Welcome

This site is dedicated to those individuals living with mental illness, affecting them most deeply along with spouses, family and friends.

Many forms of mental illness take their shape in Depression, Bipolar Disorder and Schizophrenia, just to name a few. A major note is that mental illness is neither one’s fault nor a character flaw.

Catch up on what’s in the news dealing with mental health issues, articles written by myself, articles discovered in medical sites and magazines – all aimed to inform you.

So, grab a cup of coffee, take a wee browse, learn something new – and most of all - just enjoy. Leave a comment or two if you would like. Thanks for taking a peek.

CAN YOU TELL?

Mental illness is surrounded by a glut of half-truths and untruths. If you tell someone that you've been diagnosed with, for example, bipolar disorder, they are likely to roll their eyes and say, "I don't believe it - you don't look mentally ill...?"

Which brings me to my question: Do I perchance look like I have Bipolar Disorder? I don’t think I do. Am I perhaps making something out of nothing? Self-confidence and self-esteem slid into the basement and remained there for too many years. Trudging through the mud down there, and finally locating some stairs to climb up, rung by rung, I achieved the surface.

To look at me, I hope you'd never guess I'm bipolar and PTSD. There's no sign around my neck, but if you worked with me, for example, you'd soon notice that I'm "different," or a little "odd".

For one thing, "I'm somewhat negative at times, having difficult moments following directions and have to write everything down. Sometimes I can’t keep focus, and where other people find new work assignments challenging; I sit in self-doubt and bewilderment. My self-confidence feels in jeopardy each moment. I am the one who takes their performance review to heart. Out of nine rights, one negative is discussed, for which I feel total devastation, berating myself repeatedly. A true perfectionist, at least I try to be, however letting myself down is somewhat of a crucifixion. But, I am your dependable employee, the gleeful one, the one who shows little anger, and the one touted as one of the paramount in customer service. I must apply a mask for the most part.

Although felt as if a hex was put upon me years ago, I feel slightly different now. I’m still bitter about the illness at times, but realizing that THIS is ME.

Written by:
Me

Mental Illnesses Affect Spouses, Family & Friends

Did you know an estimated 22.1 percent of Americans ages 18 and older – about one in five adults – suffer from a diagnosable mental disorder?

Depressive disorder affects approximately 18.8 million American adults, or 9.5 per cent; major depression, 9.9 million adults, and bipolar disorder (manic-depression) about 2.3 million adults.

******
For a decade, I literally “lived” in and out of hospitals. My husband of 27 years stood by me through these turbulent years. Years of endless hospitalizations, electro-convulsive therapy (shock treatments), suicide attempts and a myriad of medications became a way of life.

My immediate family were always there for me also, always a gentle hand and listening ear.

Friends? They were supportive at first and came in droves to the hospital for visits. But as the years lingered on, they started to dwindle. If this had been cancer or heart disease, would they have been by my side?

I believe it is the stigma attached to mental illness that drives people away.

Are mentally ill people dangerous? No! A family member totally cut ties with my husband and I during the early years of my major depression and hospitalizations, as he thought I was dangerous and feared for his children. At Christmastime, only my husband’s name appears on the Christmas card – my name is excluded.

One family member visited me in hospital and stated I had a “bad case of the nerves”. I hardly had bad nerves – depression was holding on to me.

My husband was very lonely and frustrated during my hospitalizations, as I seemed more ill with each admission. On occasion he said I looked like a person heading towards death. I lacked motivation and my facial expression was tired and drawn.

In a strange way, while I was in hospital, I wished to break free and be home, but when I was home I wanted to go back to hospital. I think they call this conditioning.

What frightened my husband the most during those endless years were the suicide attempts. He felt powerless and angry that the system was letting me down and I was becoming worse. While on passes from the hospital, he never knew what he’d find when returning home from work.

Finally, at a dead end with my psychiatrist of six years, a wonderful psychiatrist who was an authority on bipolar illness rescued me. The secret though is you MUST stay on your medication and avoid alcohol or drug use to stay healthy. Life is so different now – a complete 360º turn. There IS life with mental illness, however, the stigma still remains.

Written by:
Me

WALKING ON THE EDGE...OF BIPOLAR

I describe bipolar as a house with three levels. There is the upstairs (mania), main floor (even mood) and of course the basement where the shackles of (depression) are clasped around your ankles. I seem to wind up in the basement much more often than upstairs. I was diagnosed with Bipolar in 1995. (These are recollections on the cruel portrayal of the bipolar illness).


~~Mania~~

Why is this mood of mania so good to be true?

How can a human being gather such joy, such stamina, such exuberance, such astuteness over a short period of time?

I didn’t plan on buying a car, but purchased one today. Travelled from car lot to car lot and at last found the one for me. It’s brand, spanking new with all of the features. I’m unsure how much I paid for it – I’ll fret about that afterward.

Had an appointment with my psychiatrist today. He said I’m cycling too high, too fast and will hit pavement if this is not taken care of. I was given another appointment for the end of the week, handed some medication, but tossed the meds away – I want to fly, no, soar as high as I can go. I refuse to give this rejoicing up.

Visited the bar tonight. Made lots of “friends”. They said they have never seen someone so “up”. One problem though, I prefer to talk, than listen. I was on top tonight and even bought a few rounds of drinks and plenty for me too. I really entertained them. Top notch. I’m proud.

Suddenly, the urge is there to shop. Shopped ‘til I dropped at Walmart and spent, spent, spent on miscellaneous items. The excitement was there big time.

Days pass. I can’t sleep, but who cares, who wants to sleep? I don’t, and miss this wonderful world? The pacing though, I can’t stop. I sit down – get up. Repeat. Repeat. Is this madness? I don’t want to be ‘normal’, I prefer the sweet taste of ‘high’.

Time passes by. I’m slowing down, and begin to spiral downwards. I’m crashing. I’ve hit cement.

I’m in blackness – in the basement.

___________________________________

~~Depression~~

Dreaming. In calm waters. I’m sitting in my dinghy cross-legged, floating. The sea and sky are black.

I awaken. Black. Black is black. The room is black, but it must be morning. I’m all mixed up. I thought I heard the food trays arrive. I sneak a quick look out my room, and yes it is morning, but the halls too look black. All I sense is dread. Am I in a dream world? I shuffle back to bed.

I recollect particular events, my hospital admission for one. My family expressed they had no alternative, I was incoherent, seated in my rocking chair, rocking back and forth, back and forth, tightly wrapped in my orange and lime green crocheted afghan. I hadn’t called anyone for days, nor answered the telephone. They were apprehensive upon entering the house. Phew! I was alive they said.

Unable to actually climb out of bed now, I am encased in stone. My heart is thumping so I must be alive, but this dreadful veil covers me like death. I feel chilly. Suicidal thoughts dance in my head. Is this punishment for my ‘high’? Life is unfair.


~~The Learning Curve~~

Treated with anti-depressants, I was able to recover from my bottomless depressive state.

There were times when I totally wished to toss in the cards, so to speak and admit defeat. Take me, enough of this garbage. What did I do that was so immoral to be selected and handed this illness?

This is not my initial time ‘high’ and believed I was in a position to stop taking medication. What was the point? I felt incredible. When you’ve hit bottom one still doesn’t realize why hell has welcomed him. But, you’re given a kick and memory surfaces. The fog clears and you recall abusing alcohol and refusal of prescribed medication. This spells disaster for persons with mental illness.

~~Conclusion~~

I am working diligently now to surface and achieve an ‘even mood’. It requires enormous effort. Back on medication, faithfully ingesting the prescribed dosages, I am told it will take some time to get back on my feet.

In retrospect, obviously I made some irresponsible choices, but while manic your thoughts and judgment are impaired. It’s unproblematic to scale to the peak of the mountain, but plummeting and sitting in the dungeon is excruciating.

Written by:

Me