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

IS THERE A PSYCHIATRIST IN THE HOUSE????

I have been living within the mental health system since early 1994, and diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder (manic depression) in 1995. Bipolar is characterized by mood swings, sometimes swinging drastically into a deep, deep depression or upwards into mania. Psychiatrists are key to dealing with mental illness, for without their monitoring of medications and in-patient/out-patient counseling, the illness can lead to an unmanageable life. Living with mental illness at the best of times is difficult, however, untreated BP disorder can only lead to a life sentence of “jail time” filled with black, endless depressive days or mood swings upward, and out of control.

My most memorable experience was changing psychiatrists in the mid stages of my dark depression. Getting nowhere with my present psychiatrist, whose patient load was incredible and monthly appointments lasting a mere 6 minutes, I went on the search for a new doctor. I questioned many of the mental health staff at the hospital if they knew of a doctor accepting new patients, however, NO was the answer from all. So I went on the hunt on my own, starting with the Yellow Pages. Phoning doctors on my long list proved futile, until I thought I hit the jackpot with a Dr. H. He was accepting new patients. Bells should have gone off in my head – why was he accepting new patients when no one else was? I was to find out why…

Visit #1 – I was geared up and in fact excited about a new start. I craved only the attention it would take to repair the damage that depression had left me with and bounce me back onto the road to recovery.

Only a half-hour appointment for the initial assessment, Dr. H introduced himself, shook my hand and offered me a chair. He was a larger sized man sporting a white shirt and wool-patterned vest. My eyes encircled his mid-sized office, noting the tall bookcase over-flowing with mostly thick books, and on top of it, a poor spider plant on its last legs crying out for water. His desktop also made room for additional books, but I sat in wonderment at the heaps of files. Were all of these patient files permanently living there for impressive purposes or did this man lack bad office filing skills? I hoped the latter.

Atop his desk sat four green ceramic turtles each the size of a small onion. I welcomed these as I felt nervous and they proved somehow to have a soothing effect. He made himself comfortable in his brown leather chair, asked many questions, and made no notes but was quick to mention how he and my former doctor had studied together. This gave me a chill. Was this a positive or negative thing? Before long the appointment was ending and I had to return the four turtles to his desk. “Next week, we’ll resume our discussion”, he stated.

I felt as if I had achieved nothing really, just a change of doctors, and he was not the breath of fresh air that I was so much hoping for.

Visit #2 – This appointment went without incident and I felt I accomplished nothing once again. The four turtles helped, but I was raw with emotion from the depression. Living with crying spells and walking the tightrope of deep suicidal thoughts all week, I was hungry for some concrete advice.

Dr. H. seemed uninterested in my depression woes, offering the same advice as my previous psychiatrist and adjusting my medications slightly. He spoke slowly and softly and I had to lean forward to understand what exactly he was saying. I left the office perplexed, asking myself is it the doctor or me? The appointment, an hour this time, concluded right to the second.

Visit #3 – Another week passed and depression was holding on to me. Dr. H. asked me how my week was and I started to recount the relentless days of depression. Holding dearly on to the turtles, I glanced across the desk and startled by what I saw - Dr. H. was napping! Fast asleep, slumped over in his brown leather chair, and here I am the patient asking myself what my next move should be. Do I: A) call the secretary, B) nudge him awake, C) escape while the going is good? Suddenly, Dr. H awakens from his slumber, glances at the clock and states, “we must close for today”.

To conclude this waste-of-time appointment, I receive such an uninspiring statement while exiting the office. Dr. H. asks me “did you know that your eyes are large – you should have that looked into”. Huh? My eyes? I have enough problems right now with mental health issues; I hardly wish to look into a possible eye deformity. I know that my eyes are ‘big’, but hey, I’m no Marty Feldman!

So right then and there it was adios to Dr. H. Perhaps the reason why was accepting new patients was due to his slumber problems with former patients.

I never called or returned to confront Dr. H, and he never followed-up with me. It was a strange relationship, seemed like a movie of sorts.

Unfortunately, but fortunately my previous psychiatrist accepted me back. Once again I was met with six-minute appointments on a monthly basis and ineffective medications.

Shuffled from the mental health unit at the medical hospital, to home, to psychiatrist office, to mental institution, the years dragged by and my condition sustained a downward spiral. I prayed for death so many times. Who would desire a black death-like life, living each day weighed down by mental illness?

Throughout the next few years, I met with several other psychiatrists. Some were helpful; most seemed exhausted by my resistance to their treatment. I felt as if I was to blame for this illness, but would soon shake my head and come back to reality thinking, “Why would someone wish themselves an illness?” Just when all hope was lost and I had conceded to the fact that the illness had won, and every hope for the future was lost, a new psychiatrist entered my life.

During one of my many hospital admissions, my outpatient psychiatrist was on holidays, and another filling in. I was not optimistic, walking down this path before with negative results.

Scratching my head after this psychiatrist’s first visit, I was left bewildered by the preliminary consultation. Dr. J. in fact took 1½ hours to interview me, seemingly puzzled by my ongoing years straddled with untreatable bipolar disorder. I was to learn he was an expert in treating BP, and throughout my stay visited and planned a new strategy of medications right for me. I remained in hospital for another week, and during my stay requested if Dr. J. would see me as an out-patient when discharged. Although I was informed of his heavy patient load, he agreed, and as they say “I never looked back”.

It’s been over three years under Dr. J’s care. Medications are working successfully and I exist with an almost “even” mood. I still experience mood swings, but they hardly compare with the drastic swings experienced years ago. Hard work and determination have paid off, but one cannot achieve such determination when life is dealing you a black hand and nothing is working in your favor. Easy for people to say “pick yourself up, don’t always think negative, and quit complaining”. Hmmm…I used to want to reply, “If I could, I would”.

Standing in our way though, of course, is stigma. An unpleasant word, but it sits in our society almost like a hex over individuals with mental illness.

I did not write this article to paint a negative tone about the doctors of psychiatry. I can’t stress enough, however, that they are our ‘life line’ to mental health wellness.

Written by:
Me

SIX WOMEN...and mental illness

I conducted six ‘chats’ with these courageous women while an in-patient on the psychiatric floor of a medical hospital, recovering from depression. I was able to converse with each woman separately where they shared their stories.

Note: I was discharged earlier than any of these women; therefore at that point, a conclusion to each woman’s story was absent. However, I revisited three weeks later to chat. Two women were previously discharged, however the remaining four were content to share their situation. I’d like to thank each woman for sharing their stories with me – it took a phenomenal amount of courage and I wish them the best of success to remain well.

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Clara – Age (46)

Clara’s eyes well up as she recounts her story of anguish and to her, humiliation. Both wrists are bandaged from a botched suicide attempt, and she stares downward at the floor as she speaks to me.

The dim days of depression have taken their toll, and frowns as she recalls her profession as a bank manager, which now has ended. So has her 20-year marriage. Her husband threw up his hands and declared that he had, had ‘enough’. By enough, she explains, he grew weary of the recurring hospitalizations, the continuous unresponsiveness of her life form and now another suicide attempt. “What is next”, he asks? She still has her children’s support though, ages eighteen and twenty, and proudly shows me pictures of them.

“I am unsure of what the future holds, of course, nor does anybody else, but I wonder if I’ll be vacating the house – or him. It will be lonely one way or another, but I felt alone sometimes even when he was there. I won’t miss the constant criticism. The loneliness and lack of ambition gets me into trouble hence the days of depression begin”.

She begins to look into my eyes, her complexion not as gray compared to when we first began our conversation. Verbalizing that depression has followed behind her for fifteen years, she sought help from a family doctor and begged him to help dissipate the gloomy mind-set. Throughout the years she’s experienced minute success, attempted suicide one other time and medications have been ineffective.

“I do have a new psychiatrist, and with only two appointments so far, he didn’t seem especially interested in me or my illness.”

Clara feels both dispirited and powerless. She is also bitter. Her career was her life, as she puts it, “life has been sucked right out of me”. “Why continue”, she asks? “Who would wish to carry on – for that bright light ahead? – I think not”.

Three weeks have passed: She agreed to ECT (shock treatment). So far she’s received five treatments and feels as if they’ve made some difference and realizes this depression won’t cease to exist over night, but does feel a tad more optimistic. Thoughts of her marriage break-up, she feels, are to some extent due to the illness, which even now saddens her. But she is looking onward to the future…and expressed that she may be discharged in two weeks. Also, her strategy is to continue with ECT treatments on an outpatient basis.

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Belinda – Age (35)

I meander into the dining room where Belinda is waiting. She is bipolar and has been in hospital for a couple of weeks and the path has been bumpy.

Her moods have been “flip-flopping”, in other words, traveling from ‘high’ (mania) and plunging to ‘low’ (depression). Rapid cycling. Today she is feeling a little ‘up’. She much prefers this to the never-ending depressing lows. Depression to her means heading towards death. Who yearns to be living throughout this period? She struggles with the mood swing of depression far more frequently than that of mania. She has by no means attempted suicide, yet her brain travels towards that route often.

She has succeeded in the working world, as assistant manager of a major department chain for six years. Unfortunately, this all crumbled due to too many ‘under-the-weather’ days, doctor’s appointments and hospitalizations causing her to surrender her company position. She glances at me and says “just when everything is going nicely in your life, you are dealt a black hand”.

Belinda’s ill health started slowly, feeling ‘down’ a great deal of the time. Personnel at work questioned the personality change. She questioned it also, and subsequently her family doctor assessed the situation and diagnosed it as depression. The doctor prescribed some medications and advised that a psychiatrist be involved. That in itself is a task; at least in this city where they are in short supply, and typically placed on a waiting list.

Conclusively, she found a psychiatrist through the hospital. He is very thorough, doesn’t hurry her appointments and seems to really be concerned. Together they are experimenting with medications, but haven’t reached that point where moods are stable. What contented her most was the diagnosis her illness – bipolar. “I can put a name to all of these mood swings over the years, and know that I’m not crazy”. Unfortunately, at present she is not in good shape as the depressions supercede the mania. But, is working very hard to become well again.

She resides with her boyfriend who is remains very sympathetic to Belinda and her illness.

BELINDA WAS DISCHARGED

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Ashley – Age (17)

Ashley motions me into her hospital room and I take a seat on the empty bed across from her. She is a teenager, morose in manner and voices that her depression has utterly spelt the downfall of her high school years.

In hospital, more often than not throughout the past year, she’s uncertain of ever graduating and feels hopeless.

Implausible dark, ominous days never end for her and on the odd chance a friend visits. “I think they feel I’m just not the ‘old Ashley’ and don’t know what to say or talk about or what mood I’ll be in if they do visit”. She begins to shed tears discussing her situation, puzzled, “what did I do that was so horrible to be stuck with this disease?”

She states she is a perfectionist and worked furiously to continually receive superior grades in school, but rapidly they started descending and her lack of enjoyment and suicidal feelings were overwhelming. Her mother was attending sessions with a psychiatrist and thought it an excellent idea for her daughter to visit this doctor. However, by the time the first appointment was scheduled, she was at the lowest point of depression and was hospitalized.

The initial admission to hospital was extremely difficult. Mixing with other patients took effort, and she was unwilling to share thoughts and feelings or problems with anyone. Days were lengthy and uninteresting. Medications weren’t doing their job and the suicidal feelings were continuously on her mind. The stay lasted three weeks. “I wanted to escape the place so badly that I lied about my actual feelings of depression and suicidal thoughts and they discharged me”.

Days out of hospital proved a tragedy. The depression over-powered her every turn. She did return to school, but concentration was absent and she gave up. Her parents weren’t stringent on his matter of attending school, as they realized the poor health and self-esteem weakened her.

Numerous admissions followed due to major depression and suicidal ideation. Medications were adjusted several times but nothing was in truth very effective.

This present admission appears to be making headway. She had a different in-patient doctor and believes the medications are beginning to achieve results. It’s indescribable how depression hurts, but although somewhat optimistic at this point, she is not throwing her arms up in the air declaring ‘I’ve won’ yet.

ASHLEY WAS DISCHARGED

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Carolyn – Age (20)

Carolyn is a slender girl with lengthy, straight blond hair. To glance at her, one would assume, “looks perfect, like a swimsuit model”.

Looks are deceiving. Carolyn overdosed a few days ago and is barely beginning to get on her feet. We chatted firstly about the overdose.

She intended to OD for weeks. At home she ingested a massive cocktail of prescription and non-prescription medications. Her sister dropped by unannounced, discovered her motionless on the living room floor and called 911. Afterward it was determined that, had another hour passed, she would have been dead. Tested, there appears to be liver damage and further tests are to be completed to rule out heart damage. Still though, she remains regretful that the OD wasn’t successful.

This may distress some people, with remarks to the like of “how could she be so selfish” or “she’s so pretty, how could anyone give up anything to look like her”. These are misconceptions of mental illness. Our outer shell judges us. Doesn’t matter what is intensifying within and how we are dealing with it.

Sadly, Carolyn says she prays to breathe her last breath, as the blackness never subsides. “You retire at night to blackness and wake up to the same color – black. Do they know what they are doing in this hospital? No medications are helping. What am I supposed to do; I’m out of hope”. “Nurses have done most of the work here, but the in-patient doctor is scarce and I am fortunate if visits every 3rd or 4th day”.

In spite of the mood fluctuation and hospitalizations, her boyfriend is tolerating this exceptionally well. He is very caring and supportive, and that is crucial for recuperation.

As Carolyn describes it, “depression is so consuming and it was burdensome to perform my duties at work”. She is employed at a fast-food restaurant and works bizarre hours.

This is not her career job, but for the moment it pays the bills. Her employer has incredibly understood and has guaranteed her that the job will be there when discharged.

Three weeks later: Carolyn has certainly made progress. Medication is taking effect. She may be discharged next week, but will wait until stronger and well enough to return to work. She found that the in-patient doctor’s more recurrent visits made a difference. Why couldn’t this doctor be as available for the first few weeks of her stay I ask?

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Susan – Age (29)

Susan appeared uneasy as I sat down alongside her. I held her hand and reassured her that at times relating your story can be cathartic.
“I’m bipolar”, she states, “and frankly this illness has ruined my life”.

She was married for three years and with the incessant quarrelling and ‘flips’ between mania and depression, brought her into hospital numerous times. Therein the marriage fell apart, as her husband just couldn’t adapt to the ‘changing’ Susan.

Susan is proud, yet shy to speak of her office position in the working world. To her credit, she has been promoted twice in the past four years, firstly as a mail clerk, followed by company receptionist and lastly to an intermediate customs/exporting position. Her company has treated her well, allowing for time-off throughout the bumpy times, but she is still cynical about the future.

She has been in hospital for 3 ½ weeks, and is not making headway. Fearful to return home while still unwell, as this depression is so tough to shrug off. And now devoid of a husband for ‘talk’ support or family, which are vanishing by leaps and bounds, life appears bleak.

Three weeks later: Unexpectedly, Susan’s husband visited and wants to make an effort at their relationship. She alleged he regrets feeling sorry for himself and did not grasp the ‘pain’ of her illness. This in itself has brought some life in her.

“I’m still sitting on the fence as far as moods go”. The meds are working slowly for her and the doctor predicts two to three more weeks in hospital.

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Nancy – Age (41)

“I think I’ve conquered my depression!” she expresses excitedly.

Nancy has been in hospital for five weeks. The first three were a calamity and never thought she could hold her head up high again. The deep depression was all too consuming and no matter which was of previous interest i.e. reading, playing cards or socializing – vanished. There was a sentiment of no hope.

She is employed at a government agency and supervisor of a sizeable department. She has held this position for eight years now and employed at the agency for eighteen years. The division senior supervisors, and the agency for that matter, have been incredible. They have granted her time off and affirmed to return to work when feeling healthy enough. Co-workers have been visiting, as well as friends, but frankly she was in such a condition of blackness and doesn’t commit to memory conversations.

Nancy’s marriage is unbroken and has an incredible husband who has stood by her every moment. No children are in the picture due to her demanding career.

The depression appeared to originate with the death of her father earlier in the year. He was diagnosed with cancer and passed away not long after. Subsequent to the funeral, her mind clouded and she was all consumed with thoughts of suicide. She secretly wished to be by her father’s side, but couldn’t allow her mother to bear both burdens, so sought after help with her family doctor. The doctor was wonderful, but declared she could only do so much and referred her to a psychologist.

Nancy’s sessions started off nicely, but began to alter when digging deep into her father’s demise. She reacted badly and her whole personality altered. Day after day, she would sit down in darkness, in her recliner chair, gaze at the wall for hours, more or less in a trance. She realized she considered necessary further help, so called a friend and landed in the ER.

“The attending psychiatrist on this floor was amazing and guided me through this rough time”.

The medication took its time but is feeling a difference – a big difference. Some days are major disappointments, feeling so ‘down’ and thinks pessimistically, therefore feeling frightened.

Three weeks later: Presently, Nancy is coming along and elated that she is heading upwards and onwards instead of downwards into the pit. She returns home next week.


Written by:

Me