New Year's Hope

December 29^th 2014 – I began writing about the day I nearly jumped off of a waterfall and my experiences with Mental Health. I didn’t know what direction I would take the writing and I didn’t know if I was even going to share it with anyone, let alone open it up for the world to see.  But I did. And here I am, still going.

As New Year’s Eve approaches I can’t help but to look back at the events of the past year (and a bit) and to see how far I’ve come. Last year I was still a bit of a wreck, still digging and fighting and trying to decide how much effort I truly wanted to put into becoming stable and improving upon the quality of my life. At this time last year there would still be another hospital visit or two to come and I would still have suicidal thoughts while my depression was still prevalent – despite the medication and the therapy I was beginning. 

I didn’t know how my journey through the battlefield of Mental Illness would end. I didn’t understand the depth of how intertwined it had been within every aspect of my adult life (and most of my teenage years as well). I didn’t know where to start to fix myself or if I was even worth fixing. I didn't even know if I could change. 

Research. Therapy. Support Groups. Medications. People. Through an assortment of these things in my life I began to unravel the years of twisted thinking and uncontrollable moods… and at some point during my journey I realised that it was no longer an option to stay the same. I made a decision and I began the long process of self-discovery, repair, and trial and error to begin to change.

It hasn’t been easy. Life hasn’t gone the way I expected it to during this time… in fact, some areas of my life have become more challenging than I thought they would once I began to do the work and become a different me.

I’m not finished changing. I’m not finished growing and learning and overcoming. It took me most of my life to get to the place that I was at… I’m not going to be able to fix things in less than a year… and some things might take the rest of my life to keep working on. But I will keep working on them. Because it is amazing to see how much you can change yourself, how much it is worth it, how much hope there is for a better tomorrow. 

This year I won't be making a New Year's resolution. There is no need for that as I continue on this journey of self-improvement and self-discovery. I have found my hope. I have found my determination and I have found the path I want to take in this life.

So from me to you, Happy New Year!

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Big Trigger, Little Trigger

Financial hardship, marital problems, loss of a loved one, addiction, bullying, health issues, and big unexpected changes are all things that can knock a person with good mental health down and make them feel low, contributing to situational depression. But if you take those same stressful situations and place someone who is already struggling or prone to mental health issues in that position it can lead to immediate relapse and unpredictable behaviour, with disastrous outcomes.

It’s a frustrating and vicious cycle when a person becomes stable and is living life in a somewhat normal capacity, and then boom; something happens that pulls all control away from them, sending them spiraling back into chaos. It’s no wonder that this is the one theme that has come up in every book I’ve read, every therapist I’ve seen and every group I’ve attended – how to cope with major triggers and how to avoid repeating the pattern. Unfortunately there isn’t a simple answer to this, or a single one-size fits all action plan to use when things come up. It’s trial and it’s error, it’s finding what works to keep you grounded, in that moment.

The more I work on myself, the more I’m learning what does and doesn’t work. But it also takes constant practice. Small triggers are everywhere… a couple examples from my life include going new places, big social gatherings, arriving late, or even sleep disturbances. It’s through these small triggers though that I practice regularly dealing with the onslaught of emotions that can come up at any time, and spin me in any direction, preparing me for those times that the big things might come up.

Again, if only it were that simple.

Last week a big event happened within my life. It brought with it the usual feelings of instability, crazy mood swings and at times feeling like I wasn’t going to be able to cope appropriately. It was a struggle to say the least, but I managed.

I took a day of self-care. It involved a sick call to work for a single shift, and forced movement around the house during that day. It involved talking to support people and venting frustrations in a healthy way. It involved constant focusing to what was happening in my life – experiencing it and letting it go as best as I could. It involved a range of emotions and agreements to go to the hospital if at any time I felt I wouldn’t be able to continue coping on my own. It involved using my “wellness toolbox” – doing things for myself that bring about a positive emotion – to keep me grounded, switching it up when one thing couldn’t hold my attention for long. It involved me keeping to the routine, diet and exercise habits I have established this year, despite my body trying to do otherwise.

It wasn’t a perfect experience. It was incredibly hard and at times I have slipped up, my emotions have gotten the better of me. But overall I was able to deal with the trigger in a healthy way… something that enabled me to sort out what happened in my head, allowed me time to get to a better place.

I wish I could say I would never fall back into my old ways of dealing with things – but to be honest, it could happen. This time it didn’t. Triggers will always be a part of my life; Everybody has them, it’s just more difficult for those of us already dealing with mental health. It has taken time, patience, failures, and incredibly hard work to get to this place I’m at right now. The place of acceptance and the fact that I might always have more of a struggle with everyday ups and downs in life than the average person, but I’m also at the place where I work hard daily to identify and plan for those very situations. Where I can now see it coming and take steps to recognise it before it disables me completely. It’s constant, it’s so much work that some days I just want to stop and let my mood and my mind take over and do what they want. And then I look back to how far I’ve come and how much my quality of life has improved.

It isn’t easy. There might be setbacks and that’s okay. But it’s most definitely worth it. There is hope for a better life, a better future. 

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Parenting with Mental Illness

Back in the summer I wrote about how mental illness has affected my relationships - most notably my marriage and other adult-based relationships in my life. From the time that I was a young teen I can look back now and see all of the ways that anxiety, depression, mania, and anger have affected my life; see the very real struggle that relationships have always been for me. It's easy to look back and feel the regret, to see the mistakes I made and the way my thinking was often distorted throughout my life; but I also see the changes I've made and the new (healthier) relationships I am finally beginning to build.

And then I look at some of the most important people in my life; my children.

Two weeks ago I was in the car with my kids. We were on our way home from somewhere and as we drove through town looking at the Christmas lights up everywhere, my 9 year old daughter brought up a night from the previous year - something that my husband had done with them while I was in the hospital. As I listened to her story, my older (12 year old) son interrupted her, reminding her that I wasn't with them and that I was in the hospital. Now he didn't say it sadly or angrily, he didn't seem as though it was something that bothered him - he simply stated a fact. I wasn't there because I was in the hospital. However my daughter stopped her story at this point, becoming very quiet for a minute before she blurted out to me: "I was really scared when you were in the hospital, I didn't know what was wrong and I thought you were going to die." Her statement to me really hit home at that point. She didn't know what had happened to land me in the hospital - we had talked to the kids about me being there and they had an age-appropriate reason given to them that explained a little about sadness (depression) and how the hospital can sometimes help people to feel better for all kinds of illnesses. But when she told me that she thought I was going to die, it threw me off because realistically she was much closer to the truth than I was comfortable with; realistically at the time I was in the hospital it was because I wanted to die.

How do you explain mental illness to a child? Sure, there are ways to do it. Things that you can say to give them an idea of why someone is in the hospital, why they have walked away from the family for a few days or weeks or months. There are things that can be explained in a simplistic way that hopefully they might grasp onto and not question further. But when happens when those children are teens or tweens who see tweets and posts about depression and suicide on social media and put two and two together? What happens when children of any age live with a parent with mental illness that is untreated/mistreated for so many years of their lives?

I don't have all of the answers right now but it is something I have thought about quite a bit. Because my children have been there. I have been the parent who was up and down, depressed and manic, angry and impatient, uninvolved and sometimes even disappearing. I have been inconsistent and unaware, I have gone from fun and loving and caring to frustrated and distant and unpredictable.

I don't have all of the answers. But the one thing I can say is that we (my husband and I) are honest with the kids... we are open about our mistakes and we apologise for our imperfections. We keep explanations appropriate to their ages and their levels and we let them see that we are only human, that we take steps to correct inappropriate actions. We also let them come to us - when they are hurting or confused or angry. We keep the lines of communication open and we try and see things through their eyes... even when we don't want to. I also am focusing time on my relationships with them. I don't want to be that parent - the crazy one that the kids end up in therapy for years over because of the pain they cause. The one that they won't call or speak to or visit because of their childhood - because their mother was not at her best and refused to get help. And it doesn't have to be that way.

I know my children love me - and we have many amazing memories as a family, of adventure and celebrating and life. But there are also dark shadows that I know still pop up, still taint some of their memories. The relationship between myself (a parent) living with/recovering from mental illness and my children is complex and while I know I can't change the past, I can change the future. I can continue to do what I'm doing - stay stable, seek help, build new memories, and strengthen our relationship. I can show them how hard work and dedication can be necessary but worth it... I can teach them about mental illness and what to look for, how to handle it if they encounter it in their own lives eventually. I can be strong and I can fight for them, for the rest of their childhood and for our relationship.

Parenting with mental illness does not have to destroy the family or ruin their childhoods. I won't let it. There is hope, and my four kids are worth the fight.

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Silently Fighting

I haven’t had the chance to sit down and write that much lately with how busy things have been.

It’s been a bit of a crazy month, but I’m managing and I’m doing well.

It’s easy for me to sit here and write about how I’m doing, how I’m fighting to stay level and am neither depressed nor manic, I’m not angry nor irrational.

There’s so much that I want to write about, so much that I would love the world to understand about living with Mental Illness, but I have to confess; it can be exhausting and sometimes I don’t always want to be honest about it. Sometimes I want to look like a winner and announce that it's done, I've conquered it - be that success story you hear about.

November is a bit of a crazy month to begin with, and one that in my past has always been a triggering time of year for me. Over the course of the past year, one of my main focuses has been my own personal self-awareness. Time after time I have spoken to professionals and have been told that there is no cure for either Bipolar Disorder or Borderline Personality Disorder. Therapy and medications and lifestyle can help to control them, but I will live with them for the rest of my life although they may dull down and not be as serious as I get older. 

I have to admit that I kind of believe them to an extent. You see, first of all I’m a highly emotional person – things just seem to affect me more than the average person and I don’t know if I can or want to change that - to me, that is sometime that makes me me. Secondly, my moods will always have the possibility to spiral out of my control and send me on a rollercoaster ride of emotion. But here’s the thing; while my emotional regulation is a little out of whack, and I’m quite a bit more sensitive than the average Joe – I am learning to identify with, work with, and challenge these qualities – sometimes finding that they can even be an excellent warning system that I can use to my advantage.  

I want to stop right here for a second though and make an admission. I’m not perfect and I’m pretty sure that I never will be - there will be times that I will make mistakes, or have panic attacks or feel like a complete failure. 

But I’m working on me. I’m working on several things that have come up within the last year or two (or three or four) and I’m figuring this stuff out. It’s hard work – something that so many people don’t realise – because I have to know every piece of me, every reaction and every trigger. I keep journals… several of them that I use to track everything from the food I eat, to the sleep I get, to moods I experience, to the things I say and do. I need to know my patterns, know my limits and understand my emotional reactions. And then I also have to fight. I have to fight to prove that my frustration or anger or upset is legitimate and not the disorder, I have to fight to keep myself stable and stop my moods from shooting up or falling down, and I need to fight to keep learning about myself and what level really is.

This month has been harder than some I’ve experienced lately. While I’m still doing okay and remaining stable I’ve had quite a few things come up that triggered me – some of them catching me completely by surprise and other things that I already knew about and was watching for. And so I’ve watched as triggers hit me – recorded them in my journal and worked my way through them, adding new tools to the toolbox, ways to cope with the never ending fluctuation of emotion and threat of an episode.

This life, it is exhausting right now as I work to do what other people can do naturally, and I don’t always feel like sharing. But this is when I should share. Because right now, at this moment I’m a success. I’m fighting hard to make life liveable, to get to know myself and what I need to do to survive and to change the way I think. I’m learning to use natural methods and things that are within my control to manage and redirect myself when I feel things might be beginning to slip one way or the other.

So this is me being honest. I’m tired and I’m fighting, I’m learning and I’m growing, I’m alive and I’m well, I’m neither up nor down, and even though I sometimes still struggle, I’m also feeling the strongest I’ve ever felt. Nothing beats that feeling of strength and hope, the realisation that you can have a future and that it won't be defined by your Mental Illness. 

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Undone - One Step Backwards

“Bills, money, cars, repairs, house, home, kids, Halloween, Christmas, stop it, leaves, cold, work, second job, hair, getting out, working out, be quiet, eating, groceries, tired, not allowed to sleep, keep going, don’t stop, laundry, dishes, homework, snow, tires, shut up, doctor, dentist, get moving, too much to do…, I said stop it, get control, hospital, manic, depressed, mood stabilisers, anti-depressants, side effects, police, suicide…”

The thoughts were racing through my head, swirling on repeat and speaking over each other without pause. I was in the shower, a little late in the morning but trying to get ready to accomplish the day’s tasks when I realised I couldn’t shut down the thoughts. Trying harder I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my brain to stop, to slow down and to let me think rationally.

“You can’t do anything right.” The thought began as the rest of the words, the rest of the stress of everyday life continued to yell in the background.

“Get a grip!”*“Loser!”*“You do nothing all day… you can’t even control your own thoughts, your own emotions!”*“You can’t stay stable, you will always have to watch out for highs and lows and dysfunction.”

The negative thoughts came faster, reminding me of what a failure I was and I always have been. Soon I was arguing with myself… as a negative thought screamed internally at me I yelled loudly right back. I know, at this point I sound full of crazy, right? Well surprisingly, arguing with my own mind didn’t work and I found myself having trouble breathing. It was too hot, I was still in the shower and my chest felt heavy trying to breathe. Yanking the shower door open I stumbled out and into the bathroom, wrapping the towel around me awkwardly and moving into the bedroom. My head was now pounding, the thoughts still blaring as I struggled to catch my breath.

“Too hot. Stop panicking. Knock it off. Focus. Stop. It’s just a panic attack.” I reminded myself as I gripped my now aching chest while I struggled to get it under control. My heart was now pounding relentlessly in my chest and everything that could pop into my head did. Fear, crowding, anxiety - all of it was crashing down on me and I felt like I was going completely insane. Remembering some of the things I’ve learned I focused on the breathing, the feel of the air as it entered and exited my body… counting as I inhaled and exhaled, trying to keep my mind from speaking to me. I grabbed my cheat sheet (Yes I have a cheat sheet for panicking!) and looked down at it, picking several simple things off the list that I could do in the moment.

Finally I got my breathing under control, barely. I lifted my head and realised I was lying face down on my bed in a pile of laundry, my face soaked with tears. Gripping my dripping wet hair I wanted to scream and I wanted it to stop; I wanted my brain to simply shut off for five minutes. Continuing with the tools I had available to me, I eventually came out of it; my body aching and tired but under control again.

This particular panic attack happened just this morning and I’ll admit I’m still a little shaken up over it. For me, it isn’t necessarily the difficulty breathing or the physical pain that bothers me as much as it is the complete lack of control – my inability to always stop it before it gets out of control like that.

It’s also why I feel that sometimes being in recovery and treatment with a mental illness can sometimes be even more draining than going untreated. Because every panic attack, every bump in the road, every single time there is a slight shift and you feel a little happier, a little too angry, or a little too weepy you have to watch it. You have to be aware of the miniscule changes to your emotions and the way you react, you have to analyse every mood you are in and every choice you make. Others do it too, they watch you closely and at the slightest sign they question you worriedly – ‘You’re playful today, are you sure you’re not manic?’ or ‘You have a mood disorder, can I trust your opinion and that it isn’t just your emotions making that decision?’ And then… occasionally it still sneaks up on and you feel like you have accomplished nothing in the months of stability. One outburst leaves you feeling completely naked and vulnerable, useless and stuck in a cycle of hopelessness. You wonder if it will be like this forever, if the guilt and the shame that you can’t get it under control will always be with you. And you just want to be normal.

I’m in recovery from a mental illness, but panic attacks and emotional dysregulation still happen from time to time.  I’m safe, and I’ve got support – I know what to do now… but it doesn’t make it any easier when you feel like you have worked so hard to be level and all it took was waking up one morning for the sea to begin churning, throwing you overboard and letting the waves carry you wherever they may.

I’m sharing this because it’s easy to forget. It’s easy to see someone and know that they have struggled but not to see the internal battles that they still face to stay somewhat stable. It’s easy to look past their eyes and the fatigue and think that it means that the fight is over. It’s easy to get down on yourself if you are that person that is still struggling. Everyone has bad days… but it doesn’t mean we are weak or failing or succumbing to our illness again if we have to struggle, if we ask for help or if we simply need to take a breather. 

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Journey to the Cliff

A couple of months ago I was sitting in a therapy group with a bunch of people with assorted diagnoses. It was during a break, a few minutes where we could grab water or use the facilities that somehow the casual conversation turned serious and one of the group members spoke up, ‘I don’t understand how anyone could get to the point of suicide, how they can get that low and depressed that suicide becomes their only option.’ I didn’t speak up. Nobody did. There was a room full of people who had all been hospitalised at some point for one type of mental illness or another and not one person continued the conversation, all of us letting it drop off uncomfortably, changing the topic as quickly as possible.

At the time, the woman and her lack of understanding didn’t upset me and while I don’t know that I could have changed her outlook on it, I do regret not using it as an opportunity to educate her on what it was like for me personally to reach that low point in my life. In two weeks (and a day) it will be one year since I last tried to end my life by suicide, and it is something that has been on my mind for the last few days – particularly the idea that while I have been open, and I have spoken about it quite a bit, I’m not sure that I’ve gone into why I became suicidal or how I reached a point where I was so low that I couldn’t convince myself to live.

November 6th, 2014 I made my way to the waterfall around the corner from my house and attempted to jump to the jagged rocks below, a razor blade cutting into my wrist as I let go of the wall. Two police officers manage

d to grab me as I let go, heaving me back over the
wall and to the ground, saving my life. Deciding to jump from the cliff, to end my life and to ensure my success with a backup plan was not something that I came up with that morning – it was not something that I woke up with and simply decided, ‘hey, today’s the perfect day for a suicide attempt!’

For months leading up to my final decision the thoughts had been invading my mind – and it wasn’t the first time I had come close. I was off meds for the bipolar disorder, isolated, alone, depressed, and feeling invalidated – worthless. I was working part-time but fairly steadily and every day that I went to work I put a smile on my face and I dealt with customers and the public the same way I always had – the only difference being that I was now running on autopilot. I was robotic on the outside. I spoke to the kids if they spoke to me. My husband and I were fighting over several things at the time and if we weren’t, I continued on auto. Days where I was not working, I sat on my couch in the living room, not really doing anything but the basics, and even then I couldn’t always complete the simple things. I was severely depressed, which lead to a lack of energy, which lead to further depression, which lead to a lack of ambition, which lead to further depression, which lead to feeling of disgust, hatred and inadequacy. It was an endless cycle that with each round became darker and darker.

I remember it being early October, the leaves just beginning to change as I sat on the stairs by my front door, still in pajamas as I watched the kids leave for school; the bus pick them up at the end of the driveway and I simply sat there, unable to get up, to move to do anything. Tears sprang to my eyes and before long I was crying uncontrollably and for the first time in a long time I felt that I couldn’t go on. I couldn’t keep doing life.

I was completely crippled with anxiety – whenever I had to go anywhere or do anything, make a decision of any kind, I would have panic attacks and experienced heightened and uncontrollable fear. I couldn’t use the phone and I certainly wouldn’t go out of my way to try and build friendships or a support system within the community that I was brand new to. My thinking became distorted early on; every move that anyone made became a mode for them to control me, to isolate me further. I looked around me and saw that my family was happy – the only people who I regularly interacted with and I wondered what was wrong with me. Why couldn’t I be happy, why didn’t I have energy, why was I so worthless, why should I keep pulling them down with me? How could I go on, when every day was a struggle – when panic attacks controlled my life, when I felt that the world would go on if I could just escape it.

And so, on that day in early October I began to fantasize about dying; but I still continued to live. I still went through life robotically, working and running the kids around, and fighting with my husband. I experienced extreme anxiety that would grip me at all times of the day or night, disrupting my sleep patterns and causing a sense of paranoia to begin. The depression got deeper – everyone around me was happy, making plans for fall and then Christmas; life was happening and I was being dragged along unwillingly. And then I crashed. A fight with my husband was my snapping point. I left home. I was angry and bitter and most of all in extreme emotional pain. It hurt immensely to see everyone around me smiling and laughing and living the way that I felt I would never be able to do. The pain became physical, making me sick and weighing me down. I slept in my car in a parking lot one night, texting my husband and telling him that I was done, I couldn’t do this anymore – I meant life. 

The next morning I went home, I couldn’t do it – I was terrified not of dying, but of failing. I got changed and went to work that day. When I left work I again didn’t go home, my husband knew I wasn’t well, he and I texted – him trying to get me to go somewhere safe (home, the hospital, anywhere that I was with people and wouldn’t hurt myself). I refused. He called the police. I tried to sleep in my car that night when I finally couldn’t stay awake any longer – I was already determined that I couldn’t keep living, but again – I was terrified that I would fail and that I would be taken away, locked up in a mental institution for life. I had a razor blade in my hand and I had already taken a few pills I shouldn’t have taken when the police banged on the window. We had a short conversation and despite my worrisome text messages to my husband, they let me go as long as I went either to a woman’s shelter or a hotel. I chose the hotel, staying there all night, awake – my paranoia now out in full strength as I envisioned them circling the lot, keeping an eye on me. I believed that they were out to stop me and that my husband and others wanted to control me, keep me trapped and isolated when all I wanted to do was end the pain and the suffering I was experiencing.

The next day was November 6^th and I was set on my path, completely convinced that it was the only way that things were going to get better. It wasn’t an instant decision. It was something I had thought about and envisioned for weeks and could only see the positives of, that I was convinced was the absolute and only way to end the pain I felt. When I arrived at the waterfall, I felt peace and comfort and I was resolute. I was ready.

I can’t speak for others, but I can speak for myself when I say that suicide is not a selfish decision, not something that is decided on a whim and taken lightly by the person in crisis. For me it was something that I agonised over, fighting as long as I could before giving in and letting the decision happen. It was terrifying and sad, peaceful and confusing, angry and frustrating coming to my low point. I envisioned it and chastised myself, tried to listen to logic and find reasons to live but heard only twisted truths and outright lies, my own mind working against me. It was a long and exhausting path and by the time I looked down at the water and the rocks, I simply just wanted it all to end.

Talk truth, listen openly, reach out, give hope, and find reason. It sounds easy enough, but those are the things I needed in the days, weeks and months leading to my decision, and yet I could not find them anywhere.

I don’t have a problem with people who don’t understand; but it’s just one more reason why I’ve felt the need to share my story, my feelings and my experiences. It's about stopping stigma, breeding empathy and understanding, and learning to give hope. It's about giving even one person something to grasp onto when they are in the throes of despair, sinking and about to give up. 

Life gets better... sometimes it takes time. Hold on, keep your head above water, and grasp someone's hand. You are worth it.

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Mind Over Matter

Mind over matter. It’s an excellent mantra for when you need to get through certain aspects of life, lift your spirits or convince yourself that something is or isn’t right. But for me, it’s more than that and it’s one of those phrases that can even be dangerous when taken out of context.

It’s not a secret that I sometimes wish that I was ‘normal’. That I didn’t suffer with uncontrollable mood swings riddled with extreme highs and scary lows, or a personality disorder that can make me turn from a happy elf, singing and dancing, into the Wicked Witch of the West within an instant. And throughout most of my late teen years and early adult life, I have lived out the phrase – mind over matter – I wasn’t sick, I wasn’t crazy and I wasn’t abnormal in the least. If I worked harder, changed myself into what everyone else was and wanted me to be, and kept quiet, kept telling myself that it wasn’t who I was; it would all go away.

But that’s not how life works.                         

Sometimes you have the power to completely change things… and sometimes you need a little help, a little love and a little acceptance to overcome those obstacles. Sometimes you need to be open and honest and experience life the way it is – not the way you want it to be. Sometimes you need to accept your limits and work within them.

I’ve tried using the mind over matter method – refusing treatments, medications, and therapy because I thought I could convince myself to get better – I could change what was, simply by thinking it. Doing so almost killed me, but even still, it’s easy to slip back to that mantra, to let it convince me that I can do it all alone. But it’s also devastating when you can’t; when you believe you have failed and are a loser and are worthless and that you can’t even be ‘normal’.

So much of the stigma behind mental illness – especially mood/personality disorders – is because we have been taught this lie that we should be able to overcome everything. We should be able to pick ourselves up and move on, that depression or anxiety or mania are all controllable and those that can’t get a grip on it themselves are simply weak.

But we are not weak. We fight every single day to remain level – to find the therapy and the treatment plan that works for us – to not get caught up in the mind over matter attitude, and seek out help. We fight behind closed doors and with whispered words because mental illness is still taboo – can still cost people their jobs, their friends, and their lives. And then we are told to fight it harder, to stop being mopey or sad or manic… they roll their eyes behind our backs and call us overdramatic, overemotional or plainly exaggerated. We see the look in your eye that says ‘just knock it off already!’ and we wonder what is wrong with us, why we can’t just be like everybody else.

Most days I want to be the way that everyone else appears to be… until I remember that each and every person out there has their own battles that they are fighting. I only know as much about them, as they let me in to glimpse at their lives… and people only know me through what I allow them to see. Once I remember that, it’s easier to accept what I am – what I’m working towards and the challenges that I have already faced. It becomes part of me, open to expression and honesty and willingness to share, to not let my experiences hinder me – only help me. It reminds me that sometimes, in some areas of life – using your mind to change your circumstances can work. It also reminds me that sometimes there is nothing wrong with needing a little help, to use your mind to seek advice and treatment and support.

I’m level right now – in a recovery phase of bipolar disorder/borderline personality disorder – and as much as I tried, it was not because I simply convinced myself that I was stable. It’s hard work, dedication, tons of support and a lot of trial and error that have brought me to this place… my mind: it’s here, it helps – it reminds me why I need to keep going – but it didn’t magically change my circumstances, and it won’t magically heal me. But I can work towards healing, fight the stigma that comes along with the illness and change who I am, in time and with patience, with love and with support, with success and with setbacks; I will be stronger. 

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Hope and Life and Thanksgiving

This weekend was Thanksgiving weekend up here in Canada; a time when most families will gather together, eat turkey and stuffing and veggies and potatoes, tell each other what they are thankful for, and simply enjoy being in the presence of friends and family. This year though, our family celebrated the holiday a little differently than we usually would. Instead of gathering all together and in one place - we were spread out. There was a high-school football game, a casual dinner, a cozy meal at a restaurant, a little bit of work, some friends over for a birthday celebration (and chili!) and an adventure with cousins and family we haven't seen in ages at a nearby resort - we even had the opportunity to go hiking and outdoor swimming! Other family was missed this year, and though we saw them a couple of weeks ago for some birthday celebrations, we won't be seeing them again for at least a few more weeks. 

And that's okay.

Because it doesn't stop my heart from being grateful, from knowing what is important to me in this life - family and friends and the people who care. 

Last year I wasn't in a place where I could be thankful. Where I could appreciate those around me, the small moments that make everyday special. I believed that I was unloved and unwanted, worthless and better off dead. I was independent and stubborn and so very much in need of help, of love, and of support. I wasn't able to see what was directly in front of me, I wasn't able to care, and I wasn't able to know that I wasn't healthy. 

Last year I was in a pretty deep depression. Family came around and we celebrated a traditional thanksgiving; with turkey and pie and people. I laughed, and smiled and pretended I was grounded; pretended I had it all together and that nothing was wrong. It wasn't a secret I was unhappy, but we didn't talk about it either. We didn't know how to get help, who to turn to, or the extent of what would happen less than a month later - the decisions I would make. 

And that is the main reason that I am thankful this year. Because my story hasn't ended - because for some reason I wasn't able to complete my mission, I wasn't able to end my life. And now I've found my voice, something that I have learned is powerful, and needed, and valuable. Because I'm not the only one who couldn't speak out, who put a smile on her face and pretended that she was fine when in reality she was sinking. I am grateful because I can encourage you right now to speak up, to give a voice to mental health, depression, anxiety, or mood disorders; I can encourage you to end the stigma. Mental illness is lonely, and although I heard the words "you aren't alone", I didn't see the others, I couldn't put a face to the illness or words to the thoughts that were constantly rumbling around in my mind, I couldn't find the support I so desperately needed. I felt invisible, confused and afraid.

This Thanksgiving I want to pass on what I'm grateful for - my voice, my family, my friends and the support system I've started to build. The police who stopped me from plunging to my death, and those at the hospital who were trained to deal with me in crisis. I'm also grateful to those I've met along the way - those of you who have shared your stories with me, let me know I truly am not alone, who let me put a face to 'not alone'. I'm grateful for small moments and learning experiences - therapy and new ways to cope with what I couldn't deal with before. Most of all, I'm thankful for hope, because it's there, in everything else I've seen and done this year, every relationship I've re-built and every challenge I've faced - I have found the hope I desperately needed. And the best part is, it's there for everyone... things can and will get better, you are not alone and you are worth it! 

Happy Thanksgiving, from Me and My Family, to You!

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Fighting Stigma - Among Professionals

Hospital. Lock Down. Acute Care Facility. Psychiatrist. Social Worker. DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy). CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy). Counselor. Peer Support. Groups. WRAP. Community Support. Family Physician. Medications. Mood Stabilizers. Anti-Depressants. Anti-Psychotics. Mental Health. Stigma.

It’s difficult to describe how much time someone with a Mental Health condition spends in a constant battle, trying to remain stable while at the same time navigating the system and the medical community. For me, once I entered the system I found myself exhausted and confused simply from the terminology, the options for treatment and the cold and detached way that the health professionals treated me. I didn’t always understand what they were talking about and why they wouldn’t speak directly to me, at times not even informing me that they had diagnosed me with something new.

Every step of my journey has been filled with online searches, books and personal conversation with others who have experienced the mental health world and I have overcome many anxieties to become a strong self-advocate. But it isn’t always enough.

Recently I’ve been struggling. For once it isn’t with my moods, or either of my diagnoses and life has slowly become somewhat level for the time being. It isn’t perfect, and it still takes effort to keep it this way, to stay floating somewhere between happy and sad, manic and depressed. It takes conscious decisions and daily reminders that feelings are simply feelings and I can let them pass without becoming clingy or rage-consumed. But I am doing it. With support, and love and daily tracking, and effort and a plan in place with my doctor, I am remaining on track.

Perhaps this is the problem though. I’m on track and I am clear and functional and determined. And as I said, recently I’ve been struggling because of this. Because our health care system isn’t designed to really help those who struggle with mental health. Because the social workers and psychiatrists put such a huge focus onto medication and getting patients in and out of the acute care hospitals as quickly as possible. Because to get support you have to fight for it. Because the six to eight sessions they provide you with a therapist isn’t going to get deep and address the issues or the trauma that have contributed to your illness. Because being happy automatically tells the group leaders that you are manic and being sad because of life circumstances automatically means you are depressed and unstable. Because diet and exercise are not put into perspective, are not treated as things that can legitimately affect/worsen/improve an underlying condition. Because they don’t see you. They see a disease. An illness. An incurable mess whose only hope is pills and therapy to cope.

I’ve hesitated in writing about this.

Recently I was removed from a group that was being run by our hospital, a therapy group designed for those with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), but also useful for Bipolar Disorder. When I questioned not why I was removed from the group but how it was done, I was met with a series of answers that only further confused me. At first I was told I was doing well in the group but it wasn’t the right group for me, and then the leaders who refused to intervene stated that my moods were unstable and my medication journey was not being properly addressed. To say I was shocked and confused is an understatement. But I did not react – using skills learned in this and other groups, I took what they told me and thought it over, discussed it with my husband. When I was confident that this was not right, I took it back to the social worker who initially informed me of the decision as well as the Team Lead. Because I’ve never challenged the system before, I brought a support person with me to meet with them. It didn’t go well. I was fine. I was confident and determined and focused. I had legitimate concerns that I wanted addressed and I was the ideal self-advocate, asking questions and trying to see from their perspective.

What I received as a result was disappointing at best. I left the office at the hospital feeling not only invalidated but completely doubting of myself. During the meeting I experienced a social worker who outright lied to cover her own behind and both of the professionals present put everything back to me – first they accused me of being manic, and then depressed, and then simply unstable. When I asked for an example they used only my history (before serious treatment began) and were unable to focus on anything but my medications. For just a few minutes I almost began to agree. I was unstable. I needed them to make me stable. I couldn’t possibly know my own body or my own moods or illnesses – my journals, my witnesses, my months of stability and examples of change – none of it mattered.

Honestly, I understand their point of view. I understand that there are patients (I have been one) who cannot tell what level really feels like, who will lie to convince medical professionals – or themselves – that they are okay. It happens. But there are many paths to recovery. Mental Health for me has been about more trial and error than exact science. Different combinations of pills and therapies, group supports and personal counselors, self-discovery and a change in lifestyle have all contributed to getting me to the place I am now. There will be many more things that I will try and some of those things will help me, while others will have no effect or may even hinder me.

In my situation the medical professionals who were supposed to be working with me were in the wrong. In the place where I had fought to receive treatment, waited on lists to get in, signed a contract for a full year of treatment and then put every effort into my recovery; I was invalidated and made to feel small, like a crazy person without a cause. And this is why I’m writing about it here. Because I may have struggles that are very real, and I might have two incredibly hard diagnosis’ to live with and gain control over, but I am still a human. I deserved to be treated like a person and not a disorder and I will fight to make that happen, because while I am in a place where I can finally self-advocate, there are so many more people who can’t. People who are in a deep, possibly dark place with reliance on the system to treat them individually. People who are surrounded by judgement and terrified of the very real stigma that still exists surrounding mental health. People who simply can’t yet.

I can keep talking. I can keep fighting and I will not let my diagnosis define me – to family, friends or professionals.

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You Call Yourself a Christian - So Where's God in All This?

This post is a little different than what I usually write about, usually preferring to keep the religious aspect of my posts to a minimum for my own comfort. However, this is one I've been thinking about for a while and I felt it was important as it was a step in my own personal journey. 

God. Religion. Faith.

If you pray hard enough and keep believing - God will heal you. I've heard it thousands of times, I've seen the people who have been healed, and I've seen the people who haven't. I've seen people who understood that sometimes a situation or an illness in life can be given a purpose and a meaning, and I have seen people who have spiraled down, disappointed and angry and frustrated with God and themselves for not being healed.

I myself fall into several of those categories. For the most part, I don't always speak about what I believe as I find that it is very personal to me. Quick run-down... I consider myself a Christian and I do believe in God, and I do believe that He has the power to heal and the power to comfort.

A few years ago, I was going through a difficult episode; aside from cat-naps I hadn't slept for weeks. I was depressed and suicidal, my husband was at his wits end with me, and I couldn't even function around the kids. At one point I went out walking at night, it was early winter and I walked from one end of town (where I lived) out to the gas station at the far end of town. Sitting on the concrete retaining wall outside the gas station I was contemplating ending my life by continuing down the main road that I was on, down to the highway overpass and jumping.

As I was sitting there I saw several police cars pull into the gas station, the officers getting their coffee and I sat silently there in the dark, in the middle of the night waiting for them to leave. I didn't want anyone nearby to stop me. As I sat waiting though, I felt something slither across my hand and when I loooked down was surprised to see dozens of worms crawling across the very wall that that I was sitting on. I have a strange fear of worms and all things similar (caterpillars, snakes, etc...) I remember panicking, jumping down off of the wall and taking several steps away. Looking at the wall it was now completely covered in worms and as I glanced around me I noticed the ground now was as well. I was getting shaken up and suddenly all I wanted to do was get back home. I had no wallet on me or money to call a cab and so I began the walk back home, hearing the slithering of snakes in the frost covered grass on all sides of me and practically dancing my way down the sidewalk to avoid stepping on the slimey worms. Suddenly I was standing in front of the Tim Hortons, and as the snow started falling heavily around me I stopped walking and closed my eyes, squeezing them together as tightly as possible.

This couldn't be real. It was the moment I realised that I was far enough gone that I had been hallucinating this whole time. Opening my eyes back up I looked down the road and I saw the gas station I had been sitting outside, the lights off and closed down and not a car (police or otherwise) in sight. Looking down at the ground I could see a fine layer of snow under my feet, but not a worm or a snake in the vicinity.

This was also the moment I began to feel the cold, seeping in through my clothes and causing me to shake. I spent the next few minutes digging through my pockets, looking for change and I found what I thought was enough so I went inside the coffee shop and ordered a small tea, something to take the chill out and give me time to collect myself. I remember I was five or ten cents short and the girl at the counter gave me my drink anyways. Sitting down at a table in the corner I wrapped my hands around the paper cup and put my head down. I was suddenly exhausted and although I had been diagnosed with a mild case of depression a few months earlier, I knew that this was something more. And for the first time in a long time, I prayed.

That night I made it home, but not without further hallucinating during part of the walk and the possibility that I had been approached by a man in a van who continued to circle and try to pick me up for "fun" (I'm still not sure whether or not that was a hallucination or it really happened). For the next weeks and months I prayed alot. I spent time with my Bible and I fought hard against what I didn't really understand. I attended church and I read online blogs and stories and believed that I would simply get better. I put everything in my prayers and begged God to 'fix me' or 'take me'.

Instead I got worse and a few months later, after another period with no sleep and all-encompassing depression, I ended up in the hospital because of an overdose on sleeping pills. I had been desperate for sleep at the time and I didn't care if I lived or died any longer. Early one morning, I parked in our church parking lot where I took dozens of sleeping pills and blacked out for the majority of the day. When the police found me that night, I had been wandering down the highway, my body aching and my mind completely out of it. I have only slices of memory from that day and for the most part they involve me stumbling down the road, into traffic and through town, at one point I remember a car nearly hitting me, swerving and barely missing me - it could be real, or again, it could be something my mind made up.

It wasn't until more anti-depressants and several doctor's appointments with my family doctor and the psychiatrist at the hospital that the Bipolar diagnosis was finally made and the pieces began to fit together.

That was also when I truly began to find my Faith. My prayers began to change, my heart and my mind more aware and more willing to accept what I now believed. Although I knew for sure (and still do believe) that God has the power to heal people fully, he didn't heal me and there are many others out there that won't be healed either, despite their desperate prayers and their complete faith. Why? Because as my husband reminds me, simply put - we live in a broken world. I don't always understand the 'why', and I don't always want to believe that there's a chance that I might always suffer. Personally, I have shifted thinking and I believe that God uses people in all different ways - in my case, the doctors that have treated me, the counselors who have helped me to understand and even everyday people that I come into contact with. My prayers are different now too, when I pray for myself or others I pray for peace and comfort and understanding and I would never encourage someone to only pray for complete healing. For me, God is still there, by my side - watching over me and maybe even intervening in some cases - perhaps the car that swerved should have hit me, perhaps  he used my hallucinations (although part of my disorder), to actually save my life - I never ended up jumping from an overpass, and perhaps He was with the officer that gripping me as I jumped from the cliff at the waterfall last November, reaching out and grabbing me just as I let go.

The truth is, I have my Faith and I know what I believe. But I don't know the details and I don't know the whys... I doubt I ever will and that doesn't bother me. So when I think about where God fits in to my illness, I know I have the answer that I need - He is where He is and I'm okay with that.

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A Future Worth Living For

Today (September 22) marks my birthday and for the first time in my adult life, I'm actually excited about what this year will bring me. For the first time in my adult life, I feel like I have a quality of life that is making the future worth living.

I don't want to make generalisations or assumptions about others who suffer with mental illness - either diagnosed or not yet diagnosed - but I know for me, the future has never felt exciting. I think for me, it began as a teenager... around the time that my moods became noticeable to me. I didn't understand it, and for years knew that I was different but had no idea what that meant. I always felt that I experienced emotions deeper, harder than those around me and couldn't understand how or why I would go from crazy happy to dark and depressed and then back up into a furious anger.

The older that I became, the more those emotions seemed to intensify and as a young adult, they began to consume me. Depressive episodes would last anywhere from a few days to a few months, and then it would shift; my mood would come back up and I would begin new projects and take on new adventures with an abundance of passion and energy. Nothing could stop me... except maybe my paranoia and bouts of uncontrollable rage.

With every passing year, it became worse. I knew that there was something wrong when I was in between, or when I was calm and collected and rational; but if I was too far one way or another I couldn't see reason. Living this way quickly became exhausting. Over the last several years, my birthday came and went. I tried to keep up a semblance of excitement and plastered a smile on my face when it would come and go. I refocused my energy, avoided thinking too much about it and placed all of my attention into my son's birthday the following day.

Overall, the future was not something I looked forward to, and my past was always there - haunting me with my mistakes, and reminding me that it would forever follow me around. Some years I wasn't sure whether or not I would live to see my next birthday - or that I even cared if I didn't.

Living in constant turmoil, with a lack of resources and understanding was holding me back. I have suffered since I was a teenager, I have been in pain and looking for help but not knowing where to turn as I held my tongue and tried not to talk or think about the diagnosis' that the doctor's gave me. They gave me pills and told me to come back in 3 or 6 months and I did as I was told, continuing on as though it was a simple fix - take the pills... be normal.

What I understand now, is that it isn't a simple fix. There are options, there are multiple diagnosis' and combinations of mental illnesses that work differently in each person's body. There are different medications that can be tried, different types of therapy and support that can not only allow you to speak up for once, but they allow other peoples stories in. Nutrition, exercise, alternative therapies when used in conjunction with traditional medications/therapies, or on their own are all different options that I have finally been able to explore.

For the first time, I have a quality of life. My emotions and my moods no longer control me, and while I'm not perfect and I know that I still have a long way to go, and it is still a lot of hard work, I'm excited about the journey. I'm excited about life without the constant ups and downs and fighting against myself and anyone who tries to help me. I'm excited for the future.

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If You're Happy And You Know It... You Could Be Manic

Me: Talking about the great day I had.

Other Person: "Are you all right?"

Me: Yeah, why?

Other Person: "Nothing... you just seem a little... happy..."

I had a good day. In fact I had a good weekend, a good week, and overall a good month. Things are good, and I'm stable and I'm happy. I have made significant changes in my life with nutrition and exercise, and I have been following through with counselling and care and working towards a better mental well-being.

Over all, I'm different.

I'm not necessarily all better, or fully recovered. But I can't help but notice the difference in myself. I have energy and am happy, easy going and slower to anger. I am willingly participating in things that we are doing as a family that last year at this time seemed to be more of a chore for me. In general I'm quite open about my mental health and the problems I have faced. I understand and admit that I have two diagnosis' that can be quite scary and that can easily sneak back up into my life. But I also can't let that control me; and I'm allowed to be okay.

I also understand that if I seem happy you might automatically think I'm (hypo) manic, or if I get a little down and slightly sad you may worry I'm in the early stages of depression. If I get angry or upset over something, your immediate reaction might be to attribute it to my borderline personality disorder and not a legitimate reason. I get it. I really do. For most of my life, the reasoning behind those assumptions was sound. I often was manic, or depressed or completely out of control emotionally. 

But also understand that I'm learning. It's a whole new world to me now that I better understand my brain and my emotions. If you are concerned about me, please, do talk to me, ask me if I'm alright. But also trust that I am probably working extremely hard and monitoring myself closer than you ever could. I'm willing to talk about it, and I'm willing to listen. You might see some things, some signal in my behaviour that I will miss and I am open to you telling me about what you are seeing. Chance are though, that I can already tell you why I'm not manic... that I'm sleeping well and am able to focus. I can tell you that I'm not angry and frustrated and full of a nervous energy, nor am I paranoid, delusional or disassociating. All of the mentioned are key signs that something (aka me) is up.

Thank you for caring. I appreciate your concern, I really do. It is amazing that so many people are recognising mental health of those around them and are open to speaking up about it. Keep doing it. Don't shut down the conversation, don't stop asking questions and being concerned for those that you know are suffering or are in recovery. When your loved ones are stable and in a good place, sit down with them and have a real discussion on what their key signs and triggers are, what early warning signs to look out for. If you are concerned and they are open to conversation, let them know. Do it lovingly, do it honestly, and let them know you care, you want to be there and you want to help them. It will mean more to them than you will ever know, that they will feel loved and cared for - even when they resist it.

During the above conversation, I could have been manic. I could have flown into a rage and not been able to even focus on what they were saying. I could have been left alone with no one to point out how happy I am, and how different it is for me. I could have been manic. I could have been in the early stages of a long battle of ups and downs which could have thrown my world upside down. If that was the case, a simple conversation could have had me see that I was going too far up and needed to see the doctor, adjust a med, or get extra counselling. A simple conversation could have saved time, hassle, and possibly even my life. I wasn't manic, but the next time someone sees something that I don't, I could be.

Keep the conversation going. 

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The Truth

The truth is:

I'm just a girl.

The truth is:

I struggle with Mental Illness.

The truth is:

I'm fighting back.

The truth is:

I'm not alone.

It's absolutely amazing what the mind can convince you of. Once I let my mind convince me that I wasn't worth it, that I was just a nobody who was undeserving of love and compassion and understanding. I was in the darkness and couldn't see the light... not only that, but I didn't even believe there was a light. 

Some of the things that I am learning seem so simple, such basic principles that you must wonder how I didn't 'get it', how I didn't understand. I'm learning to accept who I am... mental illness and all. I'm also learning that I am worth fighting for, worth loving, and worth living for. I'm also learning that it isn't easy, but it is possible. I might be different. I might experience emotional roller coasters that are at an intensity that I can't even explain and that most people couldn't fathom. But I am worth it and I'm not the only one. 

The inside of my mind is a battlefield between truth and lies, reality and deception. Logic thinking becomes skewed, the truth twisted into an ugly mess of lies that are so convincing that you not only believe them - you live them. 

In the past, my mind has convinced me that I'm not worth it. That I should kill myself and end my misery, because life isn't worth it. There is nothing worth fighting for. It has convinced me that it is alright to mutilate my own body, to pull my hair and bang my head against the wall; to cut my arms and legs and hips and shoulders with a sharpened razor to simply feel something other than the emotional mess inside my brain. It convinced me that it was what I needed to do to cope. It convinced me that I should leave my husband and that my marriage was over, that my kids were better off without me and that I was no good at anything. 

My mind hasn't always been on my side. And that's why I fight against myself. That's why I need to constantly remind myself of the truth and work hard to appear 'normal' on the outside. Inside my mind is chaos. 

The truth is:

I might always struggle with Mental Illness.

The truth is:

I'm fighting back and I'm winning.

The truth is:

I'm not alone and the only way to help others understand and to reach out to others who are suffering, is to talk about it, write about it and be transparent. 

The truth is:

I've given up on caring about the stigma and the fear that stops us from talking. 

The truth is:
As much as I'm not alone, neither are you!

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World Suicide Prevention Day 2015

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. I've been thinking about what I would write all week and about the words that I could use to inspire someone to reach out and to save a life. But I don't have anything like that, I don't know if I am in a position where I can give that sort of advice.

What I can do though, is be open and transparent. I can tell you that I have been on the verge of suicide and I have been to the place that is so dark, it feels like there is no way out, except to end it all. I can also admit that even though I'm in 'recovery' and I mostly enjoy my life now, there are still days where I think about it.

Yesterday was one of those days.

It's taboo though, isn't it? To talk about the fact that the idea of suicide popped into my head just yesterday, to admit that there are still occasional
days where I have to fight myself and remind myself of who I am and that my life is worth living. I don't usually talk about it. Out of fear, and stigma, and shame and embarassment I don't speak out about the depth of what I am going through. I don't admit that I'm tired of it all or that I can't see the light for a moment or two. Partly because I know it'll pass and partly because I now have the skills to slowly pull myself up and out of the darkness.

Yesterday I didn't commit suicide... but the thought passed through my mind. I had suicidal thoughts, but I'm not suicidal right now and I wasn't yesterday. (Having passing thoughts of suicide and being suicidal are completely different things.) But I know that I have been there, and if I don't keep on top of my moods and my illness's that I could get to that place again.

It's lonely. It's terrifying. It is a place without hope, without love, without life. It is the absolute worst place I've ever been in my life and it is very real.

When I was suicidal I was empty. I was done. I was exhausted. I was finished with everything and I truly believed that everyone was finished with me, better off without me. My thinking was skewed but I couldn't see it. I tried to think of my husband and my children, but I could only see the pain I was putting them through, the ways that I was making their lives miserable. I believed that they would be happier, more complete, without me in their lives. I couldn't see the happy. I couldn't see the positives. As far as I knew, they didn't exist.

When I was suicidal, the people around me were either unaware or worried sick. My boss, my co-workers and my friends didn't have any knowledge of what was going on. They saw me leave with a smile and a wave and the next thing they knew, I was in the hospital for a suicide attempt. My family however, they were faced with making the tough decisions. Trying to talk me into rationality and trying to decide how to get me home and helped. Faced with these decisions, my husband called the police - several times, he didn't sleep and was faced with comforting the kids who didn't know what was going on but could sense the distress. As more family and aquaintances found out, there were phone calls and texts, worried emails and social media messages. The stress and worry didn't end once I was hospitalised. It took time, and it took honest effort from me for things to get back to more of a normality.

Even still... I know that people worry, including myself. It's something that will always be with me... not as scar, or as a definition of who I am. But of what I have survived, what I have fought against, and a reminder of how precious life is and how easy it is to lose sight of.
And that is all that I want today. For World Suicide Prevention Day, I want this to be okay to talk about. I want my friends and family and everyone else I come into contact with, to see not a person with a mental illness and suicide attempts scarring her history, but a survivor. I want those who are suffering and who are in the same place that I have been, to know that they are not alone and that they can get through this. I want people to talk mental health and suicide.

Love someone with a mental illness. Talk. Listen. Be there. Be open.

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It's Not Impossible

Some days, you just aren’t normal. You aren’t capable of reacting to things in the way that you are learning that you should. It isn’t a case of not wanting to, but of your brain being hard-wired in a way that you know isn’t quite right, but being unable to fight the thoughts that surface during those times.

It’s having thoughts, and thoughts becoming feelings and feelings becoming actions. Things that spiral out of control and keep you locked up in your own mind: irrationally, stupidly, and fearfully.

Despite an overwhelming and stressful couple of weeks, today was supposed to be a good day. A day filled with work, and baseball, and the beach. Before we even began, words were spoken; sarcasm that began to ruminate in my mind, sending me on a trip into a different reality.

He doesn’t want to be with me. But I know that he does.

It doesn’t matter, because he said it, he talked about disappearing and how we would be better off. He must be thinking about it. No. It was said as a joke, an offhand remark. He wasn’t serious and he would never do that. I should know that after everything we have been through and with how he has stayed by my side.

Once the thoughts became planted, it was crystal clear. I needed to put my guard up, be prepared. 

Although the rational, logical side of me was yelling, screaming at me to understand and to realise that it was all said in harmless fun this morning – it was drowned out by my emotional dysfunction.

I used every tool and every strategy that I’ve learned so far, within a matter of a few hours. Humour, distraction, shock, mindfulness, breathing and acceptance... all used to keep one foot planted firmly in reality so that I didn’t fully get washed into the chaos of my mind; a hand grasping onto the door marked ‘normal’.

By the time I faced off with him again I was almost there… fooling everyone around me, and to a degree even myself, into thinking that I was okay. I was fine. Until I wasn’t.

And all it took was a comment from my nine year old. A simple comment that completely shook me to the core and pulled out every brick from the wall I had carefully built throughout the morning and afternoon. It washed me away from any and all rational thinking and sent my mind into a full-blown meltdown.

Both my thoughts and my heart were racing and within seconds it was more than I could handle, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back… and so I ran away. Literally. I dropped the buckets and shovels that I had been carrying towards the beach and moved back towards the van, letting myself in and letting the tears wash down my cheeks as I tried desperately to shut down my brain.

I spent the next hour arguing with myself. Trying to sort out the ‘truths’ in my head, creating charts and graphs that only I could see, trying to cling to any sort of reason because everything was completely jumbled and I couldn’t make sense of anything at all. Couldn’t understand what was right, what was true and what was my messed up mind trying to fool me, make me believe things that logically I know are false.

Today I missed out on a trip to the beach with my family, because I wasn’t doing well and couldn’t cope.

I also handled it better than I have in the past, and learned some of my triggers for the future. As much as my mind was random, garbled bits of chaos… I did manage to use tools and strategies to overcome it and not let myself get to an even darker place.

Tonight I know I’m being hard on myself as I bring myself back to reality. I don’t want to be this way. I don’t want to experience these lapses back to the ‘old’ me. I also don’t want to entirely lose the ‘old’ me. And as I write this, I’m not really sure where I stand, except that I’m not 100% okay right now, and that is okay as long as I can accept it and work towards correcting it – and getting help if I don’t feel like I can.

Today was a hard day, but it wasn't impossible.

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Small Things

(Small stones can appear much larger based on the lens they are viewed from.)

** Knock off the tears.
** Stop crying.
** Why are you over-reacting?
** What's the issue?
** Stop being so dramatic.
** It's not that big a deal!

It seems innocent enough to say one of the above phrases, and most of the time I'm sure that nobody would think twice about using one or all of them - especially if the person standing in front of you was reacting in a way that seemed ridiculous in comparison to the situation.In fact, you might look at such a person and have thoughts that go as far as to compare that person to a toddler throwing a tantrum, unable to see the reason that you try repeatedly to explain to them.

Let's make up a random example.
A couple make plans to go out for the evening, the babysitter arrives and they arrive at their destination restaurant to find that it is unusually booked up and full. One spounse thinks okay, that's fine - let's go find another restaurant, or something else to do. But as he looks at his wife, he realises that she's already gone. The tears have started and she's choking back a sob and as much as she struggles to hide it and push it down, it pops back up. He tells her to relax, it's not that big of a deal and yet, she can't help it. Before long she's not only crying but she's angry, he attempts to take her to another restaurant, to distract her but she's already become another person, vicious as the anger begins to take over. Soon there is an argument and he becomes frustrated because he doesn't understand what the big deal is, she becomes lost in her thoughts. Her black and white thinking has taken over... the night is ruined because the original restaurant is booked, he hates her because she's emotionally sensitive, and who knows, he probably didn't even really want to go out with her in the first place - he hates her.

It all sounds so ridiculous, and very much like a toddler throwing a tantrum... doesn't it? That's because, from my experience and my research it is.

Emotional Dysregulation. People with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) don't have the same internal process for dealing with difficult or negative emotions. The thought process is actually quite simple - either you love me or you hate me, it's good or it's bad, life is awesome or it's not worth living at all. Small things are not simply small things. The daily events in life are overwhelming and unmanageable and set off chain reactions in the mind that convince you that everything is against you. And most of all, you can't see it. As far as you can tell, there is nothing wrong with your behaviour - I know, personally for me it was easy for me to admit that I'm a little more sensitive - but that was always as far as I could admit. Everything else, my insane over-reactions, angry rages and bouts of intense emotion were always someone else's fault... they were completely justified to me.

One time that particularly stands out to me, was several years ago. I was baking a cake - just for fun - and as it came time to turn the cake out of the pan and onto the platter I was going to be using, the cake stuck to the inside of the pan and basically only half the cake came out. Did I have a reason to be a little upset - yes, baking a cake is a lot of work and it's frustrating when it doesn't turn out. But how I reacted was completely inappropriate - I instantly felt frustrated and felt the anger begin to bubble. When my husband attempted to calm me down, told me to stop over-reacting and calm down, convince me that it was okay - I lost it. I started yelling (I don't remember exactly what I said, but I know it wasn't very nice!) and the incident ended with me picking up the glass platter full of broken cake and slamming it on the ceramic tile floor. It took hours for me to calm down and before now I've never admitted fault or apologised for my behaviour. At the time I was so out of it, so convinced that my actions were justified that I saw nothing wrong with it.

Thankfully, things are changing now. I will keep stressing that I am not perfect... that a few months of therapy and new meds haven't completely changed me and made me totally normal yet. But I'm working on it. Unfortunately as I said in my last post, my actions have had effects that have probably reached further than I even know, and some relationships have been permanently damaged. Having BPD and Bipolar, finally having a diagnosis, is not an excuse for my previous actions and I am in no way, trying to continue justifiying them. I treated people in a way that makes me amazed that I have anyone left in my life who cares about me. But while it isn't an excuse, it does clear things up... it does give me a place to begin working, examples from my past to help me not make the same mistakes in the future.

Now, with work and with therapy and with practice - the small things aren't always massive events in my life now. I am learning to regulate and can
see the destructive behaviours, recognise the emotions and accept them without losing myself. Without harming those around me. It isn't easy. I still slip and I might struggle with this for the rest of my life - and I accept it. My husband accepts it. And we aren't giving up.

One small thing at a time, we are working through it.

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Vicious - How BPD Affected My Relationships

I hate you. I hate this. I want to die, I'm going to kill myself and I hope you're the one to find my body. - I said these very words once, not that long ago.

I grew up with the mantra, 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.' but as I've gotten older, and thrown many words around myself... I realise just how untrue that saying is, especially when it comes to those around me that I love.

My husband - we met when we were only fifteen and began dating. When he was seventeen and I was sixteen, we had our first child, a baby boy. Less than two years later we had our second son, and soon after that we were getting married. Having two more children in the years that followed led our family into a chaotic period. 

Growing up, I had always been the more emotionally sensitive child. I cried easier than anyone else in my family, got angry - with my parents, my sister and my friends which was often released in outbursts. As a teenager I began to self harm - first by banging my head against the wall, hitting or pinching myself and eventually leading into cutting. But it wasn't all the time and I was able to hide it well, not letting anyone find out about it, especially since a lot of the time, I was perfectly normal.

Once my husband and I settled into the daily rush of our lives, things started to show through. My husband and I fought. I can't really say whether it was more or less than other couples, but it was quite a bit. At the time I had almost no knowledge of mental health whatsoever, and didn't know that I would one day in the future be diagnosed myself. As a result, triggers were common and looking back now, I can identify many of the early warning signs that existed but neither of us could recognise at the time. 

Over time, our fights became worse. Something would set me off and I would almost disappear completely, become a totally different person. Unfortunately this is common in someone with Borderline Personality Disorder - emotional dysfunction. Things become black or white. Yes or no. Good or bad. Love or hate. 

And while, for the most part, I was fairly normal to the outside world, at home things only got worse. The smallest thing could trigger me and I would get mean. My husband, who isn't perfect but pretty darn close most of the time, put up with a lot from me. If it was a bad day, I would become borderline verbally abusive, slinging hatred and insults faster than I could think them. And then, eventually when I calmed down, oftentimes I didn't even remember the horrible, vicious things I would say or my brain would justify them, make my words seem perfectly logical. 

As a result, I damaged a lot of relationships - many friendships were completely destroyed by my black and white thinking, my fear and anger and silent frustrations at things that I could see in the relationship but they couldn't. It wasn't only friendships that I damaged though, it was also family relationships - my mother, my father, my sister, my grandparents - there were throughout my life times when I simply swore that they hated me, or were wronging me, and I pushed them away, refusing to let them be close to me for fear of being rejected. 

Most of all though, I damaged my marriage. Neither my husband or I could understand what was going on, why I would get so angry and lash out at him. We kept fighting. I would get simply vicious.

And then one day, my husband told me he had had enough. He left. It wasn't amid a fight, but following a blowout that I had thought at the time we were recovered from. He moved out that day, went to stay with a friend, and I was angry. As far as I was concerned, I had done nothing wrong. 

During his time away, a lot happened. But eventually, through a series of events we came home. We decided to keep trying to work things out. Looking back, although I had always shown signs, it was through all of this that I really see my illness taking a dive, things would be up and I would be fine; happy, alive, energetic. And then I would get down, depressed and angry. I became unpredictable and several months later I hit a low... or rather a high. My husband and I were still fighting quite regularly, and during this particular time, I stopped sleeping. I was on a high and for the first little while I was okay. But then the lack of sleep hit. I became angry and cold, and vicious again. I left home, several times in the night. I would walk the streets of our small town and return home where I would be up and down from bed, sleeping an hour here or an hour there. This went on for days, which turned into weeks. Occasionally I would crash, sleep for 3 or 4 hours and then I would be up again. 

One night, my husband and I fought hard. I was exhausted and running on empty and I was flinging every insult and bad decison he had made into his face. I hated him and everything about my life. I left the house and began walking. I walked through our subdivision in pajama pants, tank top, a jacket and boots. No socks, no warm shirt - in the middle of January. My husband called our friend who also happened to be the Pastor at our church. Not only was I angry, I was threatening suicide and had even written him a letter. When the Pastor arrived, I was just returning home and I turned on him. I don't recall what exactly I said but I know that I was nasty towards him before I ran off again. That night ended up with me in the hospital overnight for my first Psych evaluation. By the time I was able to see the crisis worker the next morning, I was perfectly calm and able to talk my way out of the hospital.

A few months later, the same thing happened again. Only this time I was desperate for sleep and began using sleeping pills, while at the same time I regularly threatened to hurt myself. This time I was completely out of control. One day I parked my car in our church parking lot and laid the chair back to try and sleep. 35 sleeping pills later, and being found wandering around by the police and I was once again taken to the hospital. This time it was a 3 day stay and anti-depressants. 

But unfortunately it took visits with my family doctor, and follups with the Psychiatrist before I was finally given my first accurate diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. Pills. Medications. Follow up with my family doctor every few months and that was all. They expected me to be fine, to stay on the pills and continue on with my life with almost no information and no follow up care from Psychiatry once I was diagnosed. 

The problem with that is that I have level times. I have periods where I feel perfectly normal and am highly functional in my life. 

So it's true, once I was diagnosed, things got normal in my life for a while. My husband and I began to attend marriage counselling in the midst of all of this and life went on as though nothing had happened. 

And then I noticed that I still raged despite the meds and eventually the side effects became unbearable in comparison to what I felt the meds were doing. So I went off the meds, I kept busy. I became physically active, worked alot and mostly kept things at bay. But the angry rages kept coming. Not as severe, but always there, just bubbling under the surface. And then our lives changed.

It was a simple move, but it was the event that catapulted me back into the thoughts, the rages which led to the waterfall. 

And through it all, I have treated people - specifically my husband like crap. Until I received the second diagnosis in November of Borderline Personality Disorder, nothing made sense. I never understood how I could love my husband with every ounce of my being, and yet treat him so horribly. Now, after decades together it's all alot more clear. I'm not perfect yet, but with the correct diagnosis and a ton of actual treatment - the right meds combined with therapy - I'm learning. He's learning. We are both doing far better and understanding far more about why I am the way that I am. It isn't easy, change never is. But we're slowly coming along. I still get angry and feel myself getting out of control - becoming emotionally charged and feeling like at any moment, emotional me might take over, become a monster. And it might happen again. But I also now have tools to use, weapons to combat myself and become more self aware when it's happening. 

We've identified many of my triggers and several early warning signs that something isn't quite right, and strategies to keep me level. Right now it's working. But I owe my husband a heck of alot. He has loved me through it all. Despite his frustration with me, despite the vicious person I can become, he has been my rock. And he's not the only one. I still have family and friends who have stuck through me despite the way I have treated them and I will never be able to express my gratitude and how lucky I am to have them all in my life. 

For years I thought I was simply just a bitch, incapable of maintaining friendships or any relationships. Now I know that it isn't all true and I am fighting to change my behaviour, to not let my mental health conditions dictate my life any longer. I don't just want to be a better person... I want to be a better daughter, sister, friend... and most of all wife.

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