My childhood troubles and why today is so important by Jaclyn Sison

May 7 is Keiki (Children) Mental Health Awareness Day.

I was thinking about my childhood and how much my friendships had affected me. Honestly, I didn’t hold too many friendships in high school. Not very strong ones at least. There are only a few people I still talk to today from high school, and I could name them on one hand. These ladies know me like we just met in 7th grade yesterday. Outside of that circle, everyone knows my life from what they read on social media, which isn’t too much.

I was actually bullied in high school when I moved to Japan. My junior year wasn’t bad, but when it got to my senior year, it was really bad for me. I remember when I was on myspace one day, I saw a song on someone’s page. I listened to it, and it was a rap that three boys had made… it was about me. I knew it was about me because they spelled my name backwards in the song, and told me to tell my boyfriend at the time to go back to Hawaii. It was a diss rap and honestly, it was really hard to fathom that someone would take the time to record it.

I was really distraught after that. I remember my dad being so mad for me, and we brought it up to their parents because of the status one of the boy’s dad held on post. I remember being shoved around in the hallway for no reason. I remember getting thrown into a bush on my way to the library. I remember eating alone in the library because I had lost my friends to those bullies. They had all known each other for so long, why would they leave their side for me? I was a loner my senior year, and I tried to say I was okay because I had my boyfriend… in Hawaii…

I remember that year, I stopped eating. I’d tell my mom I had eaten when I was cooking so I wouldn’t have to eat dinner. When they’d all go to sleep, I’d throw up what I ate. When I couldn’t stand the hunger anymore, I’d eat Honeycombs cereal because they were empty calories that were easy to vomit. I remember taking solo trips to Shibuja and Shinjuku just to feel surrounded by other lonely people.

I don’t have a lot of memories of my senior year except sad ones. I lost my best friend to suicide (OD), and that’s when a majority of the bullying had picked up. I wanted to kill myself. I don’t think my parents really knew the extent of my sadness and depression then. I started smoking and drinking. I didn’t care for myself anymore. It didn’t get any better when I moved to Seattle to start my young adult life. If anything, it had gotten worse. I started hanging with the wrong people. I started smoking and drinking more, and eventually started smoking pot.

Anything felt better than what I was doing. I was promiscuous. I’m not going to lie and say that I was an angel. My life was in shambles, and I didn’t feel worthy of anything. I didn’t feel worthy of love. I didn’t feel worthy of trusting relationships. I stayed the night at one of my auntie’s house, who was at the time, married to my childhood molester. He tried again when I was there… He had my photos up on his big screen TV and was looking at my photos. He said I could use his tablet but when I opened it up, it was Teen porno. That’s when I tried to kill myself again, because what was my worth?

My childhood is nothing too good to think about… It’s hard to notice the positivity in my childhood when the trauma is so strong. I guess my biggest point of this post, is to be kind to those who you don’t know much about. You never know what people are going through, and if you are the person to make their life worse, you never know how far off the edge they really are. I know there are positives in my life that I appreciate. After saying all this, I have to tell everyone that I am grateful for what I had in

One of the people who used to bully me, apologized to me last month when I lost my shit on Instagram. It was nice closure to a hard chapter in my life, but still, the scars still carry.

So be kind, to anyone and everyone. No matter how annoying, no matter how loud and oboxious, no matter how rude… Because you never know what is causing them to be that way…

Raising a strong boy by Jaclyn Sison

Today is an important day for me as a mother! I think that the way I want to raise Maverick is a little different than how I was brought up. I definitely want to be part of his life and be way more involved than my parents were with mine. This is actually one of the big reasons I decided to leave the Army. Being present in my child’s life is so important to me, especially in these early years of attachment.

Research shows that the attachment styles that a child has when they’re at a very young age are the attachment styles they’ll have in future relationships. So I want to make sure that Maverick has a secure attachment style growing up. I’ve seen it in myself as having an anxious attachment style (up until Sean) because my parents weren’t around often. Actually, they left me in the Philippines with my Lola (grandmother), so I mean… lol.

I also want to raise Maverick to be independent in his thinking and problem solving skills. Instead of scolding him for doing something bad, I want him to be able to fix the problem or think through why it happened. Honestly, he is still very young and babbles most of the time… but if Sean and I start using the appropriate language now, it’ll be easier for him to understand when he does start talking. Vocabulary is important!

Maverick and I cuddle a lot. I do believe that Maverick’s love language is physical touch. He hates being away from me, and even when he is playing, he comes back to hug me (awww.) So that tells me a lot on how I need to comfort him and how I need to change how I speak with him when he does something less than pleasant.

How are you doing in your parenting realm? Whether it’s with babies or fur babies?

What's it like on the ward? A trip into admission. by Jaclyn Sison

It never really occurred to me how many of my group mates had never been admitted to a psych ward. Well, I’ve got two different perspectives on being on the ward: as a nurse and as a patient. It’s definitely eye opening when you know what it’s like on the other side. It’s hard knowing that every staff member on that unit has read into your file and knows what your deepest secrets are, and they casually talk about it during their lunch breaks with comments like, “God I feel bad for her” or “Jeez, I didn’t know she was crazy like that.” It’s definitely painful to know that I’ve worked alongside some of those nurses too. Which is why it was so hard for me to seek help in the first place.

But I’m not here to talk about being a nurse. I’m here to talk about what it’s like being admitted to the unit. First of all, it’s absolutely terrifying. Most of the time, no one voluntarily goes into the psych unit. You’re usually placed there involuntary because you’ve said the magic words, “I want to kill myself… or someone else.” Me telling my OBGYN that I had thoughts of hurting myself and taking my baby with me was what landed me in the psych ward the first time. It’s still hard to admit that because I look at Maverick every day with love, and I couldn’t imagine taking him with me like that…

Stripped, uncomfortable, & cold

I hate the initial part of admission because you always spend so much time in the ER. Both times that I went, I was told to change into patient pajamas, and I couldn’t have anything with me like shoes with shoelaces, my cellphone, my wallet, nothing… I hated it, because as I was sitting there slipping deeper into my denial of what was happening, I couldn’t communicate with my husband - my only support person at the time. This is a problem for me. I hate that when we have suicidal patients, we take away their only means of communication to their support. I also hate that family can’t be the one to stay with you while you wait. They made it uncomfortable for me having a higher ranking officer wait with me, who knew nothing of what was going on with me. Unless the patient states it is a safety hazard for that person, hospitals should let the support person be the patient’s choice. I mean, come on guys.

The first time I was admitted, I waited in the room for almost 6 hours. In the ER, the room for suicidal patients is an empty room with 3 sets of double chairs. It’s a cold room. You have no pillow, no blanket, no call bell. Your safety attendant sits in the room with you, awkwardly staring at the same popcorn ceiling that you look at, because they also can’t have their phones. Also stupid. After a few visits with the ER doctor and your nurse, they all congregate in the back with the psychiatrist who makes the ultimate decision of whether to admit you or not. They wand you down to make sure you’ve got nothing on you that could be used as a weapon, and then take you up to the ward and do the longest admission process ever.

The stigma of the ward

The hard part about being on the unit for me was already explained. I hated being admitted and knowing that people could see that I was there. I begged to go elsewhere because I didn’t want nosey people in my chart. I almost asked to use an alias instead. It almost hurt me more being there than it helped.

In all honesty, the unit wasn’t very helpful to begin with. It was so dark, that you could barely tell the different between night & day. The windows were barricaded with a metal sheet that had holes you could literally peep through. They didn’t allow for much light to get in. So you could only tell the difference because you saw fluorescent lighting in the day time. You’d sleep in a room where there was a plastic bed frame, and foam doors. You weren’t allowed to sleep with the light on because it wouldn’t let you get “restful sleep”. Even if that was the only thing keeping you from thinking there were demons out to get you. The day would start early with vital signs, and you could either go back to sleep until breakfast, or wait in the milieu room. I always went back to sleep.

Breakfast was brought up, and there would be a morning huddle. People would choose who would be a leader, introduce themselves, and then choose “sponsors” for new patients. It was stupid, but it gave the ward some order. I never volunteered, and I rarely spoke. Group sessions were held throughout the day, but when I was there, it was a very poor group setting. Nothing particularly helpful. It was more helpful talking to the doctor, and that’s usually not the case.

I’d rather do outpatient treatment

When I was admitted to partial hospitalization, it helped me out more. I was able to see my family and have their support, while also being with group for most of the day to talk things out. I don’t normally talk to my husband about these things, because a lot of the time, I want to be distracted from them. If you need the help of your family, then opt for outpatient treatment. If you’re having a crisis, opt for inpatient treatment to stabilize before going to PHP.

High-functioning from Esme Weijun Wang's book "The Collected Schizophrenias" by Jaclyn Sison

“… I find myself uncomfortable around those who are visibly psychotic and audibly disorganized. I’m uncomfortable because I don’t want to be lumped in with the screaming man on the bus, or the woman who claims that she’s the reincarnation of God. I’m uncomfortably uncomfortable because I know that these are my people in ways that those who have never experienced psychosis can’t understand, and to shun them is to shun a large part of myself.”

When I first started going to therapy and wanting to uncover what was truly going on in my head, I spent a lot of time in denial with the thought of “but I’m not like them, I’m not crazy like that.” I have a college degree, a BSN at that! I graduated with a high GPA in high school and with honors in college. I would say most people think that I am highly determined and focused and I’m not crazy... Until you ask me if I hear voices throughout the day that tell me to do things I shouldn’t do. Until I say that there are shadows of people moving around my house that aren’t really there or that my house is infested with ants that don’t exist. Until that time that I wanted to take my life and take my baby with me. Until I have days where I can’t get up because my body doesn’t feel like it’s my own. Maybe I am a little short of insanity, but does that mean that it should become my identity?

She mentions that when someone is diagnosed with illnesses such as diabetes or cancer, that person is usually described as, “Mrs. X has been diagnosed with cancer” rather than, “Mrs. X is a cancer patient.” But for people with mental illnesses that have experienced a period of psychosis, it’s usually the other way around. “Mr. Z is a schizophrenic” and not, “Mr. Z has schizophrenia.” Kind of like it suggests that there isn’t a normal person under the diagnosis, which makes it really hard to not be in denial of a mental-health diagnosis.

So does it really make it any better if you’re classified as a “high-functioning schizo"? I don’t really think so. Or any other kind of mental illness for that matter. Personally, I feel like I have to make it known that I do suffer from mental health illnesses and exaggerate how normal I actually am. Because in reality, I think I’m a pretty normal person until I experience a volume of hallucinations and dissociate from my body because of reliving a trauma or being paranoid. I’m a normal mom, who needs time away from her kid when my senses are overloaded. I’m a normal wife, who loves her husband but sits a couple feet away when I need my space. I’m a normal nurse (not at this time though because medication stability), and I’m a very strong advocate for maternal mental health. I’m a good friend, who slightly obsesses over whether I’m giving enough of my time to make sure they know they’re cared for.

I don’t know where I’m going with this anymore. I just want people to know that people with mental illness are still people, and that they should be care for… Whether they’re going through psychosis or they’re having a better-than-most-days kind of day… Whether they’re yelling on a bus or they’re in the office doing award-winning work. People are people whether they’re crazy or not.

review: the lost apothecary by sarah penner by Jaclyn Sison

This is going to be my very first book review! This year, one of my goals was to read more books for fun. I’ve always been very good at academic reading, especially when I was in nursing school, which is probably why I didn’t like reading for “fun”. When my anxiety and depression started to peak (let’s be real, I’m still there) I had to brainstorm hobbies I could do for myself. The easiest one was reading! It didn’t take anything but quiet time and a book. So to motivate myself to read, I subscribed to Book of the Month! It’s a monthly subscription for books that are curated for the month! I’ve gotten four books from them so far, and the first one I finished was The Lost Apothecary by Sarah Penner.

It is a historical fiction book that follows the life of three women, Caroline (in present day), Eliza, and Nella (1700s). All of them have been tied to similar life experiences of infidelity, deception, and miscarriage. And all of them go through a string of experiences that altar the way they view their lives and change the course of what’s to come in their future. This book was hard to put down as every chapter in one’s life made you eager to find out the connection between them all.

It is a promise I made to my mother, to preserve the existence of these women whose names would otherwise be erased from history. The world is not kind to us… There are few places for a woman to leave an indelible mark… But this register preserves them - their names, their memories, their worth.”

I marked this quote in the book because it shows the importance of Nella’s registry for her apothecary, whether they were potions for harm for or healing, the women who purchased them would be remembered somehow. A very girl power book indeed.

To be honest, I’m not very good at writing book reviews, and book reports were my least favorite homework assignments in grade school. But what I do know is that for me to want to keep reading this book, meant it was a good read. Because it is hard to get me to stay interested. It made me want to buy a spontaneous ticket to London so I could go mudlarking in the Thames river to find pieces of history!