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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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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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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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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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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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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