My Illness Made Me Do It

Depression/anxiety/mania made me do it.

I’ve always hated this expression… the thought that any state of being could make decisions on behalf of me, this excuse that I am somehow not responsible for my actions simply because I am unwell. Perhaps it’s because I feel that it opens a door – if I can blame the mental illness for my behaviours, then so can everyone else; it only feeds the stigma. Or perhaps it’s because I haven’t always been comfortable sharing about my mental health problems, or because I didn’t want to admit to myself that I had these disorders that truly did take over at times. Whatever the reasons have been in the past for disliking the phrase, I still try to avoid using it whenever possible.

The problem is that while I refuse to allow my illness to completely gain control of me again, it has in the past taken over any rational or logical thought processes. I didn’t know how to manage and cope with my unstable thoughts and emotions – I didn’t even know what was wrong with me. Being bipolar means that at times the depression or the mania becomes natural, they are ingrained in me and part of who I feel I am at the moment – sometimes it’s difficult to separate the harmful thoughts from the level ones, the logic from the negative voice. It can be impossible to equate the person I become with the person that I am – it can be similar to having a split mind, the behaviour different depending on my emotional state.

But I still hate using this excuse, this reasoning that “the disorder made me do it”. Because the truth is, I am not my disorder. Yes, I have an illness… but I am capable of managing symptoms and seeking help. I am capable of fighting through the clouds of darkness and recognising the energy and chaos of (hypo)mania. I am capable and I am strong. I am able to speak and write and identify what is wrong and use the skills and tools that I have gained to keep myself grounded and present. I can keep the rest of my health in check to make it easier – my physical well-being, my spiritual relationship, and my social and supportive surroundings. I can make choices that might not heal the illness but that can certainly put me on the right path and give me hope to cling to when I begin to fall. I can focus not on my limitations and the things that I have done and experienced in the past, but on hope and recovery.

Sometimes I might still need help. Sometimes I might still falter and make poor decisions. Sometimes I might not always feel strong. Sometimes I might feel like this cycle is never ending. Sometimes I might not feel in control and I might need guidance and support and love to get back to a healthy place.

But I will not let the illness win and I will not be a victim of my own mind… I will stand my ground – not alone but with friends and family to back me up – and I will fight to stay healthy. I will keep hoping and praying and talking and writing, because I know that I am worth more than being a pawn to the emotional kidnapper inside my head.

I can choose right now to focus on the illness. I can focus on the things I have felt and the way it takes over who I am and changes the way I think, feel, and act. Or I can focus on recovery… on learning and growing and grasping onto the beauty in every day. It’s never easy… life rarely is, but it is worth it and every day that I struggle, I see the tiny changes - the way I am propelled further forward in my journey than ever.

Recovery isn’t simple… it will be different for everyone. But for me, it’s about letting go of the idea, the stigma that tells me that I am only my illness and that I can’t ever fully control my thoughts, feelings, or actions. It is about taking back control, learning to see and preparing in advance for sudden curves in the road, and taking the past and using the experience to bridge gaps in the journey. Recovery is about taking back the wheel, loading up the backseat with tools and support, and taking life on as it comes at me. Sometimes it will be easy, but I will never give up.  

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Beauty-Hunter

"There's no point in living."

"I have no reason to keep going."

"I can't fight the darkness."

I can only imagine the confusion and fear in my husband, friends, and family's minds as they heard me speak those words - words that were far more than simple sentences, that reached deep into my aching heart and had become the core of how I felt. They were my truth and my pain, they were an overwhelming need to let go and finally be free of the depression and the anxiety that held me captive.

At the time, I couldn't think of anything else... I couldn't feel anything else. It hurt deep inside me and it was beyond exhausting to live each day, to try and force myself to take another step forward when all I wanted was for it all to go away... I wanted to disappear.

In my world, there was nothing left - the happiness, the beauty, the joy, the wonder... it wasn't just hiding, it was completely non-existent.

During my darkest periods of depression there was nothing positive within my grasp - anything that I touched seemed to wither and fade until the only thing that I could see or feel were excruciating reasons on why I needed to end it all. My brain took the things I had previously loved and convinced me that they either weren't good any longer, or they were better off without me poisoning them. My thinking was skewed and didn't make sense to those around me... I was too tired to try to fight the thoughts any longer.

Yesterday morning I woke up at my usual early hour and my husband and I went chasing the sunrise. It was an adventure to find the perfect spot to see the sun as it reached up over the horizon and began to shine down on the world around me. It was beautiful and bright and colorful. It was a new day and it reminded me of every time I've had to crawl out of the darkness, of every day I almost didn't make it through the night... only to emerge into the brilliance of life around me.

It's why I don't sit still as much any longer - it's why I have turned into more of an explorer, my eyes opened wider than ever as I see the beauty that exists all around me. My hobbies, my joy and my love have all returned again and i have chosen to focus much of my awareness on all of the things that I have always loved - but at times have been blinded to. I want to focus on the beautiful world around me - the small things, the positives, and the happy moments.

I know that for me it won't always be easy to see - I know the way that my mind can warp what I currently see as beautiful and twist them into muted colours and monotony, convincing me it isn't that beautiful any longer. I also know that it's all the more reason to keep on searching, to keep finding that beauty that is both within and surrounding me. It's why and how I can focus on the fight to stay healthy and well, to keep myself from sinknig back into the never-ending night... it's a reminder that tomorrow can be brighter, beautiful and joyful. It is hope.

I've lived much of my life in deep depression, a cycle that kept repeating and might try to repeat again. Beauty-hunting is just another tool to fend off the darkness for one more day, to cling to when the lights go out, and a reminder of the days to come.

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Fractured - Damaged - Broken

I always knew that I was different. As a small child I was highly emotional and as I moved into my teenage years I often spent time locked inside my head, wondering what was wrong with me to make me feel and act the way that I did. For most of my young life I looked somewhat normal from the outside - but as much as I tried to fit in and hide them, the signs were already beginning to shine through.

As I developed into a young adult - having made several poor choices already throughout my life, I began to feel more than different; I felt broken and damaged. It wasn't a simple thought that passed through my mind one day though. No, it was the way that I truly began to see myself as my poor decisions, the unstable moods, the emotional dysregulation, and the lack of control concerning my actions continued to get worse. It was a difficult and confusing place to be in - I was young and although I was quite intelligent - the thoughts in my head rarely made sense, and nothing ever seemed to click into place easily for me. For years I wrestled with the thoughts in my head and with this feeling of being fractured, a million pieces of me that never fit together the way that they should. 

By the time I was given any diagnosis at all, I was a mess. I felt completely shattered and simply wrong... I knew I would never fit in, and I didn't know how to be normal - though I tried desperately to appear like everyone else. As the second and third diagnoses came in, I finally felt that maybe something made sense in my world for a change - maybe I hadn't been broken at some point and maybe there were just a few light cracks that needed to be glued together with meds and therapy. And so I continued to struggle on... oftentimes wanting to give up altogether. And then, just as I would become as stable as I knew how to be, something would always seem to happen that would completely smash me into tiny pieces again. There were times where it was a fairly big and traumatic event - and there were times when it was something small, a tiny change that would cause my shakey foundation to collapse and I would be left in a heap of small and jagged shards... needing to be glued together yet again.

In recent years I've learned a lot about myself. I've learned that sometimes I really do feel broken - just like everyone else, and that's alright. Sometimes, it's alright to need that glue to help me stick together, whether it's medications, or therapy, or just a support system around me. I've learned that feeling broken doesn't mean I am damaged or useless or unworthy... that sometimes the most beautiful designs come from the cracks we've had to repair. I've learned that I don't have to fix it on my own - I have my family, my friends, my faith, and my support system in place - and sometimes it's okay to know that you need a stitch to hold you together for a time. I've learned that no matter how broken I have felt in the past - it is always worth fixing it, and every time I work on myself... I get a little stronger, a little more resistent to those things that used to shatter me. I've learned that despite my earlier years and the hardest days of my struggle, that I've been able to not only survive, but begin to thrive - I've been able to grow and change and live. I've learned that no matter how many pieces there once were, that I can be whole and full and complete... and that there is always hope, there's always a way to be put back together again. 

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In the Mirror

In the quiet of the morning I stare into my reflection in the mirror. Like every morning, I see a woman staring back at me – strong, confident and happy. I see the blue in her eyes and the way she smiles as she fixes her hair, chatting over her shoulder to her daughter who has come to ask for help choosing an outfit. I see the strength that she has exhibited in simply getting up and beginning a new day, in getting out of bed, and continuing with the routine and the system that she has placed around her. I see her confident as she goes to work and appointments, as she attends groups and writes in her journal. I see happiness as she greets her children and her husband, as she meets friends for coffee, and works towards her goals. I see a person. Complete. Healthy. Able.

Sometimes it surprises me. Sometimes I think that I should look in the mirror and see the opposite… see the cracked pieces that have been carefully glued together. Sometimes I think I should see her past – the times of instability, the pain, the emptiness, the highs and the lows. Sometimes I think I should see the person that she believed that she was for so long – broken, flawed. She has an illness – two of them – that should show in her features, prominent, out where the world can see them. Sometimes I think she should have labels affixed to her skin – bipolar and borderline – the words that define who she is and the struggles that she has faced. Sometimes I close my eyes and count to three.

When I open my eyes I see who I am. I see the person who is on a journey of recovery and the person I saw before the invasive thoughts began to permeate my mind. The strong, courageous, determined person that is not only surviving, but living her life. I think about one of my favourite quotes from one of my favourite books – in Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll wrote : “It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” This is something that couldn’t be truer, I am a different person than five years ago, or one year ago or even last month – each leg of my journey has propelled me forwards in more ways than I could imagine. There have been setbacks throughout, and it has not been linear in nature – no, recovery is cyclic, a spiral of sorts that continues forwards even after a step or two in reverse.

Again I close my eyes and I remember, because I know the difference between remembering who I was and seeing the difference to who I am now, and trying to become that person who no longer exists. I now know that it does no good to label myself, and surround my image with the stigma that I used to allow to cover me. It is neither true nor useful to degrade myself and think that my scars – whether visible or not – should define me and make me less than the person I deserve to be.

The difference, the change, the life is because I am in recovery; it is because I see hope and a future and worth.

I don’t get angry with myself for thinking about the past, for remembering the decisions that I made and the paths that I took to get myself to this place. I don’t smash the mirror or storm away, I don’t chastise myself for the brief wondering and the surprise I felt at my normal appearance. No. I open my eyes and I walk away, I continue with my routine and there’s a smile on my face because I know that I am different. I am healing and I am strong, I am able to see the change and the growth and the emergence of a new person. I am healthy and I am in recovery.

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Living Beyond the Diagnosis

I am a busy mom of 4 amazing kids.

As the incessant beeping of my alarm begins at 6:00AM sharp, I roll over and slam my hand down on the clock, trying to find the off switch. I know better than to hit the snooze button. I know that if I do that I won't move from my bed until an hour or more later; I know that I have to keep with my routine. Groggily I roll out of bed and begin my day. Bathroom. Kitchen to make a cup of tea. Living room with my phone, the laptop, or a book for an hour. As 7:00AM approaches it's time to move from my spot on the couch and wake up the kids, move to the kitchen to help them with breakfast or making lunches... eat my own breakfast. As they begin to get ready for school it's time for me to shower and dress, followed by an outing of some sort (exercise on most days, occasionally groceries or a meeting or an appointment). I work part time so sometimes I go to work, sometimes I write or edit or read or bake or meal prep. The afternoon and evenings consist of more predictable routine - school bus, reading and homework for the kids, supper, evening sports and activities... baths and bedtimes and down time for the adults, followed by of course a steady bedtime for me. 

I am a dedicated wife.

It looks like a normal schedule for a busy parent of four kids and from the outside I look like I have it all together. It looks like I'm just another mom, running around - doing errands, taking kids to activities and swimming lessons, and maintaining a typical family home. As I move through the grocery checkout I smile at the cashier and make small talk, I listen to music piped from my phone to the car stereo on my way home, sometimes singing along and belting out the words at the top of my lungs. I've maintained a house that is usually clean and well organised, I've managed to hold a job with the same company for nearly six years... moving through different positions and transitions, and I've got four amazing, well behaved kids who receive compliments on their behaviour wherever we go. 

Life for me looks good. It looks positive. It looks healthy. 

And right now, at this stage of my recovery journey, it is healthy - despite my recent hospitalisation. I'm doing (almost) everything right and I'm willing and able to participate fully in my life and my own recovery. I'm able to stick with routine and use skills when I feel myself slipping or triggered - I know who to call and what to do if those skills stop working, and I know who I am without tacking on bipolar or borderline to the end of my name. 

I am creative and I am a photographer.

And that's the tricky part. One of the biggest events for my journey was the day I sat in the doctor's office and heard the words Bipolar Disorder for the first time in reference to my moods and behaviours. Oddly enough, it didn't freak me out to be diagnosed with such a serious condition. Maybe it was the lifetime of unpredictable mood swings, the hallucinations and lack of sleep, the constant battle between fine, and beyond fine - creative and motivated and risky and energetic, and so depressed that I wanted to end my life; it made sense to me. But it also began to define me. I didn't realise at the time how much I began to cling to the description of what made me the way I was. I did research on the subject and became well aware of what I was doing and why I did it... as much information is available on bipolar disorder, I found it. And then it became me. As I met with the Psychiatrist over several appointments and he confirmed the initial diagnosis, I began to incorporate it into my perception of who I was. I began to feel restricted and defined. I began to fight with myself because as much as it was me tacking on the defninition of bipolar to who I was, I also didn't want to be categorized that way. I didn't know what direction I was headed and while I tried to gather a support system and understand my new way of life, of the medications I was taking, and the way I thought I should now be living - I became lost inside of myself and it became a constant fight to figure out who I was. 

I am fun, and kind, and enthusiastic.

It was a daily battle. A struggle to find my place as I continually researched and learned more about the disorder. It fit. Mostly. And so it became who I was;  I didn't know who I was aside from having a mood disorder. I picked up words in my vocabulary and often referred to myself (behind a mask of humour) as crazy, nuts, or psychotic. I didn't see an end to the illness, a different way of living aside from constantly trying to keep my head above water and float along... after all, it was only a matter of time before another episode would occur.

And of course, eventually it did occur... several different episodes, with several different outcomes. It wasn't until I was finally hospitalised again after attempting suicide and a second diagnosis was added (Borderline Personality Disorder) that things started to really click for me. At first it was confusing though; I knew who I was - I was the Bipolar one, not the Borderline one. I didn't agree with the doctor and it took a few days, once again researching and talking to nurses and social workers before I finally managed to say to myself - look, this diagnosis fits as well, maybe you can be both. 

So I continued to read and research and really talk to people. I learned about what the disorders each entailed and where they affected my life, where I had let them control me by defining me, and where I could take back some of my life. This was not an easy process. It wasn't simply a decision followed by an action. It has taken months and even years of learning how to cope, how to identify, and how to prevent episodes from occurring or worsening. It has taken doctors, and counselors and support. Mostly it took rediscovering who I am. Because I am not crazy, nuts, or psychotic. I am a unique individual whose brain is wired a little differently than most and needs a little extra help from time to time, to keep it on track and moving forward in my daily life. While I do have a mental illness, it is not who or what I am. I am so much more than Bipolar or Borderline. What I am is overall satisfied - despite occasional setbacks. I am an individual that is creative, healthy, kind, a good mother, an organised housewife, a writer, a photographer, an enthusiast for life and for a future, and most of all I'm simply me; I'm changing and growing every single day. 

I have hope. I'm worth it. 

I also have hope. I've seen the progress and the changes that can be made. I've lived a journey through recovery that has taken me on adventures regularly, but that I will not let destroy my hope again. That's why my daily routine is in place, that's why I look normal on the outside, my daily life reflective of the life I want and will continue to lead. It isn't always easy - some days it has felt impossible - like trudging through waist deep mud, but it is definitely worth it. Hope for tomorrow, for stability, for a lifetime that I can live fully and enjoy despite the self-checks and the meds and the therapy is worth it. Learing, growing and being who I know I am inside is worth it. 

I am going to keep talking about my journey and my mental health, keep fighting to end the stigma that we place on ourselves and others. I am worth it.

If you're struggling right now, don't give up. There is hope beyond the diagnosis. There is life, and laughter and love. There is a person waiting to be discovered. You're worth it too.

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