To Those Who Have Stuck Around

I had always been the odd one out. Periods of isolation, enthusiasm, obsession, and short-lived friendships were normal for me. I thought it was just girl-drama – that nobody was really as close as those best friends that they portray on television. I didn’t realize or understand that my clique-jumping and inability to really get close to someone (without becoming obsessive, envious, or eventually angry) was really the early stages of my Borderline Personality Disorder rearing its head. I also didn’t realize that my hobby-jumping, sports switching, club shifting – followed by periods of doing nothing – were indications of Bipolar Disorder. To me, I was normal - I didn't understand why I wasn't like everyone else.

He’s been with me for seventeen years now. We have survived through the emotional roller-coaster – the turmoil, the ups, the downs, and the chaos; and some days I truly wonder how we made it.

It’s on these days when I sit and think about it, that I don’t really understand it at all. Don’t get me wrong – I love my husband with all of my heart, but I know that I am not an easy person to live with, and some days I am definitely not an easy person to love.

You see, I didn’t just wake up one day at twenty five years old, suddenly psychotic and breaking down – sick of life and unsure, and well, mentally ill. Looking back through work that I am doing, I can see the traits as they developed through my childhood and early adolescence. I can see peaks and valleys, I can look back on the skewed thinking and my alternate view of the world around me, and now that I know better, I can honestly say that that is where it all began. As the years went by and life became busy and hectic and stressful – triggers were found out and I came up and down and to the edge of the cliff mentally, several times before it all became too much, before I was finally unable to handle it myself, and before I finally began to get help.

Sometimes I was mean and angry – I yelled and I pushed my husband (and others I love) away. I didn’t know how to process things and it was the only defense that I knew and that I trusted. Other times, I was energetic and ambitious – my dreams were infinite and I could tackle the world around me… I was obsessive and perfect, my life looked like a happily ever after to those outside our little bubble. And then, then I would fall – depression would engulf me and our happy family was miserable. I would become isolated, disinterested, hateful, and self-loathing. Everything appeared blackened and I dragged my husband and a few select people through my darkened world as I contemplated life – but more often death. As I threatened suicide, ran from my home, slept in my car, placed myself in dangerous situations, and scared the hell out of people that I desperately wished could help me, but who didn’t know what to do.

And yet, they still loved me. They showed me kindness, forgiveness, patience, and overall love. Even on the days where I believed I couldn’t be loved, and that I didn’t deserve any of it – they stayed. They put up boundaries for their own safety. They stayed awake and stopped me from leaving the house. They called the police. They let me sleep on their couch. They talked to me. They didn’t doubt my heightened feelings. They tried everything that they could, and they kept me safe.

I know that some days were harder than others. I know that at times I drove my husband to the brink with worry for me. I know that some days, he (and others) had no idea what to do. I know that on days where I would disappear and they worried for my safety, they did what they had to – they continued on. They cared for the kids. They cared for my husband. They prayed for me. They confronted me. They took my anger and they made decisions in my best interest, sometimes against my own judgement.

I wish I could say that now that I am stable and on the right track, that things were easier. But that would be a lie. Because when the disease is in your head, in the way you think, react, and control situations, you can’t just turn it off. The work that I am doing helps. It has made a dramatic change in me and I can honestly say that I can handle more of my triggers, better than I ever have before.  But there are still days and moments when I know that I am difficult to say the least. I know that there are days when my husband wishes that I were ‘better’, and that I could just ‘stop’, the way that my brain works. I know that there are times when I do or say or fight for something and he wants to blame my mental health, because sometimes that is easier. I know that there are some days when he wishes there was no mental illness to blame. In other relationships, I know that others do not understand and I know that I still hurt others when I isolate myself or react badly to a trigger or situation.

Trust me. I know.

And I’m grateful. I am so very grateful that they try. I am grateful that they don’t give up, and that I don’t scare them away. I am grateful that they worry and that they check in on me. I am grateful that I am even a thought in their day.

And I am grateful to my husband. It isn’t easy to be married to someone with a mental illness, and we have definitely gone through some very rough times in our marriage, but we’re together… we’re struggling through the murky days and coming out to brighter ones… more often, longer lasting, and more vivid than we’ve ever known.

So on those days that you wonder if what you’re doing helps or if it's worth it, remember - we see it, we feel it… we just can’t always say thank you in the moment.

Keep reaching out to those you love. Keep the conversation going – when your loved one is doing well, ask how you can help when they’re not. Take time to make sure you are grounded, but know that your presence in their life is invaluable when they are struggling. They know it. They’re grateful.

I’m grateful.

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Will They Stay or Will They Go?

Fear of abandonment and constant feelings of rejection. For me this has always been (just one of) my key identifying factors for the Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) diagnosis. It might sound silly and you might want to say ‘that’s life, get over it’, but it isn’t that simple. It is a paralysing fear, a complete lack of self-worth and self-love, and the constant feeling that at any moment those you care most about will stand up and walk away from you.

And so, to avoid the inevitable rejection that you know will come (because everyone will leave you eventually), you instead push people away. You build relationships but never really let others in. You try to be social and fit in with the rest of society, but you can’t quite feel like you are a part of the bigger picture. So you back away or hurt someone or instead smother them or you become insanely jealous of any other relationships that they may have outside of you. You know logically that you are being ridiculous but you can’t help but to constantly doubt and wonder and question every relationship in your life – the feelings, the thoughts and the people that you want to love and care about. You wear a mask and you pretend that you’re fine and that you can handle anything – you can be happy and mean and jealous and productive and competitive and shallow and friendly and angry… you can be anything as long as you are stopping yourself from the eventual rejection and hurt that always happens. You can’t believe that anyone really like you, despite the many ways they might tell or show you. And so, the pressure is on for those in your life and like anyone would, eventually they crack and you fight and they disappear – proving in the end that everything you believed was right. You don’t realise that it is often times your own doing.

And so, it’s something I’ve had to work on. I’ve had to learn to let people in… to take off my mask and build true friendships and deeper relationships. I’ve had to go back and re-build connections that I had destroyed with my distorted black and white thinking, and hot and cold personality. I’ve had to take a long and honest look at who I am and who I’ve been… the things I have said and done throughout my life that have pushed even those that truly cared, away from me. I have had to learn to fight the negative self-talk and build up my own self-worth… I’ve had to actually begin to like myself and who I am.

Most importantly I’ve had to learn one other thing… and I don’t really like it as it is leaving a sour taste in my mouth and my heart: People will leave you. People will fade away and relationships will change and shift with time and effort and schedules and life. People will also stay. Those that matter and that you love… those connections that you take the time to nurture and treat right will often (not always) stay. That is a part of what life involves, growing and changing and learning – sometimes friendships grow and change with us and sometimes it is better to let them grow their own way while you work on yourself.

The funny thing is, that recently while I have evaluated the many relationships in my life – I have most often come to the conclusion that I had done something wrong, something that caused the inevitable fissure in the relationship… and a few honest people in my life were open about the ways I had hurt them or the things I had done. But what I have found out through this year of recovery and growth is that even when I’m ‘well’, even when things are going ‘right’ and I am personally invested in building or rebuilding a relationship, people will still leave or close you out. Even those relationships that you believe are worth fighting for, that you want more than any other and are willing to sacrifice so much for, can be felt as one-sided, the other person still choosing to exit.

And that is not my fault. That is not reflective of my self-worth or who I am as a person. That is on the other person and there is nothing that you can do but let them go, continue to love them if you choose (sometimes people are still intertwined in your life, despite not wanting a close relationship) and keep on growing and becoming a better person for yourself.

Relationships will come and go in life. Fight for the ones you want to keep, learn and grow and change as needed for yourself – not for anyone else, and accept that some people will not want you in their life; some people will be unhappy despite the person you have or will become. And most of all, remember that you are loved… it might not feel like it, and you might not recognise it sitting right in front of you, but someone in your life does love you. Accept it, nurture it, and build on it. Work to fix those relationships that are worth it, and let go of the ones that aren't - it might hurt and that's okay, but don't let it paralyse you or set you back. Keep your eyes open because connections can be found in the oddest of places and most important: learn to love yourself first. 

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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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