How I "Escaped"

My kids expressed to me that they wanted more from me. Things I used to do with them that I couldn't do anymore (anything on the weekends was off-limits because most treatments were Saturday mornings). I barely left the house. I got lost on the way to the schools I had been picking kids up from for years. I couldn't remember their friends. I forgot the way to my therapist's office, after 5 years of therapy at the location. My psychiatrist asked me questions about my medication and how I was doing, and I had no idea. I couldn't answer because I truly didn't know. I didn't remember if I even took my meds, let alone what dose I was on or how they were working. I had no emotions, I was zombie mom, so I couldn't talk about how they were working or not working.

During my ongoing treatments, I remember asking if we could space out treatments. I asked if when they thought I could stop. We tried talking to the staff. My dad, Jason, my friend Came, and my first-born, Karleah, all told them I wasn't myself. We asked when we could stop treatments. We were told, in a round-about way, that I would be doing this the rest of my life. Often, I would find myself crying at the thought of never-ending treatments and continued cognitive frustrations, memory loss, and zombie mom.

In March of 2021, my friend called and asked if I could play the piano at her son's baptism. It was at the same time I usually had a treatment. I wanted to tell her "No". I wanted to tell the clinic that I couldn't have my treatment because I was needed. But I didn't know how to do either!! I was torn. Finally, I decided this friend deserved to have me be there for her son's baptism. We had been friends a long time.

I canceled my treatment and tearfully hung up the phone. The best thing I can compare it to is "Stockholm Syndrome". I was going to try going 2 weeks between treatments, and I was so scared of how things would end up in 14 days. The staff didn't ask any questions, didn't ask if I wanted to schedule my next treatment. I assumed they would call the following week and tell me what time to be in. They didn't, and I was devastated that they had forgotten all about me. They didn't even care about me, or make sure I wasn't on a dangerous downhill slide into the darkness my mind could create. It was silent.

I don't remember how long I waited to call them. But I was crying and wanted to beg to be put back on the ECT schedule. They told me I could come in for another consultation. When I went in, TMS was brought up again. I wanted to go back to the numbness that ECT gave me, the complete obliviousness that it created. But I also knew it wasn't helping. I don't remember how the decision was made, but I started TMS right before my birthday in 2021.

Looking back, I am rather disgusted at the lack of concern shown by the staff when I stopped treatment so abruptly after 21 months. At the time, I was depressed by it all, but I didn't know how to express what I was feeling. I was still a zombie. It took years to realize just how awful that was.