Hiding in Silence

Isolation. It’s what I do best when I’m struggling… I push people away when I need them the most. When I’m struggling to maintain a level mood or when I’m sliding a little further up or a little further down. Sometimes it’s a good thing… sometimes it is because I need to focus, to realign myself to ensure that I can get back on track and that I haven’t fallen too far off the path. Sometimes though it’s

embarrassment, frustration, and sheer exhaustion that cause me to isolate.

I’ve been on this journey for what feels like a very long time. For the most part I’m open about it. I enjoy talking about mental health in general, as well as the specific challenges and successes that I have personally faced.

But occasionally a period of silence hits me. I don’t want to talk for any one in a million reasons. Sometimes I am learning something new about myself and want to make sure that I understand it fully before I decide to share it. Sometimes I’ve been triggered, or fallen a little further than I wanted and I’m embarrassed – I feel like a fraud or a failure or that I’m simply unreliable because of the way my mindset and my moods shift. And sometimes I’m just plain tired. Those times I just want to be normal. I don’t want to have to think about every action that I take and every word that I speak. Sometimes I want to be able to make a decision and be confident that it is logic and reason – and not one of my many moods that have dictated what I am doing.

Sometimes it is everything all at once that hits me.

I haven’t been overly vocal lately. I’ve been struggling off and on – and I have learned over the years that I am not good at dealing with difficult things in life. I’m working on it, but it often takes all of my energy and leaves me completely drained with no room for extras. It is something that over time is requiring me to fundamentally change who I am and how I process life events – untwisting my thinking and calming my instincts – my immediate reactions. It is taking what I know and what I feel and learning to balance myself in a way that requires constant self-control and checking in. It is remaining level when my brain tries to spin me around, or send me falling into darkness.  It is looking at myself openly and honestly and realising that sometimes I don’t see clearly – that sometimes I need to pull myself back and examine my words or actions even closer to see what others around me see that I can’t.

The medications that I take help. Routine helps. Exercise and diet help. Self care helps. Reading and learning about mental health helps. Speaking and listening helps. Prayer helps.

But the truth is that I have Bipolar Disorder and I have Borderline Personality Disorder and life happens and sometimes I still have (and likely always will have) difficulty dealing with things like an average person.

Sometimes I am ashamed by the way that I react. Sometimes I am angry and indignant and I believe that I am right – even when I am wrong. Sometimes I want to curl up in a ball and hide away from the rest of the world because I don’t know how to keep functioning in the way that the world expects me to. Sometimes all I can do is work on auto-pilot until the storm around and inside me dies down and I can process things again. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t me.

And then… then I pull back. Then I make it through the tough times – better, stronger, and easier than the last time. Then I look back and see the progress and the changes that I have already made and how far I have already come. Then I look around me and I see that I haven’t only survived the earth shattering around me – but I stopped it. By knowing, and learning and growing and changing – I made history in my life. I passed a crucial landmark and I know that from this point forward that no matter what happens – I will never return to the way that I once was. It’s impossible, because I have seen too much, I have learned too many new things, and I have become a completely different person.

I will still struggle.

I will still fight.

I will still isolate.

But I will come out of it stronger. I will come out of it alive. I will feel sunshine and happiness, relief, and love, and joy again.

And then I will share it.

I will talk about it.

I will not hide the way that I struggle… my fears… my insecurities… the choices that I have made.

Because I do have Bipolar Disorder. And I do have Borderline Personality Disorder. And I am more than my illnesses.

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The Key to Mental Health

Some days I curl up in a ball on my bedroom floor –the bed behind me and the wall in front of me, a big blanket covering me up and weighing me down. During those times I am no longer the person that can work and function and make important decisions – I can only sit there, sometimes crying, sometimes staring at nothing as the anxiety impedes my life.

Some days I can’t sleep. So I’m up all night and my mind races and I write beautiful stories and poems and jump from topic to topic. Sometimes the anger takes hold and I storm out of the house in the darkness and I walk from one end of town to the other, uphill both ways. Sometimes I feel on top of the world and I’m super sensitive to touch, and sound, and smells.

Some days I get out of bed, only to fold into the most comfortable chair in the house, wrap a blanket securely around me and sleep the day away. Those days I can barely drag myself to the washroom or make dinner for the kids – and forget leaving the house. Sometimes I can’t feel anything – my arms and legs are dead weight, my mind is shut down to only basic function, and feeling – it’s all or nothing – pain so deep that it feels as though I’m splitting in two, or nothingness; I don’t know which is worse.

Some days I wake up wrong… skewed. The world is tilted and everything is set to annoy me, the little things, the big things – everything sets me off. I’m explosive –not just angry, but filled with rage. I see things and hear things with a filter that makes everyone hate me. It hurts and I feel jaded, even though I’m the one making things worse. I’m the one losing my temper and yelling and out of control. I’m the one that is making a big deal out of a miniscule look, or word, or touch.

And some days… I’m normal, level, rational, and logical. Things make sense and although triggers and stressful events happen, I can still handle them with grace and dignity. On those days I wonder who the other people are that kidnap my body and take over. I feel humiliation over the ways that I have acted and the things that I have done. I apologise but it never feels like it’s enough. I strive to change who I am and I vow to never let anxiety, or mania, or depression, or anger take a hold of me again. I become determined to be somebody different the next time, and I work a little bit harder on the daily exercises to train my brain, the physical exercise, the healthy eating plan, and the maintenance of my routine. I take the medications I’ve been prescribed and tell myself that I am more than a disorder and that I have got this.

I continue to work, and parent, and live my life and I move on because that statement is truth… I AM more than a disorder and I AM capable of not just surviving, but of THRIVING.

Two years ago I was a different person. I accepted my disorders but didn’t know that there was so much more to it than a diagnosis. I was told they were lifelong conditions, to take my meds, and to go to therapy. At times, I’ve used the terms anxiety, depression, bipolar, and borderline as a crutch… an excuse… a reason for why I am the way that I am. But over the past year I have made a change in the way that I have used those terms and I didn’t realise just how it would begin to change my life.

By refusing to accept that I can’t be level because of my diagnosis, I have fundamentally changed how I now deal with life. I refuse to believe that I am defective, damaged, or simply unable to deal with triggers and the stress of life. I have bad days, but through hard work and training my brain, I am able to push through and remain present in my own mind. I am able to say ‘I need help’, and determine when things aren’t quite right. I am able to face my anxiety and fear and tackle things (slowly and in my own time) that had previously been off limits to me. I am able to say to myself – I know you’re tired, let’s get through this and not give in while the new meds kick in.

I no longer believe that I am broken. I no longer need to use the term ‘I can’t because I’ve got anxiety’ or ‘It’s not my fault I’m (depressed, manic, borderline)’. I no longer need to feel wrong, guilty, embarrassed, damaged because it is what it is and I am slowly getting better. I might never be cured of these lifelong conditions, but it doesn’t mean that I can’t live a good, healthy life. I might need help now and then… support from family and friends… doctor visits to maintain… or even a brief hospital stay to put me back on track, but I’m here and I am not simply a diagnosis. I am the key to my own mental health. I will keep working, and fighting, and most of all winning.

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Victory Through the Struggles

It’s not euphoria or hypersensitivity or the darkness of a deep depression. The spikes are no longer as severe as a freshly sharpened pencil, now more rounded, curved and easier to pass over. The waves have not disappeared – there is still sadness and happiness, anger and excitement. But they are easier to steer… they are no longer run-away trains, reaching the tipping point and about to spill off of the tracks.

Level. Stable. Manageable. In control. It’s almost terrifying – a great unknown and after another depressive episode, it is an entirely new world to feel this way. It hasn’t been easy to reach this place and there have been some detours along the way. But right now, in this moment – my mental disorders are not winning.

Recently, I spent a week in the hospital. I was at a low point and drove myself there; I fought through what felt like interrogations and some criticisms, and I was admitted so that I was in a safe place where I could be monitored and so that my medications could be adjusted again.

I did not want to be there.

But I was… and it was a massive victory.

Taking myself into the hospital was not easy… I felt like a failure and like a fraud. I was low but I was highly functional. I was depressed but few people knew about it. I was struggling but I felt like I should be okay. I was angry because it was such a short journey from managing my triggers and being able to work through my emotional surges, to feeling as though I had fallen down a rabbit hole and knowing the world had morphed into a much darker place.

Again, I did not want to be there. I did not want to admit my weakness. Throughout the days leading up to and during my stay, it was often a fight within myself… a heated and intense battle for control… for my life.

But it was also a testament to the changes I have made, the way I have grown within my diagnosis, and my ability to identify with and help myself. It was days of reaching out and seeking help from trusted sources. It was days of self-care while doing things that bring me joy, it was using the resources that I have collected and learned to use, almost as though they have become second nature from the practice and continuous learning that I have done. It was keeping to my routines and it was remaining functional while recognising that I was falling, and doing something that I had never done before. It was stopping when I knew that I was in danger and taking myself in before I was past the point of no return, before I was able to fall further, before I tried to end the suffering or before the police were called. It was calm and without the drama of past experiences. It was me never letting go of the reigns and steering myself to the help that I knew that I needed. It was being aware of and able to hang on to one single spark of light and let it spread as I stayed safe, quickly illuminating the darkness and letting me recover faster and easier than I ever have before.

It was a success.

I was hospitalised, but I don’t regret it. I will continue to grow. I will continue to strive to remain level. I will continue to hang on to those sparks of light when the darkness begins to close in on me. I will continue to learn and remain aware of myself, my triggers, my weaknesses, and my spikes. I will get the help I need, when I need it. I will embrace stability – even when it frightens me.

I will continue to share my story. I will continue to be open and honest, to let everyone know about the struggles and the victories. I will continue to talk and to listen. I will continue to grow stronger and I will keep going. I will continue to be a success. I will continue to change the game, and I will win.

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World Suicide Prevention Day 2016

** Trigger Warning **

She looked into the mirror - her eyes were blank... hollow, her heart was heavy, and her hope was lost. She was tired of struggling and of fighting... She was simply exhausted and had lost her ability to cling to life.

She had heard it all and she hated the words, their voices of encouragement, and their stories of recovery; it wasn't worth anything... she couldn't feel anything. Once the pull of death's comfort, peace, and ease had infiltrated her mind - there was no going back... No other way out... Nothing could change her decision.

She sat in the tub, filled to the brim with water and with a hair dryer in her hand: she crouched in the darkest corner of her room with the razor at her wrist: she sat on the patio with the pills poured out into her hand. Once death had claimed her mind, it was far too easy to know what came next, to follow through.

She didn't expect the moments of clarity that would take her breath away... It would be a few seconds at most as remnants of light blasted through the darkness - pieces of conversations surrounding recovery and hope and life, bits of memories filled with love and joy, reminders of hands reaching out - showing grace, friendship, support, and acceptance.

It was only a few moments and then the light vanished, the darkness and despair returning to cage her mind, filling the space, consuming everything except for one tiny speck... A glimmer... A sparkle.

Maybe, just maybe those moments of clarity were enough and still shaking she takes one last chance. She drives herself to the emergency room or she picks up the phone to call a trusted friend, a hotline, or emergency services.

She will be questionned - it will feel like an interrogation on why she is in crisis and she will have to repeat her story and her history to every person who walks into her room or tries to help her. She will fade to darkness and wish she hadn't made the choice to open up and let them in.

But that speck. Gradually it will grow a little bit brighter and so she doesn't fight them. She decides to stay, to muster any ounce of strength that she can find, to fight for that light one last time.

At her weakest point in life, she has become the strongest she has ever been. She faces anger, shame, guilt, and humiliation... She is stripped of her clothes, her freedom, and her choices. Still she sees that sparkle hanging there and she chases it, speaking up - revealing truth and suffering, voids and failures, grief and loss.

And as she does - that light, that bright speck, it becomes a star which gradually reveals the other stars, and suddenly the sun is shining and the world, her world, is brighter again; illuminating even the darkest places in her mind.

Once she is stable, she holds onto the light like a security blanket. It shimmers and flexes, fades and boldens as she mives forward, one small step at a time. She chooses to continue to speak about her experiences. She speaks and she listens, she accepts and she prays, and she helps and she seeks help. She becomes the glimmer in another person's darkness while she gains more sparkles to hold onto herself, in case the darkness ever threatens to return.

September 10, 2016 is World Suicide Prevention Day. Find your speck of light - it is never too late to find hope in the darkness as long as we never fall silent in our pain and our light, in our support of friends and family, and in sharing our own experiences.

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Changing the Game

It was a typical day… perfectly in routine. I was up at 7 and was drinking my morning cup of tea, waiting for my day to begin, the first day of my summer vacation. I was stable. I was level. I was tired. But I was happy. I was okay… Until I wasn’t.

It was a single moment that changed everything, that sent me on a path of watching and waiting and seeing. Like a quickly darkening sky with sudden rotation, a tornado waiting to touch down in my life and send everything – especially me – spiralling down a dark hole again. It was easy to see… I had been down this path before – several times – and it was easy to predict the path that I would take, the way that a trigger of this magnitude would rip the control I have so carefully constructed away from me again. It would be disastrous – I would fall down the rabbit hole of depression and the thoughts of darkness, and desperation, and escape would inevitably hit… I would end up in the hospital again… forced into isolation and psychiatrist evaluations. This was my life. This was what always happened.

Until it didn’t.

Just over three weeks ago I was hit with a major trigger in my life (a crisis of sorts), and just over three weeks ago I began another journey in my life with Bipolar Disorder/BPD. Just over three weeks ago, I panicked in the moments immediately following the hit of the trigger and I felt like I would crash, the feelings rushing back to the surface and my mind working in overdrive and immediately beginning to envision the worst case scenarios – suicide attempts, police cars, hospitalisation, mania, or a psychotic episode. I knew my past and while I knew the stability I had forged over the last two years of dedication and hard work, I also knew how easily it could all crumble again.

I haven’t written much over the last several months – I have been busy and life has moved forward as it often does. Since last Christmas I have experienced stress and triggers, ups and downs, as well as one hospitalisation and one day trip to the emergency room. I have worked to return to a balanced diet and better exercise regimen, to live a balanced life, and maintain the ever-important routine… and overall, I have been extremely successful, finding a new sense of peace and the ability to identify and work on some of my problems and maintain stability with my mental health.

Three weeks ago – for just a few moments – I knew it was all for nothing. For a few moments, I lost myself and returned to the fragile state that would leave me vulnerable and susceptible to another episode. And then, I remembered the months and years of work I've done.

I remembered the steps, and the pages, and the writing, and the distraction, and the help available to me. I remembered to grab my phone and reach out to let someone I trusted know what was happening. I remembered all of the success I have worked towards achieving and I began to put a plan (simple, one step at a time) into place, to maintain my own mental health in a situation that could very well have been catastrophic. I remembered over the next several days to head off a slip up by taking care of my basic needs and maintaining the routine I desperately need to function – eating properly, continuing daily chores/work/plans. I remembered to take the damn sleeping pills when I couldn’t sleep… and to have someone hold me accountable when it took nearly a week to begin sleeping properly again; and I remembered to have a plan in place to seek help if I didn’t. I remembered to take care of myself and to keep my plans, my work, and my support firmly in place - even if I didn't exactly want to.

And I didn't fall down.

And now, three weeks later, I still catch myself watching and waiting for that stumble at times… that sign that I am weak and that I am nothing but my mental illness. At times I wish it would just happen – an episode of some sort - because it is strange to react in a normal way, within an overall normal range of emotions. And at some times, I just sit down and smile, amazed at how well I am doing. I smile because every struggle, every step I have taken to get here, and every experience - both positive and negative - has been worth it to get to the place I'm in right now.

I know that my battle with mental illness isn’t over. I know that I might have episodes of mania or depression or intense emotional outbursts in the future. I know that they aren’t always caused by an obvious trigger in my life. But I also know that I have worked hard at identifying signs, maintaining my support system, knowing my own personal limits, and seeking help when needed to ensure that I stay healthy and strong.

I know that today, I am doing okay. One day at a time, one episode at a time. I am changing the game, I am challenging myself, and I am winning in my fight for stability in a Bipolar/Borderline mind.

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