in my own words

inmyownwords by Lucinda Christian Bunn

This is hard for me to say. I don’t want to say it, but it wants to be said and it won’t leave me alone, so I am gonna say it.

My name is Lucinda. I am a recovering human, perfectionist, alcoholic, anorexic, overspender. I am also a survivor of trauma, neglect, and abuse I experienced both directly, and indirectly, growing up and in the subsequent relationships and a couple of life experiences as an adult. I have feigned survival as an adult as best I could with what I had to work with. And in that, developed coping skills that worked until they didn’t in the forms of alcoholism, now nearly 37 years in remission and an eating disorder, also in remission. I have also been a compulsive spender and this too, I have worked hard to keep in remission.

With all of these things, I can proudly say with no shame that I have done the work. I did not do these things alone. But I sure as shit did my part.

In addition to these things, I have suffered for most of my life from significant depression and anxiety. And for these things, I have also done the work and gotten the help like a rockstar to be healthy. That is all I have ever wanted. To be healthy and happy. That is what life is meant to be.

But the hard thing I need to say here is that the depression and anxiety have flared up again. From the age of 25 to 58, I sought and received much help. Inpatient treatment for the eating disorder. Twice. Hospitalizations to become stable and have meds adjusted many times. And these are the ones about which I use to say terrible things to myself. The hospital stays. Four years ago, I walked out of a hospital after telling the doctors I had to do this on my own. And they were in full agreement. The trauma of the day for that long, and very painful in-patient stay was the surprise ending of my 26-year marriage relationship. That was hard on my hope, heart, and chemistry. And that chemistry was complex due to the lack of nurture in my developmental stages of life.

These last two years have been really tough. I have worn a brave face. And at times, really been in joy. But under it, all have been hypervigilant, chemical, and fear-based anxiety that has recently gotten the best of me. I have been

dealing with issues related to complex PTSD that are hard to sit through at times.

One day at the end of January, after I had just finished writing for my book that I would never darken the doors of another psych ward, a couple of stressors put me over the edge and I checked myself into the local mental health hospital.

And that was the hard thing to say. But the reason I am doing it is that I am home now. The mental health system, while I am grateful for what it is, is also grossly lacking. Many years ago, I would have been in an outpatient program for added support. Today, that is not available to me. I do not have the insurance to cover it.

So I am at home. With my head. Which has had medication adjustments made that will take time to produce the desired results. And I wait. For a one on one therapy appointment Monday. And a weekly peer support group to begin Tuesday. And two more support groups to attend on Tuesday and Wednesday evenings. I am tired of the shame I feel when I simply don’t feel well, just because it is my brain that does not feel well.

In my experience over the years, some of the doctors do not help this be any easier. Even though the human head is attached to the body, “mental health history” on the top of my surgery chart for breast cancer and childbirth made those providers only too anxious to dismiss me at the legal six-week limit. Perpetuating the bullshit shame about having mental health issues.

When I am honest, whether from a podium or my keyboard, I always feel naked and vulnerable, but I also feel the evidence of my own power and capacity to survive and that is what I need right now.

I am writing to give myself a much-needed pep talk while I wait on the support that is lined up because it works for me. When I see my strength in words as I go back to reread my own posts, I am impressed and strengthened to see what God has asked me to expressed and just how much I have done to be well.

I would likely still be in the hospital right now where there is a sense of community, someone making the meals, which, in times like this for me, is stressful, and a peace that comes with being removed from the stressors of home, but due to this pandemic and the number of people in common areas who were either sick, just recovered or perhaps not vaccinated, my stress was off the chart, so I am at home with Atlas the Cat. I am seeing some friends and will try to be kind to me while I wait out the weekend.

Normally, I have a mental health provider in place to do my medication management. But for several months, no one was doing that.

The doctor in the hospital assigned to me was my gift. He was bright, humble, respectful, kind, funny, intuitive, and smart as hell. And I have seen a few shrinks, so I know what a gift it was that I took myself there and got connected with him. I will get to see him on an outpatient basis once he starts his practice.

In the meantime, he has fast-tracked me to the person I was unable to get into on my own for medication management.

By the way, this doctor that God assigned to me diagnosed me with something NOT in the DSM when he said, “Lucinda, I think you have a Rich Cerebral Universe,” after which,

we both laughed.

I had been telling myself that I could not make it in Florida since moving her in late 2020. That I needed to move back to Oklahoma, where it was less expensive and I could make it. “Lucinda, it’s like you have you by the collar saying, ‘C’mon, you gotta go back to Oklahoma, you’re gonna fail here’, to which he added emphatically, “But Lucinda, you ARE making it!” And he is right.

It takes time to establish roots. And I am a year and a half invested in that. I have a creative job opportunity in front of me that could not be so if I was throwing my shit in a truck to go back where, no offense to Oklahoma, my soul never felt at home. I moved HERE with the prayer and meditation guidance of the God that made me FOR me. My God just wants me to be happy. And as a little girl in New York and a big girl in Florida, I get more of that in the sun and at the beach.

By putting this in writing, I am breaking the stigma I have put on myself. By sharing it with you, it is my hope that the loss of hope and faith and thoughts of loathing and self-hatred I have heaped on me for having tough times will scatter like the cockroaches that they are. And if someone else gets a glimmer of, “I’m not the only one,” or “maybe there’s hope,” then I have not suffered in vain.

This is my evidence. God showing off. The fact that I have survived the fire, many times over is evidence. I am not broken and I am still here. Yay God. Yay Lucinda. Yay life.

To be healthy and happy. That is what life is meant to be.

I (Jim) was lucky to meet Lucinda Christain Bunn last year at the Cultural Arts Alliance Sidewalk Art Festival. She was in the process of creating her chaulk art on the hot asphalt at Grand Boulevard. I was walking around taking photos and meeting people, two things I enjoy. She said she had recently moved to the area from Oklahoma. We talked about the local art scene as people were checking out the artist’s work. Anne Hornstein saw me and said hi then Lucinda asked Ann if she knew me. We both laughed and Anne said that I may have known her the longest of most of her friends. This confirmed to me that if Anne is Lucinda’s friend then Lucinda is awesome too. If you get

the chance introduce yourself to her too.