode as a result of bipolar disorder. Although she experienced various symptoms over the years, she had no prior treatment history for mental health, until that dreadful day in Baltimore. In her mind, someone was trying to hurt her, so she ran for the nearest exit. Unfortunately, that exit was off a thirty-foot balcony. And that is how she ended up nearly losing her life.

1984. That is the year I became a mental health advocate, before I ever even knew there was such a term for providing education and support for someone who is experiencing a mental health condition. It meant I was advocating for my mom to get the proper treatment.

Without even realizing what I was doing, I openly faced off the stigma of mental illness by telling people in my life what had happened to my mother. I didn’t talk about it with shame, I spoke about it matter of factly. Some people I told made up stories about me and spread gossip that I was “crazy.” Some had little to no compassion for either my mom, myself or my family. Few people knew what to say. I don’t recall ever hearing, “I’m sorry this happened.”

Because psychosis is a scary word. I’m not afraid of it anymore, because I understand it well.

In my next blog post I’ll explain from my own personal experience what a psychotic episode it like.

Amy gamble

Amy Gamble is a National Award Winning Mental Health Advocate who writes about mental health conditions. Her new book “Unsilenced,” will be released in 2024. http://www.amygambleauthor.com