One Brave Night

On April 6th, is a day that I have joined the challenge to raise much more than money for the Canadian Mental Health Association, but awareness, of how devastating mental illness effects people.

What is One Brave Night? And where does this money go?

In its first three years, CAMH One Brave Night for Mental Health™ has has rallied over 3,000 brave participants and more than 11,000 donors, raising more than $2 million. The efforts of participants and donors have helped:

• Create three new youth clinics to help address the gap in mental health treatment.
• Inspire hope through discovery by testing new treatment options for people with severe and treatment-resistant depression.
• Publish over 500 journal articles, sharing the incredible discoveries made at CAMH.
• Continue to redevelop CAMH facilities to build treatment, education and research spaces that reflect respect for patients and hope for recovery.
• Expand effective and timely access to mental health services in remote and underserved communities around the country through technology and access to telepsychiatry.

So, this is the beginning, of my very long journey, with an illness that infects my brain.

Much like, an illness, of the body, effects the body.

I was in Grade 7. When I first started my self-harm behavior. In Industrial Arts class. The challenge then was to take sandpaper to your wrist, and see how far you can go before you yelled out "SISSY".

I went deep. I never realized it then, what I was doing. I thought I was just playing a game.

It was when I was 15, I took 150 pills into my Junior High School bathroom.

I took pills in the basement during morning class, first the pills, then drink the water. Pills, and more water.

After, I continued to class. Higher than a kite. In very slow motion. I sat in class, pills infecting my body, preparing it to die.

Why did I do this? I know I hated my life. No one understood me, and I did not understand myself.

It was not until late that evening, my best friend noticed that something was wrong.

I confessed to her what I had done.

We went to the walk-in clinic. The doctor phoned my parents. From there they picked me up and took me to the Foothill's hospital.

I stayed for 7 days. Hooked up to an Intravenous. Made to drink charcoal. Only to throw it up, and have to drink more.

When I was released, no diagnosis was given, just to see a psychologist.

When what I had done was brought to the attention of my school counselor, his response was:
"This is a phase, she will grow out of it. She was seeking attention."

Damaging words from a professional.

You see, all the professionals. Knew what was going on with me. But sadly, there was no treatment for people like me at this time.

We were the un-treatable. Professionals refused to touch us. We were the throw aways.

This was the beginning.

You can follow my journey at #OneBraveNight