mentalhealthmublings

[mentalhealthmublings]

It’s a journey

I wanted to type my thoughts down on paper. Life is a bumpy journey so here’s a snippet of mine.

I was diagnosed with depression a long time ago, given medication that I seemed to tolerate and then in 2021 I had a mental health break. I didn’t know what was going on, but now I do. I was hypomanic. I was in danger and I had two friends get so angry at me for behavior that was “unlike me" so they left me in an Airbnb in Portland, alone. Two years later and I still harbor resentment towards them. I am left with the constant questions of, why? Was I not good enough for them to care? Was my life not worth it? Sometimes I wish I had died. So that would sit heavy on them for the rest of eternity. But I’m stronger than that.

Upon returning home, I asked and honestly harassed them (very publicly on social media) to pay me back for the trip and they eventually did. But guess what also happened? My best friend's Mom texted my Mom saying “she’s paid your daughter her money, can your daughter stop harassing mine?” As if my life was valued at $1,000. This was my best friend. Someone I wouldn’t go a day without texting. Someone that lifted me up when I was down and I did the same for her. I wish it hadn’t happened that way. I wish I didn’t have six friends walk out of my life all at once. If you want to talk about the heaviness of not knowing what is going on with your mind and then adding in the layer of losing your friend group, I’ll tell you -  it’s a recipe for disaster. I moved home, I went on a medical leave from work, I was lost. I would get in fights with my Mom telling her I didn’t want to live any longer. Imagine the pain she felt. Having raised me to be the woman I am today and me telling her I didn’t want it. That I’d rather just not exist. But still I rose - I attended therapy, an intensive outpatient program, but I never received any diagnosis other than depression. I was in deep pain that could only be felt by me and my family. For a period of time I moved in with my sister and her husband. I was still in pain but I was also still fighting. 

On June 20th 2022, one week into starting my new job, I was admitted to the emergency department for suicidal ideations. I was on a 5150 hold. The humiliating part about that is you are a prisoner of your small room and are also very visible. You aren’t allowed privacy and honestly at that moment you aren’t afforded it. You don a green gown instead of blue one, a sign that you have a mental disorder and you are followed to the bathroom and are under 24/7 watch. No cellphone, no access, just you, your thoughts, and the pain that resides inside of you. A pain so great it is indescribable. But I’ll try to describe it. 

I’d equate depression to cancer. However, in some cases with cancer there is finality. I wanted finality. I thought of all the ways I could “accidentally” die: a car accident, a crazy fall, someone taking my life in a mass shooting. However, I didn’t have it in me to actually perform the act of taking my life on my own. Why? Because of my family and because of my boyfriend and his family and one friend that stood by my side through it all. I knew that if I died, a part of them would, too. And how in the world could I be so selfish? I’m an empath; always have been, always will be.

Fast forward to today, I’ve now had two hypomanic episodes and was eventually diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I grappled with that diagnosis for so long. I’ve never liked taking medicine and here I am taking two tablets, everyday for seemingly the rest of my life. When I was diagnosed I figured this was a death sentence. I did a lot of research about the longevity of someone’s life with bipolar disorder and it didn’t sit well with me. I attended more programs, I got a new therapist but I just wasn’t feeling better. I kept saying to myself, how does one live life like this? Staring at the ocean, a sunset, my boyfriend, my family and feeling numb. I felt empty. I knew things were beautiful in front of me but it was as if I lost my zest for living, I lost my sense of humor, my empathy, I lost versions of myself and I honestly lost my memory. I couldn’t remember things that my boyfriend told me the day prior. I had severe anxiety, I couldn’t sleep well without sleeping pills, and I felt like every day was a freaking battle. I fought that battle and always will. I’m proud of myself. I have the deepest and utmost gratitude for my boyfriend, my parents, my sister, her husband, H, and my parents dog. They showed me the true meaning of love, support, forgiveness, patience and acceptance. I will never ever be able to describe in words how much gratitude I have. 

As I reflect back on everything that has happened, I am still ashamed of myself. I know the pain that I inflicted on those closest to me, the sleepless nights, the fear, the heartbreak. But I am determined to not let bipolar disorder define me. As my family says, equate bipolar disorder to diabetes. You take a pill to be able to stay alive. I choose to do that. I will be a mental health advocate, as I have been. I will continue to share bits of my story, bits of myself, bits of hope and acceptance. Because honestly, that is what I deserve. I expressed some very personal things about my struggle very publicly. I would take some of that back, but not all of it. I think that the friends that responded to some of what I wrote in support of me, kept me holding on. I’m finally feeling more like me. I’m enjoying the company of friends and loved ones. I'm in love with a human that is unlike anyone I have ever met in my entire life. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with him. I’m going to be an aunt in a mere matter of months. I’m proud of myself for fighting so I can sit here typing this. So I can look back and see how much I have overcome.