Out of darkness after a mental health crisis: Kelli Davis

When my husband came to pick me up, I showed him and said, “I can’t stay up and help you this weekend because I fell.” I didn’t care that he was mad. I remember feeling this overwhelming sense of relief that I got to stay in my safe space all weekend long.

That’s really a symptom of a broken mind. I can’t imagine doing something like that now. It’s a terrifying thought.

Robin: Did your depression get worse?

Kelli: A couple months in, I spent 2 weeks in my bed. I stopped showering. The thought of getting out of bed made me vomit every morning. I kept thinking, “I don’t want to die, I just don’t want to live this life. I want to live somebody else’s life.”

Eventually I ran out of all those pills. Insurance was not going to pay for any more. I had used up all my sick time, I was going to lose my job, the phone was ringing like crazy, I didn’t want to leave the bed. I was petrified of all those things that were pressing on me.

I looked over at a gun in my closet. I had my phone in my hand and I thought, “I have two choices. I can call and get help, or I can end it all.” My fingers dialed 911 and I said I didn’t want to live anymore. I knew that I couldn’t explain everything that was happening in a short phone call. I called my oncology clinic, too. They called the local authorities, to hasten things along because they realized there was something seriously wrong with me.

When the ambulance came, I walked out in a nightgown and a pair of jeans. At the hospital, they spent about 6 hours trying to figure out what to do. There was a bed in a psychiatric hospital that mainly treats drug addiction. I think they knew I didn’t have a physical addiction to the meds, but they knew they needed to get me out of that situation to regain my footing.

I was not able to sign my name. I couldn’t talk. I remember being so nervous, I just paced the room back and forth. It was 3 or 4 days before I could say anything.

Robin: What happened during the 2 weeks you were in the psychiatric hospital?

Kelli: They didn’t give me any withdrawal medicine because I wasn’t addicted to medicines I was prescribed. What I was addicted to was this nasty negative talk track and this rumination that I was experiencing over and over again.

We had group sessions where people would talk about why they were there and what their goals were. A nurse asked me if I had anything to add. I finally said, “I have stage IV breast cancer and that means I’m going to die.” People weren’t afraid or grossed out by me at all. They responded in a positive way, genuinely encouraging me about things I was saying. And I thought, “Maybe my life does have value.” I opened up. I started to eat again. I also had a break from my cellphone. That was a powerful piece in regaining my footing.

Little by little, I was able to see myself living a year from then. After leaving the hospital I was on an antidepressant for the next 2 years.

What helped me more than anything was trying to figure out how to help the metastatic breast cancer community. I knew that mets wasn’t getting much attention or research funding. I learned about Metavivor, an organization that funds metastatic research, and thought, “I need to do something special for them like a gala or a masquerade ball.” Then it hit me — the Metsquerade!

Robin: You and Lisa Quinn, who also was diagnosed with stage IV disease, planned the first Metsquerade for April 2016 in Springdale, Arkansas. How did you make that happen?

Kelli: We didn’t have any guarantee that we’d make a dime. We had to book a big venue and put everything on credit cards.

We partnered with a local news station that told our stories on TV and gave us a media sponsorship. Walmart, where I worked at the time, was a sponsor. Lisa lived in Springdale her whole life and received lots of support from the local community. Her husband, Patrick, a real estate agent, had the network and marketing abilities to make the event a success. We raised $137,000 — which blew my mind. We held it again in 2017 and 2018, and have raised almost $900,000. All proceeds go to Metavivor for research.

Since then, Metsquerades have popped up in eight other locations around the country. We created a guide for how to do it and also started the Meta-ribbon challenge, a fundraiser for Metavivor using your story and a website we create for you. I travel and speak about metastatic breast cancer, do advocacy for organizations, including LBBC, and am writing a book.

Robin: What do you do to care for yourself?

Kelli: I’m on Faslodex (fulvestrant) and Ibrance (palbociclib). I clean houses and work for an organizing company, making extra money because I’m on disability now, divorced and dating a great guy, Greg. I don’t think about cancer on a daily basis. When I think about cancer, it’s about cancer as a cause, not about my breast cancer.

While in the hospital, I learned mindfulness. Focusing on, “Can you not think about mets for 10 seconds? Can you picture yourself here in this moment?” and “Can you think about what fall leaves smell like?” Those were things I had cut myself off from in the land of depression. I didn’t want to experience joy at all.

Allowing myself to feel those things again was so healing. At first, I thought mindfulness was hokey and absurd. But the power of intention [mindful thought] doesn’t mean I’m going to intend myself out of a terminal cancer diagnosis. It’s making the most of this moment.

Robin: What advice do you have for others about dealing with mental and emotional distress after diagnosis?

Kelli: You are entitled to your feelings, no matter how they range. A metastatic breast cancer diagnosis is life-altering. You are experiencing a grief cycle that will take time.

Find a good psychologist whom you trust. I saw one in the psychiatric institution and afterwards — and still do today. It has proven invaluable. A growing number of oncology clinics are including comprehensive emotional care in-house. Don’t be afraid of using supportive meds but be mindful of overmedication.

Be wary of isolation. There are amazing online and in-person support groups that will understand like no others. They have been my lifeline.

If you are feeling hopeless and helpless and think you are in danger of hurting yourself, LBBC strongly encourages you to call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/) at (800) 273-8255. This hotline provides free and confidential emotional support 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.