Life, Death, Heroes, and Coping.

I saved a life.
I feel like no matter how I write this out it's going to sound like I'm bragging. I assure you though that is not my intent. This is actually something I am trying to cope with it. That sounds strange I suppose. Saying you saved someone's life sounds heroic but I don't feel like a hero. I feel like a young woman who did something that seemed like the right thing to do and now people show up with praise, invites to events, flowers, and... I just don't understand still.
No don't leave to search the news feeds. As far as I know the news didn't get out to any networks and I have no interest in gaining extra fame.
I work for a major retail company. I work setting up displays for them so when someone comes in considering buying something they have a working model to fiddle with. On the week of November 4th I started working nights to help remodel three stores for the upcoming Holiday Season. One the 3rd night working in my second store something happened... I later found out this gentlemen had a heart attack but all I caught from three isles over was that there was a small group of employees gathering in an area. Like any curious employee I went to see what was going on, though all I caught at that moment was that someone was on the ground and another man didn't look happy.
A flurry of communication later I caught up that someone was on the ground due to some sort of accident (I recall thinking he had hit his head on the metal shelf) and I asked one little question "Is he breathing?"
Another flurry this time of motions as opposed to words. The important part being "No." and "Does anyone know CPR?"
No one responded. I vaguely recalled taking a class on CPR back in high school some 4 to 8 years ago depending. "I... kind of do." I stepped forward. I remembered an article saying that now days they suggested compressions and not breaths at all. I went with it. I started doing chest compressions while someone called 9-1-1. I remembered I should see if he could get air in and tilted his head back not seeing anything I knew to be a blockage.
I started counting my compressions into the speaker phone of a stranger's cell as the individual on the line (I really don't recall if it was a male or female, I suppose I was more caught up in the moment than I knew) couched me. I yelled over everyone into the speaker each time he took a breath, odd gapes at strange intervals, and continued with compressions.
We heard the ambulance. I told the person on the phone we could hear them and kept counting. An EMS individual came and took over. I moved quickly, stood up, watched a moment, and started quaking. I noticed blood on my hands and told EMS I thought he was bleeding from the back of his head (I found out later he had hit the metal shelf on his way down and was in fact bleeding from the back of his head). I went to the bathroom to wash my hands, and stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. I was still shaking.
They were taking him into the ambulance by the time I was smoking my second cigarette. I called home and spoke with my boyfriend to calm me down.
Four cigarettes, 3 glasses of water, and two phone calls home later I was working like nothing had happened.
People kept walking up to congratulate me. Three weeks later people are still congratulating me. EMS came to my work to invite me to a cookout of some sort for survivors and heroes.
Yesterday that gentlemen and his wife showed up at my job hugged me, thanked me, and gave me a plant.

People think of me as a hero and I can not.
I'm a young woman that took the only action I saw possible.
I made mistakes, but that man is alive though because of me (or so says the doctors, EMS, him, his family, my job, and my boyfriend).
Yet I still find it difficult to accept that without me this man may not be here today.

I'm a hero in everyone's eyes except my own.

Adventures in Depression

In December of 2011 I went to a mental health facility. I think this was one of the lowest points of my entire life and something that will stick with me forever. So lets talk about depression for a moment today shall we? (Well its my blog so you really get no choice. You COULD click a link on your browser and flee this blog, or choose simply not to read this post... but I promise it's not going to be all sad and self loathing!)

I have learned that I have severe medical depression, all those times I was depressed was because of an illness  I have depression and I can make as many excuses for it as I would like but that's not going to change the fact that I am depressed.

Medical depression (or mental health issues in general I suppose) is a whole other beast when compared to other illnesses. People can't see depression. Well they can, sort of, but not in the way we see many other illnesses. When someone has cancer, a tumor, blindness, diabetes, [insert any illness you can think of here here] people can show sympathy. When someone has depression? "Fix your life, "You're just depressed, go make yourself happy and get over it," "Don't they make pills for that?" The list goes on.

If anyone would ever say "It's just [insert horrible illness here]. Go get over it" people would throw a fit. Yet I've heard so many variations on that same thing in the last few months it just about makes me physically ill.

I can smile all day at work, meet new people who think I'm a blast, and generally get through my day without anyone knowing about my "illness." It's friends and family that have to deal with the fallout of the illness I have. They see me staying in bed half the day because I 'don't feel like getting up.' They call me to tell me there's a part and I 'don't feel like being social.' They see me happy, and worry about how long until I fall back into my hole. I could go on all day and anyone that has depression or that is close to someone with depression will nod and say they understand. I feel anyone without that personal experience just won't quite grasp what I'm trying to explain.

Every day is a struggle against a self abusive voice in your head. The worst thing that happened all day was breaking the straw for a juice box (which you got to admit is pretty deflating) but you still feel hopeless, feel guilty for feeling hopeless, and end up in a depressed self abusive loop.

I've taken pills that seem to either have no effect or simply make things worse. I've tried seeing the good in life and just get over it, which does help on some of the lighter days. I've done drugs which is just a whole other issue in itself and made things worse in the long run. I've drunk alcohol which I finds really just makes me feel worse the next day.  I've tried many things and I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'll never be 'cured.'

Over all I suppose I just want to say this:
Just because you can't see someone's illness doesn't mean it isn't there. People with mental health issues are looked down upon by many and it's hard enough to deal with without the social stigmas attached. I may never get "better" but the individuals in my life that understand what's happening and stick around regardless are the true heroes that help me every day.

This has been a very low post for Bluish Nights I know, and I promise to be back soon on a more chipper note.
Here's my feel good video of the day to help tide everyone over:
<iframe width="640" height="480" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/UiInBOVHpO8" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

Beautiful things

Good times always deserve pictures. So I've decided I should share some of the good times (all while barefoot of course) I've missed uploading on Bluish Nights in the past year.

Barefooting while working on cars

A lovely trail very easy to do barefoot

Not such an easy trial but this fallen tree provided a nice resting spot

The top of one trail

The bottom of another

Same trail as above on another day

Butterflies think I'm pretty cool after a long hike

To the veterans- Memorial Day post

I'm not a fan of war. I never have been and I hope like hell I never will be.
In the last year I have met a few wonderful people that have served in different branches of the military, and through them I have learned a bit more than I knew previously about what it means to be a veteran.
I am thankful these individuals are here and that they are in my life. I'm thankful for what they have done. I hate knowing that they went through some of the things they did. And I'm so sorry they lost people there. People they knew. People that were fighting for something important (which I really didn't understand until recently)
For Memorial day we enjoy our long weekend, we laugh and play, and most of us really don't think about what the holiday truly is. But I played hard on that day and it's because of these people I never knew.
Thank you, still with us still or not. Thank you to those I know, those I never will know, and those I that didn't get to come back home to the ones that love them.


Bluish Nighs will be back up and running shortly.
The original intent was for the blog to be about good times and bad times (though it seemed to focus a lot on barefooting), and I intend to take it back to the original concept.
A post on the bad times and mental health coming soon.