Metaphysical Girl: How I Recovered My Mental Health

By Dr. Catherine Denton

Catherine Denton takes you on a journey with her family before she was born, through her childhood, and beyond to the present time. You discover along with her how and why she came to be diagnosed with bipolar disorder. You feel the pain of her wanting to die, the torn relationships, the desperate search for a way to feel better using every modality that comes across her path.
Then with the mention of one phrase, she is catapulted into a restorative model of recovery and wholeness that the ancients knew well but was not easily accepted in these modern times. Walk with Catherine as she discovers a way to get what she desires- Hope & Healing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dr. Catherine Denton
• Release date: Dec 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005040536

Dr. Catherine Denton

Catherine Denton, Ph.D. is a metaphysician living in the Tennessee foothills of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. She is the daughter of a retired Army veteran of Vietnam and she is a Navy Reserve veteran, having served during Desert Storm. She has traveled extensively in the U.S. and in several places abroad. Dr. Denton has had a varied work life where she counts as a biscuit-maker at a fast-food chain, electrician's helper on a construction job, seamstress & pageant wear designer for a children's store, and a medical office/surgical nurse among her many jobs.Catherine began her writing career as a child crafting plays that she and her siblings would perform for her parents. Her professional career began in 2000 with the purchase of a desktop computer and a paying gig at a local tourist paper with her own byline- The Foothills Rambler.When Catherine's life fell apart and her diagnosis of bipolar occurred she began documenting her life even as she progressed into despair. She lived to tell the tale and now she mentors others in similar circumstances to become their own healers using holistic health practices. Besides being a published author, she takes on private clients for Reiki and Intuitive Spiritual Counseling.

Book preview

Metaphysical Girl:

How I Recovered my Mental Health

By

Catherine Denton

Notice

Metaphysical Girl: How I Recoved my Mental Health

By Catherine Denton

Second Edition

Copyright 2018 Catherine Denton

All Rights Reserved

Cover design by AcornGraphics

Published by: Squash Blossom Press

Published in the United States of America

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Most names have been changed to protect the privacy of certain individuals.

Contact: [e-mail]

Reviews

Catherine Denton's Metaphysical Girl: How I Recovered My Mental Health is a heartfelt, detailed recollection that uncovers childhood and past life beliefs that influenced her decisions as an adult, for better or for worse. Her open and honest sharing of her life allows the reader to begin their own process of 'healing' from misperceptions.

She also reveals how her depression and curiosity led her to study alternative methods of healing such as energy medicines, spiritual practices, and intuitive abilities that changed her physically and mentally. She is a wonderful model of persistence, unwavering faith, and courage exemplifying Mastering yourself is true power. (Lao Tzu, Chinese Taoist Philosopher)

~ Suzanne Jonas, Ed.D Founder & Director, Inner Harmony Health Center

Author of Take Two CD's and Call Me In the Morning

Hopeful—my word that captures the essence of this compelling memoir. Catherine's courageous journey to find her truth and healing through conventional and nonconventional means is a testament to her perseverance to live a whole and joyful life. She is an inspiration to others who struggle with mental illness—their own and in their families'.

This touchingly honest book not only recounts her personal journey but gives the reader much helpful guidance and many resources. We need more Catherine's in this world, bringing light to their own dark places, and in so doing, bringing light to all of us.

~ Anna Shugart, LCSW Director Emotional Health & Recovery Center Blount Memorial Hospital

This memoir is void of fear, transparent, and hopeful. Through pain and misunderstanding, Catherine Denton takes a patient walk through her life never straying away from the importance of each second. This memoir takes an honest look at suicide from the perspective of someone looking in from the outside and from within. She illustrates the journey that recovery is, without the misunderstanding that it is a state of mind.

~ Amy Dolinky, East Tennessee Regional Coordinator Tennessee Suicide Prevention Network

This is an intensely personal diary of a woman's journey through life and how that life led to mental illness and eventual recovery. It beautifully illustrates that we are all very much alike and yet our emotional outcomes can be so different. So many times, I thought, That happened to me! yet, I didn't walk her path to suicidal thoughts and actions.

It is also a beacon of hope for others who may be in the position of clinical depression and wanting to end it all. I am so glad that this lady found her way to recovery and lived to tell the tale! And, that I got to read this account of it.

~ Jan Coe Owner- Whole Notes Harmony

Acknowledgments

As with any endeavor, there are many to acknowledge and thank, whether their contributions be large or small. First and foremost, this book would not have been written without the emotional and financial support of my husband, Jonathan. His day in and day out ability to keep us all fed, housed, and loved has been a steadfast relief from my daily concerns. He has put up with my whims, harsh words, and erratic schedule with unwavering devotion. Thank you, Jon. You are the best of husbands. 

I also wish to thank each doctor, nurse, and practitioner for their care and instruction. You all have been my guides on this journey. You were the help I needed and was ready for when you came into my life. 

I also desire to express deep appreciation to all the administrative staff at the clinics, hospitals, and offices. With your help, my health insurance was filed, appointments were made, and accounts were kept. You helped keep me accountable when numbers and dates escaped me.

My polishing editors were invaluable—Catherine, Charlotte, Lisa, Peggy, and Trish. I appreciate your valuable time and attention to my poorly written manuscript. It is now a gift worthy of handing to a publisher. I am forever grateful.

I am thankful to Amy, Anna, Jan, and Suzanne for your praise of this writing. You saw in it what I hope others will see and more. I appreciate the time you gave in reading this book.

I want to thank Ann at Acorn Graphics for the breathtaking cover. I also wish to express my gratitude to Cindy Bryerose, my previous editor, for helping me make this book the best it can be. If there are mistakes, they are totally mine. 

I now want to thank my previous publisher and friend. My appreciation of Cathy Bryerose at Carnelian Books knows no bounds. She took a chance on an unknown writer with a story to tell, read it when it was pink and raw, took it from birthing until the finished first edition of this tome. She saw potential, and I am grateful for it. 

In your hands, you have the second edition of this work using my own publishing platform, Squash Blossom Press. It has been re-edited and expanded for more clarity. I appreciate you, dear reader, for taking your time to consider this story and use it for your own edification. May it now have wings.

Dedication

I dedicate this volume to my family—past and present.

You all have been my greatest teachers.

Perception: recognizing or interpreting sensory stimuli

using insight, intuition, and/or the five senses. 

The story you are about to read is my perception of what has happened in my life.

All of the events are true from my point of view but might not be accurate in the objective sense.

My goal is to relate the episodes and my perception of them.

These directed me to certain beliefs and behaviors.

This, in turn, led to my being diagnosed mentally ill.

I will then show you the healing of my heart, mind, and soul.

Chapter 1

Present Day- 2016

Thank you for seeing me today. I know I was a mess, but you helped me see past my problems. I have some hope now, she said as she wiped her eyes. I gave her a hug before she stepped off the porch and walked to her car. I'll see you at the same time next week! She cheerfully called, waving as she pulled out of the driveway. I lifted my hand in farewell until the car was out of sight then walked back into my house. This was my last client of the day. I smiled to myself as I walked through the room toward my office.

I stepped down the hall past the Reiki therapy room recently assembled after my daughter moved to her own apartment. Was it only four months ago? I entered my office and looked at my desk, computer waiting with notes to type. I glanced up at my framed Ph.D. certificate and minister's license—the evidence of a culmination of seven years of formal education but, in actuality, a lifetime of learning in the school of hard knocks. I glanced in the mirror hanging in the hallway as I closed the office door and felt amazed at the person who looked back.

At fifty- four my hair is medium long. The once dark brown is now heavily laced with a silvery gray. My five-feet five-inch medium frame is now at just below two hundred pounds. The weight I dropped over the last two years makes my body feel lighter and more energetic again. The nearly three miles of walking I do each day is helping to shed the rest of my unneeded bulk. My fair skin with a hint of olive tone is clear and smooth, far removed from the haggard look I carried only a few years before. I barely recognize myself on the outside, and even my inner world has had a dramatic shift.

I scanned Monday's list of clients, making notes to myself about a couple of them. Next Wednesday, I set a reminder to bring copies of a committee report to the church board meeting. I made a note to call a couple of people regarding this year's stewardship campaign and added the list to the board agenda. At one time, my daily goal was to just get dressed and stay out of bed until nightfall. Today I am president of the Board of Trustees at my church fellowship. The thought of this makes me chuckle. You've come a long way, baby.

I grabbed my purse and headed to a monthly lunch meeting with a group of mental health advocates. This assembly of licensed clinical social workers, school nurses, mental health workers, and other concerned Blount County citizens plans various events throughout the year to promote mental welfare in our community. There will be a suicide prevention team meeting after this gathering, which I will take part in. We made our three-year goal of training three thousand people in spotting the signs of someone in crisis and what to do to help them. I have been a lead trainer for three years now.

After the meeting, I got back home in time to see Jon, my husband of twenty-six years, off to work at an automotive parts manufacturer in town. Hey, sweetie! I hope you have a wonderful day! I give him a big noisy kiss on the lips as he hugs me around the waist.

I'll do my best, he promised. Remind me what the plans are for the weekend? Are the kids coming over? I think Robert and Kathy are running a marathon in Kentucky this weekend. Katy and Emma have soccer practice and are staying with Kathy's mom. They all plan on having dinner with us on your next weekend off, I told him as he gathered up his things.

I watched him head out the door to his second shift job at the plant. How could I have even considered leaving such a dear person when my world turned upside down. I'm so glad I came to my senses. My adult daughter, Nikki, called and asked if she could bring some laundry over. Her cat, Remus, somehow acquired fleas, so now everything needed washing. Sure, I said into the phone, I'll be home working on book edits. She rings off, and I smiled into the silence around me. My world is good now. I want to pinch myself to make sure it's all truly happening.

My life has become decidedly better, though the trip to this condition was far from smooth. The client I saw earlier had been depressed and confused about her purpose in life when she first started seeing me a few months ago. Thinking back to my own time of struggling with these very issues, I am reminded of a particular incident in crisis. I somehow drove myself to the hospital ER and walked in...

I want to die. Those were the words I wrote on the slip of paper at the reception desk in the emergency room in May 2002. It sounded silly and melodramatic even to my ears. I was feeling the pain of all I had kept bottled up for so long. I realized at that moment just how bad I felt when I wrote those words. Suicide isn't something to mention lightly, especially when you want help.

Have a seat, the triage nurse said as she began taking my pulse and temperature. I sat quietly on the uncomfortable plastic chair, waiting for the inevitable question.

Why are you here? There it was. Now I had to say it out loud and make it real. I am depressed. I'm afraid I'll hurt myself, I stammered.

Do you have a plan? She questioned.

An overdose, I suppose.

Do you have the means to do that?

Yes, I have my medications at home, but I didn't try it, I was quick to point out.

She wrote everything down and then led me down a long hall to a larger room with curtains for walls. This is where you will be, Miss, the nurse said as she left me in the care of the ER attendant and the security officer. The ER attendant spoke to me as I put my bag on the only chair in the room.

I'll need you to take off all your clothes except your panties, then slip on these gowns. One over the front and one over the back like a robe. Then put all your clothes and shoes into this bag. The security officer will put them in a locked room so they will be safe. All right?

Well, Cathy, now you've done it. You are well and truly in the medical system. What made you think you could possibly get help here? No one can pick up the pieces of this broken life and glue them back together. Why did I come here? Now, I had to strip down and become even more vulnerable, baring my butt along with my soul.

I thought I had no more tears from all the crying I had done in the past week. I couldn't think. I couldn't take care of my children. I couldn't understand the words my husband spoke as he asked about my day. Everything was garbled as if they all spoke a different language. The simplest request seemed an insurmountable task. Life was all overwhelming.

The security officer came and explained to me my rights as a patient and took my overnight satchel and the bag of clothing I had just removed. I was going over in my mind events that led me to be there when in came a young technician and broke my reverie with her orders from the lab.

I need to get some blood from you. Do you know which arm is usually better? the tech asked politely as she got her equipment ready.

Either arm has been good in the past. Maybe you should look at both, I offered, not wanting to pass judgment on myself. The tech chose an arm and hit the vein on the first try, hastily filling the tubes. She then scooted behind the curtain to her next stop.

Since there was nothing but time weighing heavy on my hands and only a curtain for a wall, I listened and quickly found out why my neighbors were there. Some had similar problems, some different, but all in emotional crisis. I supposed that was why we were all herded into one large room so that one or two security officers could be close by if needed. There was a mother with a teenage girl going through drug withdrawal. The woman's only thought was for her baby's suffering and how to get the young girl through it.

A middle-aged man was having a psychotic episode where he was hallucinating and frightened about his future. His sister was with him, offering soothing words. I could imagine the woman smoothing his worried brow. Another man was acting quite belligerent and loud, claiming he was cold and no one cared. His words were slurred, and he threatened harm to the other people in the room if his demands weren't met. The security officer came several times to calm him. He seemed to be a regular, as everyone knew his name and knew his constant demands. It didn't seem long before he was taken away somewhere while the rest of us waited our turn. I guess the squeaky wheel did get greased, but I wasn't sure I wanted the same treatment.

Here I was, waiting my turn for a doctor to pronounce judgment. I could either get help, or he would send me home, calling me a faker and not worthy of his attention. I feared I would be thought not sick enough since I didn't attempt suicide. How do you prove you were thinking about it? How do you convince someone, a stranger no less, that you want to die, but you were too scared to do the deed? The ER doctor came in and did the usual medical examination, eyes, ears, nose, throat, listen to my heart and lungs. Then the question everyone asks is, Why are you here? He must have seen many cases of depression and mental illnesses come through the doors because he didn't question my answers or my worried look. I wanted to cry with relief, knowing someone had a clue as to what I felt. He told me the mental health social worker would be by for an evaluation, and then she would see if I could be sent up to Tower Four, the mental health floor of the hospital. More waiting. One more person to convince.

Could it be my imagination, or was it really happening that way? I felt most of my other roommates were getting help sooner than I was, allowing them to go about their lives. People were being shuffled and discharged all around me. For someone in my state of mind, I thought it meant I was beyond hope. I fell deeper into despair the longer I waited.

At long last, the social worker came into my room. She was a petite woman in her mid-fifties holding the required clipboard nearly everyone at the hospital carried. So, I hear you're not so hot these days. She looked over her reading glasses and addressed me as I lay in the bed. Do you want to tell me what is the matter?

I just want to die. I choked the words out, staring hopelessly at the ceiling as if trying to find an answer in the tiles above me.

Do you know why living isn't appealing anymore?

My brain hurts, and I just want the pain to stop. I shifted in my bed as tears were trickling down my cheeks. Explaining was so difficult because I had to use the same part of my body that seemed to cause all my problems.

How long have you felt this way? Tell me how it started., she prodded.

I guess so many things were happening at once….it was overwhelming…everyone wants something from me. It seems like it has been going on forever, I let out with a sigh.

Tell me about your life. Married? Have children? the social worker asked.

Yes, I'm married. I have two children, a boy, and a girl, I answered with relief. Finally, I could say something and not have to think about whether the answer was right or wrong. Would I be judged harshly for wanting to die and leave them behind? The social worker asked various things to try to get a more detailed picture of my life. Was I being abused by my husband? Did I try to hurt myself by cutting or drinking too much? Was I abused as a child? Did I hear voices? Did I work somewhere?

Tell me about a typical day you have had recently, the woman asked as she was winding down in her interrogation of me.

I get up and get my little girl off to school. My son gets up on his own. Most of the time, I go back to bed after taking my antidepressant and blood pressure pills. I don't sleep well. It is so hard to get my body to do what it needs to do! I try to fix myself some lunch, but most days just end up snacking. Sometimes I read or watch a movie or just sit and cry. Mostly, I just cry, I plaintively say as I feel my eyes puddle again. Dammit! Will these tears never stop!

Do you want help in feeling better? The social worker asks. If you do, there is a unit here in this hospital where they can figure out what kind of help you need. It is on a locked floor, so you would not be able to leave the unit any time you wanted, but nobody can get on the floor without permission. Do you understand what I am saying? Do you think this would work for you?

I understand. I do want help. I can't stay in this awful shape! I say with pent-up relief in my voice. I was getting help. They believed me! If I can just make it to the unit without them changing their minds about helping me.

After more than six hours from when I first walked into the ER, a transport technician wheels in a chair for me to ride to the Mental Health floor. I gather up my bag of clothes and my overnight bag from the security officer. The technician takes me upstairs. As the elevator reaches the fourth floor, the technician presses the intercom button, and a nurse on the other side of the glass doors answers. The nurse buzzes us in, and I get up from the wheelchair. I hand the clothes and bag to waiting hands and breathe a sigh of relief. You see, this is not the first time I have been here.

Now I can just finally be without everyone asking, What's for dinner? or Will you help me with my homework? or Why do you cry all the time? or What's wrong with you?

Eventually, I ended up on this floor four times, but each time felt the same before I walked through those doors, and they locked them behind me. Each time wishing there would be a magic pill or wonder therapy then—POOF! I could be well again. Yeah, I think, and maybe pigs will fly. But yet, I still hoped.

I came back from these memories of just a few years ago and realized they no longer define me. To be sure, these events and my experience of them left their mark. They became part of the overall picture of my life, adding the character that many wish to say they possess but have no desire to go through what it takes to get. Allow me to tell you how it all started. This is what I believe happened to cause me to become diagnosed with bipolar disorder and contemplate suicide.

Chapter 2

My Family and Early Years

To understand the events that led to my diagnosed mental illness, suicidal ideation, and treatment, you need to see how my family operated and where they came from. I have learned that we are both a product of our environment and of our family's environment as they experienced it. Families come in different forms, but mine happened to be a father, mother, myself, a younger sister, and brother. I was the eldest, and perhaps that is why I am able to tell this story, as I felt the weight of that designation keenly from a young age.

Allow me to give you a bit of background based on new emerging science, I will briefly explain a theory called Epigenetics. Stick with me, for this concept plays out in full color with my life, and I bet it does in yours as well. The theory is the study of cellular and observable trait variations that result from external or environmental factors that switch genes on and off and affect how genes are expressed, which can be inherited. Scale this definition up a bit and imagine each person is just one colossal cell. A simplistic explanation is that certain things happen to and around us. These