#but i just got properly diagnosed with bipolar like 4 months ago

[ace-of-d1am0nds]

i’m so exhausted

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for faking...?

Some background, me (24 F) and my fiance (27 M) have been together for close to 4 years now, engaged for the past 6 months.

When we got together I was diagnosed but untreated for bipolar disorder, and he encouraged me to seek treatment (therapy/meds/etc) and has generally been really supportive of my mental health. Part of this is likely because his mother (who singlehandely raise him) had severe depression which was not properly treated and led to her death when he was in his early 20's. I've gotten a lot better since we've been together, and have encouraged him to seek treatment for his (very obvious but undiagnosed) depression issues. But he has yet to try therapy or even counseling and that's fine, everybody's mental health is their own journey.

However. When we first got together I was severely manic. Part of that was wanting to have sex all the time. We used to have sex at least once per day, often multiple times, and I always got off really easily. Since starting medication (mood stabilizer and antipsychotic) around 2 years ago I noticed a steep decline in my sex drive and a near inability to cum. I've always enjoyed sex with him I just don't get off as easily any more.

Sex ties deeply into his self esteem, even when we were going at it like rabbits he would spiral into these fits of insecurity and anger over not lasting long enough or losing his erection etc. It's obviously something he bases his self esteem on, and he's even said so many times.

So - and this is the part where I think I might be an asshole - I started faking orgasms to boost his ego. Not like egregiously, but where I would have normally cum before the meds I just kind of put on a show. I try to make sure we have sex at least once per week at least, and I'm still enjoying our sex life otherwise (although tbh he hasn't ever gotten me off orally, just one of those things where you can tell he learned from a HS gf and never updated his technique lol) but don't want to risk bringing this up and having him spiral into self loathing and depression.

It didn't seem like a huge deal, but when he proposed to me I had the thought that I'll either have to keep faking orgasms for the rest of my life (cause these meds are working I am not jeopardizing my mental health at this point) or come clean and risk destroying an otherwise very good and supportive relationship with someone who I love very much and could definitely spend the rest of my life with. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[overwhelmed-ravenclaw]

Admitting Having PTSD

Admitting something like this is extremely hard for someone. For me, it was especially hard because of the fact of how my family is. They have toxic tendencies and the other side is majority toxic in general. So I am not precisely safe from them playing blame game if they even admit it to themselves that I do have PTSD.  I hope this helps someone else who has to admit their family or to other people about PTSD. Also, I would like to point out that I didn’t tell my whole family (I won’t tell my whole family) and I will also like to say that others may have even more different reactions. It is something scary and no one knows what to precisely expect. I was trying to be trigger wary while writing this. TL;DR at the end I’ll have a line separating them. Everything I pre-typed for this is undercut.  @ptsdconfessions​

My family like most is complicated. It feels to me like mine is more so than a lot of others but I know that probably isn’t the truth. My mom left when I was young, which is important to this but not what this is about. I had accepted my mom left because she wasn’t happy in her marriage to my dad. She explained to me she didn’t know where she was going so she couldn’t take us with. She didn’t want to put us in any kind of danger by accident. For a 7-year-old, I understood she was trying to protect us and get out of a loveless relationship. 

I have 4 older sisters, but one doesn’t play a role in this till years later, so I am going to skip her for the time being. (She was adopted after my mom left and around the time the PTSD started to form)  My counselor and Therapist both had repeatedly suggested I explain more than “I have depression” to my family. They knew that I knew I had PTSD. The reason behind it varied to a bunch of things that most of which happened before I was 13 and there was nothing I could do about it. Some of the stuff that happened later in life adds onto that but I am going to stay vague to avoid triggers as much as I can. None of my PTSD had to do with my mother leaving, or at least very little did, because if she was there then a lot of it wouldn’t have happened.

So I first sat down with my sister and uncle who lived with me. I am going to call this uncle (huge family) U-D, the sister at hand is L. L’s reaction was “So you are mentally insane, that means you can get disability and quit your dream of whatever it is, I don’t know it doesn’t make sense.” My dream is to help children that dealt with same past like me and make sure they don’t end up as bad as I did, so I became a paraprofessional (Fancy word for special needs aide) The other part of my dream is to become a published author. Not through self-publishing but a big name company. I don’t care if my books don’t sell, I want to know that I have at least tried to be an author.

U-D stated that he doesn’t understand how I have PTSD because I was never in the army or warzone. Later on, he learned what happened to me when I was little, or at least small bits, from my sister B. Let just say after learning some information he had dropped that I couldn’t have PTSD and just went with it. L kept pushing me to do things that she knew would trigger me till finally not one but four councilors had all sat down and explained to her what she was doing, she kept it up. She saw that if she can keep triggering me then I will do what she wants to make her leave me alone. Then eventually I told my aunt AD and my Dad. Dad stated he could tell that I had PTSD because of the fact that he was a lousy dad. Which is partly true. If he would have done what should have when I was little then I wouldn’t have it this server. He isn’t fully at blame but he admitted he did things wrong and knows it. AD then learned a few of the things through dad and me. She was supportive and wanted me to seek deeper help. Which I did with her encouragement and her nudging me on the path of healing. Next person I told was my grandmother on my mother side. Up to this point, I have only talked to the family who is on my dad’s side and I can be face to face. My grandparents on my dad’s side passed away years ago and my grandfather on my mom’s side passed away while I was still a baby. So this grandmother was the only one I could talk to. Her reply to finding out made my stomach feel like I had eaten lava and nauseous. You know the feeling that you just did something bad and disgusting and you get after that? Well, that was my version of that feeling. I am getting it now, but I want to get this story out here.

My grandmother’s reaction which a lot of my PTSD does ties back to her in my childhood… was the simple saying “It is your mother’s fault. She left you at such an impressionable age. It caused you to have depression. If you would stop living in the past your doctor wouldn’t mistake it as PTSD. So start smiling more and live in the future!” Which I ended our conversation with a quick “My phone is dying, talk you later” then it took me 2 months to be able to call her again.

My Aunt who works at the hospital AB was next and AB snorted. “I have known that since you were twelve. You on medicine now for anxiety? What kind so I can check it against my copies of your old medical records.” Which was a huge Wait, what? So I told her my meds, she then told me to ask the doctor about lower doses because I don’t take medicine. I never liked to. Which the doctor agreed and gave me lower doses and the kind my aunt requested because, after a second look, the doctor stated that it would be better for me. I have nightmares that make me have insomnia. (Solution to that is lots of caffeine. Mainly coffee.)

My sisters B and M (adopted one I said I would skip for time being) both knew about me having PTSD but because my dad wouldn’t seek help for me when I was little there was nothing they could do until I was an adult. By then they thought I already sought help, but only did about 2 years ago. I haven’t told my eldest sister, because a huge chunk of it is because of her and her husband. I also haven’t explained properly to my mother because I don’t want to make her worry, she has PTSD too. I know I will have to eventually. That just left one uncle that I was extremely close to. AD’s husband. When I finally told him about it he dismissed it stating “Everyone has PTSD.” Which made me confused and I stated that. “Listen, you are perfectly normal. You are fine. Nothing is wrong with you. What they claim is PTSD is normal for everyone. Everyone has it. It is like breathing air, it comes naturally to us. You just have to ignore it and move on in life. Not take the medicine they give you and become a pill popper, man.” ((He’s an old school hippy)) He then started to use that tone that parents do when you have done something wrong when I tried to explain that it wasn’t sadness or depression that I have actual flashbacks and nightmares. That I have physical issues once triggered that too much happens at once to explain in dept. Which one he started to give me that look and down talking me saying basically what he said before. He stormed off and act liked I was an idiot. I was heartbroken because out of everyone, I figured he’d understand. He was drafted into a war when he was 17 so he should have understood, right? Talking to AD later, I explained what happened and I could see the emotions in her eyes seemed to scream in annoyance. Not at me, but at her husband. She then explained to me when she first met him in her teenage years, he was already married but they were filing for divorce, they became good friends since they worked together. She was a waitress, he was the cook. He then told her about how he has been forced to see a doctor who he thinks was coo-coo (her words) he had been diagnosed with PTSD from the war, though he was just a sailor who picked up injured soldiers and brought them home, and he was diagnosed Bipolar. He didn’t like how the medicine made him feel and react so he stopped taking them declaring that they were trying to make him into a pill popper, which she stated it took him months to stop having the withdrawals from the medicine. In the 80s before his daughter was born he tried again, and again he didn’t like how they made him feel and once stopped taking them the withdrawals were the worst thing he has ever encountered or at least that is what he told AD. So much like how older people in our small town area is still using racist words but not in a racist way, only because their mind is set to that programming that can’t be overridden, he is same way about medicine for “fake mental illnesses” and that was why he was so hard on me. He still is hard on me whenever someone brings up about when I need to take my medicine and he is around. It got to the point I have actually started to try to avoid him as much as I can. I hate that because I love spending time with him at his house, we do crafts together and bounce craft ideas off of each other. He used to come over to mow the lawn for me so I didn’t have to use the old push (not engine mower it is an actual push contraption with opened blades and you have to put your weight on it to make it cut the lawn) He does it with his actual mower that is run on gas. Now avoiding him, he started to avoid me too and I hate the feeling of loneliness I got. In my family, it is rare to hear someone to say sincerely “I love you” he did. No one else in my family besides, my mom, B, and M do that. Everyone else does it as if they rehearsed it and don’t mean it. Like it is something that they are supposed to say. Which when I hear it so sincerely from him or my mom or my two sisters that do that, it puts me in tears of happiness because my normally numbed emotionally body is filled with this comfortable warmth. Any bad thoughts or images that popped in my head or even the worst day imaginable, once I hear those words with someone being sincere, it is all out of my mind and I am too happy to care about anything else.

TL; DR // Summary

So each had a different type of reaction to me coming out.

L - Money, thinks she is going to get to control me because I can leave my job (I am not getting money because of PTSD) 

UD - At first not understanding then he is. He makes sure I eat and when triggered he normally gives me chocolates and make sure I take my meds.

AD - Love, lots and lots of love. She buys me random stuff (including lunch while I am working at the school) and my favorite yet is when she baked me a freaking cake because I was annoyed at my sister trying to trigger me before I got to school that day.

Dad - Guilt and understanding.

Grandmother - Blaming everything and everyone else not even caring what was the true cause, when that didn’t work then stated I don’t have it just living in the past.

AB, B & M - They knew already and thus why they were always loving and supportive of me (besides B always states “You are my baby girl, of course, I love you” Then I normally get roped into really tight hugs that make all my bones pop.)

Hippy - Denile. Claims that PTSD isn’t real. Set in old time ways of thinking when really damaging to me but he doesn’t mean to be. He is trying to be helpful.

I’m leaving my mom out, I rather her think for now until I have to tell her, that I just have depression. It is easier on her mental health and I don’t want her to stress and worry about me.

[bellavidasb-blog]

/Dealing with the Suicide of Someone you Love/

I have not shared this yet on Social media until now.  It was just far too painful.  However, I feel brave enough now to share this with you.  So here goes...

On February 4, 2019,  my dad took his own life.  He had struggled with untreated bipolar his whole life and Aspergers (ASD).  About a year ago, he went in for surgery for a Hip replacement and his health went downhill after the surgery due to several infections and pain that doctors could not get rid of.  

Sadly,  my dad did not want to admit he had bipolar.  He thought he only had depression and anxiety because he actually like his mania.  I think this might be true of some people who are bipolar.  They love their Highs, but their Lows scare them.   So, he never saw a Psychiatrist who could accurately diagnose him because he only went when he was Depressed and saw a General Practitioner MD.

Something that bugs me about this is that many Doctors will write a prescription for Antidepressants without truly diagnosing  their patients thoroughly.  They hear the symptoms and just write a prescription without truly understanding what is going on.

While my dad was depressed,  Antidepressants were not the answer for him.  He needed a Mood Stabilizer and he needed a Psychologist and a Psychiatrist to monitor his meds.  

Sadly, I learned after his death that my dad took an antidepressant for a few days,  said it hurt his stomach and abruptly stopped taking it.  A few days later,  he woke up, drove his car to a parking garage 5th floor and jumped without leaving a note of explanation to anyone.  This was so unlike my dad as he loved to write... if he was himself, he would have at least left all of us a note to explain why he did this.  He didn't even kiss my stepmom goodbye that morning when he left.

We are all devastated.  And tragically,  my family has had to deal with suicide many times before... My family has had many people who have committed suicide.  At least 3 of my dad's siblings, two uncles and his grandmother committed suicide.  This is an epidemic of huge proportions in my family.  

I am sharing this with you because I need to talk about this and not sweep it under the rug as suicide is often not talked about.  I might sound like I am making light, but believe me I am not.  I take this very, very seriously.  

In fact, I suffer from depression and anxiety and have taken an antidepressant for 11 years now.  It has helped me cope with stress, anxiety and depression and I know it is something I need.  I have myself been suicidal, but thankfully, was able to pull out of it and get help through counseling and, of course, my medication.  It makes me so sad and upset when people "medication shame" people for taking something that is helping them cope.  

We as a society need to realise some very important Truths about the Brain:

The Brain is an Organ- exactly like any other Major Organ in the Body.

The Brain is highly susceptible to deficiencies in the chemicals it needs to function properly- just like any other Organ in the body!

The Brain can be Low on chemicals just like your Liver or Pancreas.

No one would EVER shame a person with Diabetes for taking Insulin- why is it ok to Shame someone who has low serotonin for taking an SSRI Antidepressant?

The Brain does not replace its cells like other organs in the body and is much more fragile than other organs in the body.

The Brain is highly sensitive to stimuli from the environment, chemicals in the air, foods we eat and the stimuli you are giving it.  

If we can come to think differently about our Brains and how they Function,  we might start to destigmatize "Mental Health".  How about "Brain Health" instead?  No one gets all worked up about "Heart Health" and thinks "People will judge me if they know I am on Cholesterol medication."  Yet,  many people fear others knowing they are depressed, in therapy or taking medications.

I have heard many people tell me, "Well, I have been taking (XYZ) medication for a few months now, but I am trying to get off of it."  I always think,  "WHY!? Is it helping you? Why would you get off something that has helped you feel better?"  I think people feel like they have to qualify why they are on something and then say they don't REALLY need it- it is just temporary to help them through a tough time.  I believe this is because people don't want others to think they are "crazy" or judge them for being on something for depression.  

I suppose it is Ironic that around a year ago when Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain both took their lives so close to each other,  I started a Podcast called "The Erin Show" about Suicide to give support to others and share a little of my story.  I never thought I would be talking about my own Dad's suicide.  

I now realize just how important it is to talk about suicide and depression.  It truly can save someone's life.  I used to hide from others that I took an antidepressant, but I decided a while back to be very open with people about taking medication.  I can't help anyone if I am hiding the truth.  I encourage others to share they take medication and not be afraid others will judge them.  As people start to open up about taking these drugs,  it will defuse the stigma around taking them!  It is so ridiculous that people hide this and are ashamed of it.  Why be ashamed of doing what your body and brain needs?

Not taking an antidepressant (or other appropriately prescribed drug that helps the brain with the lack of chemicals needed to cope) has probably killed far more people in this world from Suicide than the actual pills have done harm to people.  One study showed that nearly 25 Million people have taken their own lives.  That is a staggering and sobering statistic.  

25 Million People!  That is more than any War fought.  The amount of heartache and sorrow generated from those people taking their own lives is overwhelming! And now I am once again feeling their sorrow so deeply.  

This should be at the top of our National Health agenda and yet it is not.  Mainly because it is thought that it is voluntary.  However, what is the root cause of these suicides is our Brain functioning and our coping mechanisms.  

If you have ever been Suicidal, you know that everything else in the world disappears and all you know is how deeply painful your life has become.  There seems no way out of that suffering.  You are not thinking about anyone other than yourself and your pain at that moment.  I know, because I have been there myself.  It is so frightening to feel like that.  I don't want you or anyone to think I am judging you.  I am not.  I don't judge my dad for what he did.  I am heart broken. I am devastated he felt so lonely and afraid in his last moments on this Earth.  It makes me happy he is out of his pain, however.  

Yet,  for anyone who has had this happen to a loved one,  it is a very heavy burden to bear.  It is pain that never really goes away.  There are days that I feel fine, and others that the pain is so heavy I can barely breathe.  

When my brother called me to tell me, he said, "Erin, I just got off the phone with (my stepmom) and Dad killed himself."  Followed by silence.  

I was so stunned that I felt like I sat there with my mind whirlling forever, but it was probably just a split second.  My brother is a joker and was the class clown, so my first thought was, 'He must be kidding. No way would dad do that.' Then, of course, my brain acknowledged, 'No way in hell would he be kidding about dad killing himself.'

My first words were, "What? No.  No way."  At least I think they were because I was in Shock and I can't really remember what I said...  All I remember was it felt like the world ground to a halt and I was in slow motion trying to grasp what had just been said to me.  

"Yes, Erin. This morning," he said compassionately.

"What? How? Why, why would he do that?" I started to cry, completely dumbfounded and reeling from shock, disbelief and horror.

My brother gently told me what had happened and what he had been told.  He tried to comfort me because he knew how close I had been with my dad.  We both told each other how much we loved each other and said we would be heading there to be with my stepmom.  

After I hung up,  I crumpled up on the floor and sobbed uncontrollably.  My heart literally felt like it was tearing in two pieces.  My cat was the only other being there and she came over and gently nuzzled against me trying to comfort me.  I held her and cried sobbing until I could get up.  My mind was racing and I felt like I had just been spun around like a top.  I didn't know what to do.  

I called my husband who was at the doctor and told him sobbing and trying to make sense.  He immediately said, "I'm leaving and I will be right there.  I am so sorry, sweetie.  I love you. I'll be home soon."  

No words can really express that level of grief and sorrow.  As I said, I have had other people I love who took their own lives.  However, nothing can prepare you for losing someone to suicide, especially a parent, who helped give you life, raise you and protect you when you were little.  It is difficult enough having a parent die.  Knowing they did this to themselves is a whole different level of sorrow and loss.

Unless you have experienced this yourself,  it is difficult to truly understand, and I don't wish this on anyone.  I hope you never have to experience this.   I don't know if I will ever not feel this pain when I think of my dad.  My brother is better at focusing on the good times and fun we had with him.  And I know I will get there someday.  

Perhaps it is because I am so empathetic that I suffer from depression.  When you feel emotions very deeply,  it can be a blessing and a curse.  I certainly do where my heart on my sleeve, and so did my dad.  This can make you much more creative and artistic, but it can also be a weapon you use against yourself that can drag you down into despair if you don't keep it in check.  

I want you to know, that even though I am still suffering, I see the beauty of life.  I see the beauty in YOU.  I wrote this article today to help those who feel lost and lonely.  To help those who are sad and feel like they may never feel happy again.  If this is you,  please know that there are so many people out there who love you. Some who you have never even met.  

If my Dad had told even one person that he was Suicidal,  this might not have happened.  If you are depressed and suicidal, Please tell someone who can help you.  I have had people email me who I did not know personally admit they were suicidal and there is nothing I can do other than tell them to please get help and give them the Suicide hotline.  The only way to truly get help is to be honest with someone who will be there to support you and get you help.  

If you don't have someone you can talk to,  you need to be brave enough to find a Psychiatrist and get help for yourself.    I pray that you get better and find happiness again! You deserve to be happy!  We all do!

You can email me if you need support and I will try to help, but I will always tell you to find support close to you as well.  That is the key to breaking out of whatever you are feeling.  Research has proven that all of us crave human connection as one of our basic human needs.  

Most of all, I want you to know that I am rooting for you.  If you can find the strength to keep going,  there is so much beauty waiting for you in this life if you seek it out.  Yes, life can be extremely difficult.  But Life can also be extremely beautiful.  You will see that beauty return if you hold on.  And I pray that you do.  

Thank you for reading my story. I love you all.

God bless you and Keep you,

Erin XOXO

My Email: bellavidasb@gmail.com

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1 (800) 273-8255

www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

Note: You can also online chat with someone at the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 24 hours a Day every day of the year.  It's free, private and confidential.  

By going to their website, you can find a Local Crisis Center and you can get help,  or you can get information on how to Volunteer, Donate and help support the incredible work they are doing to save lives.  

Please share this post to help others who are suffering from losing someone to Suicide or who are suicidal themselves.  Thank you.  XO

Here are some more resources:

Bipolar Symptoms:  https://www.psycom.net/bipolar-disorder-symptoms/

[tifarobles]

Sanity Check: Inside Mental Health

I will be alright. Everything is going to be fine. I promise.

At least that’s what I kept trying to tell myself. I had to. It had to be okay.

That’s how I got through 3 years of turbulent ups and downs and falling deeper into a debilitating anxiety disorder that seemed to be triggered by my miscarriage.

I was 16 when I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I wanted to do all I could to avoid being dependent on pharmaceuticals. I’d experienced my mother going through a terrible time trying to stop taking Paxil and I didn’t want to go through that. I wanted to find other ways to deal with my disorder. I did a decent job most of the time. In fact, I don’t think many people even knew I was bipolar. It pretty much only impacted my romantic relationships and very close friendships.

I can point to exact times in my life when I knew I’d been depressed and even more times when I knew I’d been in pretty serious manic episodes. It was usually after a huge life change. It seemed like my body’s way of adapting to something new. However, I can’t pinpoint any of these episodes since being married.

I wasn’t sure if my symptoms were less noticeable in a more stable state or if I had somehow outgrown my disorder. I even wondered if Mike had somehow helped me overcome it. But I never really knew why...

Turns out, it had warped into General Anxiety Disorder. I had never experienced a true panic attack before the miscarriage. Suddenly, they were part of my daily life.

I assumed that once I was able to grieve properly and recover from the tragedy, that my anxiety would fade. However, it only seemed to get worse after Xander was born. It didn’t help that shortly after that I unexpectedly lost my job at Xbox while on maternity leave due to the position being eliminated.

This was my dream job. I had left a very stable, comfortable position in something I was very good at to pursue this seemingly perfect for me job. Everyone told me to take this job, even though I was 6 months pregnant. Even though I was on a brand new team for a brand new role with untred territory. I’d worked for 6 years to get into a position like this one. I had to do all I could for this job.

And just like that… it was gone.  

On top of that, Mike was all set up to be a stay-at-home dad, so we had no source of income or insurance for our newborn baby.

The next day Trump was elected.

Let’s just say, that was a miserable week for my emotions. Could I ever feel happy again? I’d look at my son and feel happy enough not to worry.

It wasn’t too long before Mike found some remote work and I was hired at GTS. I had to take a substantial pay cut for this career move, but there were a lot of perks to consider and huge potential for growth. I assumed everything was coming together again and that my emotions would soon follow.

Adjusting to being a working mom was easier than I expected, but still very hard. However, feedback at work was telling me that I was really good at this job. I poured myself into it, taking trips to visit stores, sometimes doing work on weekends, trying to fit the role I never expected to fit. And I liked it. I loved the stores I worked with, and while there were challenging days, overall I felt happy.

As things always do in corporate jobs, things changed. There were some changes for the new year, including a pay cut. I had just switched to commision and was barely making my base salary. Luckily, by this time Mike had gotten a really great job and Xander was loving daycare. I thought it would be okay to make less than I’d ever made if I kept being happy. Was I happy though? I was stressed all the time, always thinking about work, always being completely exhausted from motherhood, trying to maintain so many things every day.

I would look at my life, and outside of raising Xander, I didn’t feel like I was doing anything truly fulfilling. What had happened to my creativity? When was the last time I’d written something? When was the last time I sang a new song? What would 16-year-old dreamer me think of where I was?

I was a good mom. That was the most fulfilling aspect of my entire life. My true legacy and something I had always wanted. He was perfect.

But don’t I deserve more? I’d feel terrible for thinking it. Like, what’s wrong with me? I have everything I’ve ever wanted.

But I knew that was a lie. I’d always wanted more.

Founding LPS came close to what I wanted to do for this world. It scratched that itch for me for years. But it was so much harder now being a mom. It was so hard dividing my time between LPS, Xander, Mike, work, family, friends, and (OMG do I dare think it?) myself! I couldn’t do as much for LPS as I used to and I hadn’t been as deeply involved in a long time. It’s just... different when I can’t go every week. Or maybe it’s different because I’ve been doing it for so long and I’m ready to move on to my next big fulfilling project.

But then I found out that I’d be going to GAMA, representing GTS. Maybe I could find my next project through GTS. Maybe it will be at the other end of the show. I felt honored to be selected. While at the show, I networked until 4am, getting up at 7am to be on time to have a few minutes of breakfast with my team. I became close friends with some other GTS employees while at the show who wanted to work with me more. I was excited for those opportunities. What more could I do with this great company?

Within a few weeks, I was in talks with the marketing department. I was told that I had all the skills that they were looking for. It sounded like a role I’d be good at. One I’d get to finally be creative full-time, something I’d never really gotten to try.

But they wanted someone who could travel. A lot.

I suddenly felt like I was suffocating under the choice between this amazing opportunity or being with my son on weekends.

I couldn’t do that.

I didn’t get the job. But I was still in sales. Yay? I didn’t know how to feel. I was barely making enough to pay for daycare on my worst months. I was literally working in order to pay to be away from my son all week. To do a job that I liked, but that I wasn’t really passionate about. Looking at the paychecks was scary. Everything felt scary. Like weirdly scary.

Car rides alone could cause anxiety attacks. And I had to do a lot of driving since Mike was commuting to Seattle and kicking serious ass at his new job. But I couldn’t keep going on like this.

The anxiety was unbelievable. I couldn’t see into my life. I couldn’t define what it was that I wanted. That too was scary. All I saw was being a good mom, but what else was I… good at? What was I passionate about besides my family? Had I lost my defining characteristic of passion? This thought alone could send me into a racing heart and tension headache. This was anxiety. But I didn’t understand it. I’d never felt this before.

I needed help. I couldn’t take off time from work for therapy. I couldn’t find a therapist outside of work hours. The anxiety had gotten worse. I experienced a 20-day headache. I went to the doctor… where I was first diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder. I scheduled 6 appointments with therapists. I took time off work to go. I started to take medication for the first time in my life. I had very little PTO for anything. I worked every hour I could to make up for it. I got worse before getting better. I took a medical leave.

On medical leave, I felt like I was seeing for the first time in… years? I would find true happiness in the littlest of things. Xander’s shoes, the smell of his hair, the cat following me around at 1am while I stayed up writing.

I was still passionate. I was still that dreamer. I was still defined by passion. I found passion in my story. I had found my project. It had been in front of me this entire time.

The project I’ve been wanting to finish for over 15 years. Over half of my life.

I looked at my life goals and realized I’d followed the biggest one already by having an amazing partner and child to share my life with. But what was next for me?

Why had I spent 3 years writing instead of having a social life as a teenager? Why had I studied for 4 years with no sleep to obtain a degree in Creative Writing? Why could these characters I created so long ago never once leave my mind? I could see their faces as clearly as the day I created them, drawn mediocrely on lined paper with colored pencils. Now created in every game that has a built-in character creator. Each person that I’d given deep back stories and interesting character arcs, with development far beyond what you’d think a boy-crazy, 14-year-old, awkward, opinionated girl obsessed with video games would be capable of.

I had to follow my dreams. It would never be the right time. “I have to do this before I turn 30,” I thought. As though I’d be able to inform that 14-year-old girl that her hard work would get published before she turns 30. High five her and let her know she makes a great mom and has a husband who knows how to dance, before flying away on a unicorn. I had to make a change. I approached Mike with the idea. He was fully supportive. He’d been with me on this journey through some rough times and questions like “What do I want to do with my life?” at 2am on random nights when I’d wake him up because I couldn’t sleep. He knew I would be happy pursuing this. He knew I needed happiness again. He knew we’d be okay, no matter what.

I don’t know if it’s the medication, my amazing therapist, the life changes, or my luck with having the most amazingly supportive family, but I am so happy. I can’t say the anxiety is gone, that is still a daily struggle. But I know I can be grateful for so many things and that helps calm me down. I am following my dreams. I can’t promise it won’t be a difficult adventure at times, in fact, I’m sure it will be very difficult. But I will be happy while I adventure.

[dxmedstudent]

Hey dx. Hope you're well. I don't know if you remember this ask, but I'm the anon who asked a few months ago about supporting a friend in med school with depression and finding it a bit much. A lot has happened since then. She's sadly left med school and has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Currently she doesn't really have stable periods and is either high or low. I got kind of ok with having boundaries with texting etc/meet-ups only when actually able to. Part 1

Part 2. Anon supporting friend here. Recently she’s been high and has been messaging me nearly all day every day/asking if I’m there if I take time to reply/constantly updating me on what she’s doing/sending me all her family pictures. I’m finding it really stressful and overwhelming, tried turning off my notifications yesterday but still keeps going. My own anxiety is flaring up and I’m stressed hugely with workload.

Part 3. Anon supporting friend. I’ve told her I take time to reply because I’m stressed/overwhelmed and yet the messages keep coming. I know she’s hypomanic/manic so she probably sees things in a different perspective atm and forgets that it’s too much. I’m wondering whether it’s worth asking her to please message a little less as I find it overwhelming to get so many messages each day, or whether it will just not work as she isn’t in her right mind. Part 4. She has got professional help in place. She’s fallen out with her other friends because they don’t message her when she’s low etc/her best friend has distanced herself from her because she doesn’t know what to say. I don’t want to not be friends but I need to work something out! I’m trying to remember she’s ill but I’m starting to feel unwell too. Any advice?! PS. I know this is an extremely long ask and that you’re very busy, so please take your time if you need            

Hey, I’m glad to hear from you again. I’m so sorry for my late reply; I rread your ask at the time, and thought about it a lot. But I had to take some time to process my own life problems and mental health, and I couldn’t really give most of my asks the time or energy they deserved, so I had to leave them until they could. Which is kind of the theme of this ask, ironically. But I hope late is better than never.  Thank you for your message at the end of your ask, it’s very much appreciated :) I’m so sorry that your friend’s going through a rough time, and that you are, too. I’m so sorry to hear that she left med school; bipolar is a truly difficult illness, she has been on a really tough journey.  I’m glad she has professional support; that’s always a huge deal because the right treatment and support can revolutionise people’s lives. I’ve seen it, and though I don’t think the way we treat mental health is perfect, I do think we can do so much good by acknowledging mental illness and treating it properly. And taking people seriously. I’m glad to hear you started to work out some boundaries that worked for you; it’s tough, but it’s good to hear that you made some progress, even if it doesn’t always work out as  well as you hope, it’s still progress. You’re right to put your own wellbeing first; it’s hard for us to support others if we’re being brought to a mental breakdown ourselves. It’s a hard lesson for us to learn, but you can’t serve others with a broken/empty cup. I think it’s a really fair idea to turn off notifications to avoid overloading yourself. She can keep going; thats OK. You can’t control your friend’s mania, or how ‘full on’ they are; perhaps not even they can. Unfortunately, that’s part of the illness. And it seems you understand that well, deep inside. She might process things differently, and I think you’re an excellent friend for doing your best to support them, and understand what they are going through. I’m putting this under a cut because it’s long.

Everyone reacts differently to being told the truth, so only you will know how they might respond. Sometimes we can just tell people ‘sorry, I’m not feeling well so I might not respond much’. Sometimes we invent excused to be kind or because we aren’t ready to talk about the entire story; in my view, in personal* settings, it’s OK to tell white lies not to hurt people sometimes. I’ve told friends I’ve been sick or oncall when I couldn’t attend events because I was physically exhausted or not feeling well, because I really cared about seeing them but didn’t want them to think I was not coming because I was not bothered. However, with close friends I’m honest, and the vast majority of the time, if I say I’m oncall, it’s because I’m actually oncall. I don’t like fibbing, and I don’t like hurting people’s feelings, so it’s a fine line, but I’d rather feel a bit guilty than make others feel bad. It might be OK if you tell her that you sometimes need time to reply because you are overwhelmed; have you ever discussed your own mental health issues with them? Do they get that you get really anxious or overwhelmed? It might depend on how much insight they have into their own state right now, and perhaps it’d be difficult for them to moderate how they act, or how they feel about it.  However, if you find yourself having to take quite a bit of time to yourself, don’t feel shy to just tell them “I’m not ignoring, you, I just wasn’t feeling well and had to take a break, I’m listening now”. Or you could say “I care about all your messages, and I always read them all, but sometimes I can’t reply to them all at once because I’m busy/overwhelmed/tired/unable to process it all”. If they get upset because you haven’t replied, it might help to reassure them that you do care (because this is, deep down, what they fear”, and that you care about their wellbeing, but that other issues in your life have been stressing you out, too. And that you just didn’t want to bother them with your stress, so needed to take some time out. There are ways of discussing it that don’t outright lay the blame on them, or make out that they are the cause of your problems, when it’s not true, and therefore avoids making them feel guilty for things outside of their control. Something can be not the cause of our problems/stress and still be overwhelming, and if you’re able to be honest with them, I think that’s a good way to put it across.  As well as the idea that in order to be truly there for them, and have enough energy and time to be able to support them, sometiems you need to take time out to process the other things in your life. Work, uni, family, love life, etc, whatever it is. Telling someone “I have a lot of thigns in life that are stressing me out, and draining my energy, and sometimes I need to take some time out to process/fix them, and rest before I can chill with you and help you, and be happy with you, because otherwise I’d spend my time with you stressed and miserable and might make you feel worse” makes sense. I can’t say if that would work for your friend, but I feel a lot of people would understand that. In the end, I am sure they care about you, too. But because of their own illness and issues, deep down they are probably terrified of losing you too. They know that their illness can make things harder for them, harder for those around them, and they probably feel really bad about that; we all beat ourselves up over stuff like that. Reminding them that you care, and want to be there, and want to be strong and rested so you don’t bring them down with your own problems is actually a kindness to them. I remember publishing a similar ask/anwer/post by someone else who answered a similar question, because it reminded me of you and your ask. I hope you saw that, it might be tagged under my #mental health and medicine tag. You come across as a supportive, loving friend who is doing their best, please don’t feel guilty if you have to put yourself first. I hope you and your friend take the time you need to heal. * In professional settings, we’re bound by the rules of probity. We don’t lie in medicine. TBH my parents raised us to NEVER LIE, which makes working in medicine easier because I’m a terrible gulty fibber who likes to follow all the rules and who doesn’t even like parking in the wrong place, much less anything exciting.            

[kkh8318-blog]

Having a partner with Bipolar and Psychosis

I need advise on how to deal with a boyfriend who has bipolar disorder with psychotic episodes. It’s been really hard lately. “really hard” doesn’t even begin to justify how bad it’s been. we have been together for 4 years, and just had a son together 10 months ago. I noticed him slowly getting worse during my pregnancy, (he was SO happy to find out i was pregnant he is so happy to be a daddy). he became paranoid, starting using drugs, became aggressive and irritable with me and everyone really. He has ALWAYS had trust issues due to his illness, childhood trauma, and past relationships. He progressively got worse and worse a few months ago he slit his wrists in front of me during his episode he just kept saying sorry to me and that this is how he would prove to me that he loves me. He was sent to a hospital where he was first diagnosed with his illness. When he got out of the hospital, he told me that during one of his episodes he thought i was cheating on him (which all of his episodes consist of mental and a few times physical abuse from being paranoid and not trusting me thinking im cheating on him, he becomes very delusional and sometimes has hallucinations.) so during this episode he cheated on me... and he said that’s why he slit his wrists. He said he could not get over the guilt he felt. I cannot get over his betrayal though i’m trying very hard, my perception is so skewed because of his illness and past. I want to make things work for our son and because i do still love him.. though a big part of it is because he cheated i also get scared that he could physically hurt me again... He still has episodes a lot even with his new medication which does help. During his episodes and sometimes when he isn’t even having one he still thinks im cheating or betraying him even though he betrayed me. I find myself completely blown over the fact that i still have to cater to his trust issues constantly when HE is the one that fucked me over. I have always found it very difficult to handle the situation or react properly when he has an episode. I always react the wrong way, or say something that makes it worse. I try to stay calm and quiet. but sometimes he will push me over the edge with his hurtful piercing words. And me being depressed, stressed, a new mom, stubborn, hard headed i suck at communicating even more than before, and now to make things worse i now don’t really trust him... it has all made me SO bitter, and angry, and depressed, and i lack a deep empathy that i used to have. i sometimes feel a bit like a sociopath sometimes. i wake up and cry for an hour or 2 about 75 % of the time....I love him and my son and the family we created together so much and im so scared for how life will be if i just give up. i dont want to give up but i feel so stuck because i feel like lately im so bitter and i don’t know how to properly help him get better. every time i try to speak about the situation to anyone, like therapists or doctors or certain friends, they all tell me to leave him. but it is just not that simple. I built a life and created a life with this man. And i just cannot fathom the thought of him not being in my life, though lately our fights are so often my bitterness makes me want him to just leave, but i know that’s not what i REALLY want... i’m also scared he will hurt himself and i also feel bad because if i do break things off with him i’m leaving him with his illness and he really doesn't have anywhere to go..he doesn't have supportive family, a car or a phone, he can barley keep his jobs because of his disorder.   but anyways no one really understands why im still with him. i just care about, and the thought of him not being in my life or constant in my sons life kills me. I think we both need help and i just dont even know what to do anymore but take it day by day i guess...  im so lost..

[rheasunshine]

Greetings fellow travelers,

I hope that wherever you’re reading this from, you are safe.

I haven’t been safe in awhile.

Yes, I have a roof over my head. (A new, expensive one at that; first year home-ownership can be stressful).

Yes, I have food and water.  (Well, sometimes there’s food – usually the fridge is empty-ish and even when it’s not, I’m not really into eating it.)  This fact alone makes me safer than millions and millions of people.

I am – generally speaking – not in danger.

Except last week.  Last week,  I was in a lot of danger.  And it wasn’t the first time.

It comes as no surprise to anyone following my story that as a “Professional Patient” I spend most of my days balancing doctors appointments and symptom-tracking and medications. To be honest (and you should always be honest, right Justin?), I’ve been doing a truly shitty job managing my illnesses.  It starts simply enough – one bad day.  That bad day leads to two, and by then I’ve decided nothing I could do matters and I let go of the controls.  Sounds healthy, right?

So a couple of weeks ago, as I was juggling my annual OBGYN visit, IUD discussions, a urology referral, a visit to UNC to discuss my constant nausea and further testing, a mammogram, vision testing for new glasses and contacts (and WAY more money than we have), my therapy visits and then 3 or 4 “normal” appointments, I kind of lost my mind.

The thing is, it wasn’t even beyond the scope of normal; that’s a pretty average week in my life.  Where things started to go sideways was in the creeping, slinking, insidious feeling that an MS relapse – or something worse – was coming on.  I’ve described this enough times that I feel we are all comfortable with what this looks like, so I’ll just summarize by saying that at this point in the story I was no longer in control of my motions, thoughts, words or feelings.

When Thommy and I went on our annual wedding anniversary trip in early October, we spent most of our time playing the previously referred to “ER or nah??” game.  I didn’t want to go to an ER out of state (we were in Tennessee) so we just assumed the worst was yet to come and tried to enjoy what we could of the Smokey Mountains.  BUT, because my brain wasn’t working properly, I forgot to pack both my cane AND my handicap placard, so we weren’t able to do much sightseeing or exploring.  In fact, we barely left the condo.  Since we’ve been married for 9 years, and together for 13, we don’t need a lot of special attractions to enjoy a trip; just being in each others’ presence is special enough.

At the Tennessee Welcome Center

So let’s catch up: we got home, the symptoms got way worse, and on Friday, October 27th, I went again to see my primary care doctor.  He took an X-Ray of my neck first to see if that could explain some of the symptoms.  Luckily, it did a little – I now have 3 herniated discs and something wrong with the curvature of my spine – and had we not had more pressing issues he said we would be discussing physical therapy, cortisone shots and possibly surgery – but since I couldn’t feel my leg or finish a complete sentence, we had bigger problems.

  He sent me over to the hospital as a direct admit. He assured me they would give me sedatives before the MRI of my brain, thoracic and cervical spine (a 2 hour procedure), but the hospital was experiencing a severe shortage of IV Valium so they gave me Ativan instead, and it did nothing, except possibly make me MORE agitated.  Over the course of my stay they tried 7 IVs.  2 blew.  One nurse cried and I did everything I could to convince her it was me, not her.

It is now Sunday, November 5th and it hurts just to type this.  But what I want to say is important; I was diagnosed as having another MS flare.

After 3 MS medications THIS YEAR ALONE.

After the hell of Ocrevus JUST TWO MONTHS AGO.

The reason MS patients put up with all the bullshit is to STAY OUT of relapses.  I tortured myself all year just to end up here anyway.  And that’s JUST the MS – never mind everything else in my body hatching plans against me.

So.  They prescribe 3 days of IV steroids (WHY, GOD, WHY?), fluids and pain management. Fine. I’m pissed but I can do this.  What’s 3 more days in the hospital?  I am safe.

Except.

Except…

I can’t do it.  I am not safe.

A psychiatrist comes to talk to me on the day of discharge.  “Are you safe at home?”

(Mental checklist: roof, food, check.)

“Yes.”

“OK,” she says, “do you have thoughts of hurting yourself or others?”

Let’s do the easy one first.  Do I want to hurt others? Like this guy – this guy here who SLEPT IN A CHAIR FOR 3 DAYS AND BARELY LEFT MY SIDE AND DECKED OUT OUR ROOM IN PENN STATE STUFF FOR THE GAME DESPITE THE FACT THAT I KEEP YELLING AT HIM AND CRY INCOHERENTLY??  No.  No, I do not want to hurt him.

(Well, I didn’t.  But now that I’m at home, in pain, miserable and riding steroid rage, ummmm…..)

But do I want to hurt myself?

Yes.  I want to find a way to trump the pain I’m in every day, I want to be the one doing the hurting, actively, so I’m no longer passively being injured, I want it to be quiet, I want it to stop, I want it to end.  Please.  Make it all stop.

“Would you allow yourself to be voluntarily committed to our behavior health unit?”

What’s left to hide from? What’s left to be scared of? I’ve seen the worst, I’ve felt the worst, I’ve been in the dark for a long time.

What it feels like she’s asking is, “Do you want to save what’s left of you?”

“Yes.”

And that’s where another story starts and ends.  The only other time I’ve been hospitalized for mental health issues since Renfrew, and this time it was only 3 days because on the chaotic and teary night of admission I signed my 72 hour release form. (They really should make you wait until morning to do that, but what do I know…)

So basically I asked to leave before I had even fully been processed.

But that’s OK because 3 days in a psych unit is a powerful time.  Every single person you meet changes you forever.  And I want to do justice to that story so we’ll save it for another day.

But what I want you to know now is that on Monday, November 6th, I will start a 6 week intensive partial hospitalization; that means from 9am to 1pm I’ll be in intensive therapy, both group and individual and I’ll meet each week with a psychiatric nurse to continue to adjust my medications and with a psychiatrist to keep this journey moving.  In addition, I can still see my normal therapist once a week, who I’ve been seeing for two years, and who has been remarkable.

There are three other things I want you to know, and they are so important to me, that I’m asking you to really hear the words in your head – and I’m asking you to remember.

1.) I would be dead right now if it wasn’t for Thommy, my mom, a handful of the best friends I actually don’t deserve, and a tribe of “Rhea Team” warriors who pray for me and send me their positive energy and their love and their notes and their gifts and who keep showing up despite the tedious repetition of my illnesses and shortcomings.  I know that I am blessed.  I do not take it for granted.  Please keep reminding me of the good things – please keep your words of love and light coming; it’s my way out of the darkness.

2.) You need to vote better.  Sorry if that’s whiplash but it’s true.  You and me both.  I am getting the most amazing, thorough and continued treatment because of insurance.  There was a time I didn’t have that.  And there were people I met in the hospital who were released before they were stable because of insurance. Cuts to mental health services, Medicare, Medicaid, etc, literally, literally, literally KILL PEOPLE.  I might be one of them. Vote in every election you can for leaders who will protect those services.  I can’t believe this country works that way but here we are.

3.) Mental health stigma needs to end.  And it can start with you.  Stop using the word “crazy” a dozen times a day when it’s not necessary.  That’s the easy one – challenge yourself today and see what happens.  Don’t use diagnoses as adjectives.  OCD, bipolar, schizophrenia, manic/mania, depressed, anorexic/bulimic, PTSD, cutting/cutters/self-harmers … all those things are real life.  They can be nightmares that people may never wake up from.  Some of us will get help and regulate it but we ALL need to stop carrying around the shame of it.  It is not a punchline to your shitty joke.  If someone trusts you enough to share their story with you: listen without judgement.  You don’t have to fix them.  You don’t have to feel their pain to help them through it.  You can hold space with love and respect and allow them to process their emotions freely.  Not everyone is ready to accept help  – it is not your job to lecture them. Memorize the number to the suicide hotline (1-800-273-8255) so that you can provide a resource to someone is crisis. (Obviously, if it’s an emergency, call 911).  But from experience, I can say that I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve had a meltdown on the phone with someone while I told them I couldn’t make it one more day – and the act of simply being heard has kept me here one more day.

One more day.

That’s what’s left.

Or, like we talked about in the hospital, one more minute.  It’s 7:31am right now.  Can I make it until 7:32am? What can bridge those 60 seconds? Breathing? Medication? A phone call?

I know I said I needed you to know 3 things, but I lied, there’s one more:

I am not ashamed.  As someone with complex mental illnesses AND complex physical illnesses, stuffing that all inside and hiding it from the world is what usually gets me into the darkest recesses of my mind and keeps me buried.  As someone with mental illness, I *DO* feel guilty, all the time, for hundreds of things, real and imaginary; but, what I don’t feel guilty about, is sharing this with you.  There is a level of self-loathing I experience that I didn’t even have words for until I was on the psych unit, but my head will not hang one inch lower after posting this and sharing it.  I hope if you read this and you want to talk, you reach out.  I hope if you read this, and you are so inclined, you share it with your circle because there might be someone who needs to read it and know help is out there and they don’t have to feel alone or ashamed.

I’m redefining myself with the pieces of what’s left; and with each new illness and test and hospitalization and med change, etc., I do feel like I lose some of the person I wanted to be.  Or at least the person I thought I was.  But there is so much power in realizing you can create someone new.  And know this: if you’ve had to do this (I mean, REALLY, do this): you are a fucking superhero.  Suit up.  Here’s your cape…

xoxo

Rhea

What’s Left. Greetings fellow travelers, I hope that wherever you're reading this from, you are safe. I haven't been safe in awhile.

[jiayincredible]

MENTAL HEALTH Q&A

Pretty tired from people asking the same questions over and over again - and not getting it after several times, so I thought why not make it into something good whereby it can inform people about this almost taboo topic.

DISCLAIMER: I am by far not a health practitioner, nor am I qualified to give out medical advice. This is by experience as well as some information gathered from friends who have gone through similar situations. Everyone experiences the same mental disorder differently.

INTRODUCTION

Hi! I’m Chelsea, or Jiayi, (anyway works) and I am a youth in Singapore. On the mid of 2016, I was medically diagnosed by my psychiatrist with MDD (Major Depressive Disorder) as well as GAD (Generalised Anxiety Disorder). Informally, I have dealt with anxiety and depression as well as other episodes a little over 3-4 years ago. As well as a stint of body image issues, disordered eating, and addiction (Although I just might get tested for Bipolar II disorder). I believe that my case was due to a genetic predisposition as my mom as mental health issues as well.

So here goes: the frequently asked questions:

I’m depressed/sad. Do I have depression?

Depression has two meanings:

1. Depression (mood):

is a state of low mood and aversion to activity that can affect a person's thoughts, behavior, feelings, and sense of well-being. (Wikipedia link from here)

2. Depression / Major Depressive disorder (a mental illness):

Major depressive disorder (MDD), also known simply as depression, is a mental disorder characterized by at least two weeks of low mood that is present across most situations. (Wikipedia link here)

If you feel like your feelings of depression are hindering your life, do seek help. Not every depressed person suffers from depression.

I saw you sad. Did you take your medication?

Medication IS NOT A MIRACLE PILL. Recovery takes weeks and months and even years of effort. You can be a recovering patient and still be sad - there are always good and bad days. Some people take intensive weeks and months just to prevent themselves from attempting suicide, or to become functional again.

......So have you recovered?

Mental health is more than recovery - mental health recovery has several aspects:

1) Acceptance

Being able to accept that I became mentally ill was a challenge as it lead to many unhealthy thoughts such as thinking that I deserved it (guilt), or that I would never recover and therefore just die. Acceptance means that I have now recognised that it is part of my life and how I should take actions to work with it, and not against it.

2) Management

Taking steps to ensure that school, work, social life, medical appointments, as well as other things are scheduled smoothly. For example, I had to inform my colleagues beforehand that I would not turn up for work as I have an appointment with my therapist/psychiatrist that day. Taking time to access myself and to know trigger warnings/signs.

3) Collaboration

Shortly before I got medically diagnosed, I had a bunch of people behind me (apart from friends and family) which included a bunch of lecturers (as I was schooling at that time) as well as my therapist (who is a staff of my school). Which shortly after included my father, and then my psychiatrist. This was/is my treatment team. Collaboration meant that I had to work with them actively and follow instructions to make sure that I was able to get back up on my feet and increase functionality and productivity as a student as well as a patient. My treatment team was important and crucial for my recovery (or the start of it) as they together provided favourable conditions for me to be able to recover by being informed about what they should look out for when I was in school or home.

4) Independence 

Recovery would not have been hollistic without independence. Being able to do things on my own such as calm myself down from stressful situations and panic attacks, as well as taking medication on time, keeping to sleep schedules (which I didn’t do very well of), making appointments with my psychiatrist and therapist all required independence on my part. Given that the fact that my treatment team would not be able to be there for me 24/7 of the time, which includes my family.

Does your medication help you? Tell me more about your medication/medication questions 

For those who are wondering, psychiatric medication, although strong in terms of effect, is not a cure all and does not work like panadol whereby the illness would subside immediately. Psychiatric medication takes a minimum of 2-4 weeks before significant effects can be shown.

Psychiatric medication does not work like antibiotics. Sometimes, people suffering from the same disorder would be given different set of prescription based on how they react to different medications.

List of the medication I have taken before in chronological order (some are brand names, some are chemical names):

Xanax and Valdoxan

Prozac and Olanzapine

Trazodone and Mirtazapine <- taking this now

Do a quick google and you’ll get an idea.

However, good medication can have bad side effects. For example, I experienced what they call a reverse effect when taking xanax and valdoxan (increased suicidal thoughts). I had nausea every morning whilst on prozac and olanzapine. Trazodone and mirtazapine makes me sleepy throughout the day at the start to the point where I couldn’t function properly. My period has stopped for 6 months due to medication (too much information sorry). My skin gets dry and I get headaches from time to time. But all’s good. 

Medication helped me balance my neurochemicals such as dopamine and serotonin so that my emotions would be balanced as well as other biological functions such as sleep and appetite.

Why are you still taking medication?

Insomnia issues (they are not sleeping pills, but are used for insomniac patients with or without mental illness as well) brought upon by disorder as well as anxiolytic effects by medication to reduce anxiety.

Medication once introduced to the body takes some time to get used to and therefore the side effects reduced over time.

When will you be cured?

Note that when it comes to mental illness they rarely mention the word, ‘cure’. They always use the word ‘treat’ or ‘recover’ or ‘heal’:

The difference between cure and treatment (credits here)

“The term "cure" means that, after medical treatment, the patient no longer has that particular condition anymore.Some diseases can be cured. Others, like hepatitis B, have no cure. The person will always have the condition, but medical treatments can help to manage the disease.”

So in a way I am saying I can never be cured, just treated to the extent that it does not hinder my life as much as it used to.

Oh man, I feel so sorry for you.

Please don’t ever express sympathy to a person with mental health struggle/mental illness. On the contrary, this has made me a much stronger person as well as increased my sense of empathy and attention to people and their actions. Having mental illness allowed me to see another world whereby I was not able to previously - how people think, feel and function as a cycle, as well as learning more about myself and being more self aware and getting more in touch with my thoughts and emotions. Having mental illness also increased my discipline as well as resilience as it takes alot of trial and error just to get one thing right when it comes to recovery.

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