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Hear Our Voices: Theresa's Story
Treading Water Do you ever feel out of place? Have you ever branded yourself a misfit? Have you ever felt like you were nothing? Imagine you are on an island, a grand island with many familiar faces, names, places and things. One day you are invited to go boating with some other islanders. They take you out to the deep blue ocean. You look around and the only land in sight is the island behind the boat. The majestic island gets smaller, little by little, as do the familiar faces and names. Have you ever felt stranded? You start to tread water. The current and tide pull you farther away from the island. The once immense island gets smaller and smaller. The people on shore are tiny moving statues. They are like little Ken and Barbie dolls. Days, weeks, and possibly months of suffering go by. All forms of land evaporate before your sun dried eyes. No food or even instruments for obtaining nutrients. Have you ever felt weak?
Your arms become so weak that they are immobile, and your legs are becoming exhausted. You are in a constant struggle to keep your head free from the salty seawater. The undertow pulls you below the crystal clear water. And all that is in your range of blurred vision is dark blue water with blackness at the bottom. A vastness of nothingness lies in this abyss.
Do you believe in hell?
A black smoked, bubbling, red volcano erupts in the vast abyss. The dark black spirits, that haunt children in the night, come closer to you and closer to you. They are like Great White sharks. They are bloodthirsty spirits with the same if not more vicious sharp fanged teeth.
They swim about you like a swarm of sharks. Sharks hungry for your dirty blackened soul and your pitch-black blood.
The fierce fire flames of hell reaches up to the spirits. You are confined by spirits and flames. They poke you, they prod you. They brand you with their brand. They obtain your legs, pulling you down, down to the burning flames of hell where Satan awaits your presence.
Your head bobs beneath the water for the last time. You stretch out our weary arms attempting to push your fingertips out to the warm sea breeze. But the reach gets farther and farther. The spirits keep pulling you closer to the red bubbling gateway to hell.
Your lungs are completely deflated. You gasp for the last breath of air. Instead the salty seawater seeps into your wide-open mouth. It flows down your throat like a rapid river, filling your lungs like reservoirs.
Those blackened evil spirits keep pulling you closer to the Devil's doorway. The black smoked, bubbling, red volcano vacuums you in. The Devil's doorway slams shut.
Author's note on "Treading Water"
At the time I wrote "Treading Water" I was in the mist of, no mist is not quite the right word. I was in a high-pressured spray of a severe depressive bout. I felt, at the time, that I was not able to communicate effectively what I was experiencing. Unless you have a Chronic Mental Illness, I felt like there was no way you would ever be able to comprehend or even start to comprehend what it is like to have any of or many of the major mental illnesses. People would say to me "you'll get over it; I had been depressed before for like a month or two and then it was gone." Well, everybody gets a little depressed throughout his or her lives here and there and they can pull themselves through it. These people couldn't seem to grasp the difference between a small bout of depression or some sadness and a "Chronic Illness." Chronic meaning not just a few days, or a couple of months. NO, it is an everyday battle, which started for many of us many, many years ago. I have been battling it for 25 of my 30 years of existence. I wanted to let them know what it truly is like through my eyes and perhaps the eyes of others that are mentally ill, so as an artist at heart I wrote "Treading Water."
Written by: Theresa Dolata
"Collection of Works by Theresa Dolata"
Copyright: July 6, 1999
Then, all of a sudden, while looking at the deep blue ocean, you fall in. The boat keeps going as if nothing happened.
My name is Theresa: I wrote that piece in February of 1996, a few months before I attempted to hang myself. This is one of my most successful failures in my life that is allowing me to tell my story now.
My mental illness started very young; I was suicidal for the first time at age five. I did not know what death was at that time. However, I would go outside at recess; I would stand against the golden brick wall and pray to the Golden Sun God beaming down on my little face, "Oh, Golden Sun God, make me disappear into this golden brick wall forever; I'm sure nobody would notice that I was gone." Every morning Monday through Friday, I would make this prayer.
In first grade my favorite uncle died in an auto accident, that was when I first learned about death and that all this time I had been wishing to be dead (a.k.a. suicidal). In third grade I developed OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.) Excessive hand washing immediately followed anything and everything I touched. I washed my hands till they bled. Hand washing became an art to me and a pain to my parents. My hands became so chapped that my mom had to put socks on my hands after loading them up with Mentholatum to stop the bleeding. I developed migraines in fourth grade.
Depression, OCD, migraines, year after year. I never thought that I would survive another year. I sure did not want to. When I was fourteen my mom's parents whom I was extremely close to, died. Her father died January 6th , 1989 and exactly 18 days later her mother died. I broke down. I broke down completely for the first time. I could barely get out of bed, lost my appetite, I could not concentrate in school. I started actually writing about ways to end my life. By the time May of 1989 came around I was in my first Psyche ward at a hospital in La Crosse, WI. My parents insurance would not pay for any aftercare for Psyche services including the medications. I had to hear from my parents about how expensive my aftercare and prescriptions were after my discharge until the time I was completely weaned off of the Prozac. It helped for a while, the medication that is. Then I had a return of symptoms. I had to conceal them the best I could, so I would not end up in that prison for the mentally ill again. I did not want to be behind the barred, windows, stripped of my shoelaces and my dignity again.
I was successful until I got to college. My first semester, I was in a severe depressive state and had trouble getting out of bed and concentrating to study, so I accidentally overdosed on caffeine losing my Pell Grant.
Then I found the theater department. That was my niche. I could be other people instead of the mentally ill person that I was. I did well up until May of 1996. I had actually started to go down hill in November. I told my mom that I was trying to get help through the Madison City's Mental Health Crisis Services in Madison, WI. Except they would not help me unless I was suicidal. THAT was what I was trying to avoid. That is where my Treading Water, my attempted suicide came in, which followed with another hospitalization.
My last hospitalization was February 2005 through March 2005. My newest doctor figured out the right primary diagnosis for me. I am mixed bipolar. I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Adult Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder and History of Migraines.
It took a couple of months to find the right combinations of medications for me, but my doctor is one of the best. I am no longer homeless, my symptoms are under control, I am happy, I am enjoying Life. I no longer feel like I do not fit it. I am a writer, I have done stand up comedy. I finished four years of college; I have an associate Degree in Massage Therapy.
To think I spent every year thinking I would never make it to the next year and now, at the age of 31, I can say my greatest accomplishment is still being alive. God has truly blessed me.